Holmes_Marian_Gray.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
CHAPTER I.
GUARDIAN AND WARD.
The night was dark and the clouds black and
heavy which hung over Redstone Hall, whose mas-
sive walls loomed up through the darkness like some
huge sentinel keeping guard over the spacious
grounds by which it was surrounded. Within the
house all was still, and without there was no sound
to break the silence save the sighing of the wind
through the cedar trees, or the roar of the river,
which, swollen by the recent heavy rains, went
rushing on to meet its twin sister at a point known
in Kentucky, as "The Forks of the Elkhorn."
From one of the lower windows a light was shin-
ing, and its rays fell upon the face of a white-haired
man/rwho moaned uneasily in his sleep, as if pur-
sued by some torrfienting fear. At last, as the
clock struck the hour of twelve, he awoke, and
glancing nervously toward the corner, from which
the sound proceeded, he whispered, " Have you
come again, Ralph Lindsey, to tell me of my sin ?"
" What is it, Mr. Raymond ?" and a oung girl
I"]
12 MARIAN GREY.
glided to the bedside of the old man, who, taking
her hand in his, the better to assure jimself of her
presence, said, " Marian, is there nothing in that
corner yonder nothing with silvery hair?"
" Nothing," Marian answered, " nothing but the
lamplight shining on the face of the old clocjc.
Did you think there was some one here ?"
" Yes, no. Marian, do you believe the dead can
come back to us again when we have done them
a wrong the dead who are buried in the sea, I
mean ?"
Marian shuddered and cast a timid look toward
the shadowy corner, then, conquering her weakness,
she answered, " No, the dead cannot come back.
But why do you talk so strangely to-night ?"
The old man hesitated a moment and then replied,
" The time has come for me to speak, so that your
father can rest in peace. He has been with me
more than once in this very room, and to-night I
fancied he was here again, asking why I had dealt
so falsely with his child."
" Falsely !" Marian cried, kissing the hand of the
only parent she had ever known. " Not falsely, I
am sure, for you have been most kind to me."
" And yet," he said, " I have done you a wrong
which has eaten into my very soul and worn my life
away. I did not intend to speak of it to-night, but
something prompts me to do so, and you must
listen. On that night when your father died, and
when all in the ship, save ourselves and the watch,
were asleep, I laid my hand on his forehead, and
swore to be faithful to my trust. Do you hear,JV[a-
rian faithful to my trust. You don't know what
that meant, but I know, and I've broken my oath to
the dying and from that grave in the ocean he
comes to me sometimes, and with the same look
upon his face which it wore that summer afternoon
when we laid him in the sea, he asks why justice
has not been done to you. Wait, Marian, until
GUARbIAf AND WARD. I3
I have finished," he continued, as he saw her about
to speak ; " I know I have not long to Hve, and I
would make^pmends ; but, Marian, I would rather
you should not know the truth until I'm dead. You
will forgive'me then, won't you, Marian ? Promise
me you will forgive the poor old man who has loved
you, if possible, better than he loved his only son."
He paused for her reply, and half bewildered,
Marian answered, " I don't know what you mean
but if, as you say, a wrong has been done, no mat-
ter how great that wrong may be, it is freely for-
given for the sake of what you've been to me."
The sick man wound his arm lovingly around
her, and bringing her nearer to him, said, " Bless
you, Marian, for that. It makes my deathbed easier.
I will leave it in writing, my confession. I cannot
tell it now, for I could not bear to see upon your
face that you despised me. You wrote to Fred-
eric, and told him to come quickly ?"
" Yes," returned Marian, " I said you were very
ill, and wished to see him at once."
For a moment there was silence in the room ;
then, removing his arm from the neck of the young
girl, the old man raised himself upon his elbow and
looking her steadily in the face, said, " Marian,
could you love my son Frederic ?"
The question was a strange one, but Marian
Lindsey was accustomed to strange modes of
speech in her guardian, and with a slightly
heightened color she answered quietly, " I do love
him as a brother "
" Yes, but I would have you love him as some-
thing nearer," returned her guardian. " Ever since
I took you for my child it has been the cherished
object of my life that you should be his wife."
There was a nervous start and an increase of
color in Marian's face, for the idea, though not al-
together disagreeable, was a new one to her, but
she made no reply, and her guardian continued, " I
t4 MARIAN GREY.
am selfish in this wish, though not wholly so. I
know you could be happy with him, and in no
other way can my good name belmved from dis-
grace. Promise me, Marian, that you will be his
wife very soon after I am dead, and before all Ken-
tucky is talking of my sin. You are not too young.
You will be sixteen in a few months, and many
marry as early as that."
" Does he wish it ?" Marian asked timidly ; and
her guardian replied, " He has known you but lit-
tle of late, but when he sees you here at home, and
learns how gentle and good you are, he cannot help
loving you as you deserve."
" Yes, he can," Marian answered. " No man as
handsome as Frederic ever loved a girl with an
ugly face, and I heard him tell Will Gordon, when
he spent a vacation here, that I was a nice little
girl, but altogether too freckled, too red-headed,
and scrawney, ever to make a handsome woman,"
and Marian's voice trembled as she recalled a
which speech had wrung from her many tears.
To this remark Colonel Raymond made no re-
ply, for he too, had cause to doubt Frederic's will-
ingness to marry a girl who boasted so few personal
charms as Marian Lindsey. Rumors, too, he had
heard, of a peerlessly beautiful creature, who at
the north kept his son a captive to her will. But
this could not be ; Frederic must marry Marian,
for in no other way could the name of Raymond
be saved from a disgrace or the vast possessions he
called his be kept in the family, and he was about
to speak again when a heavy tread in the hall an-
nounced the approach of some one, and a moment
a,fter. Aunt Dinah, the housekeeper, appeared.
" She had come to sit up with ole marster," she said,
" and let Miss Marian go to bed, where children
like her ought to be."
At first Marian objected, for though scarcely
conscious of it herself, she was well enough pleased
GtARDlAl* AND WAR. I$
t
to sit where she was, and hear her guardian talk of
Frederic and of what she had no hope would ever
be ; but when Aunt Dinah suggested to her that
sitting up so much would make her look yellow
and old, she yielded, for Frederic was a passionate
admirer of beauty, and she knew that she had
none to lose. Kissing her guardian good night,
she hurried to her chamber, but not to sleep, for
the tumult of thought which her recent conversa-
tion had awakened kept her restless and wakeful.
Under ordinary circumstances she would have
wondered what the wrong could be at which Colonel
Raymond had hinted, but now she scarcely remem-
bered it, or if it occurred to her at all, she instamtly
dismissed it from her mind as some trivial thing
which the weak state of her guardian's mind mag-
nified into a serious matter.
Thirteen years before our story opens, Marian
had embarked with her father on board a ship
which sailed from Liverpool to New York. Of
that father she remembered little except that he
was very poor, and that he talked of his poverty as
if it were something of which he was proud. Pleas-
ant memories, though, she had of an American
gentleman who used to take her on his lap,
and tell her of the land to which she was going ;
and when one day her father lay down in his berth,
with the fever as they said, she remembered how
the kind man h^ cared for him, holding his head
and watching bj^ him till he died ; then, when it
was all over, he had told her she was to be his lit-
tle girl, and he bade her call him father, telling her
how her own dead parent had asked him to care for
her. Something, too, she remembered about an
old coarse bag, which had troubled her new father
very much, and which he had finally put in the bot-
tom of his trunk, thowing overboard a few articles
of clothing to make room for it. The voyage was
long and stormy, but they reached New York at
t6 MAklANf GRfeV.
last, and he took her to his home, aa humble farm-
house on the Hudson, where he had always lived.
Frederic was then a dark-haired, handsome boy of
eleven, and even now she shuddered as she remem-
bered how he used to tease and worry her. Still
he liked her, she was sure, and the first real grief
which she remembered, was when he bade her
good-by and went off to a distant boarding
school.
Colonel Raymond, her guardian, was growing rich,
and people said he must have entered into some
fortunate speculation while abroad, for, since his
return, prosperity had attended every movement ;
and when, six months after Frederic's departure,
he went to Kentucky and purchased Redstone
Hall, Mrs. Burt, his housekeeper, had wondered
where all his money came from, when he used to
be so poor. They had moved to Kentucky when
Marian was five and a half years old, and now, after
ten years' improvement, there was not in the whole
country so beautiful a spot as Redstone Hall, with
its terraced p ounds, its graveled walks, its grand ;
old trees, its creeping vines, its flowering shrubs
and handsome park in the rear. And this was
Marian's home; she had lived a rather secluded
life, for only when Frederic was with them did
they see much company, and all the knowledge she
had of the world was what she gleaned from books
or learned from the negress Dinah, who, " having
lived with the very first families," frequently enter-
tained her young mistress with stories of " the
quality," and the dinner parties at which her pres-
ence was once so indispensable. And Marian,
listening to her glowing descriptions, sometimes
wished that she were rich, and could have a taste
of fashion. To be sure, her guardian bought her
more than she needed but it was not hers, and
without any particular reason why she should do
so, she felt that she was a dependent and some*
GUARDIAN AND WARD. 1 7
thing of an inferior, especially when Frederic came
home. He was always polite and kind to Marian,
but she felt that there was a gulf between them.
He was handsome; she was plain, he was rich;
she was poor, he was educated, and she alas, for
Marian's education ; she read a great deal, but had
never given herself up to a systematic course of study.
Governesses she had in plenty, but she usually
coaxed them off into the woods, or down by the
river, where she left them to do what they pleased,
while she learned many a lesson from the great
book of nature spread out so beautifully before
her. All this had tended to make and keep her a
very child, and it was not until her fourteenth year
that anything occurred to develop the genuine
womanly qualities which she possessed.
By the death of a distant relative, a little unfor-
tunate blind girl was left to Colonel Raymond's
care, and was immediately taken to Redstone Hall,
where she became the pet of Marian, who loved
nothing in the world as dearly as the poor blind
Alice, while to Alice, Marian was the embodiment
of everything beautiful, pure and good. Frederic,
on the contrary, was a kind of terror to little
Alice. " He was so precise and stuck up," she said,
" and when he was at home Marian was not a bit
like herself." To Marian, however, his occasional
visits to Redstone Hall were sources of great plea-
sure. To look at his handsome figure, to listen to
his voice, to anticipate his slightest wish and min-
ister to his wants so quietly that he scarcely knew
from whom the attention came, was happiness for
her, and when he smiled upon her, as he often did,
calling her " a good little girl," she felt repaid for
all she had done. Occasionally, since her guard,
ian's illness, she had thought of the future, when
some fine lady might come to Redstone Hall as its
mistress, but the subject was an unpleasant one, and
h^ dismissed it froit) her mine^. In her estimatipij
1 8 MARIAN GREY.
there were few worthy to be the wife of Frederic
certainly not herself and when the idea was sug-
gested to her by his father, she regarded it as an
impossibility. Still it kept her wakeful, and once
she said to herself, " I could love him so much if
he would let me, and I should be so proud of him."
Then, as she remembered the remark she had heard
him make to his friend, she covered her face with
her hands and whispered, " Oh, I wish I wasn't
ugly?' Then there came stealing over her the
thought that in the estimation of others she
was not as plain as in that of Frederic Raymond.
Everybody seemed to like her, and if she were
hideous they could not. Alice, who judged by
touch alone, declared that she was beautiful, while
old Dinah said age would improve her as it did
wine, and that in time she would be the hand-
somest woman in Kentucky.
Never before had Marian thought so much of
her appearance ; and now, anxious to know exactly
what her defects were, she arose, and lighting the
lamp, placed it upon her bureau ; then throwing a
shawl around her shoulders, she sat down and in-
spected the face which Frederic Raymond called
homely. The features were regular enough, but
the face was thin " scrawney," Frederic had said,
and the cheek bones were plainly perceptible. This
might be the result of eating slate-stones ; Dinah,
who knew everything, said so, and resolving
to abjure everything of the kind, Marian con-
tinued her investigations. It did not occur to her
that her complexion was very fair, nor that
her eyes were of a most beautiful blue, so intent
was she upon the freckles which dotted her nose
and a portion of her face. Slate-stones surely had
nothing to do with these, and she knew of no way
of remedying this evil unless, indeed, poulticing
would do it. She would consult Dinah on the sub-
ject, and feeling a good deal of confidence in the
GUARDIAN AND WARD. 1 9
negress' judgment, she passed on to what she con-
sidered her crowning point of ugliness her hair !
It was soft, luxuriant and curly, but was red.
Turn which way she would, or hold the lamp in any
position she chose, it was still a dark, decided red
and the tears came to Marian's eyes as she recalled
the many times when, as a boy, Frederic taunted
her with being a " red-head " or a "brick-top," just
as the humor suited him. Suddenly she remem-
bered that among her treasures was a lock o^ her
mother's hair, and opening a rosewood box she
took from it a shining tress which she laid upon
the top of her bureau, and then bent down to
admire its color, a beautiful auburn, such as is
ranely seen, and which, when seen, is sure to be ad-
mired,
"And this was my mother's," she whispered,
smoothing the silken hair. " I must resemble
her more than my father, who my guardian
says was dark. I wish I was like her in every-
thing, for I believe she was beautiful ;" and into the
mind of the orphan girl there crept an image of a
bright-haired, sweet-faced woman, whose eyes of
blue looked lovingly into her own and this was
her mother. She had seen her thus in fancy
many a time, but never so vividly as to-night,
and unconsciously she breathed the petition, " Let
me look like her some day, and I shall be content."
The gray morning light was by this time stealing
through the window, and overcome with weariness
and watching Marian fell asleep, and when, two
hours later, old Dinah came in to wake her, she
found her sitting before the glass, with the lamp
still burning at her side, and her head resting on
her arms, which lay upon the low bureau.
" For the dear Lord's sake, what are you doing?"
was Dinah's exclamation, which at once roused
I^Jarlan, who unhesjtc^tingly answered,
20 MARIAN GREY.
" I got up to look in the glass and see if I was so
very homely."
"Humbly! Nonsense, child," returned old
Dinah. " You look like a picter lyin' thar with
the sun a shinin' on yer har, and makin' it look like
a piece of crimson satin."
The compliment was a doubtful one, but Marian
knew it was well meant, and without a word in re-
ply, commenced her morning toilet. That day,
somwhat to her disappointment, her guardian did
not resume the conversation of the previous night.
He was convinced that Marian could be easily won,
but he did not think it wise to encourage her until
he had talked with his son, whose return he looked
for anxiously. But day after day went by, and it
was in vain that Alice listened, and Marian watched
for the daily stage. It never stopped at the gate ;
and each time the old man heard them say it
had gone by, he groaned afresh, fearing Frederic
would not come until it was too late.
" I can at least tell him the truth on paper," he
said to himself at last, " and it may be he will pay
more heed to words which a dead father wrote
than to words which a living father spoke."
Marian was accordingly bidden to bring him his
little writing-desk, and then to leave the room, for
he would be alone when he wrote his letter of
confession. It cost him many a fierce struggle
to tell his son a secret which none save him-
self and God had ever known and which none
ever need to know if he would have it so but
he would not. The secret had worn his life away,
and he must make reparation now. So, with the
perspiration dropping from every pore, he wrote ;
and, as he wrote, in his disordered imagination
there stood beside his pillow the Englishman,
watching to see that justice was done at last to
Marian. Recently several letters had passed be-
tween tlie fattier and his son concerning the mar-
GUARDIAN AND WARD. 21
riage of the latter with Marian a marriage every
way distasteful to the young man, who, in his an-
swer, had said far harsher things of Marian than
he really meant, hoping thus to put an end to his
father's plan. She was " rough, uncouth, unedu-'
cated and ugly," he said, " and.if his father did not
give up that foolish fancy, he should positively
hate the red-headed fright."
All this the old man touched upon quoting the
very words his son had used, and whispering to
himself, " Poor Marian, it would, break her heart
to know he said that, but she never will ;" and then,
with the energy of despair, he wrote the reason
why she must be the wife of his son, pleading with
him as only a dying man can plead, that he would
not disregard the wishes of his father, and begging
him to forget the dark-haired Isabel, who, though
perhaps more beautiful, could not be as pure, as
gentle, and as good as Marian.
The letter was finished, and the old man read it
through.
" Yes, that will do," he said. " Frederic will
heed what's written here. He'll marry her or else
make restitution ;" and laying it away, he com-
menced the last and hardest part of all the con-
fessing to Marian how he had sinned against her.
Although there was no tie of blood between,
them the gentle young orphan had crept down
into his heart, where once he treasured a little
golden-haired girl, who died before Frederic was
born. In the first moments of his bereavement, he
had thought his loss could never be repaired, but
when, with her arms around his neck, Marian had
told hiin how much she loved him, he felt that the
child he had lost was restored to him in the little
English girl. He knew she believed there was in
him no evil, and his heart throbbed with agony as
he nerved himself to tell her how for years he had
acted a villain's part ; but it was done at last, and
22 MARIAN GREY.
with a passionate appeal for her forgiveness, h6
finished the letter, and folding it up, wrote upon its
back, " For Marian ;" then, taking the one intended
for Frederic, he attempted to write, " For my Son,"
but the ink was gone from his pen, there was a blur
before his eyes, and though he traced the words he
left no impress, and the letter bore no superscrip-
tion to tell to whom it belonged. Stepping upon
the floor, he went to his hbrary, and placing both
letters in his private drawer, retired to his bed,
where, utterly exhausted, he fell asleep.
When at last he awoke, Marian was sitting by
his side, and to her he communicated what he had
done, telling her where the letters were, and that
if he died before Frederic's return, she must give
the one bearing the words " For my Son " to him.
" You will not read it, of course," he said, " or
ever seek to know what its contents are."
Had Marian Lindsey been like many girls, the
caution would have insured the reading of the
letter at once, but she shrank from anything dis-
honorable, and was blessed with but a limited
share of woman's curiosity ; consequently, the let-
ter was safe in her care, though no one ever came
to claim it. All that afternoon she sat by her
guardian, and when as usual the stage thundered
down the turnpike, leaving no Frederic at the
door, she soothed him with the hope that he
would be there to-morrow. But the morrow came
and went as did other to-morrows, until Colonel
.Raymond grew so ill that a telegram was des-
patched to the young man, bidding him hasten if
he would see his father alive.
" That will bring him," the old man said, " he'll
be here in a few days," and he asked that his bed
might be moved near the window, where, propped
upon pillows, he watched with childish impatience
for the coming of his boy.
tAl*HEk ANt) SON. 23
CHAPTER II.
FATHER AND SON.
A TELEGRAM from Frederic, who was coming
home at last ! He would be there that very day,
and the inmates of Redstone Hall were thrown into
a state of unusual excitement. Old Dinah in jaunty
turban and white apron bustled from the kit-
chen to the dining room, and from the dining-
room back to the kitchen, jingling her huge bunch
of keys with an air of great importance, arid kick-
ing from under her feet any luckless black baby
which chanced to be in her way, making always an
exception in favor of " Victoria Eugenia," who bore
a striking resemblance to herself, and would one
day call her "gran'mam." Dinah was in her ele-
ment, for nothing pleased her better than the get-
ting up a "tip-top dinner," and fully believing that
Frederic had been half starved in a land where they
didn't have hoe-cake and bacon three times a day,
she determined to give him one full meal, such as
would make his stomach ache for three full hours at
least !
Mr. Raymond was better than usual to-day, and
at his post by the window watched eagerly the
distant turn in the road where the stage would first
appear. In her chamber, Marian was busy with her
toilet, trying the effect of dress after dress, and at
Alice's suggestion deciding at last upon a pale blue,
which harmonized well with her fair complexion.
" Frederic likes blue, I know," she thought, as
she remembered having heard him admire a dress
of that color worn by a young lady who had once
visited at Redstone Hall.
Dinah, when consulted as to the best method of
1^4 MARIAN GREi/.
making red hair dark, had strongly recommendeci
"possum ile and sulphur, scented with some kind
of essence ;" but to this dye Marian did not take
kindly. She preferred that her hair should retain
its natural color, and falling as it did in soft curls
around her face and neck, it was-certainly not un-
becoming. Her toilet was completed at last
Alice's little hands had decided that it was per-
fect the image reflected by the mirror was far
from being ordinary-looking, and secretly wonder-
ing if Frederic would not think her tolerably
pretty, Marian sat down to await his coming. She
had not been seated long when Alice's quick ear
caught the sound of the distant stage, and in a few
moments Marian, from behind the half-closed shut-
ter, was watching the young man as he came slowly
up the avenue which led from the highway to the
house. His step was usually bounding and rapid,
but now he lingered as if unwiUing to reach the
door.
" 'Tis because of his father," thought Marian.
" He fears he may be dead."
But Frederic was not thinking of his father alone.
It was not pleasant coming home ; for aside from
the fear that his father might die was a dread
of what he might ask him to do. For Marian as a
sister, he had no dislike, for he knew she possessed
many gentle, womanly virtues, but from the thoughts
of making her his wife he instinctively shrank.
Only one had the shadow of a claim to bear that
relation to him, and he was thinking of her as he
came up the walk. She was poor, he knew, and the
daughter of his landlady, who claimed a distant re-
lationship with his father ; but she was beautiful,
and a queen might covet her stately bearing, and
polished, graceful manner. Into her heart he had
never looked, for satisfied with the fair exterior, he
failed to see the treachery lurking in her large
f ATHER ANt) SON. ^5
black eyes, or to detect the fierce, stormy passions
which had a home within her breast.
Isabella Huntington, or " Cousin Bell/' as he
called her, was beautiful, accomplished, and artful,
and during the year that Frederic Raymond had
been an inmate of her mother's family, she had suc-
ceeded in so completely infatuating the young man
that now there was to him but one face in the
world, and that in fancy shone upon him even when
it was far away. He had never said to her that he
loved her, for though often tempted so to do, some-
thing had always interposed between them, bidding
him wait until he knew her better. Consequently
he was not bound to her by words, but he thought
it very probable that she would one day be his
wife, and as he drew near to Red Stone Hall, he
could not forbear fancying how she would grace
that elegant mansion as its mistress. Of Marian,
too, he thought harsh, bitter thoughts, mingled
with softer emotions as he reflected that she pos-
sibly knew nothing of his father's plan. He pitied
her, he said, for if his father died, she would be
alone in the world. After what had passed, it
would hardly be pleasant for him to. have her there
where he could see her every day ; she might not
be agreeable to Isabel either, and he should prob-
ably provide for her handsomely and have her live
somewhere else at a fashionable boarding school,
perhaps !
He was growing very generous, and by the
time he reached the long piazza Marian Lind&ey
was comfprtably tjisposed of in the third story of
some seminary far away from Redstone Hall !
The meeting between the father and son was an
affecting one the former sobbing like a child, and
asking of the latter, why he had tarried so long.
The answer to this question was that Frederic had
been absent from New Haven for three weeks, and
that Isabel, who took charge of his letters, neg.
26 MARIAN GREY.
lected to forward the one written by Marian. At
the mention of Isabel, the old man's cheek flushed,
and he said, impatiently, " the neglect was an un-
pardonable one, for it bore on its face ' In haste.'
Perhaps, though, she did it purposely, hoping to
keep you from me."
Instantly Frederic warmed up in Isabel's defence,
saying she was incapable of a mean act. He
doubted whether she had observed the words " In
haste " at all, and if she did she only withheld it
for the sake of saving him from anxiety as long as
possible.
At this moment there was the sound of little un-
certain feet near the door, and Alice groped her
way into the room. She was a fair, sweet-faced
little child, and taking her upon his knee, Frederic
kissed her affectionately, and asked her many ques-
tions as to what she had done since he was home
six months before. Seldom had he paid her so
much attention, and feeling anxious that Marian
should be similarly treated, the little girl, after
answering his questions, said to him coaxingly :
"Won't you kiss Marian, too, when she comes
down ? She's been ever so long dressing herself
and trying to look pretty."
Instantly the eyes of the father and son met^
those of the former expressive of entreaty, while
those of the latter flashed with defiance.
" Go for Marian, child, and tell her to come here,"
said Mr. Raymond.
Alice obeyed, and as she left the room, Frederic
said bitterly, " I see she is leagued with you. I had
thought better of her than thaf."
" No, she isn't," cried the father, fearing that his
favorite project was in danger. " I merely sug-
gested it to her once only once."
Frederic was about to reply, when the rustle of
female garn^ents announced Marian's approach. To
Colonel Raymond she was handsome then, as with
tATEtfift AND SONf. 2Jf
a heightened bloom upon her cheek and a bashful
light in her eyes, she entered timidly and offered
her hand to Frederic. But to the jealous young
man she was merely a plain, ordinary country girl,
bearing no comparison to Isabel. Still he greeted
her kindly, made a few trivial remarks, and then re-
sumed his conversation with little Alice, who, feel-
ing that matters were going wrong, rolled her eyes
often and anxiously toward the spot where she
knew Marian was sitting and when at last the lat-
ter left the room, she said to Frederic, " Isn't
Marian pretty in her blue dress, with all those
curls ? There are twenty of them, for I heard
her count them. Say she is pretty, so I can tell
her and make her feel good."
Frederic would not then have admitted that
Marian was pretty, even had he thought so, and
biting his lip with vexation, he replied, " I do not
particularly admire blue, and I detest cork-screw
curls."
Marian was still in the lower hall, and heard both
the question and the answer. Darting up the
stairs, she flew to her chamber, and throwing her-
self upon the bed, burst into a passionate flood of
tears. All in vain had she dressed herself for
Frederic Raymond's eye curling her hair in
twenty curls, as Alice had said. He hated blue
^he . hated curls cork-screw curls particularly.
What could he mean ? She never heard the term
thus applied before. It must have some reference
to their color, and clutching at her long tresses
she would have torn them from her head, had not
a little childish hand been laid upon hers, and Alice's
soothing voice murmured in her ear, " Don't cry,
Marian ; I wouldn't care for him. He's just as
mean as he can be, and if I owned Redstone Hall,
I wouldn't let him live here, would you ?"
" Yes no I don't know," sobbed Marian. " I
28 MARIAN GREY.
don't own Redstone Hall. I don't own anything,
and I wish I was dead."
Alice was unaccustomed to such a burst of pas-
sion, and was trying to frame some reply when the
dinner bell rang, and lifting up her head, Marian
said, " Go down, Alice, and tell Dinah I can't come,
and if she insists, tell her I won't !"
Alice knew she was in earnest, and going below
she delivered the message to Dinah in the presence
of Frederic, who silently took his seat at the table.
" For the dear Lord's sake, what's happened her
now ?" said Dinah, casting a rueful glance at
Marian's empty chair.
" She's crying," returned Alice, " and she dis-
likes somebody in this room awfully ; 'taint you,
Dinah, nor 'taint me," and the blind eyes flashed
indignantly at Frederic, who smiled quietly as he
replied, " Thank you. Miss Alice."
Alice made no reply, and the dinner proceeded
in silence. After it was over, Frederic returned to
his father, who had been nerving himself for the
task he had to perform, and which he determined
should be done at once.
" Lock the door, Frederic," he said, " and then
sit by me while I say to you what I have so long
wished to say."
Frederic complied, and seating himself near his
father, he folded his arms and said, " Go on, I am
ready now to hear but if it is of Marian you would
speak, I will spare you that trouble, father," and
Frederic's voice was milder in its tone. " I have
always liked Marian very much as a sister, and if it
so chances that you are taken from us, I will be the
best of brothers to her. I will care for her and see
that she does not want. Let this satisfy you, for I
cannot marry her. I do not love her, for I love
another ; one compared to whom Marian is as the
night to the day. Let me tell you of Isabel."
The old man shook his head and answered
FATHER AND SON. 29
mournfully, " No, Frederic, I do not wish her to ht
your wife. I have never told you before, but I
once received an anonymous letter concerning this
same Isabel, saying she was treacherous and deceit-
ful, and would lead you on to ruin."
" The villain ! It was Rudolph's doings," mut-
tered Frederic ; then in a louder tone he said, " I
can explain thiat, I think. When Isabel was quite
young, she was engaged conditionally to Rudolph
McVicar, a worthless fellow whom she has since
discarded. He is a jealous, malignant creature,
and has sworn to be revenged. He wrote that
letter, I am sure. It is like him."
" It may be," returned the father, " but I dis-
trust this Isabel. Her mother, as you are aware,
is a distant relative of mine. I know her well, and
though I never saw the daughter, I am sure she is
selfish, ambitious, deceitful and proud, while
Marian is so good."
" Marian is a mere child," interrupted Frederic.
"Almost sixteen," rejoined the father, "and
before you marry her she will be older still."
" Yes, much older," Frederic thought, con-
tinuing aloud, " Listen to reason, father. I cer-
tainly do not love Marian, neither do I suppose
that she loves me. Now if you have our mutual
good at heart, you;annot desire a marriage which
would surely result in wretchedness to both."
" I have thought of all that," returned the father.
" A few kind words from you would win Marian's
love at once, and when once won she would be to
you a faithful, loving wife, whom you would
learn to prize. You cannot treat any woman
badly, much less Marian. I know you would be
happy with her, and should desire the marriage
even though it could not save me from dishonor
in the eyes of the world."
" Father," said Frederic, turning slightly pale,
" wh9,t do you m^an ? You have in your letters
30 MARIAN GREY.
hinted of a wrong done to somebody. Was it to
Marian ? If so, do not seek to sacrifice my happi-
ness, but make amends in some other way. Will
money repair the wrong ? If so, give it to her,
even to half your fortune, and leave me alone."
He had touched a tender point, and raising him-
self in bed, the old man gasped, " Yes, yes, boy
but you have no money to give Vtdt. Redstone
Hall is not mine, not yours, but hers. Those
houses in Louisville are hers, not mine nor yours.
Everything you see around here is hers all hers ;
and if you refuse her, Frederic hear me if you
refuse Marian Lindsay, strict restitution must be
made, and you will be a beggar as it were. Marry
her, and as her husband you will keep it all and
save me from disgrace. Choose, Frederic, choose."
Mr. Raymond was terribly excited, and the great
drops of perspiration stood upon his forehead,
and trickled from beneath his hair.
" Is he going mad ?" Frederic thought, his own
heart throbbing with a fear of coming evil, but
before he could speak his father continued, " Hear
my story and you will know how I came by these
ill-gotten gains," and he glanced around the richly
furnished room. " You know I was sent to Eng-
land, or I could not have gone, for I had no means
with which to meet the necessary expenses. In the
streets of Liverpool I first 5aw Marian's father, and
I mistook him for a beggar. , Again I met him on
board ship and making his acquaintantance found
him to be a man of no ordinary intellect. There was
something about him 'which pleased me, and when
he became ill I cared for him as for a friend. The
night he died we were alone and he confided to me
his history. He was an only child, and, orphaned
at an early age, became an inmate of one of those
dens of cruelty those schools on the Dotheboys
plan. From this bondage he escaped at last, and
then for more than thirty years employed hi^ tij^e
FATHER AND SON. 31
in makiug and saving money. He was a miser in
every sense of the word, and, thbugh counting his
money by tens of thousands, he starved himself al-
most to death. No one suspected his wealth, not
even his young wife, Mary Grey, whom he married
three years before I met him, and who died when
Marian was born. She, too, had been an only
child and an filphan ; and as in England there was
none to care for him or his, he conceived the idea
of emigrating to America, and there lavishing his
stores of gold on Marian. She should be a lady,
he said, and live in a palace fit for a queen. But
death overtook him, and he entrusted his child tome
with all his money, some in gold and some in bank
notes. And when he was dying he made me swear
to b^ faithful to my trust as guardian of his child.
For her, and for her alone, the money must be used.
But, Frederic, I broke that oath. The Raymonds
are noted for their love of gain, and when the Eng-
lishman was buried in the sea the tempter whis-
pered that the avenue to wealth, which I so long
had coveted, was open now that no one knew or
would ever know of the miser's fortune ; and I
yielded. I guarded the bag where the treasure was
hidden with more than a miser's vigilance, and I
chuckled with delight when I found it far more
than he had .said."
" Oh, my father, my father !" Frederic groaned,
covering his face with his hands, for he knew now
that he was penniless.
" Don't curse me, boy," the old man said ;
" Marian will not. She'll forgive me but I must
hasten. You remember how I grew gradually rich,
and people talked of my good luck. Very cau-
tiously I used the money at first so as not to excite
suspicion, but when I came to Kentucky, where I
was not known, I was less fearful, and launched into
speculation, until now they say I am the wealthiest
man in Frs^nklin gounty. But it's hers it's Marian's
32 MARIAN GREY.
every cent of it is hers. Your education was paid
for with her money ; all you have and are you owe
to Marian Lindsay, who, by every law of the land
is the heiress of Redstone Hall."
He paused a moment, and trembling with emo-
tion, Frederic said, " Is nothing ours, father ? Our
old home on the Hudson? That, surely, is not
hers ?" t.
" You are right," returned the father ; " the old
shell was mine, but when I brought Marian home,
it was not worth a thousand dollars, and it was all
I had in the world. Her money has made it what
it is. I always intended to tell her when she was
old enough to understand, but as time went by I
shrank from it, particularly when I saw how much
you prized the luxuries which money alone can
buy, and how that money kept you in the proud
position you occupy. But it has killed me, Fred-
eric, before my time and now at the last do you
wonder that I wish restitution to be made? I
would save you from poverty, and my name from
disgrace, by marrying you to Marian. She must
know the truth, of course, for in no other way can
my conscience be satisfied but the world would
still be kept in ignorance."
"And if I do not marry her, oh, must it come
poverty, disgrace, everything ?"
The young man's voice was almost heart-broken
in its tone, but the old man did not waver as he an-
swered " Yes, Frederic, it must come. If you
refuse, I shall deed it all to her. The lawyer, of
course, must know the cause of so strange a pro-
ceeding, and I have no faith that he would keep
the secret, even if Marian should. I left it in writ-
ing in case you did not come. But you are here
you have heard my story, and it remains for you
to choose. You have never taken care of yourself
have never been taught to think it necessary
and how ;an you struggle with poverty. Would
FATHER AND SON. 33
Isabel join her destiny with one who had not where
to lay his head ?"
" Stop, father ! in mercy stop !" and starting to
his feet Frederic paced the floor distractedly.
A dark cloud had fallen upon him, and turn
which way he would it enveloped him in its dark
folds. He knew his father would keep his word,
and he desired that he should do so. It was right,
and he shrank from any further injustice to Marian,
with whom he had suddenly changed places. He
was the dependent now, and hers the hand that
fed him. Frederic Raymond was proud, and the
remembrance of his father's words, " Her money
paid for your education ; all you have and are, you
owe to Marian Lindsey," stung him to his inmost
soul. Stillhecouldnot make her his wife. It would
be a greater wrong than ever his father had done
to her. And yet if he had never seen Isabel, he
.might, perhaps, have learned to love the girl,
Vhose presence, he knew, made the life and light
of Redstone Hall. But he could not do it now,
and going up to his father, he said hesitatingly, as
if it cost a bitter, agonized struggle to give up all
his wealth, " I cannot do it, father ; neither would
Marian wish it if she knew. Send for her now," he
continued, as a new idea flashed upon him, "tell
her all, here in my presence, and let her choose
for me ; but stay ! he added, quickly, coloring at
the unmanly selfishness which had prompted the
sending for Marian, a selfishness which whispered
that the generous girl would share her fortune with
him. " Stay ! we will not send for her. I can de-
cide the matter alone."
" Not now," returned the father. " Wait until
to-morrow at nine o'clock. If you do not come to
me then, I shall send for Lawyer Gibson, and the
writings will be drawn. I give you until that time
to decide ; and now leave me, for I must rest."
He motioned toward the door, and glad to eg.
34 MARIAN GREY.
cape, Frederic went out into the open air, and Col.
Raymond was again alone. His first thought was
of the letter intended for his son. He could de-
stroy that now for he would not have Marian
know what it contained. She might not be Fred-
eric's wife, but he would save her from unneces-
sary pain ; and exerting all his strength, he tot-
tered to his private drawer, and took the letter
in his hand. It was growing very dark in the
room, and holding it up to the fading light, the
dim-eyed old man thought he read " For my Son."
"Yes, this is the one," he whispered "the other
reads ' For Marian,' and hastening back to his bed-
room he threw upon the fire burning in the grate,
the letter, but, alas, the wrong one for in the
drawer still lay the fatal missive which would one
day break poor Marian's heart, and drive her forth
a wanderer from the home she loved so well.
That night Frederic did not come down to sup-
per. He was weary with his rapid journey, he said,
and would rather rest. So Marian, who had dried
her tears and half forgotten their cause, sat down to
her solitary tea, little dreaming of the scene which
the walls of Frederic's chamber looked upon that
night. All through the dreary hours he walked the
floor, and when the morning came, it found him pale,
haggard, and older by many years than he had been
the day before. Still he was undecided. " Love
in a cottage " with Isabel, looked fair enough in
the distance, but where could he get the " cottage ?"
To be sure, he was going through the form of
studying law, but he had never looked upon the
profession as the means of procuring his livelihood,
neither did he see any way by which he could pur-
sue his studies, unless, indeed, he worked to defray
the expense. He might, perhaps, saw wood. Ben
Gardiner did in college Ben with the threadbare
coat, cowhide boots, smiling face and best lessons
in the class. Ben liked it well enough, and so, per-
FATHER AND SON. 35
haps, would he ! He held his hands up to the
light ; they were soft and white as a girl's. They
would blister with the first cut. He couldn't saw
wood he couldn't do anything. And would Isabel
love him still when she knew how poor he was. It
seemed unjust to doubt her, but he did, and he
remembered sundry rumors he had heard of her
ambitious, selfish nature. Then there crept into
his heart pleasant memories of a little, quiet girl,
who had always sought to do him good, and minis-
tered to his comfort in a thousand unobtrusive
ways. And this was Marian, whom his father
would have him marry ; and why didn't he, when
the marrying her would insure him all the ele-
tjances of life to which he had been accustomed,
Lind which he prized so highly. She was a child
"et ; he could mold her to his will and make her
'.vhat he pleased. She might be handsome some
,'ame. There was certainly room for improvement.
But he could not marry her, and then he went
back to the question, " What shall I do, if I
don't ?"
As his father had said, the Raymonds were
lovers of wealth, and this weakness Frederic pos-
sessed to a great degree. Indeed, it was the foun-
dation of all his other faults, making him selfish and
sometimes overbearing. As yet he was not worthy
to be the husband of one as gentle and good as
Marian, but he was passing through the fire, and
the flames which burned so fiercely would purify
and make him better. He heard the clock strike
eight, and a moment after breakfast was an-
nounced.
" I am not ready yet ; tell Marian not to wait,"
was the message he gave the servant ; and so an
other hour passed by, and he heard the clock strike
nine.
His hour was up, but he could not yet decide.
He walked to the window and looked down on his
36 MARIAN GREY.
home, which never seemed so beautiful before as
on that September morning. He could stay there
if he chose, for he felt sure he could win Marian's
love if he tried. And then he wondered if his life
would not be made happier with the knowledge
that he had obeyed his father's request, and saved
his name from dishonor. There was the sound of
horses' feet upon the graveled road. It was the
negro Jake, and he was going for Lawyer Gibson.
Rapidly another hour went by, and then he
heard the sound of horses' hoofs again, but this
time there werS^two who rode, Jake and the lawyer.
In a moment the latter was at the door, and he
heard a servant call Marian and say that his father
wanted her ; some new idea had entered the sick
man's head. He had probably decided to tell her
all before he died, but it was not too late to pre-
vent it, the young man thought ; he could not be
a beggar. He hurried down the stairs, meeting in
the hall both Marian and the lawyer.
" Go back," he whispered to the former, laying
his hand upon her shoulder ; " I would see my father
first alone."
Wonderingly Marian looked at his pale face and
bloodshot eyes ; then motioning the lawyer into
another room, she followed him while Frederic
sought his father's bedside and whispered in the ear
of the bewildered and half-crazed man that he would
marry the Heiress of Redstone Hall !
DEATH AT REDSTONE HALL. 37
CHAPTER III.
DEATH AT REDSTONE HALL.
For two days after the morning of which we
have written, Colonel Raymond lay in a kind of
stupor from which he would rouse at intervals,
and pressing the hand of his son who watched
beside him, he would whisper faintly, " God bless
you for making your old father so happy. God
bless you, my darling boy."
And Frederic, as often as he heard these words,
would lay his aching head upon the pillow and try
to force back the thoughts which continually whis-
pered to him that a bad promise was better broken
than kept, and that at the last he would tell Marian
all, and throw himself upon her generosity. Since
the morning when he made the fatal promise he
had said but little to her, though she had been
often in the room, ministering to his father's com-
fort and once in the evening when he looked more
than usually pale and weary, she had insisted upon
taking his place, or sharing at least in his vigils.
But he had declined her offer, and two hours later
she had glided noiselessly into the room and placed
upon the table behind him a tray, filled with deli-
cacies which she knew from experience would be
needed before the night was over. He did not turn
his head when she came in, but he knew whose
step it was ; and in his heart he thanked her for her
thoughtfulness, and compelled himself to eat what
she had brought because he knew how disappointed
she would be if in the morning she found it un-
touched.
And still he was as far from loving her now as he
had ever been ; and on the second night, as he sat
38 MARIAN GREY.
by his father, he resolved, come what might, he
would retract the promise made under such excite-
ment. " When father wakes, I'll tell him I cannot,"
he said, and he watched the clock, which pointed
at last to midnight. The twelve strokes rang
through the silent room, and with a gasp, his father
woke.
" Frederic," he said, and in his voice there was a
tone never heard there before. " Frederic, has the
light gone out, or why is it so dark? Where are
are you, my son? I cannot see."
" Here, father here I am," and Frederic took
the hand which was cold with approaching death.
"Frederic, it has come at last, and I am going,
from you ; but before I go, lay your hand upon my
brow, and say again what you said two days ago.
Say you will make Marian your wife, and that until
she is your wife she shall not know what I have done,
for that might influence her decision. The letter I
left for her is in my private drawer, but you can
keep the key. Promise, Frederic promise both,
for I am going very fast."
Twice Frederic tried to speak, but the words
"I cannot," died on his lips, and again the voice
fainter than when it spoke before, said, " Pro-
mise, my boy, and save the name of Raymond from
dishonor !"
It was in 'vain he struggled to resist his destiny.
The pleading tones of his dying father prevailed.
Isabel Huntington Marian Lindsey Redstone
Hall everything seemed as nought compared with
that father's wishes, and falling on his knees the
young man said, " Heaven helping me, father, I will
do both." 1
" And as you have made me happy, so may you^
be happy and prospered all the days of your life,^
returned the father. " Tell Marian that dying
I blessed her with more than a father's blessing,
for she is very dear to me. And the little helpless i
t)EATH AT REDSTONE HALL. ^9
Alice she has money of her own, but she must
live with you and Marian. Be kind to the ser-
vants, Frederic. Don't part with a single one and
and can you hear me, boy? Keep your pro-
mise as you hope for heaven hereafter."
They were the last words the old man ever spoke
and when at last Frederic raised his head he knew
by the white face upon the pillow, that he was with
the dead. The household was aroused, and the
negroes came crowding round the door, their noisy
outcries grating harshly on the ear of the young
man, who felt unequal to the task of stopping them.
But when Marian came, a few words from her
quieted the tumult, and those whose services were
not needed dispersed to the kitchen, where, forget-
ful of their recent demonstrations of grief, they
speculated upon the probable result of their "old
marster's death," and wondered if with the new one
they would lead as easy a life as they had done
heretofore.
The next morning the news spread rapidly, not
only that Colonel Raymond was dead, but also that
he had died without a will this last piece of infor-
mation being given by Lawyer Gibson, who, a little
disappointed in the result of his late visit to Red-
stone Hall, had several times in public expressed
his opinion that it was all the work of Frederic, who
wanted everything himself, and feared his father
would leave something to Marian Lindsey. This
seemed very probable ; and in the same breath with
which they deplored the loss of Colonel Raymond,
the neighbors denounced his son as selfish and ava-
ricious. Still he was now the richest man in the
county, and it would not be politic to treat him with
disrespect 'SO they caAe about him with words of
sympathy and offers of assistance, to all of which
he listened abstractedly, and when they asked for
some directions as to the arrangements for the
burial, he answered, " I do not know I am not my-
40 Marian gre-^.
self to-day but go to Marian. I will abide by her
decision."
So they went to Marian, who told them what
she thought her guardian would wish them to do,
and next day a long procession wound slowly down
the terraced walk, an enclosure near the river,
where cedars and firs were growing, and where
they buried all that was mortal of Colonel Ray-
mond.
CHAPTER IV.
KEEPING THE PROMISE.
Four weeks had passed since Colonel Ray-
mond was laid to rest. The negroes, having fin-
ished their mourning at the grave and at church
on the Sunday succeeding the funeral, had gone
back to their old light-hearted way of living, and
outwardly there were no particular signs of grief
at Redstone Hall. But there were two who suf-
fered keenly, and suffered all the more that neither
could speak to the other a word of sympathy.
With Alice Marian wept bitterly, feeling that
she was homeless and friendless in the world.
From Dinah she had heard the story of the
will, and remembering the events of that morn-
ing when Lawyer Gibson, as she supposed, had
come to draw it, she thought it very probable.
Still this did not trouble her one half so much as
the studied reserve which Frederic manifested
toward her. At the funeral he had offered her his
arm, walking with her to the grave and back ; but
since that night he had seen her only at the table,
or when he wished to ask some question which she
alone could answer.
kEEfiNG TltE tROMlSfi. 4i
In the first days of her sorrow she had forgotten
the letter which her guardian had left for her, and
when she did remember it and go to the private
drawer where he said it was, she found the drawer
locked. Frederic had the key, of course, and
thinking that if a wrong had been done to her,
he knew it, she waited in hopes that he would
speak of it, and perhaps bring her the letter. But
Frederic had sworn to keep the letter from her
awhile, and he dared not break his vow. On the
night after the burial he, too, had gone to the
private drawer, and, taking the undirected missive
in his hand, had felt strongly tempted to break its
seal and read. But he had no right to do that, he
said ; all that was required of him was to keep it
from Marian until such time as he was at liberty to
let her read it. So he locked the drawer and left
the room, feeling that his own destiny was fixed,
and that it was worse than useless to struggle
against it. He could not write to Isabel yet, but
he wrote to her mother, telling her of his father's
death, and saying he did not know how long it
would be before they saw him again in New
Haven. This done, he sat down in a kind of
torpor, and waited for circumstances to shape
themselves. Marian would seek for her letter, he
thought, and missing the key, would come to him,
and when she came, he knew he must tell her why
it was withheld.
Meantime, Marian waited day after day, vainly
wishing that he would speak to her upon the sub-
ject ; but he did not, and at last, four weeks after
her guardian's death, she went to the library again,
but found the drawer locked as usual.
"It is unjust to treat me so," she said. "The
letter is mine, and I have a right to read it."
Then, as she recalled the conversation which had
passed Ijetween herself and Colonel Raymond on
the night when he first hinted of a wrong, she woiv
42 MARIAN GREV.
dered if he had said anything to Frederic of her.
She was almost certain that he had, and this was
why Frederic treated her so strangely. " He hates
me," she said bitterly, " because he thinks I want
him but he needn't, for I wouldn't have him now,
even if he knelt at my feet, and begged me to be
his wife ; I'll tell him so, too, the first chance I
get," and sinking into the large arm chair Marian
laid her head upon the writing desk and cried.
The day had been rainy and dark, and as she sat
there in the gathering night and listened to the low
moan of the October wind, she thought with gloomy
forebodings of the future, and what it would bring
to her.
" Oh, it is dreadful to be so homeless so friend-
less, so poor," she cried, and in that cry there was
a note which touched a chord of pity in the heart
of the man who stood on the threshold of the door,
watching the young girl as she battled with her
stormy grief.
He did not know why he had come to that room,
and he would not have come had he expected to
find her there. But it could not now be helped;*
and advancing toward her he laid his hand upon her
shoulder and said, " Poor child, don't cry so hard."
She seemed to him a little girl, and as such he
had addressed her; but to the startled Marian it
mattered not what he said there was kindness in
his voice, and lifting up her face, she sobbed, "Oh,
Frederic, you don't hate me, then ?"
"Hate you, Marian," he answered, "of course
not. What put that idea into your head ?"
" Because- because you act so cold and strange,
and don't come near me when my heart is aching
so hard for your father."
Frederic made no reply, and resolving to make a
clean breast of it, Marian continued, " There's no-
body to care for me now, and I wish you to be my
brother, just as you used to be, and if your father
KEEPING THE PkOMISfia 43
said anything else of me to you he didn't mean it,
I am sure ; I don't, at any rate, and I want you to
forget it and not hate me for it. I'll go away from
Redstone Hall if you say so, but you mustn't hate
me for what I could not help," and Marian's voice
was again choked with tears.
She had stumbled upon the very subject upper-
most in Frederic's mind, and drawing a chair near
to her, he said, " I will not profess to be ignorant
of what you mean, Marian. My father had some
strange fancies at the last, but for these you are not
to blame. Did he say nothing to you of a letter ?"
"Yes, yes," answered Marian quickly, "and I've
been for it so many times. Will you give it to me
now? It's mine, you know."
Frederic hesitated a moment, and misapprehend-
ing the motive of his hesitancy, Marian continued :
"Do not fear what I may think. H e said a wrong
had been done to me, but if it has not affected me
heretofore, it surely will not now and I loved him
well enough to forgive anything. Let me have the
letter, won't you ?"
" Marian," and Frederic trembled with strong
emotion, " the night my father died, I laid my hand
upon his head' and promised that you should not
see that letter lifitil you were a bride."
" A bride !" Marian exclaimed passionately, " I
shall never be a bride certainly not yours !" and
her hands worked nervously together, while she
continued : "I asked you to forget that whim of
your father's. He did not mean it he would not
have it so, and neither would I," and the blue eyes
flashed defiantly.
Man-like he began to feel some interest now that
there was opposition, and to her exclamation " nei-
ther would I," he replied softly, " Not if I wish it,
Marian ?"
The tone rather than the words affected the
young girl, thrilling her with a new-born delight ;
44 kARlAN GREV.
and laying her hand again upon the desk, she
sobbed afresh, not impetuously, this time, but
steadily, as if the crying did her good. She hoped
he would speak again, but he did not. He was
waiting for her ; and drying her tears, she lifted
up her face, and in a voice which seemed to de-
mand the truth, she said : " Frederic, do you wish
it ? Here, almost in the room where your father
died, can you say to me truly that you wish me to
be your wife ?"
It was a perplexing question, and Frederic
knew that he was dealing falsely with her, but
he made to her the only answer he could " Men
seldom ask a woman to marry them unless they
wish it."
"I know," returned Marian, "but would you
have thought of it if your father had not first sug-
gested it ?"
" Marian," said Frederic, " I am much older than
yourself, and I might never have thought of marry-
ing you. He, however, gave me good reasons why
I should wish to have it so, and in all sincerity I ask
you to be my wife. Will you, Marian ? It seems
soon to talk of these things, but he so desired it."
In her bewilderment Marian fancied he had said,
"I do wish to have it so," but she would know an-
other thing, and not daring to put the question to
him direct, she said, " Do men ever wish to marry
one whom they do not love ?"
Frederic understood her at once, and for a
moment felt tempted to tell her the truth, for in
that case he was sure she would refuse to listen
to his suit and he would then be free, but his
father's presence seemed over and around him,
while Redstone Hall was too fair to be exchanged
for poverty ; and so he answered, " I have always
loved you as a sister, and in time, I will love you
as you deserve. I will be kind to you, Marian, and
I think I can make you happy."
KEEPING THE PROMISE. 45
"And suppose I refuse you, what then ?"
Marian spoke decidedly, and something in her
manner startled Frederic, who now that he had
gone thus far, did not care to be thwarted.
" You will not refuse me, I am sure," he said.
"We cannot live together here just as we have
done for people would talk."
" I can go away," said Marian, mournfully, while
Frederic replied,
" No, Marian, if you will not be my wife, I must
go away ; Redstone Hall cannot be the home of us
both, and if you refuse I shall go very soon."
" Won't you ever come back ?" Marian asked,
but before Frederic could answer, the door opened
and old Dinah appeared, exclaiming as her eye
fell upon them, " For the dear Lord's sake, if you
two ain't settin' together in the dark, when I've
done hunted everywhar for you," and Dinah's face
wore a very knowing look, as putting down the
candle she departed, muttering something about
" when me and Philip was young."
The spell was broken for Marian, and starting
up, she said, " I cannot talk any more to-night.
I'll answer you some other time," and she hurried
into the hall, where she stumbled upon Dinah, who
greeted her with "Ain't you two kinder hankerin'
arter each other, 'case if you be, it's the sensiblest
thing you ever done. Marster Frederic is the
likeliest, trimmest chap in Kefltuck, and you've
got an uncommon heap of sense."
Marian made no reply but darted up the stairs
to her room, where she could be alone to think.
It seemed to her a dream, and yet she knew it was
a reality. Frederic had asked her to be his wife,
and though she had said to herself that she would
not marry him even if he knelt at her feet, she felt
vastly like revoking that decision ! If she were
only sure he loved her, or would love her ; and then
she recalled every word he had said, wishing she
46 MARIAN GREY.
could have looked into his face and seen what Its
expression was. She did not think of the letter in
her excitement. She only thought of Frederic's
question, and she longed for some one in whom she
could confide. Alice, who always retired early,
was already asleep, and as her soft breathing fell
on Marian's ear, she said, "Alice is much wiser
than children usually are at six and a half. I mean
to tell her," and, going to the bedside, she whis-
pered, " Alice, Alice, wake up a moment, will
J
Alice turned on her pillow, and when sure she
was awake, Marian said impetuously, " If you were
I, would you marry Frederic Raymond ?"
The blind eyes opened wide, as if they doubted
the sanity of the speaker ; then quietly replying,
" No, indeed, I wouldn't," Alice turned a second
time upon her pillow and slept again, while Marian,
a good deal piqued at the answer, tormented herself
with wondering what the child could mean, and why
she, disliked Frederic so much. The next morning
it was Alice who awoke Marian and said, " Was it
a dream, or did you say something to me last night
about marrying Frederic ?"
or a moment Marian forgot that the eyes
turned so inquiringly toward her could not see,
and she covered her face with her hands to hide
the blushes she knew were burning there.
" Say," persisted Alice, " what was it ?" and
half willingly, half reluctantly, Marian told of the
strange request which Frederic had made, saying
nothing, however, of the letter, for if Colonel Ray-
mand had done her a wrong, she felt it a duty she
owed his memory to keep it to herself.
The darkened world in which Alice lived had
matured her other faculties far beyond her age,
and though not yet seven years old, she was in
many things scarcely less a child than Marian,
whose story puzzled her, for she could hardly
KEEPIlSfft THE PROMISE, 47
understand how one who had seemed so much her
companion could think of being a married woman.
Marian soon convinced her, however, that there was
a vast difference between almost seven and almost
sixteen, and still she was not reconciled.
" Frederic is well enough," she said, " and I once
heard Agnes Gibson say he was the best match in
the county, but somehow he don't seem to like you.
Isn't he stuck up, and don't he know a heap more
than you ?"
"Yes, but I can learn," Marian answered, sadly
thinking with regret of the many hours she had
played in the woods when she might have been
practising upon the piano, or reading the books
which Frederic liked best. " I can in time make a
lady, perhaps and then you know if I don't have
him, one of us must go away, for he said so."
" Oh," exclaimed Alice, catching her breath and
drawing nearer to Marian, " wouldn't it be nice for
you and me to live here all alone with Dinah, and
do just as we're a mind to. Tell him you won't,
and let him go back where he came from."
" No," returned Marian, " if either goes away, it
will be I, for I've no right here, and Frederic
has."
' You go away," repeated Alice. " What could
you do without Dinah ?"
" I don't know," returned Marian, a dim fore-
boding as it were of her dark future rising up be-
fore her. " I can't sew I don't know enough to
teach, and I couldn't do any anything but die?"
This settled the point with Alice. She would
rather Marian should marry Frederic than go away
and die, and so she said, " I'd have him I reckon,"
adding quickly, " You'll carry the keys, then, won't
you, and give me all the preserves and cake I
want?"
Thus the affair was amicably adjusted between
the parties and -yvhen at the breakfast-table Marian
48 MARIAN GREY.
met with Frederic, she was ready to answer his ques-
tion ; but she chose to let him broach the subject,
and this he did do that evening when he found her
alone in his father's room. He had decided that it
was useless to struggle with his fate, and he re-
solved to make the best of it. How far Redstone
Hall bank notes, stock and real estate influenced
this decision we cannot say, but he was sincere in
his intention of treating Marian well, and when he
found her by accident in his father's room, he said
to her kindly, " Can you answer me now ?"
Marian was not yet enough accustomed to the
world to conceal whatever she felt, and with the
light of a new happiness shining on her childish
face, she went up to him, and laying her hand con-
fidingly upon his, she said, " I will marry you,
Frederic, if you wish me to."
A strange enigma is hnman nature. When the
previous night she had hesitated to answer, Fred-
eric was conscious of a vague fear that she might
say no and now that she had said yes, he felt less
pleasure than pain, for the die he knew was cast.
A more observing eye than Marian's would have
seen the dark shadow which flitted over his face,
and the sudden paling of his lips, but she did not.
Still she was not quite satisfied, and when Fred-
eric, fancying he should feel better if the matter
were well over, said to her, " There is no reason
why we should delay my father would wish the
marriage to take place immediately, and I will
speak to Dinah at once," she felt that with him it
was a mere form, and said passionately, " You are
not obliged to marry me, I certainly did not ask
you to."
For a moment Frederic stood irresolute, and then
he replied, " Don't be foolish, Marian, but take a
common sense view of the matter. I am not ac-
customed to love-making, and the character would
not suit me now when my heart is so full of sorrow
KEEPING THE PROMISE. 4g
for my father. Many a one would gladly take your
place, but " here he paused, uncertain how to
proceed and still keep truth upon his side then,
as a bright thought struck him, he added, " but I
prefer you to all the girls in Kentucky. Be satis-
fied with this and wait patiently for the time when
I can show you that I love you."
His manner both frightened and fascinated Ma-
rian, and she answered, " I will be satisfied and
wait."
Frederic knew that Marian was too much of
a child to manage the affair, and after his interview
with her he went to Dinah, to whom he an-
nounced his intentions.
" There is no need of delay," he said, " and two
weeks from to-day is the time appointed. There
will be no show no parade simply a quiet wed-
ding in the presence of a few friends, who will dine
with us, of course. The dinner you must see to,
and I will attend to the rest."
Amid ejaculations of surprise and delight old
Dinah heard what he had to say and then hast-
ened to the kitchen, where she was soon surrounded
by an astonished and listening audience, the various
members of which were affected differently, accord-
ing to their different ideas of what "marster Fred-
eric's" wife ought to be. Among the negroes at
Redstone Hall were two distinct parties, one of
which having belonged to Mr. Higgins, the former
owner of the place, looked rather contemptuously
upon the other clique, who had been purchased
of Mr. Smithers, a neighboring planter, and were
not supposed to have as high blood in their
veins as was claimed by their darker rivals. Hence,
between the democratic Smitherses and the aristo-
cratic Higginses was waged many a fierce battle,
which was usually decided by old Dinah, who,
having belonged to another family still, thanked
tjie J-ord that she was neither a Higginses nof
50 MARIAN GREY.
a Smi'therses, but was a peg or so above such low.
lived truck as them.
On this occasion the announcement of Master
Frederick's expected marriage was received by the
Smitherses with loud shouts of joy and hurrahs for
Miss Marian. The Higginses, on the contrary,
though friendly to Marian, declared she was not
high bred enough to keep up the glory of the house,
and Aunt Hetty, who led the clan and was a kind
of rival to old Dinah, launched forth into a wonder-
ful stream of eloquence.
" Miss Marian would do in her place," she said,
" but 'twas a burnin' shame to set such an onery
thing over them as had been oncet used to the
quality. 'Twas different with the Smitherses,
whose old Miss was bed-rid with a spine in her back,
and hadn't but one store carpet in the house. But
the Higginses, she'd let 'em know, had been 'cus-
tomed to sunthin' better. Oh," said she, "you
or'to seen Miss Beatrice the fust day Marster
brought her home. She looked jest like a queen
with that great long switchin' tail to her dress, a
wipin' up the walk so clean that I, who was a gal
then, didn't have to sweep it for mor'n a week
and them ars she put on when she curchied inter
the room and walkin' backards sot down on the
rim of the cheer so " and holding out her short
linsey-woolsey to its widest extent, the old negress
proceeded to illustrate.
But alas for Aunt Hetty her intention was an-
ticipated by stuttering Josh, the most mischievous
spirit of all the Smithers clan. Quick as thought
the active boy removed the chair where she ex-
pected to land, pushing into its place an overflow-
ing water-pail, and into this the discomfited old lady
plunged amid the execrations of her partisans and
the jeers of her opponents.
" You Josh you villain the Lord spar me long
enough to break yer sassy neck !" she screamed, as
KEEPING THE PROMISE. 5 1
with difficulty she extricated herself from her pos-
ition and wrung her dripping garments.
" Sarved you right," said Dinah, shaking her fat
sides with delight. " Sarved you right, and the
fust one that raises thar voice agin Miss Marian '11
catch sunthin' a heap wus than water."
But Dinah's threat was unnecessary, for with
Hetty's downfall the star of the Higginses set,
leaving that of the Smitherses in the ascendant.
Meantime Marian was confiding to Alice the story
of her engagement, and wondering if Frederic in-
tended taking a bridal tour. She hoped he did, for
she wished to see a little of the world, particu-
larly New York, of which she had heard such
glowing accounts. But nothing could be less in
accordance with Frederic's feelings than a bridal
tour and when once Marian ventured to broach
the subject, he said that, under the circumstances, it
would hardly be right to go oS and enjoy them-
selves, so they would stay quietly at home. And
this settled the point, for Marian never thought
of questioning his decision. If they made no jour-
ney, she would not need any additions to her ward-
robe, and she was thus saved from the trouble which
usually falls to the lot of brides. Still it was not at
all in accordance with her ideas this marrying with-
out a single article of finery, and once she resolved
to indulge in a new dress at least. She had ample
means of her own, for her guardian had been lavish
of his money, always giving her far more than she
could use, and during the last year she had been,
saving a fund for the purpose of surprising Alice
and the blacks with handsome Christmas presents.
The former was to have a little gold watch, which,
she had long desired, because she liked to hear it;
tick but the watch and dress could not both be;
bought, and when she considered this, Marian gen-,
erously gave up the latter for the sake of pleasing:
the blind girl. Among her dresses wasa.uea.6,whitQ
52 MARIAN GREY.
muslin given her by Colonel Raymond only the
summer previous, and this she decided should be
the wedding robe, for black was gloomy, she said,
and would seem ominous of evil.
And so the childish bride elect made her simple
arrangements, unassisted by any one save Dinah
and little Alice, the latter of whom was really
of the most service, for old Dinah spent the greater
portion of her time in grumbling because " Marster
Frederic didn't act more lover-like to his wife that
was to be."
Marian, too, felt this keenly, but she would not
admit it, and she said to Dinah, " You can't expect
him to be like himself when he's mourning for his
father."
" Mournin' for his father," returned Dinah, " and
what if he is ? Can't a fellow kiss a gal and mourn
a plenty too ? 'Taint no way to do to mope from
mornin' till night like you wus goin' to the gallus.
Me and Phil didn't act that way when he was settin'
to me but I 'pect they've done got some new-
fangled way of courtin' jest as they hev for every-
thing else but I'm satisfied with the old fashion,
and I wi.sh them fetch-ed Yankees would mind thar
own business and let well 'nough alone."
Dinah felt considerably relieved after this long
speech, particularly as she had that very morning
made it in substance to Frederic and when that
evening she saw the young couple seated upon the
same sofa, and tolerably near to each other, she was
sure she had done some good by " ginnen 'em a
piece of her mind."
Among the neighbors there was a great deal of
talk, and occasionally a few of them called at Red-
stone Hall, but these only came to go away again,
and comment on Frederic's strange taste in marry-
ing one so young, and so wholly unlike himself. It
could not be, they said, that he had really cared
^bout the will, else why had he so soon t^ken Ma-
THE BRIDAL DAV. 53
rian to share his fortune with him ? But Frederic
kept his own counsel, and once when questioned
on the subject of his marriage and asked if it were
not a sudden thing, he answered haughtily, " Of
course not it was decided years ago, when Marian
first came to live with us."
And so amid the speculation of friends, the gos-
sip of Dinah, the joyous anticipations of Marian,
and the harrowing doubts of Frederic, the two
weeks passed away, bringing at last the eventful
day when Redstone Hall was to have a mistress.
CHAPTER V.
THE BRIDAL DAY.
" It was the veriest farce in all the world, the
marriage of Frederic Raymond with a child of
fifteen," at least so said Agnes Gibson of twenty-
five, and so said sundry other guests who at the ap-
pointed hour assembled in the parlor of Redstone
Hall, to witness the sacrifice not of Frederic as
they imagined, but of the unsuspecting Marian.
He knew what he did, and why he did it, while
she, blindfolded as it were, was about to leap into
the uncertain future. No such gloomy thoughts as
these, however, intruded themselves upon her mind
as she stood before her mirror and with trembling
fingers made her simple bridal toilet. When first
the idea of marrying Frederic was suggested to her,
nearly as much pride as love had mingled in her
thoughts, for Marian was not without her ambition,
and the honor of being the mistress of Redstone
g4 Marian grey.
Hall had influenced her decision. But during the
two weeks since her engagement, her heart had gone
out toward him with a deep, absorbing love, and
had he no.v been the poorest man in all the world
and she a royal princess, she would have spurned
the wealth that kept' her from him, or gladly have
la^d it at his feet for rtie sake of staying with him
and knowing that he wished it. And this was the
girl whom Frederic Raymond was about to wrong
by making her his wife when he knew he did not
love her. But she should never know it, he said
should never suspect that nothing but his hand and
name went with the words he was so soon to utter,
and he determined to be true to her and faithful to
his marriage vow.
Some doubt he had as to the effect his father's
letter might have upon her, and once he resolved
that she should never see it; but this thought was
not to be harbored for a moment. He had told
her, when she asked him for it the last time, that
she should have it on her bridal day ; and he would
keep his word. He had written to Isabel at the
^ry last, for though he was not bound to her by a
promise he knew an explanation of his conduct was
due to her, and he forced himself to write it. He said
nothing against Marian, but he gave her to under-
'jsand that but for his father the match would never
h^ve been made that circumstances over which
-* had no control compelled him to do what he
*as doing. He should never forget the pleasant
hours spent in her society, he said, and he closed
toy asking her to visit the future Mrs. Raymond at
Redstone Hall. It cost him a bitter struggle to
write thus indifferently to one he loved so well, but
it was right, he said, and when the letter was fin-
ished he felt that the last tie which bound him to
Isabel was sundered, and there was nothing for him
now but to make the best of Marian. So when on
their bridal morning she came to him and asked his
THE BRII)AL bAY. ,/ : gj
ivishes concerning her dress, he answered her very
kindly, " As you are in mourning you had better
make no change, besides I think black very becom-
ing to your fair complexion."
This was the first compliment he had ever paid
her and her heart thrilled with delight, but when, as
she was leaving the room he called her back and said,
" Would you as soon wear your hair plain ? I do
not quite fancy ringlets," her eyes filled with tears,
for she remembered the corkscrew curls, and glan-
cing in the mirror at her wavy hair she wished it
were possible to remedy the defect.
" I will do the best I can," she said, and return-
ing to her room, she commenced her operations,
but it was a long, tedious process, for her hair was
tenacious of its rights, and even when she thought
it subdued and let go the end, it rolled up about
her forehead, as if spurning alike both water and
brush.
" I'd like to see the man what could make me
yank out my wool like that," muttered Dinah, who
was watching the straightening process with a low-
ering brow, inasmuch as it reflected dishonor upon
her own crisped locks. " If the Lord made yer har
to curl, war it so, and not mind every freak of his'n.
Fust you know, he'll be a-wantin' you to war yer
face on t'other side of yer head, but 'taint no way
to do. You must begin as you can hold out. In
a few hours you'll have as much right here as he
has, and I'd show it, too, by pitchin' inter us nig-
gers and jawin' to kill. I shall know you don't
mean nothin' and shan't keer. Come to think on't,
though, I reckon you'd better let me and the
Smitherses be and begin with them Higginses. I'd
give it to old Hetty good she 'sarves to be took
down a button hole lower, if ever a nigger did, for
she said a heap o' stuff about you."
Marian smiled a quiet happy smile and went
on with her task, which was finished at last,
56 MARIAN GREV.
and her luxuriant hair was bound at the back of
of her head in a large flat knot. The effect was
not becoming and she knew it, but if Frederic liked
it she was satisfied, even if Dinah did demur, tell-
ing her she looked like " a cat whose ears had been
boxed." Frederic did not like it, but after the
pains she had taken he would not tell her so, and
when she said to him, " I am ready," he offered
her his arm and went silently down the stairs to
the parlor, where guests and clergymen were wait-
ing.
The day was bright and beautiful, for the light
of a glorious Indian summer sun was resting
on the Kentucky hills, and through the open win-
dow the murmuring ripple of the Elkhorn came,
while the balmy breath of the south wind swept
over the white face of the bride, and lifted from
her neck the few stray locks which, escaping from
their confinement, curled naturally in their accus-
tomed place. But to the assembled guests there
seemed in all a note of sadness, a warning voice
which said the time for this bridal was not yet ;
and years after, when the beautiful mistress of
Redstone Hall rode by in her handsome carriage,
Agnes Gibson told her little sister how on that
November day the cheeks of both bride and bride-
groom grew pale when the words were spoken
which made them one.
Whether it were the newness of her position, or
a presentiment of coming evil Marian could not
tell, but into her heart there crept a chill as she
glanced timidly at the man who stood so silently
beside her, and thought, " He is my husband." It
was, indeed, a sombre wedding " more like a
funeral," the guests declared, as immediately after
dinner they took their leave and commented
upon the affair as people always will. Fred-
eric longed yet dreaded to have them go. He
could not endure their congratulations, which to
THE BRIDAL DAY. 57
him were meaningless, and he had no wish to be
alone. He was recovering from his apathy, and
could yesterday have been his again, he believed
he would have broken his promise. But yesterday
had gone and to-morrow had come it was to-tfay,
now, with him, and Marian was his wife. Turn
which way he would, the reality was the same, and
with an intense loathing of himself and a deep
pity for her, he feigned some trivial excuse and
went away to his room, where, with the gathering
darkness and his own wretched thoughts, he would
be alone.
With strange unrest Marian wandered from
room to room, wondering if Frederic had so soon
grown weary of her presence, and sometimes half
wishing that she were Marian Lindsey again, and
that the new name by which they called her
belonged to some one else. At last, when it was
really dark and the lamps were lighted in the
parlor and Alice had wept a bitter, passionate
good-night in her arms and gone to sleep, she
thought her of the letter. She could read it
now. She had complied with all the stipulations,
and there was no longer a reason why it should be
withheld. She went to Frederic's door ; but he
was not there, and a servant passing in the hall
said he had returned to the parlor while she was
busy with AHce. So Marian went to the parlor,
finding him sitting unemployed and wrapped in
gloomy thought. He heard her step upon the
carpet, but standing in the shadow as she did, she
could not see the look of pain which came over
his face at her approach.
" Frederic," she said, " I may read the letter
now will you give me the key ?"
He did as she desired, and then with a slightly
uneasy feeling as to the effect the letter might
have upon her, he went back to his reflections,
while she started to leave the room. When she
58 MARIAN GREV.
reached the door she paused a moment and looked
back. In giving her the key he had changed his
position, and she could see the expression of his
face. Quickly returning to his side, she said anxi-
ously, " Are you ill ?"
" Nothing but a headache. You know I am
accustomed to that," he replied.
Marian hesitated a moment then parting the
hair from off his forehead she kissed him timidly
and left the room. Involuntarily Frederic raised
his hand to wipe the spot away, but something
stayed the act and whispered to him that a wife's
first kiss was a holy thing and could never be re-
peated !
Though the hall Marian sped until she stood
in her late guardian's room, and there she stopped,
for the atmosphere seemed oppressive and laden
with terror.
" 'Tis because it's so dark," she said, and going
out into the hall, she took a lamp from the table
and then returned.
But the feeling was with her still, as if she were
treading some fearful gulf, and she was half tempted
to turn back and ask Frederic to come with her
while she read the letter.
" I will not be so foolish, though," she said, and
opening the library door she walked boldly in ; but
the same Marian who entered there never came out
again !
'tlEADllSfG THE LETTER. J^
CHAPTER VI.
READING THE LETTER.
Oh, how Still it was in that room, and the click of
the key as it turned the slender bolt echoed through
the silent apartment, causing Marian to start as if
a living presence had been near. The drawer was
opened, and she held the letter in her hand. It
bore no superscription, but it was for her of course,
and fixing herself in a comfortable position, she
broke the seal and read :
" My dear Child"
There was nothing in those three words sugges-
tive of a mistake and Marian read on till, with a
quick, nervous start, she glanced forward, then
backward and then read on and on, until at last
not even the fear of death itself could have stopped
her from that reading. That letter was never in-
tended for her eye she knew that now, but had
the cold hand of her guardian been interposed to
wrest it fr im her, she would have held it fast until
she learned the whole. Like coals of fire, the
words burned into her soul, and when the letter
was finished she fell upon her face, with a cry so
full of agony and horror that Frederic heard it
and started to his feet wondering whence it came.
With the setting of the sun the November wind
had risen, and as the young man listened it swept
moaning past the window, seeming not unlike the
sound he had first heard. " It was the wind," he
said, and he resumed his seat, while Marian came
back to consciousness, and crouching on the floor,
prayed that she might die. She understood it now
how she had been deceived, betrayed, and cruelly
wronged. She knew, too, that she was the heiress
6o MARIAN GREY.
of untold wealth, and for a single moment her heart
beat with a gratified pride, but the surprise was too
great to be realized at once, and the feeling was
soon absorbed in the reason why Fredric Raymond
had made her his wife. It was not herself he had
married, but her fortune her money Redstone
Hall. She was merely a necessary incumbrance,
which he would rather should have been omitted
in the bargain. The thought was maddening, and,
stretching out her arms, she asked that she might
die.
" Oh, why didn't he come to me," she cried, " and
tell me ? I would gladly have given him half my
fortune yes, all rather than be the wretched thing
I am, and he would have been free to love and
marry this "
She could not at first speak the name of her
rival but she said it at last, and the sound of it
wrung her heart with a new and torturing pain.
She had never heard of Isabel Huntington before,
and as she thought how beautiful and grand she
was, she whispered to herself, " Why didn't he go
back to her, and leave me, the red-headed fright,
alone ? Yes, that was what he wrote to his father.
Let me look at it again," and the tone cf her voice
was bitter and the expression of her face hard and
stony, as taking up the letter she read for the sec-
ond time that " she was uncouth, uneducated and
ugly," and if his father did not give up that foolish
fancy, Frederic would positively " hate the red-
headed fright." Her guardian had not given up
the foolish fancy, consequently there was but one
inference to be drawn.
In her excitement she did not consider that Fred-
eric had probably written of her harsher things
than he really meant. She only thought, " He
loathes me he daepises me he wishes I was
dead and I dared to kiss him too," she added.
" How he hated me for that, but 'twas the first, and
READING THE LETTER. 6t
it shall be the last, for I will go away forever and
leave him Redstone Hall, the bride he married a
few hours ago," and laying her face upon the chair
Marian thought long and earnestly of the future.
She had come into that room a happy, simple-
hearted, confiding child, but she had lived years
since, and she sat there now a crushed but self-
reliant woman, ready to go out and contend with
the world alone. Gradually her thoughts and pur-
poses took a definite form. She was ignorant of
the knotty points of law, and she did not know but
Frederic could get her a divorce, but from this pub-
licity she shrank. She could not be pointed at as
a discarded wife. She would rather go away where
Frederic would never see nor hear of her again, and
she fancied that by so doing he would after a time,
at least, be free to marry Isabel. She had not wept
before, for her tears seemed scorched with pain,
but at the thought of another coming to take the
place she had hoped to fill, they rained in torrents
over her face, and clasping her hands together she
cried " How can I give him up when I love him
so much so much ?"
Gradually there stole over her the noble, unself-
ish thought, that because she loved him so much
she would willingly sacrifice herself and all she had
for the sake of making him happy and then she
grew calm again and began to decide where she
would go. Instinctively her mind turned toward
New York city as the great hiding place from the
world. Mrs. Burt, the woman who had lived with
them in Yonkers, and who had always been so kind
to her, was in New York, she knew, for she had
written to Colonel Raymond not long before his
death, asking if there was anything in Kentucky for
her son Ben to do. This letter her guardian had
answered and then destroyed with many others,
which he said were of no consequence and only
lumbered up his drawer. Consequently there w^
62 MARIAN GREY.
no possibility that this letter would suggest Mrs.
Burt to Frederic, who had never seen her, she hav-
ing come and gone while he was away at school,
and thus far the project was a safe one. But she
might some time be recognized by her name,
and remembering that her mother's maiden name
was Mary Grey, and that Frederic, even if he had
ever known it, which was doubtful, had probably
forgotten it, she resolved upon being henceforth
Marian Grey, and she repeated it aloud, feeling
that the change was well, for she was no longer the
same girl she used to know as Marian Lindsey.
Once she said softly to herself, " Marian Raymond,"
but the sound grated harshly for she felt that she
had no right to bear that name.
This settled, she turned her thoughts upon the
means by which New York was to be reached, and
she was glad that she had not bought the dress, for
now she had ample funds with which to meet the
expense, and she would go that very night before
her resolution failed her. Redstone Hall was only
two miles from the station, and as the evening
train passed at half-past nine, there would be time
to reach it and write a farewell letter to Fred-
eric, for she must tell him how, though it broke her
heart to do it, she willingly gave him everything,
and hoped he would be happy when she was gone
forever.
"Frederic, dear Frederic," she began, "may I
say my husband just once and I'll never insult
you with that name again.
" I am going away forever, and when you are ;
reading this I shall not be at Redstone Hall,
nor anywhere around it. Do not try to find me.
It is better you should not. Your father's letter,
which was intended for you and by mistake has
come to me, will tell you why I go. I forgive
your father, Frederic, but you oh, Frederic, why
did yoi| deceive me so cruelly. If ygu had tolcj
READING THE LETTER. 63
me all I would gladly have shared my fortune
with you. I would have given you more than half,
and when you brought that beautiful Isabel home,
I would have loved her as a sister.
" Why didn't you, Frederic ? What made you
treat me so ? What made you break my heart
when you could have helped it ? It aches so hard
now as I write, and the hardest pain of all is the
loss of faith in you. I thought you so noble, so
good, and I may confess to you here on paper I
love you so much, how much you will never know,
for I shall never come back to tell you.
"And I kissed you, too. Forgive me for that,
I didn't know then how you hated me. Wash the
stain from your forehead and don't lay it up against
me. If I thought I could make you love me I
would stay. I would endure torture for years if
I knew the light was shining beyond, but it can
not be. The sight of me would make you hate me
more. So I give everything I have to you and
Isabel. You'll marry her at a suitable time, and
when you see how well she becomes your home
you will be glad I went away. If you must tell her
of me, and I suppose you must, speak kindly of
me, won't you ? You needn't talk of me often, but
sometimes, when you are all alone and you are sure
she will not know, think of poor little Marian who
gave her life away that one she loved the best in
all the world might have wealth and happiness.
" Farewell, Frederic, farewell. Death itself can-
not be harder than bidding you good-by, and
knowing it is for ever."
Folding up the letter and directing it to Frederic,
Marian took another sheet and wrote to the bhnd
girl:
" Precious little Alice. If my heart was not
already broken, it would break at leaving you.
Ppn't mourii for me, darling, Tell Dinah and
64 MARIAN GREY.
Hetty and the other blacks, not to cry ; and if I've
ever been cross to them, they must forget it now
that I am gone. God bless you all. Goodby,
goodby."
The letters finished, she left them upon the desk
where they could not help being seen by the first one
who should enter the room. Then going up the
stairs to the closet at the extremity of the hall, she
put on her hat, vail and shawl, and started for her
purse, which was in the chamber where Alice was
asleep. The purse was obtained, as was also a
daguerreotype of her guardian which lay in the
same drawer, and then for a moment she stood gaz-
ing at the little girl, and longing to give her one
more kiss, but she dared not, and glancing hur-
riedly around the room which had been hers so long,
she hastened down stairs and out upon the piazza.
She could see the light from the parlor window
streaming out into the darkness, and drawing near
she looked through blinding tears upon the solitary
man, who, sitting there alone, little dreamed of
the whispered blessings breathed for him but a few
yards away. It seemed to Marian in that moment
of agony that her very life was going out, and she
leaned against a pillar to keep herself from falling.
" Oh, can I leave him ?" she thought. " Can I
go away forever, and never see his face again or
listen to his voice ?" and looking up into the sky
she prayed that if in heaven they should meet
again, he might know and love her there for what
she suffered here.
On the grass near by there was a sound as if some
one was coming, and Marian drew back for fear of
being seen, but it was only Bruno, the large watch
dog. He had just been released from his kennel,
and he came tearing up the walk, and with a low
growl sprang toward the spot where Marjaq wa?
hiding.
READING THE LETTER. 6$
" Bruno, good Bruno," she whispered, and in an
instant the fierce mastiff crouched at her feet and
licked her hand with a whining sound, as if he sus-
pected something wrong.
One more glance at Frederic one more look
at her old home, and Marian walked rapidly down
the avenue, followed by Bruno, who could neither
be coaxed nor driven back. It was all in vain that
Marian stamped her foot or wound her arms round
his shaggy neck, bidding him return ; he only an-
swered with a faint whine quite as expressive of ob-
stinacy as words could have been. He knew Marian
had no business to be abroad at that hour of the
night, and, with the faithfulness of his race, was de-
termined to follow. At length, as she was beginning
to despair of getting rid of him, she remembered how
pertinaciously he would guard any article which he
knew belonged to the family ; and on the bridge
which crossed the Elkhorn, she purposely dropped
her glove and handkerchief, the latter of which
bore her name in full. The ruse was successful,
for after vainly attempting to make her know that
she had lost something, the dog turned back, and,
with a loud mournful howl, which Marian accepted
as his farewell, he laid down by the handkerchief
and glove, turning his head occasionally in the
direction Marian had gone, and uttering low plain-
tive howls when he saw she did not return.
Meantime Marian kept on her way, striking out
into the fields so as not to be observed, and at last,
just as the cars sounded in the distance, she came
to a clump of trees growing a little to the left,
and on the opposite side of the road from that on
which the depot stood. By getting in here no one
would see her at the station, and when the train
stopped she came out from her concealment, and
entered the rear car unobserved. As the passengers
were sitting with their backs toward her, but one
or two noticed her when ghe came jn, and these
66 MARIAN GREY.
scarcely gave her a thought, as she sank Into the
seat nearest to the door, drawing her vail over her
face lest she should be recognized. But her fears
were vain, for no one there had ever seen or heard
of her, and in a moment more the train was mov-
ing on, and she, heart-broken and alone, was taking
her bridal tour !
CHAPTER VII.
THE ALARM.
In her solitary bed little Alice slumbered on,
moaning occasionally in her sleep, and at last when
the clock struck nine, starting up and calling
" Marian, Marian, where are you ?" Then, remem-
bering that Marian could not come to her that
night, she puzzled her little brain with the great
mystery, and cried herself to sleep for the second
time.
In the kitchen old Dinah was busy with various
household matters. With Frederic she had heard
the bitter moan which Marian made when she learned
how she had been deceived, and like him she had
wondered what the sound could be then as a baby's
cry came from a cabin near by, she had said to her-
self, " some of them Higgins brats, I'll warrant.
They're alius a squalHn'," and, satisfied with this
conclusion, she had resumed her work. Once or
twice after that she was in the house, feeling a good
deal disturbed at seeing Frederic sitting alone
without his bride, who, she rightly supposed, " was
some whar. But 'tain't no way," she muttered;
" Phil and mo didn't dg Jjke that ;" then reflecting
THE ALARM. 67
that "white folks wasn't like niggers," she returned
to the kitchen just as Bruno set up his first loud
howl. With Dinah the howl of a dog was a sure sign
of death, and dropping her candle in her fright, she
exclaimed " for the Lord's sake who's gwine to
die now ? I hope to goodness 'taint me, nor Phil,
nor Lid, nor Victory Eugeny," and turning to
Aunt Hetty, who was troubled with vertigo, she
asked if "she'd felt any signs of an afterplax fit
lately?"
" The Lord," exclaimed old Hetty, " I hain't had
a drap o' blood in me this six month, and if Bruno's
howlin' for me, he may as well save his breath ;"
but in spite of this self-assurance, the old negress,
when no one saw her, dipped her head in a bucket
of water by way of warding off the danger.
Thus the evening wore away until at last Dinah
heard the whistle of the train as it passed the Big
Spring station.
" Who s'posed 'twashalf-past nine," she exclaimed.
" I'll go this minit and see if Miss Marian wants
me."
Just then another loud howl from Bruno, who was
growing impatient, arrested her movements.
" What can ail the critter," she said " and he's
down on the bridge, too, I believe."
The other negroes also heard the cry, which was
succeeded by another and another, and became at
last one prolonged yell, which echoed down the
river and over the hills, startling Frederic from his
reverie and bringing him to the piazza, where the
blacks had assembled in a body.
" 'Spects mebbe Bruno's done cotched somethin'
or somebody down thar," suggested Philip, the
most courageous of the group.
" Suppose you go and see," said Frederic, and
lighting his old lantern Philip sallied out, followed
I)y all his comrades, who, by accusing each other of
68 MARIAN GREY.
being "skeered to death," managed to keep up
their own courage.
The bridge was reached, and in a tremor of de-
light Bruno bounded upon Phil, upsetting the old
man and extinguishing the light, so that they were
in total darkness. The white handkerchief, how-
ever, caught Dinah's eye, and in picking it up she
felt the glove, which was lying near it. But this
did not explain the mystery, and after search-
ing in vain for man, beast or hobgoblin, the party
returned to the house, where their master awaited
them.
" Thar warn't nothin' thar 'cept this yer rag and
glove," said Dinah, passing the articles to him.
He took them, and going to the light saw the
name upon the handkerchief, " Marian Lindsey."
The glove, too, he recognized as belonging to her,
and with a fear of impending evil, he asked where
they were found.
"On the bridge," answered Dinah ; " somebody
must have drapped 'em. That handkercher looks
mighty like Miss Marian's hem-stitched one."
" It is hers," returned Frederic, " do you know
where she is ?"
" You is the one who orto know that, I reckon,"
answered Dinah, adding that she " hadn't seen her
sense jest after dark, when she went up stairs with
Ahce."
Frederic was interested now. In his abstraction
he had not noticed the lapse of time, though he
wondered where Marian was, and once feeling
anxious to know what she would say to the letter,
he was tempted to go in quest of her. But he did
not, and now, with a presentiment that all was not
right, he went to Alice's chamber, but found no
Marian there. Neither was she in any of the
chambers, nor in the hall, nor in the dining-room,
nor in his father's room, and he stood at last in the
library door, The writing-dek was open, and on
THE ALARM. 69
it lay three letters, one for Alice, one for him, the
other undirected. He took the one intended for
himself, and tearing it open, read it through. When
Marian wrote that " she gave her life away," she
had no thought of deceiving him, for her giving
him up was giving her very life. But he did not 90
understand it, and he gasped, " Marian is dead !"
while his face grew livid and his heart sick with the
horrid fear.
"Dead, Marster Frederic," shrieked old Dinah.
" Who dars tell me my chile is dead !" and bound-
ing forward like a tiger, she grasped his arm, ex-
claiming, " Whar is she dead ? and what is she
dead for ? and what's that she's writ that makes
yer face as white as a piece of paper ? Read, and
let us hear."
" I can't, I can't," he moaned. "Oh, Marian,
Marian, won't somebody bring her back ?"
" If marster '11 tell me whar to look, I'll find her,
so help me, Lord," said uncle Phil, the tears rolling
down his dusky cheeks.
" You found her handkerchief upon the bridge,"
returned Frederic, "and Bruno has been. howling
there, don't you see ? She's in the river ! She's
drowned ! Oh, Marian, I've killed her, but God
knows I did not mean to ;" and in the very spot
where not long before Marian had fallen on her
face, the wretched man now lay on his, and suffered
in part what she had suffered there.
It was a striking group. The bowed man, con-
vulsed with strong emotion, and clutching with
one hand the letter which had done the fearful work ;
the blacks gathered round, some weeping bitterly
and all petrified with terror ; while into their midst,
when the storm was at its height, little Alice groped
her way, her hair falling over her white night dress,
her blind eyes rolling round the room, and her
quick ear turned to catch any sound which might
explain the strange proceedings. She had been
70 MARIAN GREY.
roused from sleep by the confusion, and hearing the
uproar in the hall and library had felt her way to
the latter spot, where in the doorway she stood
asking for Marian.
" Bless you, honey. Miss Marian's dead drown-
ded," said Dinah, and AHce's shriek mingled with
the general din.
" Where's Frederic ?" the little girl asked, feeling
intuitively that he was the one who needed the
most sympathy.
At the sound of his name Frederic lifted up his
head, and taking the child in his arms kissed her
tenderly, as if he would thus make amends for his
coldness to Marian.
" 'Tain't no way to stay here like rocks," said uncle
Phil at last. " If Miss Marian 'sin the river, we'd bet-
ter be afishing her out," and the practical negro
proceeded to make the necessary arrangements.
Before he left the room, however, he would know
if he were working for a certainty, and turning to
his master he said, " Have you jest cause for thinkin'
she's done drownded herself 'case if you hain't,
'tain't no use huntin' this dark night, and it's gwine
to rain, too. The clouds is gettin' black as pitch."
Thus appealed to, Frederic answered, " She says
in the letter that she is going away forever, that she
will not come back again, and she spoke of giving
her life away. You found her handkerchief and
glove upon the bridge, with Bruno watching near,
and she is gone. Do you need more proof .''"
Uncle Phil did not, though " he'd jest like to
know," he said, " why a gal should up and dround
herself on the very fust night arter she'd married
the richest and han'somest chap in the county, but
thar was no tellin' what gals would do. Gener'ly,
though, you could calkerate on thar doin' jest con-
tra-ry to what you'd 'spect they would, and if Miss
Marian preferred the river to that twenty-five
pound feather bed that Dinah spent more'n an hour
THE ALARM. 71
in makin' up, 'twas her nater, and 'twant for him
to say agin' it. All he'd got to do was to work !"
And the old man did work, assisted by the other
negroes and those of the neighbors who lived near
Redstone Hall. Frederic, too, joined, or rather
led the search. Bareheaded, and utterly regardless
of the rain which, as Uncle Phil had prophesied,
began to fall, he gave the necessary directions, and
when the morning broke, few would have recognized
the elegant bridegroom of the previous day in the
white-faced, weary man, who, with soiled garments
and dripping hair, stood upon the narrow bridge,
and looked down the river as it went rushing on,
telling no secret, if secret there was to tell, of the
wild despair which must have filled poor Marian's
heart and maddened her brain when she sought
that watery grave.
Before coming out he had hurriedly read his
father's letter, and he could well understand how
its contents broke the heart of the wretched girl,
and drove her to the desperate act which he be-
lieved she had committed.
"Poor Marian," he whispered to himself, "I
alone am the cause of your sad death ;" and most
gladly would he then have become a beggar and
earned his bread by the sweat of his brow, could
she have come back again, full of life, of health and
hope, just as she was the day before.
But this could not be, for she was dead, he said,
dead beyond a doubt ; and all that remained for
him to do was to find her body and lay it beside
his father. So during that day the search went on,
and crowds of people were gathered on each side
of the river, but no trace of the lost one could be
found, and when a second time the night fell
round Redstone Hall, it found a mournful group
assembled there.
To Alice Frederic had read the letter left for
her, and treasuring up each word the child groped
7* MARIAN GREY.
her way into the kitchen, where, holding the note
before her eyes as if she could really see, she re
peated it to the assembled blacks.
" Lor' bless the child," sobbed Dinah from be-
hind her apron, " I knowed she would remember
me."
" And me," joined in Hetty. " Don't you mind
how I is spoke of, too ? She was a lady every inch
of her, Miss Marian was, an' if I said any badness
of her, I want you to forgive me, Dinah. Here's
my hand," and the two old ladies took each
other's hand in token that they were joined to-
gether now in one common sorrow.
Indeed, for once, the Higginses and Smitherses
forgot their ancient feud and united in extolling the
virtues of the lost one. After reading the letter as
many as three times, for when their grief had
somewhat subsided, the blacks would ask to hear
it again, so as to have fresh cause for tears, Alice
returned to the parlor, where she knew Frederic
was sitting. Her own heart was throbbing with
anguish, but she felt that his was a sorrow different
from her own, and feeling her way to where he sat
she wound her arms around his neck, and whis-
pered : " We must love each other more now that
Marian is gone."
He made no answer except to take her on his
lap ; but Alice was satisfied with this, and after a
moment she said, "Frederic, do you know why
Marian killed herself ?"
" Oh, Alice," he groaned. " Don't say those
dreadful words. I cannot endure the thought."
" But," persisted' the child, "she couldn't have
known what she was doing, and God forgave her
Don't you think He did ? She asked him to, I am
sure, when she was sinking in the deep water."
The child's mind had gone further after the lost
one than Frederic's had, and her question inflict-
ed a keener pang than any he had felt before.
THE Alarm. f3
He had ruined Marian, body and soul, and Alice
felt his tears dropping on her face as he made her
no reply. Her faith was stronger than his, and put-
ting up her hand, she wiped his tears away, saying
to him, " We shall meet Marian again, I know, and
then if you did anything naughty which made her
go away, you can tell her you are sorry, and she'll
forgive you, for she loved you very much."
More than once Alice asked him if he knew why
Marian went away, and at last he said, " Yes, Alice,
I do know, but I cannot tell you now. You would
not understand it."
" I think I should," persisted the child, " and
should feel so much better if I knew there was a
reason."
Thus importuned, Frederic replied, " I can only
tell you that she thought I did not love her."
" And did you, Frederic. Did you love her as
Marian ought to be loved ?"
The blind eyes looked earnestly into his face, and
with that gaze upon him Frederic Raymond could
not tell a lie, so he was silent, and Alice feeling
that she was answered, continued, " But you would
love her now if she'd come back."
He couldn't say yes to that, either, for he knew he
did not love her even then, though he thought of her
as a noble, generous-hearted creature, worthy of a
far different fate than had befallen her, and had she
come back to him, he would have striven hard to
make the love which alone could atone for what
she had endured. But she did not come, and day
after day went by, during which the search was
continued at intervals, and always with the same
result, until when a week was gone and there was
still no trace of her found, people began to suggest
that she was not in the river at all, but had gone
off in another direction. Frederic, however, was
incredulous. She had no money that he or any one
else knew of, or at least but very little. She had
74 MARIAN GREY.
never been away from home alonCj and if she had
done so now, somebody would have seen her,
and suspected who it was, for the papers far and
near teemed with the strange event, each editor
commenting upon its cause according to his own-
ideas, and all uniting in censuring the husband,
who at last was described as a cruel, unfeeling
wretch, capable of driving any woman from his
house, particularly one as beautiful and accom-
plished as the unfortunate bride I It was in vain
that Frederic winced under the annoyance, he
could not help it, and the story went the rounds,
improving with each repetition, until at last an
Oregon weekly outdid all the rest by publishing
the tale under the heading of, " Supposed Hor-
rible Murder."
Meantime Frederic, too, inserted in the papers
advertisements for the lost one, without any expec-
tation, however, that they would bring her back.
To him she was dead, even though her body could
not be found. There might be deep sink-holes in
the river, he said, and into one of these she had
fallen, and with a crushing weight upon his spirits,
and an intense loathing of himself and the wealth
which was his now beyond a question, he gave her
up as lost and waited for what would come to him
next.
Occasionally he found himself thinking of Isabel,
and wondering what she would say to his letter.
When he last saw her, she was talking of visiting
her mother's half-brother, who lived at Dayton,
Ohio, and he had said to her at parting, " If you
come as far as that, you must surely visit Redstone
Hall."
But he had little faith in her coming, and now
he earnestly hoped she would not, for if he wronged
the living he would be faithful to the dead ; and
so day after day he sat in his desolate home,
brooding over the past, trying to forget the pres-
MARIA^f. 7^
ftnt, and shrinking from the future, which looked
so hopeless now. Thoughts of Marian haunted
him continually, and in his dreams he often heard
again the sound, which he knew must have
been her cry when she learned how she had been
deceived. Gradually, too, he began to miss her
and to listen for her girlish voice, her bound-
ing step and merry laugh, which he had once
thought rude. Her careful forethought for his
comfort, too, he missed, confessing in his secret
heart, at least, that Redstone Hall was nothing
without Marian.
CHAPTER VIII.
MARIAN.
Onward and onward, faster and faster flew the
night Express, and the wishes of nearly all the pas-
sengers kept pace with the speed. But Marian
dreaded the time when the cars would reach their
destination, and she be in New York ! How she had
come thus far safely she scarce could tell. She only
knew that everybody had been kind to her, and
asked her where she wished to go ; until now
the last dreadful change was made, the Hudson
was crossed, Albany was far behind, and she was
fast nearing New York. Night and day she had
traveled, always with the same dull, dreary sense
of pain, the same idea that to her the world would
never be pleasant, the sunshine bright, or the flow-
ers sweet again. Nervously she shrank from obser-
vation, and once, when a lady behind her, who saw
that she was weeping, touched her shoulder, and
7^ MARIAN GREY.
said, " What is the matter, httle girl ?'* she started
with fear, but did not answer until the question was
repeated ; then she replied, "Oh, I'm so tired and
sick, and the cars make such a noise !"
" Have you come far ?" the lady asked, and
Marian answered, " Yes, very, very far," adding, as
she remembered with a shudder the din and con-
fusion of the larger cities, " Is New York a heap
noisier than Albany?"
"Why, yes," returned the lady, smiling at the
strange question. " Have you never been there ?"
"Once, when a child," said Marian, and the lady
continued, " You seem a mere child now. Have
you friends in the city ?"
" Yes, all I have in the world, and that is only
one," replied Marian.
The lady was greatly interested in the child, as
she thought her, and had she been going to New
York would have befriended her, but she left at
Newburgh, and Marian was again alone. She had
heard much of New York, but she had no concep-
tion of it, and when at last she was there, and on
Broadway, her head grew dizzy and her brain
whirled with the deafening roar. Cincinnati, Lou-
isville and Albany combined were nothing to this,
and in her confusion she would have fallen upon
the pavement had not the crowd forced her along.
Once, as a richly dressed young lady brushed past
her, she meekly asked where " Mrs. Daniel Burt
lived."
The question was too preposterous to be heeded
even if it were heard, and the lady moved on leav-
ing Marian as ignorant as ever of.Mrs. Burt's where-,
abouts. To two or three other ladies the same
question was put, but Mrs. Daniel Burt was evi-
dently not generally known in New York, for no
one paid the slightest attention, except to hold
tighter their purse-strings, as if there were danger
MARIAN. 77
to be apprehended from the forlorn little figure.
After a time a woman from the country who had
not yet been through the hardening process, list-
tened to the question, and finding that Mrs. Daniel
Burt was no way connected with the Burts of Yates
county, nor the Blodgetts of Monroe, replied that
she was a stranger in the city, and knew no such
person, but pretty likely Marian would find it in the
directory, and as a regiment of soldiers just then
attracted her attention, she turned aside, while
Marian, discouraged and sick at heart, kept on her
weary way, knowing nothing where she was going,
and, if possible, caring less. When she came op-
posite to Trinity Church she sank down upon the
step, and drawing her veil over her face, half wished
that she might die and be buried there in the en-
closure where she saw the November sunshine fall-
ing on the graves. And then she wondered if the
roar of the great city didn't even penetrate to the
ears of the sleeping dead, and, shudderingly, she
said, " Oh, I would so much rather be buried by
the river at home in dear old Kentucky. It's all so
still and quiet there."
Gradually, as her weariness began to abate, she
grew interested in watching the passers-by, wonder-
ing what everybody was going down that street for,
and why they came back so quick ! Then she tried
to count the omnibuses, thinking to herself, "Some-
body's dead up town, and this is the procession."
The deceased must have been a person of distinc-
tion, she fancied, for the funeral train seemed likely
never to end. And, what was stranger than all,
another was moving up while this was coming
down. She knew but little of the great Babylon
to which she had so recently come, and she thought
it made up of carts, hacks, omnibuses and people,
all hurrying in every direction as fast as they could
go. It made her feel dizzy and cross-eyed to look
at them, and leaning back against the iron railing,
78 MARIAN GREY.
she fell into a kind of conscious sleep, in which she
never forgot for an instant the roar which troubled
her so much, or lost the gnawing pain at her heart.
In this way she sat for a long time, while hundreds
and hundreds of people went by, some glancing
sideways at her, and thinking she did not look like
an ordinary beggar, while others did not notice her
at all.
At last, as the confusion increased, she roused
up, staring about her with a wild startled gaze.
People were going home, and she watched them as
they struggled fiercely and ineffectually to stop
some omnibus, and then rushed higher up to a
more favorable locality.
" The funeral is over," she said. The omni-
busses were returning, and though she had no
idea of the lapse of time, she fancied that it
might be coming night, and the dreadful thought
stole over her, " What shall I do then ? Maybe
I'll go in the church, though," she added. " No-
body, I am sure, will hurt me there," and she
glanced confidingly at the massive walls which
weje to shield her from danger and darkness.
And while she sat there thus, the night shadows
began to fall, the people walked faster and faster,
the crowd became greater and greater and over
Marian there stole a horrid dread of the hour when
the uproar would cease, when Wall street would
be empty, the folks all gone, and she be there alone
with the blear-eyed old woman who had seated her-
self near by, and seemed to be watching her.
" I will ask once more," she thought. " Maybe
some of these people know where she lives." And,
she half rose to her feet, when a tall, disagreeable
looking fellow bent over itier and said, " What can
I do for you, my pretty lass ?"
For an instant Marian's heart stood still, for
there was something in the rowdy's appearance ex-
ceedingly repulsive, but when he repeated his ques-
MARIAN. 79
tion, she answered, " I want to find Mrs. Daniel
Burt."
" Oh, yes, Mrs. Daniel Burt. I know the old
lady well, lives just around the corner. Come
with me and I'll show you the way," and the great
red, rough hand was about to touch the slender
white one resting on Marian's lap, when a blow
from a brawny fist sent the rascal reeling upon the
pavement, while a good-humored face looked into
Marian's, and a kindly voice said, " Did the villain
insult you, little girl ?"
" Yes, I reckon not, I don't know," answered
Marian, trembling with fright, while her compan-
ion continued, " 'Tis the first time he ever spoke
civil to a woman then. I know the scamp well,
but what are you sittin' here alone for, when every-
body else is goin' hum ?"
Marian felt intuitively that he could be trusted,
and said, " I haven't any home, nor friends, nor
anything."
"Great Moses!" said the young man, scanning
her closely, " you ain't a beggar, that's as sure as
my name is Ben Burt, and what be you sittin' here
for, any way ?"
Marian did not heed his question, so eagerly did
she catch at the name Ben Burt.
" Oh, sir," she exclaimed, grasping his arm, " are
you anyway related to Mrs. Daniel Burt, who once
lived with Colonel Raymond at Yonkers ?"
" Wall, ra-ally now," returned the honest-hearted
Yankee, " if this don't beat all. I wouldn't wonder
if I was some connected to Mrs. Daniel Burt, bein'
she brung me up from a little shaver, and has
licked me mor'n a hundred times. She's my
mother, and if it's her you're looking for we may as
well be travelin', for she lives all of three miles
from here."
" Xhr^e miles !" repeated Marian, " that othe?
8o MARIAN GREY.
man said just around the corner. What made him
tell such a lie ?"
" You tell," answered Ben, with a knowing wink,
which however failed to enlighten Marian, who was
too glad with having found a protector to ask many
questions, and unhesitatingly taking Ben's offered
arm she went with him up the street, until he
found the car he wished to take.
When they were comfortably seated and she had
leisure to examine him more closely, she found him
to be a tall, athletic, good-natured looking young
man, betraying but little refinement either in per-
sonal appearance or manner, but manifesting in all
he did a kind, noble heart, which won her good
opinion at once. Greatly he wondered who she
was, but he refrained from asking her any ques-
tions, thinking he should know the whole if he
waited. It seemed to Marian a long, long ride,
and she was beginning to wonder if it would never
end, when Ben touched her arm and signified that
they were to alight.
" Come right down this street a rod or so and
we're there," he said, and Marian was soon climb-
ing a long, narrow stairway to the third story of
what seemed to her a not very pleasant block of
buildings.
But if it were dreary without, the sight of a cheer-
ful fire, as Ben opened a narrow door, raised her
spirits at once, and taking in at a glance the rag
carpet, the stuffed rocking chairs, the chintz-cov-
ered lounge, the neat-looking supper table spread
for two, and the neater looking woman who was
making the toast, she felt the pain at her heart give
way a httle, and bounding toward the woman, she
cried, "You don't know me, I suppose. I am
Marian Lindsey, Colonel Raymond's ward."
Mrs. Burt came near dropping her plate of but-
tered toast in her surprise, and setting it down upon
the hearth, she exclaimed, " The last person upon
MARIAN. 8 1
earth I expected to see. Where did you come from,
and how happened you to run afoul of Ben ?"
" I ran afoul of her," answered Ben. " I found
her a cryin' on the pavement in front of Old Trinity,
with that rascal of a Joe Black, makin' b'lieve he
was well acquainted with you, and that you lived
jest round the corner."
" Mercy me," ejaculated Mrs. Burt, " but do tell
a body what you're here for, not but I'm glad to
see you, but it seems so queer. How is the old
Colonel, and that son I never see, Ferdinand, ain't
it, no, Frederic, that's what they call him ?"
At the mention of Frederic, Marian gave a chok-
ing sob and replied : " Colonel Raymond is dead,
and Frederic, oh, Mrs. Burt, please don't ask me
about him now, or I shall die."
" There's some bedivilment of some kind, I'll
warrant," muttered Ben, who was a champion of
all woman kind. " There's been the old Harry to
pay, or she wouldn't be runnin' off here, the vil-
lain," and in fancy he dealt the unknown Frederic
a far heavier blow than he had given the scapegrace
Joe.
" Well, never mind now," said Mrs. Burt, sooth-
ingly. " Take off your things and have some sup-
per ; you must be hungry, I'm sure. How long is
it since you ate ?"
" Oh, I don't know," Marian answered, a death-
like paleness overspreading her face ; " not since
yesterday, I reckon. Where am I ? Everything
is so confused !" and overcome with hunger, ex-
haustion and her late fright, Marian fainted in her
chair.
Taking her in his arms, Ben carried her to the
spare room, which, in accordance with her New
England habits, Mrs. Burt always kept for com-
pany, and there on the softest of all soft beds he
laid her down ; then, while his mother removed her
hat and shawj, he ran for water apd camphor, ch^f-
82 MARIAN GREY.
ing with his own rough fingers her hands, and bath-
ing her forehead until she came back to conscious-
ness.
" There, swaller some cracker and tea, and you'll
feel better directly," said Mrs. Burt ; and, like a
child, Marian obeyed, feeling that there was some
thing delicious in being thus cared for after the
dreadful days she had passed. "You needn't talk
to us to-night. There will be time enough to-mor-
row," continued Mrs. Burt, as she saw her about to
speak ; and fixing her comfortably in bed, she went
back to Ben to whom she told all that she knew
concerning Marian and the family with whom she
had lived.
"There's something that ain't just right, depend
on't," said Ben, sitting down at the table. " That
Frederic has served her some mean caper, and so
she's run away. But she hit the nail on the head
when she came here."
By the time supper was over, Marian's regular
breathing told that she was asleep, and taking the
lamp in his hand, the curious Ben stole in to see
her. Her face was white as marble, and even in
her sleep the tears dropped from her long eye-
lashes, affecting Ben so strangely that his coat-
sleeve was more than once called in requisition to
perform the office of a handkerchief.
"Poor little baby! You've been misused the
wust kind," he whispered, as he went noiselessly
from the room.
It was a deep, dreamless sleep which came to
Marian that night, for her strength was utterly ex-
hausted, and in the atmosphere of kindness sur-
rounding her, there was something soothing to her
irritated nerves. But when the morning broke and
the roar of the great city fell again upon her ear,
she started up and gazing about the room, thought,
" where am I and what is it that makes my heart
^ghe so ?"
MARIAN. 83
Then she remembered what it was, and burying
her face in the pillows, she wept again bitterly,
wondering what they were doing at Redstone Hall,
and if anybody but Alice was sorry she had gone.
A moment after Mrs. Burt's kind voice was heard
asking how she was, and bidding her to be still and
rest. But this was impossible for Marian to do.
She could not lie there and listen to the din which
began to produce upon her the same dizzy, be-
wildering effect it had done the previous day, when
she sat on the pavement and saw the omnibuses go
by. She must be up and tell the kind people her
story, and then, if they said so, she would go back
to those graves she had seen yesterday, and lying
down in some hollow, where that horrid man and
blear-eyed woman could not find her, she would
die, and Frederic would surely never know what
had become of her. She knew she could trust
both Mrs. Burt and Ben, and when breakfast was
over, she told them everything, interrupted occa-
sionally by Ben's characteristic exclamations of
surprise and his mother's ejaculations of wonder.
Mrs. Burt's first impulse was, that if she were
Marian she would claim her property, though of
course she would not live with Frederic. But Ben
said No " he'd work his finger-nails off before she
should go back. His mother wanted some one
with her when he was gone, and Marian was sent
to them by Providence. Any way," said he, "she
shall live with us a while, and we'll see what turns
up. Maybe this Fred'll begin to like her now
she's gone. It's nater to do so, and some day he'H
walk in here and claim her."
This picture was not a displeasing one to Marian,
who smiled gratefully upon Ben, mentally resolv-
ing that should she be ever mistress of Redstone
Hall she would remember him. And so it was
arranged that Marian Grey, as she chose to be
galled, should remain where she was, for z, time at
84 MARIAN GREY.
least, and if no husband came for her, she would
stay there always as the daughter of Mrs. Burt,
whose motherly heart already yearned toward the
unfortunate orphan. Both Mrs. Burt and Ben
were noble types of diamonds in the rough.
Neither of them could boast of much education or
refinement, but in all the great city there were few
with warmer hearts or kindlier feehngs than the
widow and her son. Particularly was this true of
Ben, who in his treatment of Marian only acted
out of the impulse of his nature ; if she had been
aggrieved he was the one to defend her, and if she
bade him keep her secret, it was as safe with him
as if it had never been breathed into his ear.
Nearly all of Ben's life had been passed in factor-
ies, and though now home on a visit, he was still
connected with one in Ware, Mass. Very care-
fully he saved his weekly earnings, and once in
three months carried or sent them to his mother,
who, having spent many years in New York city,
preferred it to the country. Here she lived very
comfortably on her own earnings and those of
Ben, whose occasional visits made the variety of
her rather monotonous life. The other occupants
of the block were not people with whom she cared
to associate, and she passed many lonely hours.
But with Marian for company it would be different,
and she welcomed her as warmly as Ben himself
had done.
" You shall be my little girl," she said, to Marian,
who began to think the world was not as cheerless
as she had thought it was. Still the old dreary
pain was in her heart, a desolate, home-sick feeling,
which kept her thoughts ever in one place and on
one single object ; the place, Redstone Hall, and
the object, Frederic Raymond. And as the days
went by, the feeling grew into an intense, longing
desire to see her old home once more, to look into
frederic's face^ to listen to his voice, and knovy if
MARIAN, 8$
he were sorry that she was gone. This feeling Mrs.
Burt did not try to discourage, for though she was
learning to love the friendless girl, she knew it
would be better for her to be reconciled to Mr.
Raymond, and when one day, nearly four weeks
after Marian's arrival, the latter said to her, " I
mean to write to Frederic and ask him to take me
back," she did not oppose the plan, for she saw how
the great grief was wearing the young girl's life
away.
That night there came a paper from Ben, who,
having far outstaid his time, had returned the week
before to Ware. Listlessly she tore open the
wrapper, and glancing at the first page, was about
throwing it aside, when a marked paragraph
arrested her attention, and she read that " Frederic
Raymond would gladly receive any information of
a young girl who had disappeared mysteriously
from Redstone Hall."
" Oh !" she exclaimed, springing to her feet, " I
am going home, to Frederic. He's sent for me
see !" and she pointed out to Mrs. Burt the adver-
tisement. " Can I go to-night .?" she continued.
" Is there a train ? Oh, I am so glad."
Mrs. Burt, was more moderate in her feelings.
Mr. Raymond could scarcely do less than adver-
tise, she thought, and to her this did not mean that
he wished the fugitive to return for any love he
bore her. Still, she would not dash Marian's hopes
at once, though she would save her from the cold
reception she might meet, should she return to Red-
stone Hall, unannounced. So, when the first
excitement of Marian's joy had abated, she said :
" I should write to Mr. Raymond, just as I first
thought of doing. Then he'll know where you are,
and he will come for you, if he wants you, of
course."
That " if he wants you " grated harshly on Mar-
ian's ear ; but, after her past experience, she did
86' MARIAN GREY.
not care to thrust herself upon hirrl, unless slire
that he wished it, and she concluded to follow Mrs.
Burt's advice. So she sat down and wrote a second
letter, telling him where she was, and how she
came there, and asking him to let her come back
again.
" Oh, I want to come home so much," she wrote,
" if you'll only let me, you needn't ever call me
your wife, nor make believe I am, at least, not
until you love me, and I get to be a lady. I'll try
so hard to learn. I'll go away to school, and
maybe, after a good many years are gone, you
won't be ashamed of me, though I shall never be
as beautiful as Isabel. If you don't want me back,
Frederic, you must tell me so. I can't feel any
worse than I did that day when I sat here in the
street and wished I could die. I didn't die then,
maybe I shouldn't now, and if you do hate me, I'll
stay away and never write again, never let you
know whether I am alive, or not ; and after seven
years, Ben Burt says, you will be free to marry
Isabel. She'll wait for you, I know. She won't
be too old then, will she ? I shall be almost
twenty-three, but that is young, and the years will
seem so long to me if you do not let me return.
May I, Frederic? Write, and tell me Yes; but
direct to Mrs. Daniel Burt, as I shall then be more
sure to get it. I dare not hope you'll come for
me, but if you only would, and quick, too, for my
heart aches so, and my head is tried and sick with
the dreadful noise. Do say I may come home.
God will bless you if you do, I am sure ; and if
you don't I'll ask Him to bless you just the same."
The letter closed with another assurance that she
gave him cheerfully all her fortune, that she neither
blamed his father nor himself, nor Isabel, nor any-
body. All she asked was to come back !
The pain in her heart was not so great, and the
noise in the street easier to bear after sending that
MariaU. 7
letter, for hope softened them both, and whispered
to her, " he'll let me come," and in a thousand dif-
ferent ways she pictured the meeting between her-
self and Frederic. Occasionally the thought in-
truded itself upon her, " what if he tells me to keep
away," and then she said, " I'll do it if he does, and
before seven years are gone, maybe I'll be dead. I
hope I shall, for I do not want to think of Isabel's
living there with him !"
She had great faith in the seven years, for Ben
had said so, and Ben believed it, too, and the
thought of it was like a ray of sunshine in the dingy,
noisome room where he worked, sometimes reckon-
ing up how many months there were in seven years ;
then how many weeks then how many days, and
finally calling himself a fool for caring a thing about
it. When the newspaper article came under his
eye, the sunshine left the dingy room, and after he
had sent the paper to Marian he cared but little
how many months or weeks or days there were in
seven years, and he felt angry at himself for having
sweat so hard in making the computation.
And so while Marian in the city waits and
watches for the message which will, perhaps, bid
her come back, and Ben in the noisome factory waits
also for a message which shall say she has gone, the
letter travels on, and one pleasant afternoon, when
the clerk at Cincinnati makes up the mail for Frank-
fort, he puts that important missive with the rest
and sends it on its way.
88 MARIAN GREY.
CHAPTER IX.
ISABEL HUNTINGTON.
All day and all night it rained with a steady, un-
relenting pour, and when the steamboat which plies
between Cincinnati and Frankfort stopped at the
latter place, two ladies from the lower deck looked
drearily over the city, one frowning impatiently at
the mud and the rain, while the other wished that
she was safely back in her old home, and had never
consented to this foolish trip. This wish, however,
she dared not express to her companion, who,
though calling her mother, was in reality the mis-
tress, the one whose word was law, and to whose
wishes everything else must bend.
" This is delightful," the younger lady exclaimed,
as holding up her traveling dress, and glancing at
her thin boots, she prepared to walk the plank.
" This is charming. I wonder if they always have
such weather in Kentucky."
" No, Miss, very seldom, 'cept on 'strodinary 'ca-
sions," said the polite African, who was holding an
umbrella over her head, and who felt bound to de-
fend his native State.
The lady tossed her head proudly, and turning
to her mother, continued : " Have you any idea
how we are to get to Redstone Hall?"
At this question an old gray-haired negro, who,
with several other idlers, was standing near, came
forward and said : " If it's Redstone Hall whar
Miss wants to go, I's here with Marster Frederic's
carriage. I come to fotch a man who's been out
thar tryin' to buy a house of marster in Louis-
ville."
At this announcement the face of both ladies
ISABEL HUNTINGTON. 89
brightened, and pointing out their baggage to
Uncle Phil, they went to a public house to wait
until the carriage came round for them.
" What do you suppose Frederic will think when
he sees us ?" the mother asked ; and the daughter
repHed, " He won't think anything, of course. It
is perfectly proper that we should visit our rela-
tions, particularly when we are as near to them as
Dayton, and they are in affliction, too. He would
have been displeased if we had returned without
giving him a call."
Mrs. Huntington and her daughter Isabella had
decided at last to visit Dayton, and had started for
that city a few days after the receipt of Frederic's
letter announcing his father's death ; consequently
they knew nothing of the marriage, and the fact
that Colonel Raymond was dead only increased
Isabel's desire to visit Redstone Hall, for she
guessed that Frederic was now so absorbed in bus-
iness that it would be long before he came to New
Haven again ; so she insisted upon coming, and as
she found her Ohio aunt not altogether agreeable,
she had shortened her visit there, and now, with her
mother, sat waiting at the Mansion House for the
appearance of Phil and the carriage. That Isabel
was beautiful was conceded by every one, and that
she was as treacherous as beautiful was conceded
by those who knew her best. Early in life she had
been engaged to Rudolph McVicar, a man of strong
passions, an iron will and indomitable perseverance.
But when young Raymond came, and she fancied
she could win him, she unhesitatingly broke her
engagement with Rudolph, who, stung to madness
by her cold, unfeeling conduct, swore to be re-
venged. This threat, however, was little heeded
by the proud beauty. If she secured Frederic
Raymond she would be above all danger, and she
bent every energy to the accomplishment of her
plan. She knew that the Kentuckians were pro-
00 MARIAN GREV.
verbial for their hospitality, and feeling sure that
no one would think it at all improper for her
mother and herself to visit their cousin, as she
called Frederic, she determined, if possible, to pro-
long that visit until asked to stay with him always.
He had never directly talked to her of love, conse-
quently she felt less delicacy in going to his house
and claiming relationship with him ; so when Phil
Came around with the carriage, she said to him,
quite as a matter of course, " How is Cousin Fred-
eric since his father's death ?"
" Jest tolable, thankee," returned the negro, at
the same time saying, " Be you marster's kin ?"
" Certainly," answered Isabel, while the negro
bowed low, for any one related to his master was a
person of distinction to him.
Isabel had heard Frederic speak of Marian, and
when they were half way home she put her head
from the window and said to Phil, " Where is the
young girl who used to live with Colonel Raymond,
Marian was her name, I think ?"
"Bless you," returned the negro, "hain't you
hearn how she done got married to marster mighty
nigh three weeks ago ?"
" Married ! Frederic Raymond married !" Isabel
screamed : " It is not true. How dare you tell me
such a falsehood ?"
" ' Strue as preachin', and a heap truer than some
on't' for I seen 'em joined with these very eyes,"
said Phil, and, glancing back at the white face
leaning from the window, he muttered, " 'spects
mebby she calkerlated on catchin' him herself. Ki,
wouldn't she and Dinah pull har, though. Thar's
a heap of Ole Sam in them black eyes of hern," and,
chirruping to his horses, Philip drove rapidly on,
thinking he wouldn't tellherthat the bride had run
away, he would let his master do that.
Meantime Isabel, inside, was wringing her hands
Isabel ttDi^TtNGtoN. ^t
artd insisting that her mother should ask the negro
again if what he had told them were so.
" Man, sir ;" said Mrs. Huntington, putting her
bonnet out into the rain, " Is Mr. Frederic Ray-
mond really married to that girl Marian ?"
" Yes, as true as I am sittin' here. Thursday'U
be three weeks since the weddin," was the reply.
Nothing could exceed Isabel's rage, mortification
and disappointment, except, indeed, her pride, and
this was stronger than all her other emotions, and
that which finally roused her to action. She would
not turn back now, she said. She would brave the
villain and show him that she did not care. She
would put herself by the side of his wife and let
him see the contrast. She had surely heard from
him that Marian was plain, and in fancy she saw
how she would overshadow her rival and make
Frederic feel keenly the difference between them.
By this time they had left the highway, for Red-
stone Hall was more than a mile from the turnpike,
and Isabel found ample opportunity for venting
her ill-nature. Such a road as that she never saw
before, and she'd like to know if folks in Kentucky
lived out in the lots. " No wonder they were such
heathen ! You nigger," she exclaimed, as Phil
drove through a brook, " are you going to tip us
over or what ?"
" Wonder if she 'spects a body is gwine round
the brook," muttered Phil, and as the carriage
wheels were now safe from the water, he stopped
and said to the indignant lady, " mebby Miss would
rather walk the rest of the way. Thar's a heap wus
places in the cornfield, whar we'll be pretty likely
to got oversot."
" Go on," snapped Isabel, who knew she could
not walk quite as well as the mischievous driver.
Accordingly they went on, and before long came
in sight of the house, which even in that drenching
rain looked beautiful to Isabel, and all the more
92 MARIAN GREY.
beautiful because she felt that she had lost it. On
the piazza little Alice stood, her hair blowing over
her face, and her ear turned to catch the first sound
which should tell her if what she hoped were true.
Old Dinah, who saw tlie carriage in the distance,
had said there was some one in it, and instantly
Alice thought of Marian, and going out upon the
piazza, waited impatiently until Phil drove up to
the door.
" There are four feet," she said, as the strangers
came up the steps ; " four feet, but none are Ma-
rian's," and she was turning away, when she acci-
dentally trod upon the long skirt of Isabel, who,
snatching it away, said angrily, " Child, what are
you doing, stepping on my dress ?"
" I didn't mean to ; I'm blind," Alice answered,
her lip quivering and her eyes filling with tears.
" Never you mind that she dragon," whispered
Uncle Phil, thrusting into the child's hand a paper
of candy, which had the effect of consoling her
somewhat, both for her disappointment and her late
reproof.
" Who is that ar ?" Dinah asked, appearing upon
the piazza just as Isabel passed into the hall.
" Some of marster's kin !" she repeated after Un-
cle Phil. " For the Lord's sake, what fotched 'em
here this rainy day, when we's gwine to have an
ornery dinner, no briled hen, norturkey, nor nothin'.
Be they quality, think ?"
" 'Spects the young one wants to be, if she ain't,"
returned Phil, with a very expressive wink, which
had the effect of enlightening Dinah with regard to
his opinion.
" Some low flung truck, I'll warrant," she said as
she followed them into the parlor, where Isabel's
stately bearing and big black eyes awed her into a
low courtesy, as she said : " You're very welcome
to Redstone Hall, I'm sure. Who shall I tell mars-
ter wants to see him ?"
ISABEL HUNTINGTON. 93
"Two ladies, simply," was Isabel's haughty an-
swer, and old Dinah departed, whispering to her-
self, " Two ladies simple ! She must think I know
nothin' 'bout grarmar to talk in that kind of way,
but she's mistakened. I hain't lived in the fust
families for nothin'," and knocking at Frederic's
door, she told him that "two simple ladies was
down in the parlor and wanted him."
" Who ?" he asked, in some surprise, and Dinah
replied :
" Any way, that's what she said ; the tall one,
with great black eyes jest like coals of fire. Phil
picked 'em up in Frankford, whar they got off the
boat. They's some o' yer kin, they say."
Frederic did not wish to hear any more, for he
suspected who they were. It was about this time
they had talked of visiting Dayton, and motioning
Dinah from the room, he pressed his hands to his
forehead, and thought, " Must I suffer this, too ?
Oh, why did she come to look at me in my misery ?"
Then, forcing an unnatural calmness, he started for
the parlor, where, as he had feared, he stood face
to face with Isabel Huntington.
She was very pale, and in her eyes there was a
hard, dangerous expression, frqm which he gladly
turned away, addressing first her mother, who, ris-
ing to meet him, said :
" We have accepted your invitation, you see."
" Yes, ma'am," he replied, and he was trying to
stammer out a welcome, when Isabel, who all
the time had been aching to pounce upon him,
chimed in:
" Where is Mrs. Raymond ? I am dying to see
my new cousin."
" Mrs. Raymond !" repeated Frederic, the name
dropping slowly from his lips. " Mrs. Raymond !
Oh ! Isabel, don't you know ? Havn't you heard."
" Certainly I have," returned the young lady,
^y^tching him as a fierce cat watches his helpless
94 MARIAN GREY.
prey. " Of course I have heard of your marriage,
and have come to congratulate you. Is your wife
well ?"
Frederic raised hi^ hand to stop the flippant
speech, and when it was finished he rejoined : " But
haven't you heard the rest, the saddest part of all.?
Marian is dead ! drowned, at least we think she
must be, for she went away on our wedding night,
and no trace of her can be found."
The shadow of a smile dimpled the corner of
Isabel's mouth, and she was herself again.
" Dead ! Drowned !" she exclaimed. " How
did it happen ? What was the reason ? Dreadful,
isn't it.?" and going to Mr. Raymond she looked
him in the face, with an expression she meant
should say, " I am sorry for you," but which really
did say something quite contrary.
" I cannot tell you why she went away,'' Frederic
answered, " but there was a reason for it, and it
has cast a shadow over my whole life."
" Marian was a mere child, I had always sup-
posed," suggested Isabel, anxious to get at the
reason why he had so soon forgotten herself.
" Did you get my last letter ?" Frederic, asked ;
and upon Isabel's^replying that she did not, he
briefly stated a few facts concerning his marriage,
saying it was his father's dying request, and he
could not well avoid doing as he had done, even if
he disliked Marian. " But I didn't dislike her," he
continued, and the hot blood rushed into his face.
" She was a gentle, generous hearted girl, and had
she lived, I would have made her happy."
If by this speech Frederic Raymond thought to
deceive Isabel Huntington, he was mistaken, for,
looking into his eyes she read a portion of the
truth, and knew there was something between him-
self and his father which had driven him to the
marriage. What it was she did not care then to
know, he was satisfied that the bride was gone,
ISABEL HUNTINGTON. 95
and when Frederic narrated more minutely the
particulars of her going, the artful girl said to her-
self. " She is dead beyond a doubt, and when I
leave Redstone Hall, I shall know it, and mother,
too!"
It was strange how rapidly Isabel changed from
a hard, defiant woman, to a soft, sparkling, beauti-
ful creature, and when, in her dress of crimson silk,
with her hair bound in heavy braids about her
head, she came down to dinner. Aunt Dinah invol-
untarily dropped another courtesy, and whispered
under her teeth, " The Lord, if she ain't quality
after all." Old Hetty, too, who from a side door
looked curiously in at their guests, received a }ike
impression, pronouncing her more like Miss Bea-
trice than any body she had ever seen. To Alice,
Isabel was all gentleness, for she readily saw that
the child was a pet ; so she called her darling and
dearest, smoothing her hair and kissing her when
Frederic was looking on. All this, however, did
not deceive the little blind girl, or erase from her
mind the angry words which had been spoken to
her, and that evening, when she went to Frederic
to bid him good night, she said : " Is that Miss
Isabel going to stay here always?"
" Why, no," he answered. " Did you think she
was?"
" I did not know," returned Alice, " but I hoped
not, for I don't like her. She's very grand and
beautiful, Dinah says, but I think she must look
like a snake, and I want her to go away, don't you ?"
Frederic could not say yes to this question, and
he remained silent. Had he been consulted he
would rather she had never come to Redstone Hall,
but now she was there, he did not wish her away.
It would be inhospitable, he said, and when next
morning she came down to breakfast, bright, fresh
and elegant, he felt a pang as he tdiought, " had I
(^one right she might have been the mistress pf
96 MARIAN GREY.
Redstone Hall," but it could not be now, even if
Marian were dead, and all that day he struggled
between his duty and his inclination, while Isabel
dealt out her highest card, ingrafting herself into
the good graces of the Smitherses by speaking to
them pleasant, familiar words, exalting herself In
the estimation of the Higginses by her graceful
bearing, and winning Dinah's friendship by praising
Victoria Eugenia, and asking if that fine-looking
man who drove the carriage was her husband. In
the evening, when the lamps were lighted in the
parlor, she opened the piano and filled the hou.se
with the rich melody of her cultivated voice, sing-
ing a sad, plaintive strain, which reminded Alice of
poor, lost Marian, and carried Frederic back to
other days, when, with a feeHng of pride he had
watched her fingers as they gracefully swept the
keys. He could not look at them now, he dared
not look at her, in her ripe, glowing beauty, and he
left the room, going out upon the piazza, where he
cursed the fate which had made it a sin for him to
love the dark-haired Isabel. She knew that he was
gone, and divining the cause, dashed off into astir-
ring dancing tune, which brought the negroes to
the door, where Hjey stood admiring her playing
and praising her queenly form.
" That's somethin' like it," whispered Hetty, beat-
ing time to the lively strain. " That sounds like
Miss Beatrice did when she done played the
planner. I 'clare for't, I eenamost wish Marster
Frederic had done chose her. 'Case you know
t'other one done drowned herself the fust night,"
she added quickly, as she met Dinah's rebuking
glance.
Dinah admired Isabel, and like her sex, whether
black or brown, she speculated upon the future,
when " Marster Frederic would be done mournin',"
and she wondered if " old miss," meaning Mrs.
Huntington, would think it necessary^ to stay th^re^
ISABEL HUNTINGTON. 97
too. Thus several days went by, and so pleasant
was it to Frederic to have some one in the house
who could divert him from his gloomy thoughts,
that he began to dread the time when he would be
alone again. But there was no immediate cause of
alarm. Isabel did not intend to leave her present
quarters immediately, and to this end her plans
were laid. From what she had heard she believed
Marian Lindsey was dead, and if so, she would not
again trust Frederic away from her influence.
Redstone Hall needed a head, and as her mother
was an old lady, and also a relative of Frederic, she
was just the one to fill that post. Their house in
New Haven was only rented until March, and by
writing to some friends they could easily dispose
of their furniture until such time as they might
want it. Alice needed a governess, for she heard
Frederic say so ; and though the little pest (this
was what she called her to herself) did not seem to
like her, she could teach her as well as any one. It
would be just as proper for her to be Alice's gov-
erness as for any one else, and a little more so, for
her mother would be with her.
This arrangement she brought about with the
most consummate skill, first asking Frederic if he
knew of any situation in Kentucky which she could
procure as a teacher. That was one object of her
visit, she said. She must do something for a liv-
ing, and as she would rather teach either in a school
or in a private family, she would be greatly obliged
to him if he would assist her a little. Hardly
knowing what he was doing, Frederic said some-
thing about Alice's having needed a governess for a
long time, and quickly catching at it, Isabel re-
joined, " Oh ! but you know I couldn't possibly
remain here unless mother stayed with me. Now,
if you'll keep her as a kind of overseer-iii-general
of the house I'll gladly undertake the charge of
dear little Alice's education. She does not fancy
98 MARIAN GREY.
me, I think, but I'm sure I can win her love. I
can that of almost any one, children, I mean, of
course," and the beautiful eyes looked out of the
window quite indifferently, as if their owner were
utterly oblivious of the fierce struggle in Frederic's
bosom.
He wished her to stay ! But was it right ? and
would he not get to loving her? No, he would
not, he said. He would only think of her as his
cousin, his sister, whose presence would cheer his
solitary home. So he bade her stay, and she bade
her mother stay, urging so many reasons why she
should, and must, that the latter consented at last,
and a letter was dispatched to New Haven, with
directions for having their furniture packed away,
and their house given up to its owner. This ar-
rangement at first caused some gossip among the
neighbors, who began to predict what the end
would be, and also, to assert more loudly than ever
their belief that Marian was not dead. Still, there
was no reason why Isabel should not be Alice's
governess, particularly as her mother was with her ;
and when Agnes Gibson pronounced her beautiful,
accomplished, the rest followed in the train, and
the health of the " northern beauty " was drunk by
more than one young man.
In the kitchen at Redstone Hall there was also
a discussion, in which the Higginses rather had the
preference, inasmuch as the lady in question was
after their manner of thinking. Old Dinah wisely
kept silent, saying to herself, " a new broom sweeps
clean, and I'll wait to see what 'tis when it gets a
little wore. One thing is sartin, though, if she
goes to put on ars, and sasses us colored folks, I'll
gin her a piece of my mind. I'll ask her whar she
come from, and how many niggers she owned afore
she come from thar."
It was several days before Alice was told of the
arrangement, and then ?he rebelled at once.
ISABEL HUNTINGTON. 99
Bursting Into tears, she hid her face in Dinah's lap,
and sobbed, " I can't learn of her. I don't like
her. What shall I do ?"
" I wish to goodness I had larning," answered
Dinah, " and I'd hear you say that foolishness
'bout the world's turnin' round and makin' usstan'
on our heads half the time, but I hain't, and if I's
you I'd make the best on't. I'll keep my eye on
her, and if she makes you do the fust thing you
don't want to, I'll gin her a piece of my mind. I
ain't afraid on her. Why, Gibson's niggers say
how they hearn Miss Agnes say she used to make
her own bed whar she came from, and wash dishes,
too ! Think o' that !"
Thus comforted, Alice dried her tears, and hunt-
ing up the books from which she had once recited
to Marian, she declared herself ready for her les-
sons at any time.
" Let it be to-morrow, then," said Isabel, who
knew that Frederic was going to Lexington, and
that she could not see him even if she were not
occupied with Alice.
So, the next morning, after Frederic was gone,
Alice went to the school-room, and drawing her
chair to Isabel's side, laid her books upon the
lady's lap, and waited for her to begin.
" You must read to me," she said, " until I know
what it is, and then I'll recite it to you."
But Isabel was never intended for a teacher, and
she found it very tedious reading the same thing
over and over, particularly as Alice seemed inatten-
tive, and not at all inclined to remember. At last
she said, impatiently, " For the pity's sake how
many more times must I read it ? Can't you learn
anything?"
" Don't don't speak so," Alice sobbed. " I'm
thinking of Marian, and how she used to be with
me- It's just six weeks to-day since she went
lOO MARIAN GREY.
away. Oh, I wish she'd come back. Do you be-
lieve she's dead ?"
Isabel was interested in anything concerning
Marian, and closing the book she began to ques-
tion the child, asking her among other things, if
Marian did not leave a letter for Mr. Raymond, and
if she knew what was in it.
" No one knows," returned the child ; "he never
told, but here's mine," and drawing from her bosom
the soiled note, she passed it to Isabel, who scruti-
nized it closely, particularly the handwriting.
" Of course she's dead, or she would have been
heard from before this," she said, passing the note
back to Alice, who, not feeling particularly com-
forted, made but little progress in her studies that
morning, and both teacher and pupil were glad
when the lessons of the day were over.
Before starting for Lexington, Frederic had sent
Josh on some errand to Frankfort, and just after
dinner the negro returned. Isabel was alone upon
the piazza when he came up, and as she was expect-
ing news from New Haven, she asked if he stopped
at the post-office.
" Ye-e-us 'm, "began the stuttering negro, " an' I
d-d-d-one got a h-h-eap on 'em, too," and Josh gave
her six letters, one for herself .and five for Fred-
eric.
Hastily breaking the seal of her own letter, she
read that their matters at home were satisfactorily
arranged a tenant had already been found for
their house, and their furniture would be safely
stowed away. Hearing her mother in the hall, she
handed the letter to her and then went to the li-
brary to dispose of Frederic's. As she was laying
them down she glanced at the superscriptions, care-
lessly, indifferently, until she came to the last, the
one bearing the New York postmark, then, with a
nervous start she caught it up again and examined
it more closely, while her heart gave one fearful
tSAfiEL Huntington, loi
throb and then lay hke some heavy weight within
her bosom. Could it be that she had seen that
handwriting before ? Had the dead wife returned
to life, and was she coming back to Redstone Hall ?
The thought was overwhelming, and for a moment
Isabel was tempted to break the seal. But she
dared not, for her suspicion might be false ; she
would see Alice's note again, and seeking out the
child she asked permission to take the letter which
Marian had written. Alice complied with her re-
quest, and returning to the library Isabel compared
the two. They were the same. There could be
no mistake, and in the intensity of her excitement,
she felt her hair loosening at its roots.
" It is from her, but he shall never see it !" she
exclaimed aloud, and her voice was so unnatural
that she started at the sound, and turning saw
Alice standing in the door with an inquiring look
upon her face, as if asking the meaning of what she
had heard.
Isabel quailed beneath the glance of that sight-
less child, and then sat perfectly still, while Alice
said : " Miss Huntington, are you here ? Was it
you who spoke ?"
Isabel made no answer, but trembling in every
limb, shrank farther and farther back in her chair
as the groping, outstretched arms came nearer and
nearer to her. Presently, when she saw no escape,
she forced a loud laugh, and said, " Fie, Alice, I
tried to frighten you by feigning a strange voice.
You want your letter, don't you ? Here it is. I
only wished to see if in reading it a second time I
could get any clue to the mystery," and she gave
the paper back to Alice, who, somewhat puzzled to
understand what it all meant, left the room, and
Isabel was again alone. Three times she caught
up the letter with the intention of breaking the
seal, and as often threw it down, for, unprincipled
as she was, she shrank from that act ; and still, i(
102 MARIAN GREY.
she did not know the truth, she should go mad, she
said, as she tried to think what the result to herself
would be were Marian really alive.
" But she isn't," she exclaimed. " She's dead ;
she's buried in the river." But who was there in
New York that wrote so much like her? She
wished she knew, and she might know by opening
the letter. If it was from a stranger, she could
destroy it, and he, thinking it had been lost, would
write again. She should die if she didn't know, and
maybe she should die if she did.
At all events, reality was more endurable than
suspense, and glancing around to make sure that
no eyes were near, she snatched the letter from the
table and broke the seal ! Even then she dared
not read it, until she reflected that as she could not
give it to Frederic in this condition, she might as
well see what it contained ; and wiping the mois-
ture from her face she opened it and read, while her
flesh seemed turning to stone, and she could feel
the horror creeping through her veins and petrify-
ing her very brain. Marian was coming back to her
husband, and the home which was hers. There
was enough in the letter for her to guess the truth,
and she knew why another had been preferred to
herself. For a moment even her lip curled with
scorn at what she felt was an unmanly act, but this
feeling was soon lost in the terrible thought that
Marian might return.
" Must it be ?" she whispered, as her eyes fast-
ened themselves again upon the page, blotted with
Marian's tears. " Seven years," she continued,
" I've heard of that before," and into the wild
tumult of her thoughts there stole a ray of hope.
If she withheld the letter from Frederic, and she
must withhold it now, he would never know what
she knew. Possibly, too, Marian might die, and
though she would have repelled the accusation,
Isabel Huntington was guilty of murder in her
ISABEL HUNTINGTON. I03
heart, as she sat there alone and planned what she
would do. She was almost on the borders of in-
sanity, for the disappointment to her now would be
greater and more humiliating than before. She
had no home to go to, her arrangements for remain-
ing in Kentucky were all made, and Redstone Hall
seemed so fair that she would willingly wait twice
seven years, if, at the expiration of that time, she
were sure of being its mistress. It was worth try-
ing for, and though she had but little hope of suc-
cess, she tried to devise some means of effectually
silencing Marian, so that if there really were any-
thing in the seven years the benefit would accrue
to her.
" She's a little silly fool," she said, " and this Mrs.
Daniel Burt is just as silly as herself. They'll both
believe what is told them. I may never marry
Frederic, it is true, but I'll be revenged on Marian.
What business had she to cross my path, the little
red-headed jade !"
Isabel was growing excited, and as she dared do
anything when angry, she resolved to send the let-
ter back.
" I can imitate his handwriting," she thought ;
" I can do anything as I feel now," and going to her
room, she found a letter he had written to her
mother.
This she studied and imitated for half an hour,
and at the end of that time wrote on the blank page
of Marian's letter, " Isabel Huntington is now the
mistress of Redstone Hall."
" That will keep her still, I reckon," she said, and
taking a fresh envelope, she directed it to " Mrs.
Daniel Burt," as Marian had bidden Frederic do.
" It was a fortunate circumstance, her teUing him
that, for ' Marian Lindsey ' would have been ob-
served at once," she thought ; and then, lest her
resolution should fail her, she found Josh and bade
164 MAblAN GREY.
him take the letter to the post-office at the Forks
of Elkhorn not very far away.
Nothing could suit Josh better than to ride, and
stuttering out something which nobody could
understand, he mounted his horse and was soon
galloping out of sight. In the kitchen Mrs. Hunt-
ington heard of Josh's destination, and when next
she met her daughter, she asked to whom she had
been writing.
" To some one, of course," Isabel, answered, at
the same time intimating that she hoped she could
have a correspondent without her mother troub-
ling herself.
The rudeness of this speech was forgotten by
Mrs. Huntington in her alarm at Isabel's pale face,
and she asked anxiously what was the matter ?
" Nothing but a wretched headache, teaching
don't agree with me," was Isabel's reply, and
turning away she ran up stairs to her room, where,
throwing herself upon the bed, she tried to fancy
it all a dream.
But it was not a dream, and Marian's anguish
was scarcely greater than her own at that moment,
when she began to realize that Frederic and Red-
stone Hall were lost to her forever. There might
be something in the seven years, but it was a long,
dreary time to wait, with the ever-haunting fear
that Marian might return, and she half wished she
had not opened the letter. But her regrets were
unavailing now, and, resolving to guard her secret
carefully and deny what she had done, if ever
accused of it, she began to consider how she should
hereafter demean herself toward Frederic. It
would be terrible to have him making love to her,
she thought, for she would be compelled to tell
him no, and if another should become her rival, she
could not stand quietly by and witness the unlaw-
ful deed.
" Oh, if I or Marian had never been born, this
FREDERIC AXrt) ALICE. 10$
hour would not have come to me," she cried, bury-
ing her face in the pillows to shut out the fast in-
creasing darkness which was so hateful to her.
Already was she reaping the fruit of the trangres-
sion and when'an hour later she heard the voice of
Frederic in the hall, she stopped her ears, and bury-
ing her face still closer in the pillows, wished
again that either Marian or herself had never seen
the light of day.
CHAPTER X.
FREDERIC AND ALICE.
All day long Frederic had thought of Marian,
who just six weeks before went away from him to
die. Many times he said that to himself, and as
often as he said it, he thought, " perhaps she is not
dead," until the belief grew strong in him that'
somewhere he should find her, that very day it
might be. He wished he could, and take her back
to Redstone Hall, where she would be a barrier
between himself and the beautiful temptation which
it was so hard for him to resist. Manfully had he
struggled against it, going always from its presence
when the eyes looked softly into his own, and
when he heard the rich-toned voice singing merry
songs, he stopped his ears lest the music should
touch a chord which he said was hushed forever.
" It might have been," he thought sometimes to
himself, but the time was past, and even if Marian
were dead, he must not take another to share the
wealth so generously given up. And Marian was
dead, he had always believed until to-day, when she
seemed to be so near, that on his return at night to
lo6 MARIAN GREY.
Redstone Hall he had a half presentiment that he
might find her there, or at least some tidings of her.
All about the house was dark, but on the piazza
a little figure was standing, and as its dim outline
was revealed to him, he said involuntarily : " That
may be Marian, and I am glad, or at least I will be
glad," and he was hurrying on, when a light from
the hall streamed out upon the figure, and he saw
that it was Alice waiting for him. Still the impres-
sion was so strong that after kissing her, he asked
if no one had been at the Hall that day.
" No one," she answered, and with a feeling of
disappointment he led her into the house.
Alice's heart was full that night, for accidentally
she had heard old Hetty and Lyd discussing the
probable result of Isabel's sojourn among them,
and the very idea shocked her, as if they had tram-
pled on Marian's grave.
" I'll tell Frederic," said she to herself, "and ask
him is he going to marry her," and when after his
supper he went into the library to read the letters
which Mrs. Huntington told him were there, she
followed him.
It was not Frederic's nature to pet or notice
children much, but in his sorrow he had learned to
love the little girl dearly, and when he saw her
standing beside him with a wistful look upon her
face he said :
" What does my blind bird want ?"
"Take me in your lap," Alice said, "so I can
feel your heart beat and know if you tell me true."
He complied with her request, and laying her
head against his bosom, she began, " Are we much
related ?"
" Second cousins, that's all."
" But you love me, don't you ?"
"Yes, very much."
"And I love you a heap," returned the little
girl. " I didn't use to, though, till Marian went
tREDERlC ANt) ALlCfi. I07
away. Frederic, Marian isn't dead !" and, lifting
up her head, Alice looked at him with a look which
seemed to say that she believed what she asserted.
Frederic gasped, and Alice continued, " Wouldn't
it be very wicked for you to love anybody else. I
don't mean me, because I'm a little bHnd girl, but
to love some one and marry her, with Marian
alive ?"
" Certainly it would be wicked," he replied ; and
Alice continued :
" Aunt Hetty said you were going to marry Isa-
bel, and it almost broke my heart. I never thought
before that Marian wasn't dead, but I knew it then.
I felt her right there with us, and I've felt her ever
since. Dinah, too, said it seemed to her just like
Marian was alive, and that she hoped you wouldn't
make perhaps I ought not to tell you, but you
don't care for Dinah she hoped you wouldn't
make a fool of yourself, Frederic, do you love Isa-
bel Huntington ?"
"Yes," dropped involuntarily from the young
man's lips, for there was something about that Httle
child which wrung the truth from him.
" Did you love her before you married Marian ?"
"Yes," he said again, for he could not help him-
self.
There was silence a moment, and then Alice who
had been thinking of what he had told her once
before, said interrogatively, " Marian found it out,
and that was why she thought you didn't love her
and went away ?"
' That was one reason, but not the principal
one."
" Do you think Isabel as good as Marian ?"
" No," and Frederic was glad that he could pay
this tribute to the lost one.
After a moment Alice spoke again :
" Frederic, do you believe Marian is dead ?"
I08 MARIAN GRfiY.
" I have always thought so," he answered, and
Alice replied :
" But you don't know for certain ; and I want
you to promise that until you do you won't make
love to Isabel, nor marry her, nor anybody else,
will you, Frederic ?" and putting both her hands
upon his forehead, she pushed back his hair and
waited for an answer.
Many times the young man had made that reso-
lution, but the idea of thus promising to another
was unpleasant, and he hesitated for a time ; then
he said :
" Suppose we never can know for certain, would
you have me live all my life alone ?"
" No," said Alice, " and you needn't, either; but
I'd wait ever so long, ten years, anyway, and before
that time she'll come, I'm sure. Dinah says maybe
she will, and that perhaps we shan't know her, she'll
be so changed, so handsome," and as if the power
of prophecy were on her, Alice pictured a beautiful
woman who might come to them sometime as their
lost Marian, and Frederic listening to her, felt
more willing to promise than he had been before.
A glow of hope was kindled in his own bosom,
and when she finished he said to her :
" I will wait ten years for Marian."
THE LETTER RECEIVBD, 1 09
CHAPTER XI.
THE LETTER RECEIVED.
It was baking day at Mrs. Burt's, and the good
lady bustled in and out, her cap-strings pinned over
her head, her sleeves tucked up above her shoul-
ders, and her face, hands and apron covered with
flour. Occasionally as she rolled out the short pie
crust or sliced the juicy apple, she glanced at the
raindrops pattering against the window, and said,
encouragingly, " I don't care for the rain for I've
got a big umbrella and the best kind of overshoes ;"
and as often as she repeated the cheering words,
they brought a smile to the face of the young girl
who sat in the large easy-chair, and did not offer to
share the labors of her aunt, as she called her.
Marian was ill. Strong excitement had worn her
strength away, and since she had sent the letter to
Frederic, her restless anxiety for the answer had
made her so weak that she kept her bed nearly all
the time, counting the days which must elapse ere
she could possibly hope to hear and then, when the
full time was out, bidding Mrs. Burt wait one more
day before she went to the office, so as to be sure
and get it. In her letter to Frederic, Marian had
told him to direct to Mrs. Daniel Burt without giv-
ing the number, and as Mrs. Burt had said she
must inquire at the general office for the expected
letter, Marian had made due allowance for delays,
and now she was certain that it had come. She
would sit up that day, she said, for she felt almost
well ; and if Frederic told her to come home, she
should start to-morrow and get there Saturday
night, and she fancied how people would stare at
her and be glad to see her on Sunday when she
no MARIAN GREY.
first went into church. Alice, too, would be de-
lighted, and kiss her so many times ; and then she
wondered if Frederic wouldn't kiss her, too ; she
thought he might, she'd been so long away.
The pies were made at last, as was the ginger-
bread and crispy snaps ; the apple dumplings,
Marian's favorite dessert, were steaming on the
stove ; the carpet swept, the oilcloth washed ;
and then exchanging her work-dress for a more re-
spectable delaine, Mrs. Burt put over the kettle
to boil, " for after her wet walk, she should want a
cup of tea," she said, and, leaving Marian to watch
the pie baking in the oven, she started on her er-
rand.
" I mean to have the table ready when she gets
back," Marian said, " for if I don't make her think
I'm well she won't let me start so soon ;" and, ex-
erting all strength, she set the table for dinner in the
neatest possible manner, even venturing upon the
extravagance of bringing out the best white dishes,
which Mrs. Burt used only on great occasions.
' When I get home I'll send her a new set with gilt
bands," she said, as she arranged the cups, and then
stepped back to witness the effect. " Oh, I wish
she'd come," she continued, glancing at the clock,
but it was not time yet, and, resuming her rocking-
chair, she tried to wait patiently.
But it seemed very long and very tiresome sitting
there alone, listening to the rain and the ticking of
the clock. It is strange how the most trivial cir-
cumstance will sometimes stamp itself indelibly
upon the memory. The steam from the dumplings
which Marian thought she should enjoy so much,
filled the room with a sweet, sickly odor, and for
many, many years she remembered how faint it
made her feel. But it was a pleasant faintness
now ; everything was pleasant, for wasn't she going
home, back to Frederic, who, if he didn't love her
now, would learn to love her, for Mrs. Burt said so ;
THE LETTER RECEIVED. Ill
Mrs. Burt, who knew almost as much as Dinah, and
who, even while she thought of her, was coming up
the stairs. Marian heard her put her dripping
umbrella beside the door, but she could not move.
"If I should be disappointed after all," she thought,
and she tried to see how many she could count be-
fore she knew for certain.
" Oh, have you a letter for me ?" she tried to say
when Mrs. Burt came in, but she could not articu-
late a word, and the good lady, wishing to tease
her a little, leisurely took off her overshoes, hung
up her shawl, wiped her damp bonnet with a hand-
kerchief, and looked at the dumplings and then
said as indifferently as if the happiness of a young
life was not to be crushed by what she had in her
pocket, " it rains awfully down street!"
" I know, but was there a letter ?" and Marian's
blue eyes looked dark with excitement. "Yes,
child, there was, but where it was mailed I don't
know. "Tis directed to me, and is from Kentucky,
but I can't make out the postmark mor'n the dead.
It's some kind of Forks, but the postmaster will
never set the Hudson on fire with his writing."
" Forks of Elkhorn !" Marian cried, snatching at
the letter. " It's Frederic's superscription, too,
and dated ever so many days ago. Dear Frederic,
he didn't wait a minute before he wrote."
The envelope was torn open the enclosed sheet
was withdrawn, but about it there was a strangely
familiar look. Was there a film before Marian's
eyes ? Was she growing blind, or did she recog-
nize her own letter, the one she had sent to Red-
stone Hall ? It was the same, for it said " Dear
Frederic " at the top, and " Marian " at the bottom.
And he had returned it to her unanswered, not a
word, not a line nothing but silence, as cold, as
hard, and as terrible as the feeling settling down on
Marian's heart. But, yes, there was one line, an4
112 tU^U-N GiiEF.
it read, oh, horror, could it be that he would mc^
her by offering her this cruel insult ? "
" Isabel Huntington is now the mistress of Red-
stone Hall."
This was the drop in the brimming bucket, and if
she had suffered death when the great sorrow came
upon her, she suffered more now a hundred fold.
In her ignorance she fancied he was married, for
how else could Isabel be mistress there, and she
comprehended at once the disgrace such a proceed-
ing would bring to Frederic, and the wrong, the
dishonor, the insult it brought to her. There was
a look of anguish in her eyes and a contraction of
the muscles about her mouth. There were purple
spots upon her flesh, and a note of agony in her
voice, as she cried, " No, no, no it is too soon ;
anything but that." The next moment she lay in
the arms of Mrs. Burt, unconscious of pain, uncon-
scious of everything. She had suffered all she
could suffer, and henceforth no sorrow which could
come to her would eat into her heart's core as this
last one had done.
Mrs. Burt thought she was dead, as did those who
came at her loud call, but the old physician said
there was life, adding, as he looked at the blue
pinched lips and shrunken face : " The more's the
pity, for she has had some awful blow, and if she
lives she'll probably be a raving maniac."
As time passed on the physician's words seemed
likely to be verified. For days she lay in the same
death-like stupor, and when at last she roused from
it, it was only to tear her hair and rave in wild de-
lirium. At first, Mrs. Burt, who had examined the
letter, thought of writing to Frederic and telling
him the result of his cruel message, the truth of
which she did not believe ; but she seldom acted
without advice, so she wrote first to Ben, who came
quickly, crying like a child, and wringing his great
THE LETTER RfdEIVED. I13
rough hands when he saw the tossing form upon
the bed and knew that it was Marian.
" No, mother," he said, "we won't write. It's a
lie the villain told her, but we will let him be till
she's dead. God will find him fast enough, the ras-
cal !" and Ben struck his fist upon the bureau as if
he would like to take the management of Frederic
into his own hands.
It was a long and terrible sickness which came to
Marian, and when the delirium was on, the very-
elements of her nature seemed changed. For her
hair she conceived an intense loathing ; and clutch-
ing at her long tresses, she would tear them from
her head and shake them from her fingers, whisper-
ing scornfully :
" Go, you vile red things ! He hates you, and so
do I."
" Better shave the hull concern and not let her
yank it out like that," Ben said ; and when she be-
came more and more ungovernable, he passed his
arms around her and held her hands, while her head
was shorn of the locks so displeasing to Frederic
Raymond.
Ben's taste, however, was different, and putting
them reverently together, he dropped great tears
upon them, and then laid them carefully away,
thinking : " 'Twill be something to look at when
she's gone. Poor little picked bird," he would say
as he watched by her side and listened to her moan-
ing cries for home, " you'll be out of your misery
afore long, and go to a 'nough sight better hum
than Redstun Hall ; but I hev my doubts 'bout
meetin' him there. Poor little girl, if you hadn't
been born a lady and I hadn't been born a fool, and
we'd been brung up together, mabby you wouldn't
be a lyin' here a biting your tongue and wringin'
your hands, with your head shaved slick and clean,"
and the sweat dropped from Ben's face, as he
Ihought of what wnder widely different circuniT
114 MARIAN GREY.
stances might have been. " But it can't be now,"
he said, " for even if she wan't jined to this villain
she loves so much, she's as far above Ben Burt as
the stars in Heaven."
This, however, did not lessen Ben's attentions in
the least, or stay his tears when he thought that
she would die. " She should be buried in Green-
wood," he said; "he'd got more'n two hundred
dollars in the bank at Ware, all arnt honest,
with hard work ; and if there was such a thing as a
stun forty feet high she should have it, and he'd
get som o' them that scribbled for a living to write
a piece; there should be a big funeral, too, he
could hire carriages as well as the best of 'em and
he'd have a procession so long that folks would
stop and stare, and Frederic Raymond wouldn't be
ashamed on't either, the scalliwag' he hoped when
he and Isabel came to die they'd be pitched into
the canal, where the water was considerable kind o'
dirty, too !"
This long speech relieved Ben somewhat, and
fully determined to carry out his promise, he staid
patiently by Marian, nor experienced one feeling
of regret when he heard that, owing to his pro-
longed absence, his place in Ware had been given
to another.
" Nobody cares," he said, " I can find something
to do if it's nothin' but sawin' wood."
So he remained at home through the winter days,
and watched by the sick girl, who talked piteously
of her home, of Alice, and that man who hated her
so. She never spoke his name, but she sometimes
begged of him to come and take her away where it
didn't thunder all the time. The roar of- the city
disturbed her, and she frequently besought Ben to
go and stop it so that she could sleep and be better
in the morning ; and had it been in his power, Ben
would have stayed the busy life around them, and
let th? weary, worn-out sufferer sleep. But thi
THE LETTER RECEIVED. lij
could not be, and so, day after day the heavy, in-
cessant roar came through the curtained window
into the darkened room, where Marian lay moaning
in her pain. Once in her unconsciousness she
folded her thin hands and prayed, " Will God stop
that noise and let me sleep just once ?" then with
an expression of childish trust upon her face, she
said to those around her, " He will stop it to-mor-
row, I reckon."
When the winter snows were gone and the early
March sun shone upon the kitchen walls, the to-
morrow so much longed for came, and Marian
woke to consciousness. She was out of danger,
the physician said, though it might be long before
her health was fully restored. To Marian, this
announcement brought but little joy. " She had
hoped to die," she said, " and thus be out of the
way," and then she spoke of Redstone Hall, asking
if any tidings had come from there since the dread-
ful message she had received. There was none, for
Isabel Huntington guarded her secret well, and
Frederic Raymond knew nothing of the emaciated
wreck which prayed each day that he might be
happy with the companion he had chosen.
" If he had only waited," she said to Mrs. Burt
and Ben, one day, " if he had waited and not taken
her so soon, I shouldn't care so much, but it's awful
to think of his living with her after I wrote that
letter."
" Marian," said Ben, a little impatiently, " I'm
naturally a fool, so every body says, but I've sense
enough to know that Mr. Raymond never went
and married that woman so quick after you came
away ; 'tain't reasonable at all. Why, they'd mob
him tar and feather him for you ain't dead, and
he's no business with two wives."
Marian's face was whiter than ever when Ben
finished speaking, and a bright red spot burned
on her cheek as she gasped, " You don't believQ
Il6 MARIAN GREY.
she's there and not his wife. That would be wors-
than everything else."
" Of course I don't," returned Ben. " My 'pinion
is that she ain't there at all, and he only writ that
to make a clean finish of you, or 't any rate, so't
you wouldn't be coming back to bother him. He
calkerlates to have her bimeby. I presume say
in seven years."
" Oh, I wish I knew," Marian said, and Ben re-
plied, " Would you rest any easier nights if you
did ?"
" Yes, a heap," was the answer.
" You might write," Mrs. Burt suggested ; but
Marian shook her head, saying, " I wrote once, and
you know my success."
" You certainly wouldn't go back," Mrs. Burt
continued ; and Marian answered^ indignantly,
" Never ! I am sure he hates me now, and I shall
not trouble him again. Perhaps he thinks me
mean because I read the letter intended for him,
and so found it all out. But I thought it was
mine until I read a ways, and then I could not stop.
My eyes wouldn't leave the paper. Was it wrong
in me, do you think?"
" It is what anybody would have done," Mrs.
Burt answered, and, changing the subject entirely,
Marian rejoined, " Oh, I do wish I knew about this
Isabel."
For a time Ben sat thinking ; then striking his
hands together, he exclaimed, " I've got it, and it's
jest the thing, too. I don't want no better fun
than that. I've lost my place to Ware, and though
I might get another, I've a notion to turn peddler.
I alius thought I should like travellin' and seein'
the world. I'll buy up a lot of jimcracks and take
a bee-line for Redstun Hall, and learn just how the
matter stands. I can put on a little more of the
Pown East Yankee, if you think I hain't got
The letter received. 117
enough, and I'll put the wool over their eyes.
What do you say, wee one ?"
" Oh, I wish you would," Marian said, adding
" what will you do, if you find him the husband of
Isabel ?"
" Do !" he repeated. " String 'em both up by
the neck on one string. What do you 'spect I'd
do ? Honest, though," he continued, as he saw
her look of alarm ; " if she is his wife, which ain't
at all likely, 'tis because he s'posed you're dead,
but he knows better now, and I shall tell the neigh-
bors that you're alive and breathin,' and they can
do with him what they choose and if they ain't
married, nor ain't nothin', I'll just do what you
say."
" Come back, and don't tell Frederic you ever
saw or heard of me," said Marian. " I shall not
live a great while, and even if I do, I'd rather not
trouble him. It would only make him hate me
worse, and that I couldn't bear. He knows now
where I am, and if he ever wants me, he will come.
Don't tell him, nor any one, a word of me, Ben,
but do go, for I long to hear from home."
To Mrs. Burt this project seemed a wild and
foolish one, but she rarely opposed her son, and
when she saw that he was determined, she said
nothing, but helped him all she could.
"You'll be wantin' to send some jimcrack to
that blind gal, I guess," he said to Marian, and she
replied, " I wish I could, but I haven't anything,
and besides you mustn't tell her of me."
" Don't you worry," answered Ben. " I've
passed my word, and I never broke it yet. I can
manage to give her somethin' and make it seem
natural. What do you say to makin' her a brace-
let out o' them curls of yourn that we shaved
off?"
" That red hair ! Frederic would know it at
once," and Marian shook her head, but Ben per-
ii8 Marian greV.
sisted. " 'Twould look real pretty, just like ginger-
bread when 'twas braided tight," and bringing out
the curls, he selected the longest one, and hurried
off.
The result proved his words correct, for when a
few days after he brought home the bracelet,
which was fastened with a golden clasp, Marian
exclaimed with delight at the beauty of her hair :
" Darling Alice," she cried, kissing the ornament,
" I wish she could know that my lips have touched
it that it once grew on my head but it wouldn't
be best. She couldn't keep the secret, and you
mustn't tell."
" Don't worry, I say," returned Ben. " I've got
an idee in my brains for a wonder, and I'm jest as
'fraid of tellin' as you be. So cheer up a bit and
grow fat, while I'm gone, for I want you to be
well when I come back, so as to go to school and
get to be a great scholar, that Mr. Raymond won't
be ashamed on when the right time comes," and
Ben spoke as cheerfully as if in his heart there was
no grave where during the weary nights when he
watched with Marian he buried his love for her,
and vowed to think of her only as a cherished
sister.
Marian smiled pleasantly upon him, watching
him with interest as he made up his pack, consist-
ing of laces, ribbons, muslin, handkerchiefs, combs
and jewelry, a little real, and a good deal brass,
" for the niggers," he said. Many were the charges
she gave him concerning the blacks, telling him
which ones to notice particularly, so as to report
to her.
" Jehosaphat !" he exclaimed at last, " how many
is there ? I shall never remember in the world,"
and taking out a piece of paper, he wrote upon it,
" Dinah, Hetty, Lid, Victory, Uncle Phil, Josh,
and the big dog. There !" said he, reading over
the list, " if I don't bring you news of every one,
The YANKEE PECDLEB. ti^
iTiy name ain't Ben Burt. I'll wiggle myself into
their good feelin's and get 'em to talkin' of you,
see if I don't."
Marian had the utmost confidence in Ben's suc-
cess, and though she knew she should be lonely
when he was gone, she was glad when, at last, the
morning came for him to leave them. Ben, too,
was equally delighted, for the novelty lent a double
charm to the project and, bidding his mother and
Marian good-by, he gathered up his large boxes,
and whistling a lively tune by way of keeping up
his spirits, started for Kentucky.
CHAPTER XII.
THE YANKEE PEDDLER.
The warm, April day was drawing to a close, and
the rays of the setting sun shone like burnished gold
on the western windows of Redstone Hall. It was
very pleasant there now, for the early spring flow-
ers were all in blossom, the grass was growing fresh
and green upon the lawn, and the creeping vines
were clinging to the time-worn pillars, or climbing
up the massive walls of dark red stone, which gave
the place its name. The old negroes had returned
from their labors, and were lounging about their
cabins, while the younger portion looked wistfully
in at the kitchen door, where Dinah and Hetty
were busy in preparing supper. On the back piazza
several dogs were lying, and as their quick ears
caught the sound of a gate in the distance, the
whole pack started up and went tearing down the
avenue, followed by the furious yell of Bruno, who
tried in vain to escape from his confinement.
120 MARIAN GREV.
" Thar's somebody comin'," Dinah said, shading
her eyes with her hand, and looking toward the
highway ; " somebody with somethin' on his back.
You, Josh, go after them dogs, afore they skeer
him to death."
Stuttering out some unintelligible speech, Josh
started in the direction the dogs had gone, and soon
came up to a tall six-footer, who, with short panta-
loons, a swallow-tailed coat, stove-pipe hat, sharp-
pointed collar, red necktie, and two huge boxes on
his back, presented a rather ludicrous appearance
to the boy, and a rather displeasing one to the dogs,
who growled angrily, as if they would pounce upon
him at once. The club, however, with which he
had armed himself kept them at bay, until Josh suc-
ceeded in quieting them down.
" Ra-ally, now," began our friend Ben, who vainly
imagined it necessary to put on a little, by way of
proving himself a genuine Yankee " ra-ally, now,
boot-black, what's the use of keepin' sich a 'tarnal
lot o' dogs to worry a decent chap like me."
It was Josh's misfortune to stammer much more
when at all excited, and to this interrogatory he
began, " Caw-caw-caw-cause ma-ma-mars wa-wa-
want "
"Great Heaven!" interrupted the Yankee, set-
ting down his pack and eyeing the stuttering negro
as if he had been the last curiosity from Barnum's
" will you tell a fellow what kind of language
you speak."
" Spe-pe-pe-pects sa-sa-same ye-e-e you do," re-
turned the negro, failing wholly to enlighten Ben,
who rejoined indignantly, " You go to grass with
your lingo ;" and, gathering up his boxes, he started
for the house, accompanied by Josh and the dogs,
the first of whom made several ineffectual attempts
at conversation.
" Some nateral-born fool," muttered Ben, think-
THE YANKEE PEDDLER. 121
ing to himself that he would like to examine the
boy's mouth and see what ailed it.
After a few minutes they entered the yard, and
came up to the other blacks, who were curiously
watching the new comer. Seating himself upon
the steps and crossing one leg over the other, Ben
swung his cowhide boot forward and back, and
greeted them with, "Wall, uncles, and ants, and
cousins, how do you dew, and how do you find
yourselves this afternoon ?"
" Jest tolerable, thanky," answered Uncle Phil,
and Ben continued, " Wall, health is a great bless-
ing to them that hain't got it. Do you calkerlate
that I could stay here to-night ? I've got lots o'
gewgaws," pointing to his boxes " hankerchers,
pins, ear-rings and a red and yellow gownd that'll
jest suit you, old gall," nodding to Dinah, who mut-
tered gruffly, " if he calls me old what'll he say to
Hetty ?"
Ben saw he had made a mistake, for black women
no more care to be old than their fairer sisters, and
he tried to make amends by complimenting the
indignant lady until she was somewhat mollified,
when he asked again if he could stay all night ?
" You, Josh," said Uncle Phil, " go and tell yer
master to come here."
"Whew-ew," whistled Ben, "if you're goin' to
send that stutterin' critter, I may as well be
joggin', for no human can make out his rigmarole."
But Ben was mistaken. Josh's dialect was well
understood by Frederic, who came as requested,
and, standing in the door, gazed inquisitively at the
singular looking object seated upon his steps, and
apparently oblivious to everything save the sliver
he was trying to extract from his thumb with a
large pin, ejaculating occasionally, " gaul darn the
pesky thing."
Nothing, however, escaped the keen grey eyes
which from time to time peered out from beneath
122 Marian GREV.
the stove-pipe hat. Already Ben had seen that
Redstone Hall was a most beautiful spot, and he
did not blame Frederic for disliking to give it up.
He had selected Dinah and Phil from the other
blacks, and had said that the baby, who, with a
small white dog, was disputing its right to a piece
of fat bacon and a chicken bone, was Victoria
Eugenia. Josh he identified by his name, and he
was wondering at Marian's taste in caring to hear
from him, when Frederic appeared, and all else was
forgotten in his eagerness to inspect the man " who
could make a gal bite her tongue in two and yank
her hair out by the roots, all for the love of him."
Frederic seemed in no hurry to commence a con-
versation, and during the minute that he stood
there without speaking, Ben had ample time to take
him in from his brown hair and graceful mustache
down to his polished boots.
" Got up in considerable kind of good style," was
Ben's mental comment, as he watched the young
man carelessly scraping his finger nail with a pen-
knife.
" Did you wish to see me ?" Frederic said at
last,jand, with another thrust at the sliver, Ben stuck
his pin upon his coat sleeve, and reversing the posi-
tion of his legs, replied, " Wall, if you're the boss, I
guess I dew ; I'm Ben Butterworth from down
East, and I've got belated, and bein' there ain't no
taverns near I want to stay all night, and pay in
money or notions. Got a lot on 'em besides some
tip-top muslin collars for your wife, Mrs., what do
you call her ?" and the gray eyes fastened them-
selves upon the face, which for a single instant was
white as marble, then the blood came rushing back
and Frederic replied, " there is no wife here, sir,
but you can stay all night if you please. Will you
walk in ?" and he led the way to the sitting-room,
followed by Ben, who had obtained what to him
was the most important information of all.
The YAl^KEE PEDDLER. 12^
The night was chilly, and in the gratd a Cheerful
coal fire was burning, casting its ruddy light upon
the face of a little girl, who, seated upon a st6ol,
with her hair combed back from her face, her hands
folded together and her brown eyes fixed upon the
coals as if she were looking at something far beyond
them, seemed to Ben what he had fancied angels in
heaven to be. It was not needful for Mr. Ray-
mond to say, "Alice, here is a peddler come to stay
all night," for Ben knew it was the blind girl, and
his heart gave a great throb when he saw her sit-
ting there so helpless, and so lonely, too, for he
almost knew that she was thinking of Marian and
he longed to take her in his arms and tell her of
the lost one.
Motioning him to a chair, Frederic went out,
leaving the two together. For some minutes there
was perfect silence, while Ben sat looking at her
and trying to keep from crying. It seemed terrible
to him that one so young should be Wind, and he
wanted to tell her so but he dared not, and he sat
so still that Alice began to think she was alone,
and resuming her former thoughts, whispered to
herself, " Oh, I wish she would come back."
" Blessed baby," Ben had almost ejaculated, but
he checked himself in time, and said instead, " little
gal."
AHce started, and turning her ear, seemed wait-
ing for him to speak again, which he soon did.
" Little gal, will you come and sit in my lap ?'
His voice was gentle and kind, but Alice did not
care to be thus free with a stranger, so she replied,
" I reckon I won't do that, but I'll sit nearer to
you," and she moved her stool so close by him that
her head almost rested on his lap.
" You must 'scuse me," she said, " if I don't act
like other children do, I'm bHnd."
Very tenderly he smoothed her hair, and as he
124 MARIAN GREY.
did so, she felt something drop upon her forehead.
It was a tear, and wiping it away she said :
" Man, be you hungry and tired, or what makes
you cry ?"
"I'm cryin' for you, poor, unfortunate lamb;"
and the tender hearted Ben sobbed out aloud.
" Oh, I wouldn't, I wouldn't," said the distressed
child, "I'm used to it. I don't mind it now."
The ice was fairly broken, and a bond of sympa-
thy established between the two.
" He must be a good man," Alice thought ; and
when he began to question her of her home and
friends, she replied to him readily.
"You haven't no mother, nor sister, nor a'nt,nor
nothin', but Mr. Raymond and Dinah," said Ben,
after they had talked awhile. " Ain't there no white
women in the house but you ?"
"Yes, Mrs. Huntington and Isabel. She's my
governess," Alice answered ; and Ben continued :
" Mr. Raymond sent for 'em, I s'pose ?"
" No," returned Alice. " They came without
sending for came to visit and he hired them to
stay. Mrs. Huntington keeps house."
At this point in the conversation there was a
rustling of garments in the hall, and a queenly
creature swept into the room, bringing with her
such an air of superiority that Ben involuntarily
hitched nearer to the wall, as if to get out of sight.
" Je-ru-sa-lem !" ain't she a dasher ?" was his men-
tal exclamation ; and, in spite of himself, he fol-
lowed her movements with an admiring glance.
Taking a chair she drew it to the fire, and with-
out deigning to notice the stranger, she said, rather
reprovingly,
" Alice, come here."
The child obeyed, and Ben, determined not to
be ignored entirely, said :
" Pretty well this evenin', miss ?"
THE YANKEE PEDDLER 125
" How, sir ?" and the black eyes flashed haught-
ily upon him.
Nothing abashed, he continued : " As't if you're
pretty well, but no matter, I know you be by your
looks. I've got a lot of finery that I know you
want." And opening Ms boxes, he spread out
upon the carpet the collars and laces which had
been bought with a view to this very night. Isabel
turned away disdainfully, saying she never traded
with peddlers.
" I wonder if you don't," returned Ben, with im-
perturbable gravity. " Wal, now, seein' it's me,
buy somethin', dew. Here's a bracelet that can't
be beat," and he held up Marian's hair, which, in
the firelight, looked singularly beautiful.
Isabel did unbend a little now. There was no
sham about that, she knew, and, taking it in her
hand, she tried to clasp it on her arm ; but it would
not come together.
" It isn't large enough," she said, " it must have
been intended for some child."
" Shouldn't wonder if you'd hit the nail on the
head," returned Ben, and taking the bracelet he
continued, " Mebby 'twas meant for this wee one
who knows ?" and he fastened it on Alice's slender
wrist. " Fits to a T," he said, " and you must have
it, too. Them clasps is little hearts, do you see ?"
Frederic now entered the room, and holding up
her arm, Alice said, " Look, is it pretty?"
" Yes, very," he replied, bending down to
examine it, while Ben watched him, wondering how
he would feel if he knew from whose hair that
braid was made.
" Harnsome color, ain't it. Square ?" he said,
holding Alice's hand a Httle more to the light, and
continuing, " Now there's them that don't like red
hair, but I swan I've seen some that wan't so bad.
Now when it curls kinder wall, like a gimblet,
yow koQVir, I've got a gal to hum I call my sister,
126 MARIAN GREY.
and her hair's as nigh this color as two peas, or it
was afore 'twas shaved. She's been awful sick with
the heart disorder, and fever, and I tell you, Square,
if you'd o' seen her pitchin' and divin' and rollin'
from one end of the bed to t'other, bitin' her
tongue and yankin' out her hair by han'fuls, I
rather guess you'd felt kinder streaked. It made a
calf of me, though I didn't feel so bad then as
when she got weaker, and lay so still that we held
a feather to her lips to see if she breathed."
" Oh, did she die .?" Alice asked.
" No," answered Ben, " she didn't, and the
thankfuUest prayer I ever prayed was the one I
made in the buttery, behind the door, when the
doctor said she would get well."
Supper was announced, and putting up his
muslins, Ben followed his host to the dining-room.
Alice, too, was at the table, the bracelet still upon
her wrist, for she liked the feeling of it.
" I shall have to buy it for you, I reckon," Fred-
eric said, and he inquired its price.
" Wall, now," returned Ben, " if 'twas any body
but the little gal, I should say five dollars, but
bein' it's hers, I'd kinder like to give it to her."
This, however, Frederic would not suffer. Alice
would not keep it, he said, unless he paid for it,
and he put a half eagle into the hand of the child,
who offered it to Ben. For a moment, the latter
hesitated, then thinking to himself, " Darn it all,
what's the use. If Marian goes to school, as I mean
she shall, she'll need a lot of money, and what I
get out o' him is clear gain," he pocketed the piece,
and the bracelet belonged to Alice.
After supper, Ben sat down by the fire in the
dining-room, hoping the family would leave him
with Alice, and this they did ere long, Isabel going
to the piano, and Frederic to the library to answer
letters, while Mrs. Huntington gave some direc-
tions for breakfast. Thgse direction? were merely
THE YANKEE PEDDLER. 12/
nominal, however, for Dinah, to all intents and
purposes, was mistress of the household, and she
game in to see to the supper dishes, which were
soon cleared away, and Ben, as he wished, was
alone with Alice. The bracelet seemed to be a
connecting link between them, for Alice was not
in the least shy of him now, and when he asked her
again to sit in his lap, she did so readily.
"That Miss Isabel is a dreadful han'some gal,"
he began ; " I should s'pose Mr. Raymond would
fall in love with her."
There was no answer from Alice, whose eyes
looked steadily into the fire.
" Mebby he is in love with her."
No answer yet, and mentally chiding himself for
his stupidity in not striking the right vein, Ben con-
tinued :
" I wonder he hain't married afore this. He
must be as much as twenty-five or six years old,
and so handsome too !"
" He has been married," and the little face of the
speaker did not move a muscle.
" Now you don't say it," returned Ben. " A
widower, hey ? How long sence he was mar-
ried ?"
" A few months," and the long eye-lashes began
to quiver.
" I want to know died so soon poor critter.
Tell me about her, dew. You didn't know her
long, so I s'pose you couldn't love her a great
sight ?"
The brown eyes flashed up into Ben's face, and
the blood rushed to Alice's cheek, as she replied,
" Me not love Marian ! Oh, I loved her so much!"
The right chord was touched at last, and in her
own way Alice told how Marian had left them on
her bridal night, and though they searched for her
everywhere, both in the river and through the
country, no tr^ce of her ?oilId t? found, and th
128 MARIAN GREY.
conviction was forced upon them that she was
dead.
" Je-ru-sa-lem ! I never thought of that !" was
Ben's involuntary exclamation ; but it conveyed n6
meaning to Alice, and when he asked if they still
believed her dead, she answered :
" I don't quite believe Frederic does. I don't,
any way. I used to, though, but now it seems just
like she would come back," and turning her face
more fully toward him, Alice told how she had
loved the lost one, and how each day she prayed
that she might come home to them again.
" I don't know as she was pretty," she said, " but
she was so sweet, so good, and I'm so lonesome
without her," and down Alice's cheeks the big
tears rolled, while Ben's kept company with them,
and fell upon her hands.
" Man, don't you cry again," she said, shaking
the drops off and wondering why a perfect stran-
ger should care so much for Marian.
" I'm so plaguy tender-hearted that I can't help
it," was Ben's apology, as he blew his nose upon
his blue cotton handkerchief.
For a time longer he talked with her, treasuring
up blessed words of comfort for the distant Marian,
and learning also that Alice was sure Frederic
would never marry again until certain of Marian's
death. He might like Isabel, she admitted, but he
would not dare make her his wife till he knew for
true what had become of Marian.
" And he does know it, the scented-up puppy,"
thought Ben. " He jest writ her that last insul-
tin' thing to kill her out and out ; but he didn't
come it, and till he knows he did, he dasserit do
nothin'."
This reasoning was very satisfactory to Ben, who,
having learned from Alice all he could, began to
think it was time to cultivate the negroes, and put-
ting th? child froin his Jcnee, he said " he ^uess?^
THE YANKEE PEDDLER. 1 29
he'd go out and see the slaves mebby they'd
like to trade a little, and he must be off in the
mornin'."
Accordingly he started for the kitchen, where
his character had been pretty thoroughly dissected.
A negro from a neighboring plantation had dropped
in on a gossiping visit, and as was very natural,
the conversation had turned upon the peddler,
whose peculiar appearance had attracted much
attention at the different places where he had
stopped. Particularly was this the case at the
house where the black man Henry lived.
" He done ask a heap of questions about us col-
ored folks," said Henry ; " how many was there of
us, how old was we, and what was we worth, and
when marster axed him did he want to buy, he
said. No, but 'way off whar he lived he alius spoke
in meetin' and them folks was mighty tickled to
hear suffin 'bout niggers. Ole Miss say how't she
done b'lieve he's an abolution come to run some
on us off, 'case he look like one o' them chaps
down in the penitentiary."
" Oh, Lord," ejaculated Dinah, involuntarily
hitching her chair nearer to Victoria Eugenia, who
lay in her cradle.
Old Hetty, too, took alarm at once, and glancing
nervously at her grandchild Dudley, a little boy
two years of age, who was stretched upon the
floor, " she hoped to goodness he wouldn't carry off
Dud."
" Jest the ones he'll pick for. He could hide a
dozen on 'em in them big boxes," said Henry, and
feeling pleased at the interest he had awakened in
the two old ladies he proceeded to relate the stories
he had heard " 'bout them fetched Yankees med-
dlin' with what didn't consarn 'em," and he advised
Dinah and Hetty both not to let the peddler get
sight of the children for fear of what might hap-,
pen.
130 MARIAN GREY.
At this point Ben came out of the house with his
boxes. He was first discovered by Josh, who, de-
lighted with the fun, pointed mysteriously toward
him and stuttered, " Da-da-da 'e co-co-comes."
" The Lord help us," said Dinah, and quick as
thought she seized the sleeping Victoria Eugenia
and thrust her into the churn as the nearest place
of concealment.
The awakened baby gave a screech, but Dinah
stopped its mouth with a piece of the licorice she
always carried in her pocket with her tobacco-box
and pipe. Meantime Hetty, determined not to be
outdone, caught up Dud, and opening the meal
chest, tumbled him in, telling him in fierce whispers
" not to stir nor wink, for thar was a man comin'
to cotch him."
Snatching a newspaper which lay on the floor,
she rolled it together and placed it under the lid,
so as to allow the youngster a breathing place.
This done, she resumed her seat just as Ben ap-
peared, and throwing down his pack accosted her
with
" Wall, a'nt, got your chores done ? 'Cause if
you have I want to trade a little. I won't be hard
on you," he continued, as he saw the forbidding
expression of her face. " I'll dicker cheap and
take most any kind o' dud for pay."
Dicker and chores were Greek to old Hetty, but
she fully comprehended the word Dud. He meant
her DUD the one in the meal chest and she
grasped the handle of the frying pan, so as to be
ready for what might follow next.
*' Let me show you some breastpins," said Ben,
looking round for a chair.
They were all occupied, and as the mischievous
Josh pointed to the chest, Ben crossed over, and
before Hetty was aware of his intention seated
himself quite as a matter of course. But not long,
for Hetty's dusky fist, and, more than all, the
THE YANKEE PEDDLER. I31
smothered cry of " Granny, granny, he done sot on
me," which came from beneath him, landed him on
the other side of the rooin, where he struck against
the churn ; whereupon, Victoria Eugenia set up
another yell, which sent Jhim to the spot where
Josh's cowhides were performing various evolutions
by way of showing his delight.
" Thunder !" ejaculated Ben, looking first at the
skirts of his swallow-tail, then at the chest from
which Dud was emerging, covered with meal, and
then at the churn, over the top of which a pair of
little black hands and a piece oflicorice were visible,
" what's the meaning of all this ?"
No explanation whatever was vouchsafed, and,
to this day, Ben does not know the reason why
those negroes were stowed away in such novel hid-
ing places.
When the excitement had somewhat subsided,
Ben returned to his first intention, behaving so
civilly that the fears of the negroes gave way, and
Dinah was so well pleased with purchasing a brass
pin at half price that Ben ventured at last to say:
" That little gal, Alice, has been tellin' me aboyt
Mr. Raymond's marriage. Unlucky, wasn't he ?
Shouldn't wonder though, if he had a kind of hank-
erin' after that black-eyed miss. She's han'some."
Dinah needed but this to loosen her tongue. She
had long before made up her mind that " Isabel
was no kind o' 'count ;" and once the two had come
to open hostilities, Isabel accusing Dinah of being
a "lazy, gossipping nigger," while Dinah in re-
turn had told her " she warn't no better 'n she
should be stickin' round after Mars Frederic when
.nobody knew whether Miss Marian was dead or
not."
The indignity was reported to Frederic, who re-
proved old Dinah sharply; whereupon she turned
upon him, and, to use her favorite expression, "gin
him a piece of her mind."
132 MARIAN GREY.
After this it was generally understood that be-
tween Dinah and Isabel there existed no very
amicable state of feeling, and when Ben spoke of
the latter, the former exploded at once.
'Twas a burnin' shame, she said, and it morti-
fied her een-a-most to death to see the trollop a
tryin' to set to marster when nobody know'd for
sartin if his fust wife was dead.
" Marster's jest as fast as she," interposed Hetty,
who seldom agreed with Dinah.
A contemptuous sneer curled Dinah's lip as she
said to Ben, in a whisper :
" Don't b'lieve none o' her trash. Them Hig-
ginses alius would lie. I hain't never seen Marster
Frederic do a single thing out o' the way, 'cept to
look at her, jest as Phil used to look at me when
he was sparkin'. I don't think that was very 'spect-
able in him, to be sure, but looks don't signify. He
dassen't marry her till he knows for sartin t'other
one is dead. He done told Alice so, and she told
me ;" and then Dinah launched out into praises of
the lost Marian, exalting her so highly that Ben
tossed into her lap a pair of ear-rings which she had
greatly admired.
" Take them," said he, " for standin' up for that
poor runaway. I like to hear one woman stick to
another."
Dinah cast an exulting glance at Hetty, who,
nothing daunted, came forward and said :
" Miss Marian was as likely a gal as thar was in
Kentuck, and she, for one, should be as glad to see
her back as some o' them that made sich a fuss
about it."
" Playin' possum," whispered Dinah. " Them
Higginses is up to that."
Ben probably thought so too, for he paid no at-
tention to Hetty, who, highly indignant, .started for
Isabel and told her " how Dinah and that fetch-ed
peddler done spilt her character entirely."
THE YANKEE PEDDLER. 133
" Leave the room," was Isabel's haughty answer.
" I am above what a poor negro and an ignorant
Yankee can say."
" For the dear Lord's sake," muttered the dis-
comfited Hetty, " wonder if she ain't a Yankee her
own self. 'Spects how she done forgot whar she
was raised," and Hetty returned to the kitchen a
warmer adherent of Marian than Dinah had ever
been.
She, too, was very talkative now, and before nine
o'clock Ben had learned all that he expected to
learn, and much more. He had ascertained that
no one had the slightest suspicion of the reason why
Marian went away ; that both Frederic and Isabel
seemed unhappy ; that Dinah and Hetty, too, be-
lieved " thar was somethin' warin' on thar minds ;"
that Frederic was discontented, and talked seri-
ously of leaving Redstone Hall in care of an over-
seer, and moving in the autumn to his residence on
the Hudson ; that Hetty hoped he would, and Di-
nah hoped he wouldn't, " 'case if he did it would be
next to impossible to get a stroke o' work out o'
them lazy Higginses."
" I've got all I come for, I b'lieve," was Ben's
mental comment, as he left the kitchen and re-
turned to the dining-room, where he found Frederic
alone. " I'll poke his ribs a little," he thought, and
helping himself to a chair, he began :
" Wall, Square, I've been out seein' your niggers.
Got a fine lot on 'em, and I shouldn't wonder if you
was wo'th considerable. Willed to you by your
dad, or was it a kind of a dowry come by your
wife ? You're a widower, they say ;" and the gray
eyes looked out at their corners, as Ben thought,
" That'll make him squirm, I guess."
Frederic turned very white, but his voice was
natural as he replied :
" My father was called the richest man in the
country, and I was his only child."
134 MARIAN GREY.
" Ah, yes, come to you that way," answered Ben,
continuing after a moment. " There's a big house
up on the Hudson to Yonkers that's been shet
up and rented at odd spells for a good while, and
somebody told me it belonged to a Colonel Ray-
mond, who lived South. Mabby that's yourn ?"
" It is," returned Frederic, " and I expect to go
there in the Fall."
" I want to know. I shouldn't s'pose you could
be hired to leave this place."
" I couldn't be hired to stay. There are too
many sad memories connected with it," was Fred-
eric's answer, and he paced the floor hurriedly,
while Ben continued :
" Mabby you'll be takin' a new wife there ?"
Frederic's cheek flushed as he replied :
" If I ever marry again, it will not be in years.
Would you like to go to bed, sir ?"
Ben took the hint and replying, " I don't care if
I dew," followed the negro, who came at Frederic's
call, up to his room, a pleasant, comfortable cham-
ber, overlooking the river and the surrounding
country.
" Golly, this is grand 1" said Ben, examining the
different articles of furniture, as if he had never
seen anything like it before.
The negro, who was Lyd's husband, made no re-
ply ; but, hurrying down stairs to his mother-in-law,
he told her, " Thar was somethin' mighty queer
about that man, and if they all found themselves
alive in the mornin', he should be thankful."
Unmindful of breast-pin and ear-rings, Dinah be-
came again alarmed, and, bidding Joe see that Vic-
toria Eugenia was safe, she gathered up the forks
and spoons, and rolling them in a towel, tucked
them inside her straw tick, saying : " I reckon it'll
make him sweat some to hist me and Phil on to the
floor ;" which was quite probable, considering that
tHE YANKEE PEDDLER. ij^
the United weight of the worthy couple was some-
what over three hundred !
The morning dawned at last, andj with her fears
abated, Dinah washed the silver, made the coffee,
broiled the steak, and fried the corn-meal batter-
cakes, which last were at first respectfully declined
by Ben, who admitted that they " might be fust-
rate, but he didn't b'lieve they'd set well on his
stomach."
Hetty, who was waiting upon the table, quickly
divined the reason, and whispered to him :, " Lord
bless you, take some ; I done sifted the meal !"
This argument was conclusive, and helping him-
self to the light, steaming cakes, Ben thought, " I
may as well eat 'em, for 'taint no wus, nor as bad
as them Irish gals does to hum, only I happened to
see it!"
Breakfast being over, he offered to settle his bill,
which he found was nothing.
" Now, ra-ally. Square," he said, as Frederic re-
fused to take pay, " I alius hearn that Kentuckians
was mighty free-hearted, but I didn't 'spect you to
give me my livin'. I'm much obleeged to you,
though, and I shall have more left to eddicate that
little sister I was tellin' you 'bout. I mean to give
her tip-top larnin', and mebby sometime she'll come
here to teach this wee one," and he laid his hand
on Alice's hair.
The little girl smiled up in his face, and said,
" Come again and peddle here, won't you }"
" Wouldn't wonder if I turned up amongst you
some day," was his answer ; and bidding the family
good-bye, he went out into Bruno's kennel, for un-
til this minute he had forgotten that the dog was
to be remembered.
" Keep away from dar," called out Uncle Phil,
while Bruno growled savagely and bounded against
the bars as if anxious to pounce upon the intruder.
" I've seen enough of him," thought Ben, and
136 MARIAN GREY.
shaking hands with Uncle Phil, he walked down the
avenue and out into the highway.
Marian, he knew, was anxious to hear of his suc-
cess, and not willing to keep her waiting longer
than was necessary, he determined to return at
once. Accordingly, while the unsuspecting inmates
of Redstone Hall were discussing his late visit and
singular appearance, he was on his way to the de-
pot, where he took the first train for Frankfort,
and was soon sailing down the Kentucky toward
home.
CHAPTER XIII.
PLANS.
Marian was sitting by the window of her little
room, looking out into the busy street below, and
thinking how differently New York seemed to her
now from what it did that dreary day when she
wandered down Broadway, and wished that she
could die. She was getting accustomed to the city
roar, and the sounds which annoyed her so much
at first did not trouble her now. Still there was
the same old pain at her heart a restless, longing
desire to hear from home, and know if what she
feared were true. She had counted the days of
Ben's absence, and she knew it was almost time
for his return. She did not expect him to-day,
however, and she paid no attention to the heavy
footstep upon the stairs, neither did she hear the
creaking of the door ; but when Mrs. Burt ex-
claimed, " Benjamin Franklin ! where did you come
from ?" she started, and in an instant held both his
hands in hers, longing, yet dreading, to ask the im-
portant question.
^ANS. r3j
" Have you been there ?" she managed to say at
last; and Ben replied, "Yes, I have, I've been to
Redstun Hall, and seen the hull tribe on 'em.
That Josh is a case. Couldn't understand him no
more than if he spoke a furrin tongue."
" But Frederic did you see him, and is he oh,
Ben, do tell me what you know I want to hear ?"
and Marian trembled with excitement.
" Wall, I will," answered Ben, dropping into a
chair, and coming to the point at once. " Fred-
eric ain't married to Isabel, nor ain't a-goin' to be,
either."
" What made him write me that lie ?" was
Marian's next question, asked so mournfully that
Ben replied :
" A body'd s'pose you was sorry it warn't the
truth he writ."
" I am glad it is not true," returned Marian,
" but it hurts me to lose confidence in one I love.
How does Frederic look ?"
" White as a sheet and poor as a crow," said
Ben. " It's a wearin' on him, depend on't. But I
tell you she's a dasher, with the blackest eyes and
hair I ever seen.'"
" Oh, Ben, is Isabel there ?" And Marian grew
as white as Ben had described Frederic to be.
" Yes, she is," returned Ben. " She's pretendin'
to teach that blind gal, but Frederic ain't makin'
love to her, no such thing. So don't go to
faintin' away, and I'll begin at the beginning and
tell you the hull story."
Thus reassured, Marian composed herself and
listened, while Ben narrated every particular of his
visit to Redstone Hall.
" I stopped at some of the houses in the neigh-
borhood," said he, " but I never as't a question
about the Raymonds, for fear of bein' mistrusted.
Come to think on't, though, I did inquire the road,
and they sent me through corn fields, and hemp
138 MARIAN GREY,
fields, and mefcy knows what ; sueh a way as they
have livin' in the lots ! But I kinder like it. Seems
like a story, them big housen 'way off among the
trees, with the white-washed cabins 'round 'em,
lookin' for all the world hke a camp-meetin' in the
woods "
" Yes, yes," interrupted Marian ; " but Frederic
won't you ever reach him ?"
"Not till I tell you about the dogs, and that
jaw-breakin' chap they call Josh, with his cow-
hides, big as a scow-boat, I'll bet," was Ben's an-
swer ; and finding it useless to hurry him, Marian
summoned all her patience and waited while he
waded through his introduction to the blacks, his
attempt to be more of a Yankee than he really
was, his sliver in his thumb, and, finally his address-
ing Frederic as Square and inquiring for his wife !
Marian was all attention now, and held her
breath, lest she should lose a single word. When
he came to Isabel, she felt as if she were turning
to stone ; but when he spoke of Alice, and the
sweet, loving words she had said of the lost one,
the cold, hard feeling passed away, and, covering
her face with her hands, she wept aloud. Every-
thing which Ben had seen or heard he told, omit-
ting not a single point, but lengthening out his
story with surmises and suspicions of his own.
"Alice and Dinah both," said he, "told me
Frederic wouldn't marry till they knew for certain
you was dead, and as he does know for certain,
you can calkerlate on that Isabel's bein' an old
maid for all of him."
" I never supposed they'd think me drowned
when I dropped my glove and handkerchief,"
Marian said. " Did they inquire at the station ?"
"Yes, so Alice said," returned Ben, "and nobody
knew nothin' of you ; so it was nateral they should
think you drownded ; but, no matter, it makes it
more like a novel, and now I'll tell you jest what
I-LANS. 139
'tis, wee one, I don't mean lio offense, and you
must take it all in good part. You are a great deal
better than Isabel, I know ; but, as fur as looks
and manners is concerned, you can't hold a candle
to her, and a body knowin' nothing about either
would naterally say she was most befittin' Redsturi
Hall ; but, tell 'em to wait a spell. You hain't got
your growth yet, and you are gettin' better lookin'
every day. That sickness made a wonderful
change in you, and shavin' your hair was jest the
thing. It's comin' out darker, as it always does,
and in less than a year I'll bet my hat on it's bein'
a beautiful auburn. You must chirk up and grow
fat, for I'm goin' to send you to school, and have
you take lessons on the planner, and learn French
and everything, so that by the time you're twenty
you'll be the best educated and han'somest gal in
the city, and then when the right time comes, if
Providence don't contrive to fetch you two to-
gether, Ben Burt will. I shall keep my eye on
him, and if he's gettin' too thick with Isabel, I'll
drop a sly point in his ear. They're goin' to move
up on the Hudson to the old place, did I tell you ?
and mebby you'll run afoul of him in the street
some day."
" Oh, I hope not, at least not yet, not till the
time you speak of," Marian said. She had listened
eagerly to Ben's suggestion, and already felt that
there was hope for her in the future. She would
study so hard, she thought, and learn so fast, and
if she could only be thought handsome, or even
decent-looking, she would be satisfied, but that was
impossible, she feared.
She did not know that, as Ben had said, the
severe illness through which she had passed had
laid the foundation for a softer, more refined style
of beauty than she would otherwise have reached.
Her entire constitution seemed to have undergone
a change, and now, with hope to buoy her up, she
146 MARIAN GREV.
grew stronger, healthier, and, as a natural conse-
quence, handsomer each day. She could not erase
from her memory the insult Frederic had offered
her by writing what she believed he did, but her
affection for him was strong enough to overlook
even that, and she was willing to wait and labor
years, if at the end of that time she could hope to
win his love.
Whatever Ben undertook he was sure to accom-
plish in the shortest possible time, and before start-
ing upon another peddling excursion, the name of
" Marian Grey " was enrolled among the hst of
pupils who attended Madam Harcourt's school.
At first she was subject to many annoyances, for, as
was quite natural, her companions inquired con-
cerning her standing, and when they learned that
her aunt was a sewing woman, and that the queer,
awkward fellow who came with her the first day
was her cousin and a peddler, they treated her
slightingly, and laughed at her plain dress. But
Marian did not care. One thought one feeUng
alone actuated her ; to make herself something of
which Frederic Raymond should not be ashamed
was her aim, and for this she studied early and late,
winning golden laurels in the opinion of her
teachers, and coming ere long to be respected and
loved by her companions.
Thus the Summer and a part of the Autumn
passed away, and when the semi-annual examina-
tion came, Marian Grey stood first in all her classes,
acquitting herself so creditably and receiving so
much praise, that Ben, who chanced to be present,
was overjoyed, and evinced his pleasure by shed-
ding tears, his usual way of expressing feeling.
From this time forward Marian's progress was
rapid, until even she herself wondered how it were
possible for her to learn so fast, when she had
formerly cared so little for books. Hope, and a
joyful anticipation of what would possibly be hers
PLANS. 141
in the future, kept her up and helped her to endure
the mental labors which might otherwise have
overtaxed her strength. Gradually, too, the old
soreness at her heart wore away, and she recovered
in a measure her former light-heartedness, until at
last her merry laugh was often heard ringing out
loud and clear just as it used to do at home in days
gone by. Very anxiously Ben watched her, and
when on his return from his excursions he found
her, as he always did, improved in looks and spirits,
he rubbed his hands together and whispered to
himself, " She'll set up for a beauty, yet, and no
mistake. That hair of hern is growin' a splendid
color."
He did not always express these thoughts to
Marian, but the little mirror which hung on the
wall in her room sometimes whispered to her that
the face reflected there was not the same which
had looked at her on that memorable night when
she had left her pillow to see what her points of
ugliness were ! The one which she had thought
the crowning defect of all had certainly disappeared.
Her red curls were gone, and in their place was
growing a mass of soft wavy hair, which reminded
her of the auburn tress she had so much admired
and prized, because it was her mother's. She had
no means of knowing how nearly they were alike,
for the ringlet was far away, but by comparing her
present short curls with those which had been
shorn from her head, she saw there was a difference,
and she felt a pardonable pride in brushing and
cultivating her young hair, which well repaid her
labor.
Toward the last of November, Ben, who found
his peddling profitable, took a trip through West-
ern New York, and did not return until February,
when, somewhat to his mother's annoyance, he
brought a sick stranger with him. He had taken
the cars at Albany, where he met with the stranger,
142 MARIAN GREV.
who offered him a part of his seat, and made himself
so generally agreeable that Ben's susceptible heart
warmed toward him at once, and when at last, as
they drew near New York, the man showed signs
of being seriously ill, Ben's sympathy was roused,
and learning that he had no friends in the city, he
urged him so strongly to accompany him home for
the night, at least, that his invitation was accepted,
and the more readily, perhaps, as the stranger's
pocket had been picked in Albany, and he had no-
thing left except his ticket to New York. This
reason was not very satisfactory to Mrs. Burt, who
from the first had disliked their visitor's appearance.
He was a powerfully built young man, with black
hair, and restless, rolling eyes, which seemed ever
on the alert to discover something not intended for
them to see. His face wore a hard, dissipated look ;
and when Mrs. Burt saw how soon after seating
himself before the warm fire, he fell asleep, she
rightly conjectured that a fit of drunkenness had
been the cause of his illness. Still, he was their
guest, and she could not treat him uncivilly, so she
bade her son take him to his room, where he lay in
the same deep, stupid sleep, breathing so loudly
that he could be plainly heard in the adjoining
room, where Marian and Ben were talking of the
house at Yonkers which was not finished yet, and
would not be ready for the family until sometime
in May.
Suddenly the loud breathing in the bedroom
ceased ^the stranger was waking up ; but Ben and
Marian talked on as freeiyas if there were no greedy
ears drinking in each word they said, and putting
together, link by link, the chain of mystery until it
was as clear to him as noonday. The first sentence
which he heard distinctly sobered him at once. . It
was Marian who spoke, and the words she said were,
"I wonder if Isabel Ktentington will come with
Frederic to Yonkers ?"
PLANS. 143
" Isabel !" the stranger gasped. " What do they
know of her ?" and sitting up in bed he hstened
until he learned what they knew of her, and learned
too, that the young girl whom Ben Burt called his
cousin was the runaway bride from Redstone
Hall.
The black eyes flashed, and the fists smote
angrily together as the stranger whispered :
"The time I've waited for has come at last, and
the proud lady shall be humbled in the very
dust !"
It was Rudolph McVicar who threatened evil to
Isabel Huntington. He had loved her once, but
her scornful refusal of him, even after she was his
promised wife, had turned his love to hate, and he
had sworn to avenge the wrong should a good
chance ever occur. He knew that she was in Ken-
tucky a teacher at Redstone Hall and for a time
he had expected to hear of her marriage with the
heir, but this intelligence did not come, and weary
of New Haven, he at last made a trip to New Or-
leans, determining on his way back to stop for a
time in the neighborhood of Redstone Hall, and if
possible learn the reason why Isabel had not yet
succeeded in securing Frederic Raymond. On the
boat in which he took passage on his return were
three or four young people from Franklin county,
and among them Agnes Gibson and her brother.
They were a very merry party, and at once at-
tracted the attention of Rudolph, who, learning
that they were from the vicinity of Frankfort, hov-
ered around them, hoping that by some chance he
might hear them speak of Isabel. Nor was he dis-
appointed ; for one afternoon when they were as-
sembled upon the upper deck, one of their number
who lived in Lexington, and who had been absent
in California for nearly two years, inquired after
Frederic Raymond, whom he had formerly knowq
^t school.
144 MARIAN GREY.
" Why," returned Agnes, " did no one write that
news to you ?" and she told the story of Frederic's
marriage and its sad denouement. Isabel, too, was
freely discussed. Miss Agnes saying that Mr. Ray-
mond would undoubtedly marry her, could he
know that Marian was dead, but as there were
some who entertained doubts upon that point, he
would hardly dare take any decisive step until un-
certainty was made sure.
" When Miss Huntington first came to Redstone
Hall," continued Agnes, " she took no pains what-
ever to conceal her preference for Mr. Raymond ;
but latterly a change has come over her, and she
hardly appears like the same girl. There seems to
be something on her mind, though what it is I
have never been able to learn, which is a little
strange, cousidering that she tells me everything."
Not a word of this story was lost by McVicar.
There was no reason now for his leaving the boat
at Louisville. He knew why Isabel was not a
bride, and he kept on his way till he reached Al-
bany, where a debauch of a few days was succeeded
by the sickness which had awakened the sympathy
of the tender-hearted Ben, and induced the latter
to offer him shelter for the night. He was glad
that he had met with Ben, for by that means he had
discovered the hiding-place of Frederic Raymond's
wife. He did not know of her fortune, but he knew
that she was Marian Lindsey ; that accidentally, as
he supposed, she had stumbled upon Mrs. Bnrt and
Ben who were keeping her secret from the world,
and that was enough for him. That Isabel had
something to do with her he was sure, and long af-
ter the conversation in the next room had ceased,
he lay awake thinking what use he could make of
his knowledge, and still not betray those who had
befriended him.
Rudolph McVicar was an adept in cunning, and
before the morning dawned he had formed a plan
PLANS. 145
by which he hoped to crush the haughty Isabel.
Assuming an air of indifference to everything
around him he sauntered out to breakfast, and pre-
tended to eat, while his eyes rested almost con-
stantly on Marian. She was very young, he
thought, and far prettier than Agnes Gibson had
represented her to be. She was changing in her
looks, he said, and two or three years would ripen
her into a beautiful woman of whom Frederic Ray-
mond would be proud. He wished he knew why
she had left Redstone Hall, but as this knowledge
was beyond his reach, he contented himself with
knowing who she was, and after breakfast was over
he thanked his new acquaintances for their hospi-
tality, and went out into the city, going first to a
pawnbroker's, where he left his watch, receiving in
exchange money enough to defray his expenses in
the city for several days.
That night, in a private room at the St. Nicholas,
he sat alone, bending over a letter, which, when
finished, bore a very fair resemblance to an unedu-
cated woman's handwriting, and which read as fol-
lows :
M. Raymond I now take my pen in hand to in-
form you that A young Woman, calling herself
Marian lindsey has ben staying with me awhile And
she said you was her Husband what she came of
and left you for I don't know and I spose its none
of my Biznes all I have to do is to tell you that she
died wun week ago come sunday with the canker-
rash and she made me Promise to rite and tell you
she was ded and that she forgives you all your Sins
and hope you wonldn't wate long before you mar-
red agen it would of done your Hart good to hear
her taulk like a Sante as she did. I should of writ
soonner only her sicknes hindered me about gettin
reddy for a journey ime goin to take my only
Brother lives in scotlapd and jme goin out tP Jiv?
146 MARIAN GREY.
with him i was most reddy when Marian took sick
if she had lived she was coming back to you I
bleave and now that shes ded ime going rite of in
the which sales tomorrough nite else ide ask
you to come down and see where she died and all
about it. i made her as comfitable as I could and
hopin you wouldnt take it to hard for Deth is the
Lot of all i am your most Humble Servant
Sarah Green.
' There," soliloquized Rudolph, reading over the
letter. " That covers the whole ground, and still
gives him no clue in case he should come to New
York. The does sail the very day I have
named, and though ' Sarah Green ' may not be
among her passengers, it answers my purpose quite
as well. I believe I've steered clear of all doubtful
points which might lead him to suspect it a forgery.
He knows Marian would not attempt to deceive
him, and he will, undoubtedly, think old Mrs. Green
some good soul, who dosed the patient with saffron
tea, and then saw her decently interred ! He'll
have a nice time hunting up her grave if he should
undertake that. But he won't he'll be pleased
enough to know that he is free, for by all accounts
he didn't love her much, and in less than six weeks
he'll be engaged to Isabel. But I'll be on their
track, I'll watch them narrowly, and when the day
is set, and the guests are there, one will go unbid-
den to the marriage feast, and the story that unin-
vited guest can tell will humble the proud beauty
to the dust. He will tell her this letter was a for-
gery, and Sarah Green a myth : that Marian Lind-
sey lives, and Frederic Raymond, if he takes another
wife, can be indicted for bigamy ; and when he sees
her eyes flash fire, and her cheek grow pale with
rage and disappointment, Rudolph McVicar will be
avenged."
This was the plan which Rudolph had formed,
THE EFFECT, 147
and, without wavering for an instant in his purpose,
he sealed the letter, and directing it to Frederic,
sent it on its way, going himself the next morning
to New Haven, where he had some money depos-
ited in the bank. This he withdrew, and after a few
days started for Lexington, where he intended to
remain and watch the proceedings at Redstone
Hall, until the denouement of his plot.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE EFFECT.
Not quite a year had passed since the night
when Ben Burt first strolled leisurely up the long
avenue leading to Redstone Hall. It was April
then, and the early flowers were in bloom, but now
the chill March winds are blowing, and the brown
stalks of the tall rose-tree brush against the window
from which a light streams out into the darkness.
It is the window of the library where we have seen
Frederic before, and where we meet him again.
He has changed somewhat since we saw him last,
and there is upon his face an expression as if in his
heart there was a haunting memory which would
follow him through all time, and embitter every
hour.
Little by little he had come to hate the wealth
which had tempted him to sin to loathe the beau-
tiful home he once loved so well and this had
prompted him to leave it and go back to the old
house on the river, where his early boyhood was
passed. There were not so many mournful memo-
ries clustering around that spot, he thought, and if
148 MARIAN GREY.
he once weire there he might perhaps forget the
past, and be happy again. He would open an of-
fice in the city, and if possible earn his own living,
so as not to spend more of Marian's fortune than
was necessary. He could not tell why he wished
to save it. He only knew that he could not bear to
use it, cind he roused himself at last, determining
to do something for himself. This plan of moving
to the Hudson was opposed by Isabel, who liked
the easy, luxurious life she led at Redstone Hall ;
but for once, Frederic would not listen to her, and
he had made his arrangements to leave Kentucky
in May, at which time his house would be in readi-
ness to receive him. Isabel would go with him, of
course she was necessary to him now, though faith-
ful to the promise made to little Alice, he had
never talked to her of love. And she was glad that
he had not ; for, with the knowledge she possessed,
she would not have dared to listen to his suit,
and she often questioned herself as to what the end
would be.
One year more of the dreary seven was gone,
but the future looked almost hopeless to her, and
she was sometimes tempted to go away and leave
the dangerous game at which she was so hazard-
ously playing. Still, when she seriously contem-
plated such a proceeding, she shrunk from it for,
though she were never Frederic's wife, she would
rather remain where she was, and see that no other
came to dispute the little claim she had. All her
assurance was gone, and in her dread lest Frederic
should say the words she must not hear, she as-
sumed toward him a half distant, half bashful man-
ner, far more attractive than a bolder course of
conduct would have been, and Frederic, while
watching her in this new phase of character, strug-
gled manfully against the feeling which sometimes
prompted him to break his promise to the blind
girl. She ^Ya? faulty he knew far naore 0 th^i; h?
THE EFFECT. T49
had once imagined but she was brilliant, beauti-
ful, accomplished, and he thought that he loved
her.
But he was not thinking of her that chill March
night, when he sat alone in the library watching
the flickering of the lamp, and listening to the
evening wind, as it shook the bushes beneath his
window. It was Marian's seventeenth birthday,
and he was thinking of her, wondering what she
would have been had she lived to see this day.
She was surely dead, he thought, or some tidings
of her would have come to him ere this, and when
he remembered how gentle, how pure and self-
denying her short life had been, he said, involun-
tarily :
" Poor Marian she deserved a better fate, and
could she come back to me again I would prove to
her that I am not unworthy of her love."
There was a shuffling tread in the hall, and Josh
appeared bringing several letters. One bore the
Louisville post-mark one was from New Orleans
one from Lexington, and one from Sarah
Green !
" Who writes to me from New York ?" was
Frederic's mental query, and tearing open the
envelope he read the scrawl, while there crept over
him a nameless terror as if while he was thinking
of Marian, the grave had opened at his feet and
shown him where she lay ; not in the moaning
river not in the deep, dark woods, nor on the
western prairies, as he had sometimes feared, but
far away in the great city, where there was no one
to pity no eye to weep for her, save that of the
rude woman who had written him the letter.
There Marian had suffered and died for him.
His young girl-wife ! He could call her so now,
and he did, saying it softly, reverently, as we speak
always of the departed, while the tears he was not
ashamed to shed, dropped upon the soiled sheet.
I50 MARIAN GREV.
He did n'ot think of doubting it. There was no
reason why he should, and his heart went out after
the dead as it had never gone after the living. It
seemed to him so terrible that she should die
among strangers, so far from home ; and he won-
dered how she ever chanced to get there. She had
remembered him to the last, " forgiving all his sin,"
the woman said, and knowing how much those few
words meant, he said aloud, " Poor Marian," just
as the door opened and Alice came slowly in.
There was a grand party that night at the house
of Lawyer Gibson, and at Isabel's request Alice
had come to ask how long before the carriage
would be ready. Dinah had told her that Fred-
eric was in the library, but he sat so still she
thought he was not there, and she said inquiringly,
" Frederic ?"
" Yes, darling," was his answer in a tone which
startled the sensitive child, for she detected in it a
sound of tears, and hurrying to his side she passed
her hand over his face to assure herself that she
had heard aright.
" Has something dreadful happened ?" she asked,
as she felt the moisture on his eye-lids.
Taking her on his lap, Frederic said to her :
" Alice, Marian is dead ! Here is the letter
which came to tell us," and he placed it in her
hand. There was a sudden upward flashing of the
brown eyes, and then their light was quenched in
tears, as, burying her face in the young man's
bosom, Alice sobbed, " Oh, no, no, Frederic, no."
For several minutes she wept passionately.
Then lifting up her head, she said :
" Read the letter, Frederic."
" Is that all ?" she asked, when he had finished.
" Didn't you leave out a word ?"
" Not one," was his reply, and with quivering
lips the heart-broken child continued, " Marian
,sent no message to me, she never thought of me
THE EFFECT. Igt
who loved her so much. Why didn't she, Fred-
eric ?" and the sightless eyes looked at him as if he
could explain the mystery.
Rudolph McVicar did not know how strong was
the affection between those two young girls, or he
would have sent a message to one who seemed
almost a part of Marian herself, and it was this
very omission which finally led the close reasoning
child to doubt the truth of the letter. But she did
not doubt it now. Marian was dead, and for a
long time she sat with Frederic, saying nothing,
but by her silence manifesting to him how great
was her grief at this sudden bereavement.
At last remembering her errand, she told him
why she had come, and asked what she should say
to Isabel.
" Tell her I shall not go," he said, " but she need
not remain at home for that. The carriage can be
ready at any time, and, Alice, tell her the rest.
You'll do it better than I."
Alice would rather that some one else should
carry to lsabl tidings which she felt intuitively
would be received with more pleasure than pain,
but if Frederic requested it of her she would do it,
and she started to return. To her the night and
the day were the same, and ordinarily it mattered
not whether there were lamps in the hall or not,
but now, as she passed from the library into the
adjoining room, there came over her a feeling of
such utter loneliness and desolation that she turned
back and said to Frederic :
" Will you go with me up the stairs, for now that
Marian is dead, the night is darker than it ever was
before."
He appreciated her feelings, and taking her by
the hand, led her to the door of Isabel's room.
Isabel had waited impatiently for her, wishing to
know what hour Frederic intended starting, and if
there would be time for Luce, her waiting maid, to
tS2 MARIAN GREY,
curl her hair. Accidentally she had overheard d.
gentleman say that if she wore curls she would be
the most beautiful woman in Kentucky, and as he
was to be present at the party she determined to
prove his assertion.
" I hope that young one stays well," she said,
angrily, as the moments went by, and at last, as
Alice did not come, she bade Luce put the iron in
the fire, and commence her operations.
The negress accordingly obeyed the orders, and
six long curls were streaming down the lady's back,
while a seventh was wound around the iron in close
proximity to her ear, when Alice came in, and hur-
rying to her side, began :
" Oh, Miss Huntington, poor, dear Marian wasn't
dead all the time they thought she was. She was
in New York, with Mrs. "
She did not finish the sentence ; for, feeling cer-
tain that her treachery was about to be disclosed,
Isabel jumped so suddenly as to bring the hot iron
directly across her ear and a portion of her fore-
head. Maddened with the pain, and a dread of
impending disgrace, she struck the innocent girl a
blow which sent her reeling across the floor.
" Oh, Lordy !" exclaimed Luce, untwisting the
hair so rapidly that a portion of it was torn from
the head " oh,- Lordy ! Miss Isabel, Alice never
tached you ;" and, throwing the iron upon the
hearth, she hurried to the prostrate child, who had
thrown herself upon the lounge and was sobbing so
loud and hysterically that Isabel herself was
alarmed, and while bathing her blistered ear, tried
to stammer out some apology for what she had
done.
" I supposed you carelessly ran against me," she
said ; " and it hurt me so I didn't know what I was
doing. Pray, don't cry that way. You'll raise the
house;" and she took hold of Alice's shoulder.
" I wish she would," muttered Luce ; and, stoop.
THE EFFECT. 153
ing down, she whispered : " Screech louder, so as to
fotch Marster Frederic, and tell him jest how she
done sarved you !"
But nothing could be further from Alice's mind
than crying for effect. It was not so much the in-
dignity she had suffered, nor the pain of the blow
which made her weep so bitterly. It was the utter
sense of desolation, the feeling that her last hope
had drifted away with the certainty of Marian's
death, and for a time she wept on passionately ;
while Isabel, with a hurricane in her bosom, walked
the floor, wondering if her perfidy would ever be
discovered, and feeling that she cared but little now
whether it were, or not. Suspense was terrible, and
when the violence of Alice's sobs had subsided, she
said to her :
" Where is Marian, and when is she coming
home ?"
" Oh, never, never !" answered the child. " She
can't come back, for she's dead."
" Dead !" Isabel exclaimed, in a far different
voice from that in which she had spoken before.
" What do you mean ?" and passing her arm very
caressingly around Alice, she continued : " I am
sorry I struck you. I didn't know what I was do-
ing, and you must forgive me, will you, darling ?
There, dry your eyes, and tell me all about poor
Marian. When did she die, and where ?"
As well as she could for her tears, Alice told
what she knew, and satisfied that she was in no way
implicated, Isabel became still more amiable, even
speaking pleasantly to Luce and telling her she
might do what she pleased the remainder of the
evening.
" Of course I shouldn't think of attending the
party now, even if I were not so dreadfully burned.
Poor Frederic ! how badly he must feel !"
" He does," said Alice, " and he cried, too."
Isabel curled her proud lip contemptuously, and
iS4 MARtAN GRfeY.
dipping her handkerchief again in the water, she
applied it to her blistered ear, thinking to herself
that he would probably be easily consoled. It
would be proper, too, for her to commence the
consoling process at once, by expressing her sym-
pathy ; and leaving Alice alone she went to the
library where Frederic was still sitting, so absorbed
in his own reflections that he did not observe her
approach until she said, "Alice tells me you have
heard from Marian ;" then he started suddenly, and
turning toward her, answered, 'Yes, you can read
what is written here if you like," and he passed her
McVicar's letter.
It seemed to Isabel tnat there was something fa-
miliar about the writing, particularly in the forma-
tion of the capitals, but she suspected no fraud, and
accepted the whole as coming from Sarah Green.
" This is some new acquaintance Marian picked
up," she thought. "The woman speaks of havint;-
known her but a short time. Probably she left
Mrs. Daniel Burt and stumbled upon Sarah Green,"
and with an exultant smile upon her face, she put
the letter down, and laying her hand on Frederic's
shoulder, said, " I am sorry for you, Frederic,
though it is better, of course, to know just what did
become of the poor girl."
Frederic could not tell why it was that Isabel's
words of sympathy grated harshly on his ear. He
only knew that they did, and he was glad when she
left him alone, telling him she should not attend
the party, and saying in reply to his question as to
what ailed her ear, that Luce, who was curling her
hair, carelessly burned it.
"By the way," she continued, " when I felt the
hot iron, I jumped and throwing out my hand acci-
dentally hit Alice on her head, and, if you'll believe
me, the sensitive child thinks I intended it, and has
almost cried herself sick."
This falsehood she thought necessary, in case the
THE EFFfiCT, 15^
truth of the matter should ever reach Frederic
through another channel, and feeling confident that
she was safe in every respect, and that the prize she
so much coveted was nearly won, she left him and
sought her mother's chamber.
In the kitchen the news of Marian's certain
death was received with noisy demonstrations old
Dinah and Hetty trying hard to outdo each other,
and see which should shed the most tears. The
woollen aprons of both were brought into con-
stant requisition, while Hetty rang so many changes
upon the virtues of the departed that Uncle Phil
became disgusted, and said " for hfs part he'd hearn
enough 'bout dead folks. He liked Miss Marian as
well as anybody, but he did up his mournin' them
times that he wet hisself to the skin a tryin' to fish
her out of the river. He thought his heart would
bust then, though he knew all the time she wasn't
thar, and he told 'em so, too. He knew she'd run
away to New York, and he alius s'posed they'd hear
she died summers at the South. He wasn't disap-
pointed. He could tell by his feelin's when any-
thing was gwine to happen, and for more'n a week
back he'd had it on his mind that Miss Marian was
dead they couldn't fool him !" and satisfied that
he had impressed his audience with a sense of his
foreknowledge, Uncle Phil pulled off his boots and
started for bed, leaving Dinah and Hetty to dis-
cuss the matter at their leisure and speculate upon
the probable result.
" I can tell you," said Dinah, " it won't be no
time at all afore Marster'll be settin' to that Isabel,
and if he does, I 'clar for't I'll run away, or hire out,
see if I don't. I ain't a goin' to be sassed by none
of yer low flung truck and hev 'em carryin' the
keys. She may jest go back whar she come from,
and I'll tell her so, too. I'll gin her a piece of my
mind."
"She's gwine back," suggested Hetty, who, faith-
156 MARIAN GREY.
ful to the memory of Miss Beatice, admired Isabel
on account of a fancied resemblance between the
two. " Don't you mind how Marster is a gwine to
move up to somewhar?"
" That's nothin'," returned Dinah. " They'll
come back in the fall, but I shan't be here. I'll
hire myself out, and you kin be the head a spell."
This prospect was not an unpleasant one to
Hetty, who looked with a jealous eye upon Dinah's
superior position, and as a sure means of attaining
the object of her ambition and becoming in turn
the favorite, she warmly espoused the cause of Isa-
bel, and waged many a battle of words with Dinah,
who took no pains to conceal her dislike. Thus
two or three weeks went by, and as nothing oc-
curred to cause Dinah immediate alarm, her fears
gradually subsided, until at last she forgot them
altogether, while even Marian ceased to be a daily
subject of conversation.
To Frederic reality was more endurable than
suspense, for he could look the future in the face
and think what he would do. He was free to
marry Isabel, he believed ; but, as .vas quite natu-
ral, he cared less about it now than when there was
an obstacle in his way. There was no danger of
losing her, and he could wait as long as he pleased.
Once he thought of going to New York to make
some inquiries, and if possible, find Marian's grave,
but when he reflected that Sarah Green was on the
ocean, he decided to defer the matter until their
removal to Yonkers, which was to take place about
the middle of May. Isabel, too, had her own
views upon the subject. There no longer existed
a reason why Frederic should not address her, and
in her estimation nothing could be more proper
than to christen the new home with a bride. So
she bent all her energies to the task, smiling her
sweetest smile, saying her softest words, and play-
ing the amiable lady to perfection. But it availed
THE EFFECT. 1 57
her nothing, and she determined at last upon a
bolder movement.
Finding Frederic alone in the parlor one day she
said :
" I suppose it will not affect you materially if
mother and I leave when you remove to Yonkers.
Agnes Gibson, you know, is soon to be married,
and she has invited me to go with her to Florida,
where, she says, I can procure a good situation as
music teacher, and mother wishes to go back to
New Haven."
The announcement, and the coolness with which
it was made, startled Frederic, and he replied,
rather anxiously :
" I have never contemplated a separation. I
shall need your mother there more than I do here,
for I shall not have Dinah."
" Perhaps you can persuade her to stay, but I
think it best for me to go," returned Isabel, de-
lighted with her success.
Frederic did not wish Isabel to leave him, and,
after a moment, he said :
" Why must you go, Isabel ? Do you wish for a
larger salary? Are you tired of us of me?"
And the last words were spoken hesitatingly, as if
he doubted the propriety of his saying them.
"Oh, Frederic !" and in the eyes raised for an
instant to his face, and then modestly withdrawn,
there was certainly a tear ! " Oh, Frederic !" was
all she said, and Frederic felt constrained to an-
swer : " What is it, Isabel ? Why do you wish to
go?"
" I don't I don't," she answered, passionately ;
" but respect for myself demands it. People are
already talking about my living here with you ;
and now poor Marian is dead it will be tenfold
worse. I wish they would let us alone, for I have
been so happy here and am so much attached to
Alice, It will almost break my heart to lea^ve her !"
IS8 MARIAN GREY.
For a moment Frederic was tempted to bid her
stay, not as Alice's governess, but as his wife and
mistress of his house. Several times he tried to
speak, and at last, he began " Isabel, I have never
heard that people were talking of you. There is
no reason why they should, but if they are I can
devise a method of stopping it and still keeping
you with us. I have never spoken to you of "
love he was going to say, when a little voice
chimed in : " Please, Frederic, I am here," and
looking up they saw Alice.
She had entered unobserved and was standing
just within the door where she heard what Fred-
eric said. Intuitively she felt what would follow
next, and scarcely knowing what she did, she had
apprised them of her presence.
" The brat !" was Isabel's mental comment, while
Frederic was sensible of a feeling of relief, as if he
had suddenly wakened from a spell, or been saved
from some great peril. For several moments Isabel
sat, hoping Alice would leave the room, but she did
not, and in no very amiable mood the lady was
herself constrained to go, by a call from her
mother, who wished to see her on some trivial
matter.
When she was gone, Alice said to Frederic,
" Won't you read me that letter again which Mrs.
Green wrote to you ?"
He complied with her request, and when he had
finished, the child continued, " If Marian had really
died, wouldn't she have gent some message to me,
and wouldn't that woman have told us how she
happened to be way off there, and all about it ?"
"7/" Marian really died!" Frederic repeated.
" Do you doubt it ?"
" Yes," returned the child, " Marian loved me
most as well as she did you, and she surely would
have talked of me and sent me some word ; then.
tpo, is there piuch difference between scarlet fever
THE EFFECT. I5g
and canker-rash ? Don't some folks call it by both
names?"
" I believe they do," said Frederic, wondering to
where all this was tending.
" Marian had the scarlet fever, and I, too, just
after I came here," was Alice's next remark. " You
were at college, but I remember it, and so does
Dinah, for I asked her a little while ago. Can
folks have it twice ?" and the blind eyes looked up
at Frederic, as if sure that this last argument at
least were proof conclusive of Marian's existence.
" Sometimes, but not often," Frederic answered,
the shadow of a doubt creeping into his own
mind.
" And if they do," persisted Alice, who had been
consulting with Dinah " if they do, they seldom
have it hard enough to die, so Dinah says ; and I
don't beheve that was a good, true letter. Some-
body wrote it, to be wicked. Marian is alive, I
almost know."
" Must you see her dead body to be convinced ?"
Frederic asked a little impatiently ; and Alice re-
joined :
" No; but somehow it don't seem right for you
to to oh, Frederic !" and, bursting into tears
she came at once to the root of the whole matter.
She had thought a great deal about the letter,
wondering why Marian had failed to speak of her,
and at last rejecting it as an impossibility. Sud-
denly, too, she remembered that once, when she
and Marian were sick, she heard some of the neigh-
bors speak of their disease as scarlet fever, while
others called it the canker-rash ; and all united in say-
ing they could have it but once. This had led to
inquiries of Dinah, and had finally resulted in her
conviction that Marian might possibly be living.
Full of this new idea, she had hastened to Frederic
and accidentally overheard what he was saying to
Isabel. She comprehended jt, too, and kn^w that
l6o MARIAN GREY.
but for her unexpected presence he would, perhaps,
have asked the lady to be his wife, and she felt
again as if Marian were there urging her to stand
once more between Frederic and temptation. All
this she told him, and the haughty man, who would
have spurned a like interference from any other
source, listened patiently to the pleadings of the
childish voice, which said to him so earnestly :
" Don't let Isabel be your wife !"
"What objection have you to her ?" he asked,
and when she replied :
" She isn' good," he questioned her further as
to the cause of her dislike
" Was there really a reason or was it mere pre-
judice?"
" I try to like her," said Alice, "and sometimes I
do, but she don't act alone with me like she does
when you are round. She'll be just as cross as
fury, and if you come in, she'll smooth my hair and
call me ' little pet.' "
" Does she ever strike you ?" asked Frederic,
feeling a desire to hear Alice's version of that story.
Instantly tears came in Alice's eyes, and she re-
plied, " Only once and she said she didn't mean
that but Frederic, she did," and in her own way
Alice told the story, which sounded to Mr. Ray-
mond more like the truth than the one he had
heard from Isabel. Gradually the conviction was
forcing itself upon him that Isabel was not exactly
what she seemed. Still he could not suddenly
shake off the chain which bound him, and when
Alice said to him in her odd, straightforward way,
." Don't finish what you were saying to Isabel until
/you've been to New York and found if the letter
is true," he answered :
" Fie, Alice, you are unreasonable to ask such
a thing of me. Marian is dead. I have no doubt
of it, and I am free from the promise made to you
more than a j^ear ago."
THE EFFECT. l6l
" Maybe she isn't," was Alice's reply, " and if
she is, we shall both feel better if you go and see.
Go, Frederic, do. It won't take long, and if you
find that she is really dead, I'll never speak another
naughty word of Isabel, but try to love her just as
I want to love your wife. I heard you say you
ought to see the house before we moved, and
Yonkers is close to New York, isn't it ?"
The last argument was more convincing than any
which Alice had yet offered, for Frederic had left
the entire management of repairs to one who he
knew understood such matters better than himself,
consequently he had not been there at all, and he
had several times spoken of going up to see that all
was right. Particularly would he wish to do this
if he took thither a bride in May, and to Alice's
suggestion he replied, " I might, perhaps, do that
for the sake of gratifying you."
" Oh, if you only would !" answered Ahce.
"You'll find her somewhere I know you will
and then you'll be so glad you went."
Frederic was not quite so sure of that, but it was
safe to go, and while Isabel had been communicat-
ing to her mother what he had been saying to her,
and asking if it were not almost a proposal, he was
deciding to start for New York immediately.
Alice's reasons for doubting the authenticity of the
letter seemed more and more plausible the longer
he thought of them, and at supper that night he
astonished both Mrs. Huntington and daughter by
saying that he was going North in a few days, and
he wished the former to see that his wardrobe was
in a proper condition for traveling. Isabel's face
grew dark and the wrathful expression of her eyes
was noticeable even to him. " There is a good deal
of temper there," was his mental comment, while
Isabel feigned some trivial excuse and left the
room to hide her anger. He had commenced pro-
posing to her, she was sure, and he should not leavq
1 62 MARIAN GREY.
Redstone Hall until he explained himself more fully.
Still it would not be proper for her to broach the
subject her mother must do that. It was a par-
ent's duty to see that her daughter's feelings were
not trifled with, and by dint of cajolery, entreaties
and threats, she induced the old lady to have a
talk with Frederic, and ask him what his intentions
were.
Mrs. Huntington was not very lucid in her re-
marks, and without exactly knowing what she
meant, Frederic replied at random that he was in
earnest in all he had said to Isabel about her re-
maining there, that he did not wish her to go away,
for she seemed one of the family, and that he would
speak with her further upon the subject when he
came back. This was not very definite, but Mrs.
Huntington brushed it up a little before repeating
it to Isabel, who readily accepted it as an intima-
tion that after his return he intended asking her
directly to be his wife. Accordingly she told
Agnes Gibson confidentially what her expectations
were, and Agnes told it confidentially to several
others, who had each a confidential friend, and so
in course of a few days it was generally understood
that Redstone Hall was to have another mistress.
The story spread rapidly, increasing as it spread,
until at last it was reported that the bridal dress
was making in Lexington, where Frederic was
well known, and where the story of his supposed
engagement reached the second-rate hotel where
Rudolph McVicar was a boarder. The wedding
he heard was fixed for the 20th of May, which he
knew was Isabel's birthday, and he counted the
hours which mu^t elapse before the moment of his
triumph came.
THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER. 163
CHAPTER XV.
THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER.
" Marian," Ben said, one pleasant April morn-
ing, " Frederic's house is finished in tip-top style,
and if you say so, we'll go out and take a look. It
will do you good to see the old place once more
and know just how things are fixed."
" Oh, I'd like it so much," returned Marian,
" but what if I should fall upon Frederic ?"
" No danger," Ben answered, " the man who has
charge of everything told me he wasn't comin' till
May, and the old woman who is tendin' to things
knows I have seen Mr. Raymond, for I told her so,
and she won't think nothin'; so clap on your clothes
in a jiff, for we've barely time to reach the cars."
Marian did not hesitate long and in a few
moments they were in the street. As they were
passing the Hotel, Ben suddenly left her,
and running up the steps spoke to one of the ser-
vants with whom he was acquainted. Returning
he said, by way of apology, " I was in there last
night to see Jim, and he told me there was a man
took sick with a ravin' fever, pretty much like you
had when you bit your tongue most in two."
"Is he better?" Marian asked, and Ben replied,
" No, ten times wus he'll die most likely. But
hurry up here's the omnibus we want," and in the
excitement of securing a seat they both forgot the
sick man.
The trip to Yonkers was a pleasant one, for to
Marian it seemed like going home, and when, after
reaching the station, they entered the lumbering
stage and wound slowly up the long, steep hill, she
recognized many familiar way marks,
164 MARIAN GREY.
The house itself was greatly changed, but the
view it commanded of the river and the scenery
beyond was the same, and leaning against a pillar,
Marian tried to fancy that she was a child again,
and listening for the footsteps of the handsome,
teasing boy, once her terror and her pride. But
the well-remembered footfall did not come ; the
handsome boy was not there, and it was Ben who
roused her from her reverie by saying :
" I have told Miss Russell my sister was here,
and she says you can go over the house."
" Let us go through the garden first," she said,
as she led the way to the maple tree where she had
built her play-house, and where on the bark, just
as high as his head then came the name of Frederic
was cut.
Far below it, and at a point which hers had
reached, there was her own name, which Frederic
had cut, while she stood by and said to him, " I
wish I was Marian Raymond instead of Marian
Lindsey."
How distinctly she remembered the characteristic
reply :
" If you should happen to be my wife, you would
be Marian Raymond ; but I shall marry a great
deal prettier woman than you will ever be, and you
may live with us if you want to, and take care of
the children !"
She had not thought of this speech in years, but
it came back to her now, as did' many other things
which had occurred there long ago. Within the
house everything was changed, but she had no
trouble in identifying the different rooms, and she
lingered long in the one she felt sure was intended
for Frederic, sitting in the chair where she knew
he would often sit, and wondering if, while sitting
there, he would ever think of her.
Once she was half tempted to leave something
which would tell him she had been there. But sh$
THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER. 165
Spurned the idea as soon as formed. She would not
intrude herself upon him a second time, and rising at
last, she arranged the furniture more to her taste,
changed the position of a picture, moved the mirror
into a perfect angle, set Frederic's chair before the
window looking out upon the river, and then left
the room.
Isabel's chamber was visited next, and Marian's
would have been less than a woman's nature could
she have looked without a pang upon the costly
furniture and rare ornaments which had been gath-
ered there. In the disposal of the furniture there
was a lack of taste a decidedly Mrs. Russell air ;
but Marian had no wish to interfere. There was
something sickening in the very atmosphere of her
rival's apartment, and with a deep sigh, she turned
away. Opening the door of an adjoining chamber
she knew she was in Alice's room. It was smaller
than the others, and with its neat, white furniture,
seemed well adapted to the child who was to oc-
cupy it. Here, too, she staid a long time, looping
up the lace curtains, brushing the dust from the
marble mantel, and patting lovingly the snowy pil-
lows, for the sake of the fair head which would rest
there some night.
"There are no flowers here," she said, glancing
at the vases on the stand. " Alice is fond of flowers,
and though they will be withered before she comes,
she will be sure to find them, and who knows but
their faint perfume may remind her of me." Go-
ing into the garden she gathered some hyacinths
and violets which she made into bouquets and placed
in the vases, and bidding the woman change the
water every day until they began to fade, and then
leave them to dry until the blind girl came. " Ben
told me of her ; he once staid at Redstone Hall all
night," she said, in answer to the woman's inquiring
look. " He says she is a sweet young creature, and
I thought flowers might please her,"
l66 MARIAN GREY.
" Fresh ones would," returned Mrs. Russell, "but
them that's withered ain't no use. S'pose I fling
'em away when they get old and put in some new
the day she comes ?"
" No, no, not for the world, leave them as they
are," and Marian spoke so earnestly that the woman
promised compliance with her request.
" Be you that Yankee peddler's sister," she asked,
as she followed Marian down the stair. " If you be,
nater cut up a curis caper with one or t'other of
you, for you ain't no more alike than nothin'."
" I believe I do not resemble him much," was
Marian's answer, as with a farewell glance at the old
place, she bade Mrs. Russell good-bye and went
with Ben to the gate where the stage was waiting
to take them to the depot.
It was dark when they reached New York, and
as they passed the Hotel a' second time, Ma-
rian spoke of the sick man, and wondered how he
was.
" I might go in and see," Ben said, " but it's so
late I guess I won't, particularly as he's nothin' to
us."
" But he's something to somebody," returned
Marian, and as she followed on after Ben, her
thoughts turned continually upon him, wondering
if he had a mother a sister or a wife, and if they
knew how sick he was.
When they reached home, they found Mrs. Burt
entertaining a visitor, a Martha Gibbs, who for
some time had been at the Hotel, in the capa-
city of chambermaid, but who was to leave there
the next day. Martha's parents lived in the same
New England village where Mrs. Burt had formerly
resided, and the two thus became acquainted,
Martha making Burt the depository of all her little
secrets and receiving in return much motherly ad-
vice. She was to be married soon, and though her
destination was a log house in the West, and her
THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER. 167
bridal trousseau consisted merely of three dresses
a silk, a delaine and a calico it was an affair of
great consequence to her, and she had come as us-
ual to talk it over with Mrs. Burt, feeling glad at
the absence of Ben and Marian, the latter of whom
she supposed was an orphan niece of her friend's
husband. The return of the young people oper-
ated as a restraint upon her, and changing the con-
versation, she spoke at last of a sick man who was
up in the third story in one of the rooms of which
she had the charge.
" He had the typhoid fever," she said, "and was
raving distracted with his head. They wanted some
good experienced person to take care of him, and
had asked her to stay, she seemed so handy, but
she couldn't. John wouldn't put their wedding off,
she knew, and she must go, though she did pity the
poor young man he raved and took on so, asking
them if anybody had seen Marian, or knew where
she was buried."
Up to this point Marian had listened, because
she knew it was. the same man of whom Ben had
told her in the morning ; but now the pulsations of
her heart stopped, her head grew dizzy, her brain
whirled, and she was conscious of nothing except
that Ben made a hurried movement and passed his
arm around her, while he held a cup of water to her
lips, sprinkling some upon her face, and saying in a
natural voice, " Don't you want a drink ? My
walk made me awful dry."
It was dark in the room, for the lamp was not
lighted, and thus Martha did not see the side-play
going on. She only knew that Ben was offering
Marian some water ; but Mrs. Burt understood it,
and when sure that Marian would not faint, she
said :
" Where did the young man come from, and what
is his name ? Do you know ?"
" He registered himself as F, Raymond, Franklin
1 68 MARIAN GREY,
County, Kentucky" returned the girl, "and that's
the bother of it. Nobody knows where to direct
a letter to his friends. But how I have stayed. I
must go this minute," and greatly to the relief of
the family, Martha took her leave.
Scarcely had the door closed after her when Ma-
rian was begging Mrs. Burt to offer her services as
nurse to Frederic Raymond.
" He must not die there alone," she said. "They
know Martha for a trusty girl, and they will take
you on her recommendation. Help me, Ben, to
persuade her," she continued, appealing to the
young man, who had not yet spoken upon the sub-
ject.
He had been thinking of it, however, and as he
could see no particular objection, he said, at last :
" May as well go, I guess. It won't do no hurt,
anyhow, and mebby it'll be the means of savin' his
life. You can tell Martha how't you s'pose he'll
pay a good price for nussin', and she'll think it's
the money you are after.'
This suggestfon was so warmly seconded by Ma-
rian, that Mrs. Burt finally consented to seeing
Martha, and asking her what she thought of the
plan. Accordingly, early the next morning she
sought an interview with the young woman, inquir-
ing, first, how the stranger was, and then continu-
ing:
" What do you think of my turning nurse awhile
and taking care of him ? I am used to sick folks,
and I presume the gentleman is plenty able to
pay."
She had dragged this last in rather bunglingly,
but it answered every purpose, for Martha, who
knew her thrifty habits and understood that money
was the inducement, " Of course he is," she replied.
I for one shall be glad to have you come, for I am
going away some time to-day and I'll speak about
it right away.
tHE FEVER. 169
'The result of this speaking was that Mrs. Burt's
services were readily accepted, for Martha was
known to be an honest faithful girl, and any one
whom she recommended must, of course, be re-
spectable and trusty. By some chance, however,
there was a misunderstanding about the name,
which was first construed into Burton and then into
Merton, and as Martha, who alone could rectify
the error, left that afternoon, the few who knew of
the sick man and his nurse spoke of the latter as a
" Mrs. Merton, from the country, probably." So
when at night Mrs. Burt appeared and announced
herself as ready to assume her duties she was sur-
prised at hearing herself addressed by her new
name, and she was about to correct it when she
thought, " It doesn't matter what I' m called, and
perhaps on the whole, I'd rather not be known by
my real name. I don't believe much in goin' out
nussin' any way, and I guess I'll let 'em call me
what they want to."
She accordingly made no explanation, but fol-
lowed a servant girl to the sick room.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE FEVER.
She knew Frederic had traveled night and day,
never allowing himself a minute's rest, nor stopping
at Yonkers, so intent was he upon reaching New
York and finding, if possible, some clue to Marian.
It was a hopeless task for he had no starting point,
or nothing which could guide him in the least, ex-
cept the name of Sarah Green, and that was not in
170 MARIAN GREY.
the Directory, while to inquire for her former place
of residence, was as preposterous as Marian's in-
quiry for Mrs. Daniel Burt! Still, whatever he
could do he did, traversing street after street,
threading alley after alley, asking again and again
of the heads thrust from the windows, if Sarah
Green had ever lived in that locality, and receiving
always the same impudent stare and short answer,
" No."
Once he fancied he had found her, and that she
had not sailed for Scotland as she had written, for
they told him that " Sal Green lived up in the fourth
story ;" and climbing the crazy stairs, he knocked
at the door, shuddering involuntarily and experi-
encing a feehng of mortified pride as he thought it
possible that his wife had toiled up that weary way
to die. The door was opened by a hard-faced wo-
man, who started at sight of him, and to his civil
questions replied rather gruffly, " Yes, I'm Sal
Green, I s'pose, or Sarah, jest which you choose to
call me, but the likes of Marian Lindsey never came
near me," and glancing around the wretched room,
Frederic was glad that it was so. He would rather
not find.her, or hear tidings of her, than to know
that she had died in such a place as this, and with
a sickening sensation he was turning away, when
the woman, who was blessed with a remarkable
memory and never forgot anything to which her
attention was particularly directed, said to him,
" You say it's a year last fall sence she left home."
" Yes," he replied eagerly, and she continued,
" You say she dressed in black, and wore a great
long veil on her hat."
" The same," he cried, advancing into the room
and thrusting a bill into her hand, " oh, my good
woman, have you seen her, and where is she now ?"
" The Lord knows, mebby, but I don't," an-
swered the woipan, who was identical with the one
who had frightened Marian by watching her on the
THE FEVER. i;;^t
day when she sat in front of Trinity and wished
that she could die, " I don't know as I ever seen
her at all," she continued, " but a year ago last
November such a girl as you describe, with long
curls that looked red in the sunshine, sat on the
steps way down by Trinity and cried so hard that
I noticed her, and knew she warn't a beggar by her
dress. It was gettin' dark, and I was goin' to speak
to her when Joe Black came up and asked her what
ailed her, or somethin'. He ain't none of the like-
liest," and a smile flitted over the visage of the
wrinkled hag.
" Oh, Heaven," cried Frederic, pressing his hands
to his head, as if to crush the horrid fear. " God
save her from that fate. Is this all you know ?
Can't you tell me anymore ? I'll give you half my
fortune if you'll brii;ig back my poor, lost Marian,
just as she was when she left me."
The offer was a generous one, and Sal was tempted
for a moment to tell him some big lie, and thus re-
ceive a companion to the bill she clutched so greed-
ily, but the expression of his face kindled a spark
of pity within her bosom, and she replied, " I did
not finish tellin' you that while Joe was talking and
had seemingly persuaded her to go with him, a tall
chap, that I never seen before knocked him flat,
and took the girl with him, and that's why I re-
member it so well."
" Who was this tall man ? Where did he go ?"
" I told you I never seen him before," was Sally's
answer, " but he had a good face, a milk and water
face, as if he never plotted no mischief in his life.
She's safe with him. I'd trust my daughter with
him, if I had one, and know he wouldn't harm her.
He spoke to her tender-like, and she looked glad I
thought."
Frederic felt that this information was better than
none, for it was certain it was Marian whom the
woman had seen, and, in a measure comforted by
i^'Z MARIAN GREV.
her assurance of Ben Burt's honesty, he bade hef
good morning, and walked away.
At last, worn out and discouraged, he returned
to his hotel, where he lay now burning with fever,
and, in his delirium, calling sometimes for Isabel,
sometimes for Alice, and again for Dinah, but never
asking why Marian did not come. She was dead,
and he only begged of those around him to take her
away from Joe Black, or show him where her grave
was made, so he could go home and tell the blind
girl he had seen it. Every ray of light which it
was possible to shut out had been excluded from
the room, for he had complained of his eyes, and
when Mrs. Burt entered, she could discover only
the outline of a face resting upon the pillows,
scarcely whiter than itself. It was a serious case,
the physician said, and so she thought when she
looked into his eyes, and felt his rapid pulse. To
her he put the same question he had asked of every
one :
" Do you know where Marian is ?"
" Marian !" she repeated, feeling a little uncer-
tain how to answer.
" Humor him ! say you do !" whispered the
physician, who was just taking his leave. And
very truthfully Mrs. Burt replied :
" Yes, I know where she is ! She will come to
you to-morrow."
"No!" he answered mournfully. "The dead
never come back, and it must not be, either. Isa-
bel is coming then, and the two can't meet together
here, for . Come nearer, woman, while I tell you
I loved Isabel the best, and that's what made the
trouble. She is beautiful, but Marian was good
and do you know Marian was the Heiress of Red-
stone Hall ; but I'm not going to use her money."
" Yes, I know," returned Mrs. Burt, trying to
quiet him, but in vain.
He would talk sometimes of Marian, and some-
THE FEVER. 1 73
times of Sarah Green, and the dreary room where
he had been.
" It made Marian tired," he said, " to climb those
broken stairs. But she was resting so quietly in
Heaven, and the April sun was shining on her
grave. It was a little grave a child's grave, for
Marian was not so tall nor so old as Isabel."
In this way he rambled on, and it was not until
the morning dawned that he fell into a heavy sleep,
and Mrs. Burt had leisure to reflect upon the novel
position in which she found herself.
" It was foolish in me to give up to them chil-
dren," she said, " but now that I am here, I'll make
the best of it, and do as well as I can. Marian
shan't come, though ! It would kill her to hear
him going on."
But while she spoke, Marian was [in the recep-
tion room below, inquiring for the woman who
took care of Mr. Raymond. She had not slept,
and with the early morning had started for the
hotel, leaving Ben to get his breakfast as he could.
" Say Marian Grey wishes to see her," she said,
in answer to the inquiry as to what name the ser-
vant was to take to No.
" My goodness !" Mrs. Burt exclaimed, " why
didn't Ben keep her at home ?" and, going down
stairs, she tried to persuade Marian to return.
It was useless to reason with her, and saying,
rather pettishly, " You must expect to hear some
cuttin' things," she bade her follow her up the
stairs. Frederic still lay sleeping, his face turned
partly to one side, and his hand resting beneath
his head. The gas light hurt his eyes, and the
lamp, which was kept continually burning, was so
placed that its light did not fall on him, and a near
approach was necessary to tell her just how he
looked. He was fearfully changed, and, with a
cry, she laid her head beside him on the pillow.
" Frederic dear Frederic !" she said, and at the
174 MARIAN GREY.
sound of her voice he moved uneasily, as if about
to waken.
" Come away, come away," whispered Mrs. Burt.
" He may know you, and a sudden start would kill
him."
But Marian was deaf to everything except the
whispered words dropping from the sick man's lips.
They were of home, of Alice, of the library, and at
last of her, and with a cry of delight, which started
Mrs. Burt to her feet, and penetrated even to the
ear of the unconscious Frederic, she pressed her lips
upon the very spot which they had touched before
on that night when she gave him her first kiss.
Slowly his eyes unclosed, and wandered about the
room, resting first upon the door, then on the chan-
delier, tlien on the ceiling above, and dropping
finally lower, until at last they were riveted upon
Marian, who stood breathlessly awaiting the result.
There was a struggle between delirium and rea-
son, and then, with a faint smile, he said :
" Did you kiss me just now?" and he pointed to
the spot upon his forehead.
Marian nodded, for she could not speak, and he
continued :
" Marian kissed me there, too, and it has burned
and burned into my veins until it set my brains
on fire. Nobody has kissed me since, but Alice.
Did you know Alice, girl ?"
" Yes," Marian answered, keen disappointment
swelling within her bosom and forcing the tears
from her eyes.
She had believed he would recognize her, but he
did not ; and sinking down by his side, she buried
her face in the bed-clothes, and sobbed aloud.
" Don't cry, httle girl," he said, evidently dis-
turbed at the sight of her tears. " I cried when I
thought Marian was dead, but that seems so long
&go."
" Oh, Frederic " and forgetful of everything
THE FEVER. : 17S
Marian sprang to her feet. " Oh, Frederic, is it
true ? Did you cry for me ?"
At the sound of his own name the sick man
looked bewildered, while reason seemed struggling
again to assert its rights, and penetrate the misty
fog by which it was enveloped. Very earnestly he
looked at the young girl, who returned his gaze
with one in which was concentrated all the yearn-
ing love and tenderness she had cherished for him
so long.
" Are you Marian ?" he asked, and in an instant
the excited girl wound her arms around his neck,
and laying her cheek against his, replied :
" Yes, Frederic. Don't you know me, your poor
lost Marian ?"
He passed his hand over her short curls pushed
them back from her forehead, examined them
closely, and then said :
" No, you are not Marian. This is not her hair.
But I like you," he continued ; " and I wish you
to stay with me, and when the pain comes back
charm it away with your soft hands. They are
little hands," and he took them between his own,
"but not so small as Marian's were when I held
one in mine and promised I would love her. It
seemed like some tiny rose leaf, and I could have
crushed it easily, but I did not ; I only crushed her
heart, and she fled from me forever, for it was a
lie I told her, I didn't love her then I don't know
as I love her now, for Isabel is so beautiful. Did
you ever see Isabel ?"
" Oh, Frederic !" Marian groaned, and wrenching
her hands from his grasp, she tottered to a chair,
while he looked after her wistfully.
"Will she go away?" he said to Mrs. Burt.
" Will she leave me alone, when she knows Alice is
not here, nor Isabel ! I wish Isabel would come,
don't you ?"
176 , MARIAN GREY.
There was another moan of anguish, and Fred-
eric whispered :
"Hark ! that's the sound I heard the night Ma-
rian went away ! I thought then it was the
wind, but I knew afterwards that it was she, when
her soul parted with her body, and it's followed me
ever since. There is not a spot at Redstone Hall
that is not haunted with that cry. I've heard it at
midnight, at noon-day in the storm and in the
rushing river where we thought she was buried.
All but Alice she knew she wasn't, and she sent
me here to look. She don't like Isabel, and is
afraid I'll marry her. Maybe I shall, sometime !
Who knows?"
" Heaven keep me from going mad !" Marian
cried. " Oh, why did I come here ?"
" I told you not to all the time," was Mrs. Burt's
consolatory remark ; which, howeve*, was lost on
Marian, who, seizing her hat and shawl, rushed
from the room.
The fresh morning air revived her, but did not
cool the feverish agony of her heart, and she sped
onward, until she reached her home, where she
surprised Ben at his solitary breakfast, which he
had prepared himself.
" Oh ! Ben, Ben !" she cried, coming so suddenly
upon him that he upset the coffee-pot into which
he was pouring some hot water. " Would it be
wicked for you to kill me dead, or for me to kill
myself ?"
" What's to pay now ?" asked Ben, using the
skirt of his coat for a holder in picking up the
steaming coffee-pot.
Very hastily Marian related her adventures in
the sick room, telling how Frederic had talked of
marrying Isabel before her very face.
" Crazy as a loon," returned Ben. " I shouldn't
think nothin' of that. You say he talked as though
THE FEVER. 1 77
he thought you was dead, and of course he don't
know what he's sayin', Have they writ to his
folks ?"
" Yes," returned Marian, who had made a sim-
ilar inquiry of Mrs. Burt. " They directed a letter
to ' Frederic Raymond's friends, Franklin County,
Kentucky,' but that may not reach them in a long
time."
" Wouldn't it be a Christian act," returned Ben,
" for us, who know jest who he is, to telegraph to
that critter, and have her come ? By all accounts
he wants to see her, and it may do him good."
Marian felt that it would be right, and, though
it cost her a pang, she said, at last :
" Yes, Boti, you may telegraph ; but what name
will you Append ?"
" Benjamin Butterworth, of course," he replied.
" They'll renrember the peddler, and think it nat-
eral I should feel an interest." And leaving Ma-
rian to take charge of the breakfast table, he started
for the office.
Meantime the sick room was the scene of much
excitement Frederic raving furiously, and asking
for " the girl with the soft hands and silken hair."
Sometimes he called her Marian, and begged of
them to bring her back, promising not to make her
cry again.
" There is a mystery connected with this Marian
he talks so much about," said the physician, who
was present, " and he seems to fancy a resemblance
between her and the girl who left here this morn-
ing. What may I call her name ?"
" Marian, my daughter," came involuntarily
from Mrs. Burt, whose mental rejoinder was " God
forgive me for that lie, if it was one. Names and
things is gettin' so twisted up that it takes more
than me to straighten 'em."
" W^ll, then," continued the physician, " suppose
178 MARIAN GREY.
you send for her. It will never do for him to get
so excited. He is wearing out too fast."
" I will go for her myself," said Mrs. Burt, who
fancied some persuasion might be necessary before
Marian could be induced to return.
But she was mistaken, for when told that Fred-
eric's life depended upon his being kept quiet, and
his being kept quiet depended upon her presence,
Marian consented, and nerved herself to hear him
talk, as she knew he would, of her rival.
"If he lives, I will be satisfied," she thought,
" even though he never did or can love me," and
with a strong, brave heart, she went back again to
the sick man, who welcomed her joyfully, and said,
" You will not leave me till Isabel is here. Then
you may go back to the grave I cannot ' find, and
we will go home together."
Marian could not answer him, neither was it
necessary that she should. He was satisfied to
have her there, and with her sitting at his side, and
holding his hand in hers, he became as gentle as a
child. Occasionally he called her " little girl," but
oftener " Marian," and when he said that name, he
always smoothed her hair, as if he pitied her, and
knew he had done her a wrong. And Marian felt
each day more and more that the wound she
hoped had partly healed was bleeding afresh with
a new pain, for while he talked of Marian as a
mother talks of an unfortunate child, he spoke of
Isabel with all a lover's pride, and each word was
a dagger to the heart of the patient watcher, who
sat beside him day and night, until her eyes were
heavy, and her cheeks were pale with her unbroken
vigils.
" Do you love this Isabel so much ?" she said to
him one day, and he replied :
" Yes, and I love you, too, though not like her,
t)ec^use I loyed her first."
THE FEVER. 1 79
" And Marian ?" questioned the young girl
" Don't you love her?"
" Not as I ought to not as I have prayed that
I might, and not as I should, perhaps, if she hadn't
been to me what she was. Poor child," he con-
tinued, " are you crying for Marian ?"
" Yes, for Marian, for poor, heart-broken me ;"
and the wretched girl buried her face in the pillow
beside him, for he held her by the wrist, and she
could not get away.
In this manner several days went by, and over
the intellect so obscure there shone no ray of rea-
son, while Marian's face grew whiter and whiter
until at last the physician said that she must rest,
or her strength would be exhausted.
" Let me stay a little longer," she pleaded
" stay at least until Miss Huntington arrives."
" Miss who ?" asked the doctor. " Do you then
know his family ?"
"A friend of mine knows them," Marian an-
swered.
" I hope then they will reward you well," con,
tinned the physician. " The young man would
have died but for you. It is remarkable what con-
trol you have over him."
But Marian wished for no reward. It was suffi-
cient for her to know that she had been instru-
mental in saving his life, even though she had saved
it for Isabel. The physician said that Frederic was
better, and that afternoon, seated in the large arm-
chair, she fell into a refreshing sleep, from which
she was finally aroused by Mrs. Burt, who whis-
pered in her ear :
"Wake up. She's come she's here Miss
Huntington !"
The name roused Marian at once, and sent a
throb of pain through her heart, for her post she
knew was to be given to another. Not both of
them could watch by Frederic, and she must go ;
l8o MARIAN GREY.
but not until she had looked upon her rival. This
done, she would go away and die, if it were possi-
ble, and stand no longer between Frederic and the
bride he so much desired. She did not understand
why he had so often spoken of herself as being
dead, when he knew that she was not. It was a
vagary of his brain, she said he had had many
since she came there, and she hoped he would
sometimes talk of her to Isabel, just as he had
talked of Isabel to her. There was a hurried con-
sultation between herself and Mrs. Burt, with re-
gard to their future proceedings, and it was finally
decided that the latter should remain a few days
longer, and report the progress of affairs to Marian,
who, of course, must go away. This arrangement
being made, they sat down and rather impatiently
waited for Isabel, who was in her room, resting after
her journey.
" Oh how can she wait so long ?" Marian
thought, glancing at Frederic, who was sleeping
now more quietly than he had done before for a
long time.
She did not know Isabel, and she could not
begin to guess how thoroughly selfish she was, nor
how that selfishness was manifest in every move-
ment. The letter, which at last had gone to Frank-
fort, was received the same day with the telegram,
and as a natural consequence, threw the inmates of
Redstone Hall into great excitement. Particularly
was this the case with Isabel, who unmindful of
everything, wrung her hands despairingly, crying
Diit, " Oh ! what shall I do if he dies ?"
" Do !" repeated Dinah, forgetting her own grief
in her disgust. "For the Lord's sake, can't you
do what you alius did ? Go back whar you come
from, you and your mother, in course."
Isabel made no reply to this remark, but hurried
to her chamber, where she commenced the packing
of her trunH.
THE FEVER. f l8l
" Wouldn't it look better for me to go ?" sug-
gested Mrs. Huntington, and Isabel answered :
" Certainly not, the telegram was directed to
me. No one knows me in New York, and I don't
care what folks say here. If he lives I shall be his
wife, of course, else why should he send for me.
It's perfectly natural that I should go." And
thinking to herself that she would rather Frederic
should die than to live for another, she completed
her hasty preparations, and was on her way to the
station before the household had time to realize
what they were doing.
Distressed and anxious as Isabel seemed, it was
no part of her intention to travel nights, for that
would give her a sallow, jaded look; so she made
the journey leisurely, and after her arrival, took
time to rest and beautify before presenting her-
self to Frederic. She had learned that he was bet-
ter, and had the best of care, so she remained
quietly in her chamber an hour or so, and it was
not until after dark that she bade the servant show
her the way to the sick room.
" I will tell them you are coming," suggested the
polite attendant, and, going on before her, he said
to Mrs. Burt that " Miss Huntington would like to
come in."
In a corner in the room, where she would be the
least observed, Marian sat, her hands clasped to-
gether, her head bent forward, and her eyes fixed
upon the door through which her rival would enter.
Frederic was awake, and, missing her from her post,
was about asking for her, when Isabel appeared,
looking so fresh and beautiful, that for an instant
Marian forgot everything in her admiration of the
queenly woman, who, bowing civilly to Mrs. Burt,
went to the bedside, and sank upon her knees very
gracefully, just as she had done at a private re-
hearsal in her own room.
" Dear Frederic," said she, and over Marian's
182 MARIAN GREY.
face the hot blood rushed in torrents for it seemed
almost an insult to hear him thus addressed
" Dear Frederic, do you know me ? I am Isabel ;"
and, unmindful of Mrs. Burt, she kissed his fore-
head, and said again : " Do you know me ?"
As the physician had predicted, Fredei-ic was bet-
ter since his refreshing sleep, and through the misty
vail enshrouding his reason a glimmer of light was
shining. The voice was a familiar one, and though
it partly bewildered him, he knew who it was that
bent over him. It was somebody from home, and
with a thrill of pleasure akin to what one feels when
meeting a fellow-countryman far away on a foreign
shore, he stretched his arms toward her, and said to
her joyfully : " You are Isabel, and you've come to
make me well."
Isabel was about to speak again, when a low sob
startled her, and, turning in the direction from
whence it came, she met Marian's eyes riveted upon
her, and for a moment the two girls looked intently
at each other, the one stamping indelibly upon her
memory the lineaments of a face which had stolen
and kept a heart which should have been her own,
while the other wondered who it was that seemed
so agitated.
Mrs. Burt stepped between them, while Isabel
turned again to Frederic, and Marian left the room
so silently that Isabel did not know she was gone
until she turned her head and found the chair
empty.
" Who was that ?" she said to Mrs. Burt.
" My daughter," Mrs. Burt replied, again men-
tally asking forgiveness for the falsehood told, and
thinking to herself, " Mercy knows it ain't my nater
to lie, but when a body gets mixed up in such a
scrape as this, I'd like to see 'em help it !"
After the first lucid interval, Frederic relapsed
again into his former delirious mood, but did not
ask for Marian. He seemed satisfied that Isabel
THE FEVER. 183
Was there, and he fell asleep again, resting so quietly
that when it was eleven Isabel said, " He is doing
so well I believe I will retire. I never sat up with
a sick person in my life, and should be very little
assistance to you. That daughter of yours is some-
where around, I suppose, and will come if you need
help."
Mrs. Burt nodded, thinking how different was
this conduct from that of the unselfish Marian, who
had watched night after night without giving her-
self the rest she absolutely needed. Isabel, on the
contrary, had no idea of impairing her beauty, or
bringing discomfort to herself by spending many
hours at a time in that close atmosphere, and while
Marian was weeping bitterly, she was dreaming of
returning to Kentucky as a bride. Frederic could
scarcely do less than reward her kindness by mar-
rying her as soon as he was able. She could take
care of him so much better, she thought, and be-
fore she fell asleep she had arranged it all in her
own mind, and had fancied her mother's surprise
at receiving a letter signed by her new name,
" Isabel H. Raymond."
It was long after daylight before she awoke,
and when she did her first thought was of her
pleasant dream, and her second of the girl she had
seen the night before. " How white she was," she
said, as she made her elaborate toilet, " and how
her eyes glared at me, as if I had no business here.
Maybe she has fallen in love while taking care of
him ;" and Isabel laughed at the idea of a nursing
woman's daughter being in love with the fastidious
Frederic ! Once she thought of Mrs. Daniel Burt,
wondering where she lived, and half wishing she
could find her, and, herself unknown, could ques-
tion her of Marian.
Her toilet and breakfast took so much time that
it was almost ten when she presented herself to
Mrs. Burt, who was growing very faint and tired.
1 84 MARIAN GREY.
At the physician's request more light had been
admitted into the room, and Frederic, who was
much better this morning, recognized Isabel at
once. He had a faint remembrance of having seen
her the previous night, but it needed Mrs. Burt's
assertion to confirm his conjecture, and he greeted
her now as if meeting her for the first time, asking
many questions of the people at home, and how
they had learned of his illness.
" We received a letter and a telegram both," Isa-
bel said, continuing, " You remember that peddler
who sold Alice the bracelet and frightened the
negroes so ? Well, he must have telegraphed, for
his name was signed to the dispatch, ' Benjamin
Butterworth.' "
Mrs. Burt was very much occupied with some-
thing near the table, and Frederic did not notice
her confusion as he replied," He was a kind-hearted
man, I thought, but I wonder how he heard of my
illness, and where he is now. Mrs. Merton, has a
certain Ben Butterworth inquired for me since I
was sick ?"
" I know nobody by that name," returned Mrs.
Burt, and without stopping to think that her ques-
tion might lead to some inquiries from Frederic,
Isabel rejoined :
" Well, do you know a Mrs. Daniel Burt ?"
" Mrs. Daniel Burt !" Frederic repeated, as if try-
ing to recall something far back in the past, while
the lady in question started so suddenly as to drop
the cup of hot water she held in her hand.
Stooping down to pick up the cup, she said some-
thing about its having burned her, and added, " I
ain't much acquainted in the city, and never know
my next door neighbors."
" Mrs. Daniel Burt," Frederic said again, " I
have surely heard that name before. Who is she,
Isabel ?''
It was Isabel's turn now to answer evasively; but
The fever. 185
being more accustomed to dissimulate than her
companion, she replied, quite as a matter of course,
" You may have heard mother speak of her in New
Haven. I used to know her when I was a little
girl, and I believe she lives in New York. She
was a very good, but common kind of woman ;
mother, I dare say, would be glad to hear from
her."
" The impudent trollop," muttered Mrs. Burt,
wondering which was trying to deceive the other,
Frederic or Isabel. " The former could't hood-
wink her," she said, " even if he did Isabel. He
knew who Mrs. Daniel Burt was just as well as she
did, for even if he had forgotten that she once lived
with his father, Marian's letter had refreshed his
memory, and he was only ' putting on ' for the sake
of misleading Isabel. But where in the world did
that jade know her !" that was a puzzle, and set-
tling it in her own mind that there were two of the
same name, she left the room and went down to
her breakfast.
During the day not a word was said of Marian.
Isabel was evidently too much pleased with Fred-
eric's delight at seeing her to think of anything
else, while Mrs. Burt did not consider it necessary
to speak of her. Frederic, too, for a time had for-
gotten her, but as the day drew near its close, he
relapsed into a thoughtful mood, replying to Isa-
bel's frequent remarks either in monosyllables or
not at all. As the darkness increased he seemed
to be listening intently, and when a step was heard
upon the stairs or in the hall without, his face
would light up with eager expectation and then be
as suddenly overcast as the footstep passed his door.
Gradually there was creeping into his mind a vague
remembrance of somebody, who for many days
had been there with him, gliding so noiselessly
about the room that he had almost fancied she
trod upon the air, and he could scarcely tell
I 6 marIam grev.
whether it were a spirit or a human being like hind-
self. Little by little the outline so dimly discerned
assumed the form of a young girl with blue eyes
and soft hands, which had held his aching head
and smoothed his hair, many times. It seemed to
him, too, that she called him Frederic. But where
was she now ? Why didn't she come again, and who
was she ? he thought, while great drops of sweat
stood upon his forehead ; and Isabel became
alarmed at his flushed face and the rapid beating
of his pulse. A powerful anodyne was adminstered,
and he slept at last a feverish sleep, which, however,
did him good, and in the morning he was better
than he had been before.
Mrs. Burt, who had watched him carefully, knew
that the danger was past, and that afternoon she
left him with Isabel, while she went home, where
she found Marian seriously ill, with Ben taking care
of her in his kind but awkward manner.
" Did Frederic remember me ? Does he know I
have been there ?" were Marian's first questions,
and when Mrs. Burt replied in the negative, she
answered, " It is just as well."
" He is doing well," said Mrs. Burt, " and as you
need me more than he does now, I shall come
home and let that Isabel take care of him. She
can telegraph for her mother if she chooses, or get
another nurse."
Accordingly, she returned to the sick-room,
where she found Frederic asleep and Isabel read-
ing a novel.
To her announcement of leaving, the latter made
no objection. She was rather pleased than other-
wise, for, as Frederic grew stronger the presence of
a stranger might be disagreeable. She would tele-
graph for her mother, of course. But her mother
was under her control ; she could dispose of her
at any time, so she merely stopped her reading
TH^ FEVER. 187
long enough to say, " Very well, you can go if
you like. How much is your charge ?"
Mrs. Burt did not hesitate to tell her ; and Isabel
who had taken care of Frederic's purse, paid her,
and then resumed her book, while Mrs. Burt went
from the room without a word as to where she
could be found in case they wished to find her.
It was dark when Frederic awoke, and it was so
still around him that he believed himself alone.
" They have all left me," he said, " Mrs. Merton,
Isabel, and that other one, who was she who could
she have been ?"
He knew now that it was not a phantom of his
brain, but a reality. There had been a young girl
there, and she had called him Frederic, while he
had called her Marian. She had answered to that
name, she asked him of Isabel, and oh. Heaven !"
he cried, starting quickly and clasping both hands
upon his head. Like a thunderbolt it burst upon
him, and for an instant his brain seemed on fire.
" It was Marian ! it was Marian !" he tried to say,
but his lips refused to move, and when Isabel,
startled by his sudden movement, struck a light and
came to' his bedside, she saw that he had fainted.
In great alarm she summoned help, begging of
those who came to go at once for Mrs. Merton.
But no one knew of the woman's place of residence,
and as she had failed to inquire, it was a hopeless
matter. Slowly Frederic came back to conscious-
ness, and when he was again alone with Isabel he
said to her, " Where is that woman who took care
of me ?"
" She is gone," Isabel said.
" Gone ?" he repeated. " When did she go, and
why ?"
Isabel told him the particulars of Mrs. Burt's go-
ing, and he continued :
" Was there no one else here when you came ?
l88 MARIAN GREY.
No young girl with blue eyes ?" and he looked
eagerly at her.
"Yes," she replied, " there was a queer-acting
thing sitting in the arm-chair the night I first came
in "
" Who was she, and where is she now ?" he asked,
and Isabel answered, " I am sure I don't know
where she is, for she vanished like a ghost."
" Yes ; but who was she ? Did she have no
name ?"
" Mrs. Merton told me it was her daughter, that
is all I know," Isabel said ; and in a tone of disap-
pointment he continued :
" Will you tell me how she looked, and how she
acted when you first saw her ?"
" One would suppose you deeply interested in
your nurse's daughter," and Isabel's eyes flashed
scornfully upon Frederic, who replied :
" I am interested, for she saved my life. Tell
me how she looked ?"
"Well, then," Isabel returned pettishly, "she
was about fifteen, I think certainly not older than
that. Her face was very white, with big, blue
eyes, which glared at me like a wild beast's ; and
what is queerer than all, she actually sobbed when
you kissed me ; perhaps you have forgotten that
you did?"
He had forgotten it, for the best of reasons, but
he did not contradict her, so intent was he upon
listening to her story.
" I had not observed her particularly before ;
but when I heard the sob I turned to look at her,
while she stared at me as impudently as if I had
no business here. That woman stepped between
us purposely I know, for she seemed excited ; and
when I saw the arm-chair again the girl was
gone."
Thus far everything, except the probable age,
had confirmed his suspicions ; but there was one
THE FEVER. 1 89
question more, an all-important one and he
asked :
" What of her hair ? Did you notice that ?"
"It was brown, I think," said Isabel "short in
her neck and curly round her forehead."
With a sigh of disappointment Frederic turned
upon his pillow, saying to her :
" That will do I've heard enough."
Isabel's last words had brought back to his mind
something which he had forgotten until now the
girl's hair was short, he remembered distinctly.
She had not long, red curls, like those described by
Sally Green. It wasn't Marian at all ; and the
disappointment was terrible. All that night and
the following day he was haunted with thoughts of
the young girl, and at last determining to see her
again and know if she were like Marian, he said to
Isabel :
" Send for Mrs. Merton. I wish to talk with her."
" It is an impossibility," returned Isabel ; " for
when she left us, I neglected to ask where she
lived "
" Inquire below, then," persisted Frederic.
" Somebody will know, and I must find her."
Isabel complied with his request, and soon re-
turned with the information that no one knew of
Mrs. Merton's whereabouts, though it was gener-
ally believed that she came from the country, and
at the time of coming to the hotel was visiting
friends in the city.
" Find her friends, then," continued Frederic,
growing more and more excited and impatient.
This, too, was impossible, for everything pertain-
ing to Mrs. Merton was mere conjecture. No one
could tell where she lived, or whither she had
gone ; and Frederic lamented the circumstance so
often that Isabel more than once lost her temper
entirely, wondering why he should be 5Q anjcioug
190 MARIAN GREY.
about a woman who had been well paid for her
services.
Meantime, Mrs. Huntington, who, on the receipt
of Isabel's telegram had started immediately, ar-
rived, laden with trunks, bandboxes, and bags, for
she was rather dressy, and fancied a large hotel a
good place to show her new clothes. On learning
that Frederic was very much better, and that she
had been sent for merely on the score of propriety,
she seemed somewhat out of humor " Not that
she wanted Frederic to die," she said, " and she
was glad of course that he was getting well, but
she didn't like to be scared the way she was ; a
telegram always made her stomach tremble so that
she didn't get over it in a week; she had traveled
day and night to get there, and didn't know what
she could have done if she hadn't met Rudolph
McVicar in Cincinnati."
" Rudolph !" exclaimed Isabel. " Pray, where is
he now ?"
" Here in this very hotel," returned her mother.
" He came with me all the way, and seemed greatly
interested in you, asking a thousand questions
abont when you expected to be married. Said he
supposed Frederic's sickness would postpone it
awhile, and when I told him you wan't even en-
gaged as I knew of he looked disappointed. I be-
lieve Rudolph has reformed !"
" The wretch !" muttered Isabel, who rightly
guessed that Rudolph's interest was only feigned.
He had heard of her sudden departure for New
York, and had heard also that she might, perhaps,
be married as soon as Frederick was able to sit up.
Accordingly, he had himself started northward,
stumbling upon Mrs. Huntington in Cincinnati, and
coming with her to New York, where he stopped
at the same hotel, intending to remain there and
wait for the result. He did not care to meet Isabel
fa?e to fa(;e, while she was quite as anxious to avoitj
THE FEVER. igl
an interview with him ; and after a few days she
ceased to be troubled about him at all. Frederic
absorbed all her thoughts, he appeared so differ-
ently from what he had done talking but little
either to herself or her mother, and lying nearly all
the day with his eyes shut, though she knew he
was not asleep ; and she tried in vain to fathom the
subject of his reflections. But he guarded that
secret well, and day after day he thought on, living
over again the first weeks of his sickness, until the
conviction was fixed upon his mind that spite of
the short hair and the probable age, spite of the
story about Mrs. Merton's daughter, or the letter
from Sarah Green, the young girl who had watched
with him so long and then disappeared so mysteri-
ously was Marian his wife. The brown hair he re-
jected as an impossibility. It had undoubtedly looked
dark to Isabel, but it was red still, though worn
short in her neck, for he remembered that distinctly.
Sarah Green's letter was a forgery Alice's predic-
tion was true, and Marian still lived.
But where was she now ? Why had she left him
so abruptly ? and would he ever find her ? Yes,
he would, he said. He would spare no time, no
pains, no money in the search ; and when he
found her he would love and cherish her as she
deserved. He was beginning to love her now, and
he wondered at his infatuation for Isabel, whose
real character was becoming more and more ap-
parent to him. His changed demeanor made her
cross and fretful ; while Agnes Gibson's letter, ask-
ing when she was to be married, and saying people
there expected her to return a bride, only increased
her ill-humor, which manifested itself several times
toward her mother in Frederic's presence.
At last, in a fit of desperation, she wrote to Ag-
nes Gibson that she never expected to be married
certainly not to Frederic Raymond and if every
young lady matrimonially inqUqed should nvr9
192 MARIAN GREY.
her intended husband through a course of fever,
she guessed she would become disgusted with man-
kind generally, and that man in particular ! This
done, Isabel felt so much better that she resolved
upon another trial to bring about her desired ob-
ject, and one day about two weeks after her moth-
er's arrival, she said to Frederic :
" Now that you are nearly well, I believe I shall
go to New Haven, and after a little, mother will
come, too. I shall remain there, I think, though
mother, I suppose, will keep house for you this
year, as she has engaged to do."
To this suggestion Frederic did not reply just as
she thought he would.
" It was a good idea," he said, " for her to visit
her old home, and he presumed she would enjoy
it." Then he added, very faintly : "Alice will need
a teacher here quite as much as in Kentucky, and
you can retain your situation if you choose."
Isabel's eyes flashed angrily as she replied :
" I am tired of teaching, and I am all worn out,
too."
She did look pale, and, touched with pity, Fred-
eric said to her, very kindly :
" You do seem tired, Isabel. You have been con-
fined with me too long, and I think you had better
go at once. I will run down to see you, if possible,
before I return to Kentucky."
This gave her hope, and, drying her eyes, which
were filled with tears, Isabel chatted pleasantly
with him about his future plans, which had been
somewhat disarranged by his unexpected illness.
He could not now hope to be settled at Riverside,
as he called his new home, until some time in June
perhaps not so soon but he would let her know,
he said, in time to meet him there.
A day or two after this conversation, Isabel
started for New Haven, whither, in the course of a
weekj sh^ was followed by both her mother ftn4
THE SEARCH. I93
Rudolph, the latter of whom was determined not to
lose sight of her until sure that the engagement,
which he doubted, did not in reality exist.
CHAPTER XVII
THE SEARCH.
When the carriage containing Mrs. Huntington
rolled away from the hotel, Frederic, who was stand-
ing upon the steps, experienced a feeling of relief
in knowing that, as far as personal acquaintances
were concerned, he was now alone and free to com-
mence his search for Marian. Each day the con-
viction had been strengthened that she was alive
that she had been with him, and every energy should
be devoted to finding her. Once he thought of ad-
vertising, but she might not see the paper, and as
he shrank from making his affairs public, he aban-
doned the project, determining, however, to leave
no other means untried ; he would hunt the city
over, inquire at every house, and then scour the
surrounding country. It might be months, or it
might be years before this was accomplished ; but
accomplish it he would, and with a brave, hopeful
heart, he started out, taking first a list of all the
Mertons in the directory, then searching them out
and making of them the most minute inquiries, ex-
cept, indeed, in cases where he knew by the nature
of their surroundings, that none of their household
had oiificiated in the capacity of nurse. The wo-
man who had taken care of him was poor and un-
educated, and he confined himself mostly to that
class of people,
194 . MARIAN GREV.
But all in vain. No one had heard of Marian
Lindsey, and at last he thought of Sally Green, de-
termining to visit her again, and, if possible, learn
something more of the girl she had described. Per-
haps she could direct him to Joe Black, who might
know the tall man last seen with Marian. The
place was easily found, and the dangerous stairs
creaked again to his eager tread. Sal knew him at
once, and tucking her hair beneath her dirty cap,
waited to hear his errand, which was soon told.
Could she give him any further information of that
young girl, had she ever heard of her since his last
visit there, and would she tell him where to find Joe
Black ? he might know who the man was, and thus
throw some light on the mystery.
" Bless your heart," answered the woman, " Joe
died three weeks ago with the delirium tremens, so
what you get out of him won't help you much. I
told you all I knew before ; or no, come to think
on't I seen 'em go into a Third avenue car, and
that makes me think the feller lives up town. But
law, you may as well hunt for a needle in a hay-
stack as to hunt for a lost gal in New York. You
may git out all the police you've a mind to, and
then you ain't no better off. Ten to one they are
wus than them that's hidin' her, if they do wear
brass buttons and feel so big," and Sal shook her
arm threateningly at some imaginary officers of
justice.
With a feeling of disgust, Frederic turned away,
and retracing his steps, came at last to the Park,
where he entered a Third avenue car, though why
he did so he scarcely knew. He did not expect to
find her there, but he felt a satisfaction in thinking
she had once been over that route perhaps in that
very car and he looked curiously in the faces of
his fellow-passengers as they entered and left.
Wistfully, too, he glanced out at the houses they
were passing, saying to himself, " Is it there Marian
THE SEARCH. I95
lives, or there ?" and once when they stopped for
. some one to alight, his eye wandered down the op-
posite street, resting at last upon a window high up
in a huge block of buildings. There was nothing
peculiar about that window nothing to attract at-
tention unless it were the white-fringed curtain
which shaded it, or the rose geranium, which in its
little earthen pot seemed to indicate that the in-
mates of that tenement retained a love for flowers
and the country amid the smoke and the dust of
the city. Frederic saw the white curtain, and it
reminded him of the one which years ago hung in
his bedroom at the old place on the river. He saw
the geranium, too, and the figure which bent over
it to pluck the withered leaf. Then the car moved
on, and nothing told him that the window was Mrs.
Burt's, and the figure- Marian.
He had passed within a few rods of her, and she
could have heard him had he shouted aloud, but
for all the good that this did him she might have
been miles and miles away, for he never dreamed
of the truth, and day after day he continued his
search, while the excitement, the fatigue and the
constant disappointment told fearfully upon his
constitution. Still he would not give it up, and
every morning he went forth with hope renewed,
only to return at night weary, discouraged, and
sometimes almost despairing of success.
Once, at the close of a rainy afternoon, he en-
tered again a Third avenue car, which would leave
him not very far from his hotel. It had been a day
of unusual fatigue with him, and utterly exhausted,
he sank into the corner seat, while passenger after
passenger crowded in, their damp overcoats and
dripping umbrellas filling the car with a sickly
steam which affected him unpleasantly, causing him
to lean his head upon his hand, and so shut out
what was going on around him. They were full at
last ; every seat, every standing point was taken,
196 MARIAN GREY.
and still the conductor said there was room for an-
other, as he passed in a young girl who drew her
veil over her face to avoid the gaze of the men, some
of whom stared rather rudely at her. Just after she
came in Frederic looked up, but the veil told no
tales of the sudden paling of the lip, the flushing
of her cheek, and the quiver of the eyelids. Nei-
ther did the violent trembling of her body, nor
the quick pressure of her hand upon her side con-
vey to him other impression than that she was tired,
faint, he thought, and touching his next neighbor
with his elbow, he compelled him to move along a
few inches, while he did the same, and so made
room for the girl between himself and the door.
" Sit here. Miss," he said, and he turned partly
toward her, as if to shield her from the crowd, for
he felt intuitively that she was not like them.
He had no suspicion who she was, but when they
stopped at the same street down which he once had
looked at the open window, and when the seat
beside him was empty, he experienced a sense of
loneliness, as if a part of himself had gone with the
young girl. Suddenly remembering that he had
come higher up than he wished to do, he also
alighted, and standing upon the muddy pavement
looked after the figure moving so rapidly toward
the window where the geranium was blossoming,
and where a light was shining now. It disappeared
at last, and mentally chiding himself for stopping in
the rain to watch a perfect stranger, Frederic
turned back in the direction of his hotel, while the
girl who had so awakened his interest, rushed up
the stairs, and bounding into the room where Mrs.
Burt was sitting, exclaimed :
" I've seen him ! I've sat beside him in the
same car
" Why didn't you fetch him home, then?" asked
Ben, who had returned that afternoon from a short
excursion in the country.
THE SEARCH. I97
Marian's face crimsoned at this question, and in
a hard, unnatural voice she replied :
" He didn't wish to come. He didn't even pre-
tend to recognize me, though he gave me a seat,
and I knew him so quick."
" Had that brown dud over your face, I s'pose,"
returned Ren, casting a rueful glance at the veil.
" Nobody can tell who a woman is, now-a-days.
Why didn't you pull it off and claim him for your
husband, and make him pay your fare ?"
" Oh, Ben," said Marian, "you certainly wouldn't
have me degrade myself like that ! Frederic knew
who I was, I am sure, for I saw him so plain but
he does not wish to find me. He never asked for
me since I left his sick room. AH he cared for
was Isabel, and I wish it were possible for him to
marry her."
" You don't wish any such thing," answered Ben,
and in the same cold, hard tone Marian continued:
" I do. I thought so to-night when I sat beside
him and looked into his face. I loved him once as
much as one can love another, and because I
loved him thus I came away, thinking, in my ignor-
ance, that he might be happy with Isabel ; and
when I saw that advertisement, I wrote, asking if I
might go back again. The result of the letter you
know. He insulted me cruelly. He told me a
falsehood, and still I was not cured. When I
thought him dying in the hotel, I went and staid
with him till the other came ; but, after I was gone,
he never spoke of me, and he even professed not
to know Mrs. Daniel Burt, asking who she was,
when he knew as well as I, ifor I told him who she
was, and he directed my letter to her. I never
used to think he was deceitful, but I know it now,
and I hate him for it." .
"Tut, tut. No, you don't," chimed in Ben ; and
Marian, growing still more excited, continued,
" Well, if I don't, I will. I have run after him all
198 MARIAN GREY.
I ever shall, and now if we are reconciled he must
make the first concessions !"
" Whew-ew," whistled Ben, thinking to himself,
" Ain't the little critter spunky, though :" and
feeling rather amused than otherwise, he watched
Marian as she paced the floor, her eyes flashing
angrily, and her whole face indicative of strong ex-
citement.
She fully believed that Frederic knew her, simply
because she recognized him, and his failing to ac-
knowledge the recognition filled her with indigna-
tion and determination to forget him if it were pos-
sible.
It was now three weeks since Frederic had com-
menced his search, and he was beginning to despair
of success. His presence was needed in Kentucky,
where Alice had been left alone with the ne-
groes, and where his arrangements for moving were
not yet completed. His house on the river was
waiting for him, and as he sat thinking it over, after
that ride in the car, he resolved to go home and
bring Alice to Riverside to send for Mrs. Hunt-
ington as had previously been arranged, and then
begin the search again. Remembering his hasty
promise to Isabel, of going to New Haven, he
wrote her a few lines, telling her how it was impos-
sible for him to come, and saying that on his re-
turn to Riverside with Alice, he should expect to
find her mother and herself waiting to receive him.
" I cannot do less than this," he said. " Isabel
has been with me a long time, and though I do not
feel toward her as I did, I pity her ; for I am afraid
she likes me better than she should. I have given
her encouragement, too ; but when I come back, I
will talk with her candidly. I will tell her how it
is, and offer her a home with me as long as she
chooses to stay,"
THE SEARCH. I99
Thus deciding, Frederic wrote to Alice, telling
her when he should probably be home, and saying
he should stop for a day or so at Yonkers.
That afternoon, as Frederic was going down
Broadway he stumbled upon Ben, whose character-
istic exclamation was, " Wall, Square, glad to see
you out agin, but I didn't believe I ever should
when I sent word to that gal. She come, I s'pose ?"
"Yes," returned Frederic, "and I'm grateful to
you for your kindness in telegraphing to my friends.
How did you know I was sick ?"
" Oh, I'm alius 'round," said Ben. "Know one
of them boys at the hotel, and he told me. I
s'posed you'd die, and I should of come to see you
only I had to go off peddlin'. Biziness afore pleas-
ure, you know."
This remark seemed to imply that Frederic's dy-
ing would have been a source of pleasure to the
Yankee, but the young man knew that he did not
intend it, and the two walked on together Ben
plying his companion with questions, and learning
that both Isabel and Mrs. Huntington were now in
New Haven, but would probably go to Riverside
when Frederic returned from Kentucky.
"That's a grand place," said Ben ; "fixed up in
tip-top style, too. I took my sister out to see it
and she thought 'twas pretty slick. Wouldn't
wonder if you're going to marry that black-haired
gal by the looks of things ?" and Ben's eyes peered
sideways at Frederic, who replied :
"I certainly have no such intentions."
"You don't say it," returned Ben. " I shouldn't
of took the trouble to send for her if I hadn't
s'posed you was kinder courtin'. My sister thought
you was, and she or' to know, bein' she's been
through the mill!"
Frederic winced under Ben's pointed remarks,
and as a means of changing the conversation, said,
" If I am not mistaken, you spoke of your sister
20O - MARtAN GREY.
when in Kentucky, and Alice became quite inter-
ested in her. I've heard her mention the girl sev-
eral times. What is her name ?"
" Do look at that hoss flat on the pavement.
He's a goner," Ben exclaimed, by way of gaining
a little time.
Frederic's attention was immediately diverted
from Ben, who thought to himself, " I'll try him
with half the truth, and if he's anyways bright he'll
guess the rest."
So when, to use Ben's words, the noble quadru-
ped was " safely landed on t'other side of Jordan,
where there wan't no omnibus drivers, no cars, no
canal boats, no cartmen, no gals to pound their
backs into pummice, no wimmen, nor ministers to
work their mouths, nor nothin' but a lot as big as
the United States with the Mississippi runnin'
through it, and nothin' to do but kick up their heels
and eat clover," Ben came back to Frederic's ques-
tion, and said, " You ast my sister's name. They
tried hard to call her Mary Ann, I s'pose. My way
of thinkin' 'tain't one nor 'tother, though maybe
you'll like it Marian ; 'tain't a common name.
Did you ever hear it afore ?"
" Marian !" Frederic gasped, turning pale, while
a feeling swept over him that he had never been so
near finding her as now.
" Excuse me. Square," said Ben, whose keen eyes
lost not a single change in the expression of Fred-
eric's face. "I'm such a blunderin' critter ! That
little blind gal told me your fust wife was Marian,
and I or'to know better than to harrer your feelings
with the name."
"Never mind," returned Frederic, faintly, "but
tell me of your sister and now I think of it, you
said once you were from down east, which I sup-
posed referred to one of the New England States,
Vermont, perhaps ?"
THE SEAkCM. 20t
" Did use to live in Massachussetts,'* Ben replied.
" But can't a feller move ?"
Frederic admitted that he could, and Ben con-
tinued, " I or' to told you, I s'pose, that Marian
ain't my own flesh and blood she's adopted, that's
all. But I love her jest the same. Her name is
Marian Grey," and Ben looked at Frederic, think-
ing to himself, " Won't he take the hint when he
knows, or had or' to know that her mother was a
Grey."
But hints were lost on Frederic. He had no
suspicion of the truth, and Ben proceeded, " All
her kin is dead, and as mother hadn't no daughter
she took this orphan, and I'm workin' hard to give
her a good schoolin'. She can play the planner
like fury, and talk the French grammar most as
well as I do the English !"
This brought a smile to Frederic's face, and he
did not for a moment think of doubting Ben's
word.
" You seem very proud of your sister," he said,
at last, " and as I owe you something for caring for
me and telegraphing to my friends, let me show my
gratitude by giving you something for this Marian
Grey. What shall it be ? Is she fond of jewelry ?
Most young girls are."
Ben stuck his hands in his trousers pocket and
seemed to be thinking ; then removing his hands
he replied, " Mabby you'll think it sassy, but there
is somethin' that would please us both. I told her
about you when I came from Kentucky, and she
cried like a baby over that blind gal. Then when
you was sick, she felt worried agin, beg your par-
don. Square, but I told her you was handsome.
Jest give us your picter, if it ain't bigger than my
thumb, and would it be asking too much for you
when you git home to send me the blind gal's.
You can direct to Ben Butterworth but law, you
won't, I know you won't."
202 MARIAN GREY.
"Why not?" Frederic asked, laughing at the
novel request. " Mine you shall surely have, and
Alice's also, if she consents. Come with me now,
fof we are opposite a gallery."
The result of this was that in a short time Ben
held in his hand a correct likeness of Frederic,
which was of priceless value to him, because he
knew how highly it would be prized by Marian.
As they passed into the street again, Frederic
said to him rather abruptly, " Do you know Sarah
Green ?"
"No," Ben answered, and Frederic continued:
" Do you know Mrs. Merton ?"
Ben started and then repeating the name replied,
" Ain't acquainted with her neither. Who is she ?"
" She took care of me," returned Frederic, " and
I would like to find her, and thank her for her kind-
ness."
" I shouldn't s'pose she could of took care of you
alone, sick as you was," Ben said, waiting eagerly
for the answer, which, had it been what he desired,
might lead to the unfolding of the mystery.
But Frederic shrank from making Ben his confi-
dant, and replied, " It was hard for her till Miss
Huntington came."
" Blast Miss Huntington," Ben thought, now
thoroughly satisfied that his companion did not
care to discover Marian, or he would certainly say
something about her.
Both she and his mother were sure that he knew
she had been with him in his sickness, and if he
really wished to find her he would speak of her as
well as of Mrs. Merton.
" But he don't," thought Ben. " He don't care
a straw for her, and she's right when she says she
won't run after him any more. He don't like Isa-
bel none too well, and I raally b'lieve the man is
crazy."
This settled the matter satisfactorily with Ben,
TEfi SEARCH. i203
who bidding Frederic good-bye, hurried h6me, im-
patient to show Marian his surprise.
" Wall,weeone,"he began," I've seen the Square,
and talked with him of you."
" Oh, Ben !" and Marian's face was spotted with
her excitement " what made you ? What did he
say ? and where is he ?"
" Gone home," answered Ben ; " but he had this
took on purpose for you ;" and he tossed the pic-
ture into her lap.
" It is it is Frederic. Oh, Mrs. Burt, it is," and
Marian's lip touched the face which looked kindly
up at her.
It was thinner than when she used to know it, but
fuller, stronger-looking than when it lay among the
tumbled pillows. The eyes, too, were hollow, and
not so bright, while it seemed to her that the rich
brown hair was not so thrifty as of old. But it was
Frederic, and her heart thrilled with the joyful
thought that he remembered her, and had sent her
this priceless token. But why had he gone home
without her why had he left her there alone if he
really cared to find her ? There was something she
had not heard, and she said to Ben, " What does it
mean ? You have not told me why he sent it."
It was cruel to deceive her as he had done, and
so Ben thought when he saw the effect it had upon
her when he told her why Frederic sent to her that
picture ; that it was not taken for Marian Lindsey,
but for Marian Grey, adopted sister of Benjamin
Butterworth.
" He does not wish to find me," she said, " We
shall never be reconciled, and it is just as well, per-
haps."
" I think so, too," rejoined Ben, " or at any rate
I'd let him rest a spell, and learn everything there
is in books for womankind to learn. You shall go
to college, if you say so, and bimeby, when the old
Nick himself wouldn't know you, I'll get you a
504 IrfARIAN GREV.
chance to teach that blind gal, and he'll fall in love
with his own wife ; see if he don't," and Ben
stroked the curls within his reach very caressingly,
thinking to himself, " I won't tell her now 'bout
Alice's picter, 'cause it may not come, but I'll cheer
her up the best way that I can. She grows hand-
some every day of her life," and as this, in Ben's
estimation, was the one thing of all others to be
desired by Marian, he could not forbear compli-
menting her aloud upon her rapid improvement in
looks.
" Thank you," she answered, smiling very faintly,
for to her beauty or accomplishments were of little
avail if in the end Frederic's love were not
secured.
CHAPTER XVIII.
HOME AGAIN.
Frederic was coming home again " Marster
Frederic," who, as Dinah said, "had been so near
to kingdom-come that he could hear the himes
they sung on Sunday."
Joyfully the blacks told each other the glad news,
which was an incentive for them to bestir them-
selves as they had not done before during the
whole period of their master's absence. Old
Dinah, whose mind turned naturally upon eatables,
busied herself in conjuring up some new and harm-
less relish for the invalid, while Uncle Phil spent
the whole day in rubbing down the horses and rub-
bing up the carriage with which he intended meet-
ing his master at Frankfort. Josh, too, caught the
general spirit, and remembering how much his
master used to chide him for his slovenly appear-
HOME AGAIN. 205
ance, he cast rueful glances at his sorry coat and
red cowhides, wishing he had some " clothes to
honor the 'casion with."
"I m-m-might sh-sh-shine these up a little," he
said, examining his boots ; and, purloining a tallow
candle from Hetty's cupboard, he set himself to the
task, succeeding so well that he was almost certain
of commendation.
A coat of uncle Phil's was borrowed next, and
though it hung like a tent cloth about Josh's lank
proportions, the eflect was entirely satisfactory to
the boy, who had a consciousness of having done
all that could reasonably be expected of him.
In the house Alice was not idle. From the ear-
liest dawn she had been up, for there was some-
thing on her mind which kept her wakeful and
restless. Frederic's letters, which were read to her
by the wife of the overseer, who lived nearby, had
told her of the blue-eyed girl who had been with
him in his, sickness, and in one letter, written before
he had given up the search, he had said, while re-
ferring to the girl : " Darling Alice, I am so glad
you sent me here, for I hope to bring you a great
and joyful surprise."
Not the least mention did he make of Marian,
but Alice understood that he meant her. Marian
and the blue-eyed girl were the same, and he
would bring her back to them again. - She was cer-
tain of it, and though in his last letter, dated at
Riverside, and apprising them of his intended re-
turn, he had not alluded to the subject, it made no
difference with her. He wished to surprise her,
she thought, and going to Dinah, she said to her :
" Supposing Frederic had never been married to
Marian, but had gone after a bride I don't mean
Isabel, but somebody real nice. Supposing, I say,
he was going to bring her home, which room do
you think he would wish her to have ?"
" The best chamber, in course," answered Dinah
206 MARIAN GREY.
" the one whar the 'hogany bedstead and silk
quilt is. You wouldn't go to puttin' Marster Fred-
eric's wife off with poor truck, I hope. But what
made you ask that question ? What have you
hearn ?"
" Nothing in particular," Alice answered, " only
it would be nice if he should bring somebody with
him, and I want to fix the room just as though I
knew he would. May Lid sweep and dust it for
me ?"
For a moment Dinah looked at her as if she
thought her crazy. Then thinking to herself, " it'l
'muse her a spell any way, and I may as well
humor her whim," she replied. " Sakes alive, yes,
and I'll ar the bed. Thar hain't nobody slep' in't
sence Marian run away 'cept Miss Agnes one night
and that trollop, Isabel, who consulted me by sayin'
how't they done clarmbered onto a table afore
they could get inter bed, 'twas so high. Ain't
used to feathers whar she was raised, I reckon, and
if you'll b'lieve it, she said how't she alius slep' on
har afore she come here ! Pretty stuff that must
be to lie on ; but Lord, them Yankees is mostly as
poor as poverty, and don't know no differ."
Having relieved herself of this speech, which in-
volved both her opinion of Yankees in general and
Isabel in particular, the old lady proceeded to bus-
iness, first arin' the bed, and then making it
higher, if possible, than it was made on the night
when Isabel so injured her feelings by laughing at
its height. Lid's services were next brought into
requisition ; and when the chamber was swept and
dusted, the arrangement of the furniture was left
entirely to Alice, who wished so much that she
could see just how Marian's favorite chair looked
standing by the window, from which the gorgeous
sunsets Marian so much admired could be seen.
Just opposite, and on the other side of the window,
Frederic's easy chair was placed the one in which
HOME AGAIN. 20/
he always sat when tired, and where Alice fancied
he would now delight to sit with Marian, so near
that he could look into her eyes and tell her that
he was glad to have her there. He was beginning
to love her Alice knew by the tone of his letters ;
and her heart thrilled with joy as she thought of
the happiness in store for them all. She would
not be lonely now in her own chamber, for it was
so near to Marian's. She could leave the doors
open between, and that would be much nicer than
having black Ellen sleeping on the floor.
" She loved a great many flowers around her,"
she said, and groping her way down the stairs and
out into the yard, she gathered from the tree be-
neath the library window a profusion of buds and
half opened roses, which she arranged into bouquets,
and placed in vases for Marian, just as Marian had
gathered flowers for her from the garden far away
on the river.
There were flowers on the mantle, flowers on the
table, flowers in the window, flowers everywhere,
and their sweet perfume filled the air with a deli-
cious fragrance which Dinah declared was " a heap
sight better than that scent Miss Isabel used to put
on her hankercher and fan. Ugh, that fan !" and
Dinah's nose was elevated at the very thought of
Isabel's sandal-wood fan, which had been her special
abhorrence.
" Isn't it most time for Uncle Phil to start ?"
asked Alice, when Dinah had finished fixing the
room.
" Yes, high time," answered Dinah, " but Phil is
so slow. I'll hurry him up," and followed by Alice
she descended the stairs, meeting in the lower hall
with Lyd, who held in her hand a brown envelope,
which she passed to Alice, saying, " One dem let-
ters what come like lightnin' on the telegraph. A
boy done brung it."
208 MARIAN GREY.
" A telegram ," Alice cried, feeling at first alarmed.
" Go for Mrs. Warren to read it."
But the overseer's wife was absent, and neither
the blacks nor Alice knew what to do.
" There isn't more than a line and a half," said
Alice, passing her finger over the paper and feeling
the thick sand which had been sifted upon it. " I
presume something has detained Frederic, and he
has sent word that he will not be here to-day."
" Let me see dat ar," said Phil, who liked to im-
press his companions with a sense of his superior
wisdom, and, adjusting his iron-bowed specs, he
took the letter, which in reality was Greek to him.
After an immense amount of wry faces and loud
whispering he said :
"Yes, honey, you're correct, though Marster,
Frederic has sich an onery hand-write that it takes
me a heap of time to make it out. It reads, ' Some-
thin' has detained Frederic, and he has sent word
that he'll be here to-morry.' " And, with the ut-
most gravity, Phil took off his specs, and was walk-
ing away with the air of one who has done some-
thing his companions could never hope to do, when
Hetty called out :
" Wonder if he 'spects us to swaller dat ar, and
think he kin read, when he jest done said over what
Miss Alice say. Can't fool dis chile."
This insinuation Uncle Phil felt constrained to
answer, and with an injured air he replied :
" Kin read, too, for don't you mind how't Miss
Alice say, ' Won't be here to-day,' and it's writ on
the paper, ' Comin' to-morry.' " And, fully satisfied
that he had convinced his audience. Uncle Phil has-
tened away off, before Hetty had time for further
argument. So certain was Phil that Alice's sur-
mises were correct and the telegram interpreted
aright, and so anxious withal to prove himself sure,
that he would not go to Frankfort, as he proposed
doing.
HOME AGAIN. 209
" There was no use on't," he said. " Marster
wouldn't be thar till to-morry," and he whiled away
the afternoon at leisure.
But alas for Uncle Phil. Mrs. Warren had made
a mistake in Frederic's last letter, the young man
writing he should be home on the fifteenth, whereas
she had read it the seventeenth ; afterward, Fred-
eric had decided to leave Riverside one day earlier,
and he telegraphed from Cincinnati for Phil to meet
him. Finding neither carriage nor servant in wait-
ing, he hired a conveyance, and about four o'clock
P. M. from every cabin door there came the joyful
cry
" Marster Frederic has come."
" Told you so," said Hetty, with an exultant
glance at Uncle Phil, who wisely made no reply,
but hastened with the rest to tell his master, " How
d'ye ?"
" How is it that some one did not meet me ?"
Frederic asked, after the first noisy outbreak had
somewhat subsided. " Didn't you get the des-
patch ?"
The negroes looked at Phil, who stammered
out
" Yes, we done got it, but dem ole iron specs of
mine is mighty nigh wore out can't see in 'em at
all and I read ' to-morry' instead of ' to-day.' "
The loud shout which followed this excuse
enlightened Frederic as to the true state of the
case, and he, too, joined in the laugh, telling the
crest-fallen Phil that "he should surely have a new
pair of silver specs which would read ' to-day ' in-
stead of ' to-morry.' "
" But where is Alice ?" he continued. " Why
don't she come to meet me ?"
"Sure 'nough," returned Dinah. " Whar can
she be, when she was so fierce to have you come ?
Reckon she's up in the best chamber she's been
fixin' up for somethjn', sh? wouldr}'^ t^}\ wh^t."
210 MARIAN GREY.
" I'll go and see," said Frederic, starting in quest
of the little girl, who, as Dinah had conjectured,
was in the chamber prepared with so much care for
Marian.
She had been sitting by the window when she
heard the sound of wheels coming up the avenue.
Then the joyful cry of " Marster's comin'," came
to her quick ear, and, starting up, she bent her
head to listen for another voice. But she listened
in vain, for Marian was not there. Gradually she
became convinced of the fact, and, laying her face
on the window sill, she was weeping bitterly when
Frederic came in. Pausing for a moment in the
door, he glanced around, first at the well remem-
bered chair, then at the books upon the table, then
at the flowers, and then he knew why all this had
been done.
" I wish it might have been so," he thought, and
going to Alice he lifted up her head and said to
her, " Darling, was it for Marian you gathered all
these flowers ?"
"Yes, Frederic, for Marian, I thought you had
found her, and I was so glad. What made you
write me that ?"
" Alice, I did find her," returned Frederic; "I
have seen her, I have talked with her. Marian is
alive."
At these words, so decidedly spoken, the blind
eyes flashed up into Frederic's face eagerly, as if
they would burst their vail of darkness and see if
he told her truly.
" Is it true ? Oh, Frederic, you are not deceiv-
ing me ? I can't bear any more disappointment,"
and Alice's face and lips were as white as ashes, as
she proceeded further to question Frederic, who
told her of the girl who had called him back to life
by her kind acts and words of love.
f he h^d a sweet face, ' he said, " fairer, sweeter
HOME AGAIN. 211
than Marian's when she went away, but I knew that
this was she."
Then he told her of her sudden disappearance
when Isabel came and of his fruitless efforts to
find her.
There was a pathos in the tone of his voice, which
emboldened Alice to say :
" Frederic, ain't you loving Marian a heap more
than you did when she went away ?"
Frederic did not hesitate a moment before reply-
ing, " Yes, I am ; and I shall find her too. I only
stopped long enough to come home for you. The
house is ready at Riverside, and your room is
charming."
"Will Isabel be there ?" was Alice's next inquiry,
and Frederic answered by telling her all he knew
of the matter.
He did not say he was beginning to understand
her, and consequently to like her less, but Alice in-
ferred as much, and with this fear removed from her
mind, she could endure patiently to become again
a pupil of Miss Huntington. For a long time they
talked together, wondering who wrote the letter
purporting to have come from Sarah Green, and
why it had been written. Then Frederic told her
of the peddler Ben, and of his sister, Marian Grey.
Of her, Alice did not say to him " She is our
Marian," for she had not such a thought, but she
seemed interested both in her and in Ben, and when
told that the latter had asked for her picture she
consented at once, saying he should have it as soon
as they were settled at Riverside.
" I would not tell any one about Marian," Fred-
eric said, as their conversation drew to a close ; " I
had rather the subject should not be discussed un-
til I really find her and bring her home ; then we
will set apart a day of general thanksgiving."
To this suggestion Alice readily assented, and as
the supper bell just then ran^, the two went to-
212 MARIAN GREY.
gether to the delicious repast, which Dinah had pre-
pared with unusual care, insisting the while that
" thar was nothin' fit for nobody to eat."
Frederic, however, whose appetite was increasing
each day, convinced her to the contrary, and while
watching him as he did justice to her viands, the
old negress thought to herself, " 'Clar for't, how he
does eat. I should know he come from Yankee
land. You can alius tell 'em, the way they crams,
when they get whar thar is somethin'."
The news of Frederic's return spread rapidly, and
that night he received calls from several of his
neighbors, together with an invitation to Agnes
Gibson's wedding, which was to take place in a few
days. In the invitation Alice was included, and
though Dinah demurred, saying that " trundle-bed
truck or'to stay at home," Alice ventured to differ
from her, and at the appointed time went with
Frederic to the wedding, which was splendid in all
its parts, having been gotten up with a direct refer-
ence to the newspaper articles which were sure to
be published concerning it. Agnes asked Frederic
numberless questions concerning Isabel, saying
" she hoped to meet her in her travels, as they were
going North and were intending to spend the sum-
mer at Saratoga, Newport, and Nahant. I thought
once you would be taking your bridal tour about
this time," she said to him, when several were stand-
ing near.
" I assure you I had no such idea," was Fred-
eric's reply, and Agnes continued, " Indeed, I sup-
posed you were engaged."
" Then you supposed wrong," he answered, glad
of this public opportunity to contradict a story he
knew had gained a wide circulation. " I esteem
Miss Huntington as a friend and distant relative,
but I certainly have no intention whatever of mak-
ing her my wife."
Jt was nearly three weel^s ftfter thj? wadding be-
HOME AGAIN. 213
/or-2 Frederic's arrangements for leaving Kentucky
were completed, and it was not until the latter
part of July that he finally started for his new
home. The lamentations of the negroes were
noisy in the extreme, though far more moderate
than they would have been if their master had not
said that it was very probable he should return in
the autumn, and merely make Riverside a sum-
mer residence. If he found Marian he should
come back, of course, he thought, but he did not
think it best to raise hopes which might never be
realized, so he said nothing of her, to the blacks,
who supposed she was dead.
The parting between Dinah and Alice was a bit-
ter one, the former hugging the little girl to her
bosom and wondering how " Marster Frederic
'spected a child what had never waited on itself
even to fotch a drop of water, could get along 'way
off dar whar thar warn't nary nigger nor nothin' but
a pack o' low flung Irish. Order 'em 'round," she
said to Alice, wiping her eyes with her checked
apron, "order 'em round jist like they warn't
white. Make 'em think you be somebody. Say
your pra'rs every night war your white cambric
wrappers in the mornin', and don't on no count
catch any poor folksy's marners 'mong them Yan-
kees, for I shouldn't get my nateral sleep o'
nights till you got shet of 'em, and " lowering her
voice, " if so be that you tell any of the quality
'bout us blacks, s'posin you kinder set me 'bove
Hetty and them Higginses, bein' that I the same
as nussed you."
To nearly all these requirements Alice promised
compliance, and then, as the carriage was waiting,
she followed Frederic down to the gate, and soon
both were lost to the sight of the tearful group
which, from the piazza of Redstone Hall, gazed
after them.
It was at the close of a summer sultry day when
214 MARIAN GREY.
the travelers reached Riverside, where they found
Mrs. Huntington waiting to receive them. Frederic
had written, apprising her of the time when he
should probably arrive, and asking her to be there
if possible. Something, too, he had said of Isabel,
but that young lady was not in the most amiable
mood, and as she was comfortably domesticated
with another distant relative, she declined going
to Frederic until he manifested a greater desire to
have her with him than his recent letters indicated.
Accordingly her mother went alone, and Frederic
was not sorry, while Alice was delighted. Every-
thing seemed so bright and airy, she said, just as
though a load were taken from them, and like a bird
she flitted about the house, for she needed to pass
through a room but once before she was familiar
with its location, and could find it easily. With
her own chamber she was especially pleased, and
in less than half an hour her hands had examined
every article of furniture, even to the vases which
held the withered blossoms gathered so long ago.
" Somebody must have put these here for me,"
she said, and then her mind went back to the morn-
ing when she, too, had gathered flowers for her ex-
pected friend, and she wondered who had done a
similar service for her.
Mrs. Russell, who was still staying at Riverside,
replied :
" Now I wonder if you found them dried-up
things so soon. I should of thrown them out, only
that the girl who fixed 'em made me promise to
leave 'em till you came. 'Pears like she b'lieved
you'd think more on 'em for knowin' that she
picked 'em."
" Girl ! Mrs. Russell. What girl ?" and Alice's
eyes lighted up, for she thought at once of Marian,
who would know of course about the house, and as
she would naturally wish to see it, she had come
some day and left these flowers, which would be so
HOME AGAll*. 21^
dear to her if she found her suspicions correct.
" Who was the girl ?" she asked again, and Mrs.
Russell replied :
" I don't remember her name, but she went aiA
over the house, fixing things in Mr. Raymond's
room, which I didn't think was very mannerly,
bein' that 'twan't none o' hern. Then she come iu
here and set ever so long before she picked these
flowers, which she told me not to throw away."
"Yes, it was Manan," came involuntarily from
Alice's lips, while the woman, catching at the name
rejoined :
" That sounds like what he called her that tall,
spooky chap, her brother Ben something. She
said he had seen you at the South."
" Oh, Ben Butterworth. It was his adopted sis-
ter ;" and Alice turned away, greatly disappointed
that Marian Grey, and not Marian Lindsey had ar-
ranged those flowers for her.
This allusion to Ben reminded AHce of his re-
quest for her picture, and one morning when Fred-
eric was going to New York, she asked to go with
him and sit for it. There was no reason why she
should not, and in an hour or two she was listen-
ing, half-stunned, to the noise and uproar of the
city.
"Oh, Frederic," she cried, holding fast to his
hand, " oh, Frederic, I wonder Marian didn't get
crazy and die. I'm sure I should. I'm most dis-
tracted now. Where are all those people and carts
going that I hear running by us so fast, and what
makes them keep pushing me so hard. Oh, dear,
I wish I hadn't come !" and as some one just then
jostled her more rudely than usual, Alice began to
cry.
" Never mind," said Frederic soothingly, "we are
almost there, and we will take a carriage back.
Folks can't push you then."
Alice's tears being dried, they kept on their way,
2l6 MARIAN GREV.
and when the picture was taken, Frederic caiiea a
carriage and took Alice, as he had promised, all
over the city. And Alice enjoyed it very much,
knowing that no one could touch her of all the
noisy throng she heard so distinctly, but could not
see. It was a day long talked of by the blind girl,
and she asked Mrs. Huntington to write a descrip-
tion of it to the negroes, who she knew fancied that
Louisville was the largest city in the world.
Not long after this, something which Mrs. Hunt-
ington said about her daughter determined Fred-
erick to visit her, and make the explanation which
he felt it his duty to make, for he knew that he had
given her some reason to think he intended asking
her to be his wife. He accordingly made some ex-
cuse for going to New Haven, and one morning
found himself at the door where Isabel was stop-
ping.
" Give her this," he said, handing his card to the
servant who carried it at once to the delighted
young lady.
" Frederic Raymond," Isabel read. " Oh, yes.
Tell him I'll be down in a moment," and she pro-
ceeded to arrange her hair a little more becomingly,
and made several changes in her dress, so that the
one minute was nearly fifteen before she started for
the parlor, where Frederic was dreading her com-
ing, for he scarcely knew what he wished to say.
She greeted him as a bashful maiden is supposed,
to meet her lover, and seating herself at a respect-
ful distance from him, she asked many questions
concerning his health, her friends in Kentucky, her
mother, and Alice, who she presumed did not miss
her much.
" Your mother's presence reminds us of you very
often, of course," returned Frederic, "but you
know we can get accustomed to almost anything,
and Alice seems very happy."
" Yes," sighed Isabel. " You will all forget me,
HOME AGAIN. 21^
I suppose, even to mother but I have not been
quite contented since I left Kentucky. I thought
it tiresome to teach, and perhaps was sometimes
impatient and unreasonable, but I have often wished
myself back again. I don't seem to be living for
anything now," and Isabel's eyes studied the pat-
tern of the carpet quite industriously.
This long speech called, for a reply, and Frederic
said, " You would not care to come back again,
would you ?"
"Why, yes," returned Isabel; "I would rather
do that than nothing."
For a time there was silence, while Frederic
fidgeted in his chair and Isabel fidgeted in hers,
until at last the former said :
" I owe you an explanation, Isabel, and I have
come to make it. Do you remember our conver-
sation in the parlor, and to what it was apparently
tending, when we were interrupted by Alice ?"
" Yes," replied Isabel, " and I have thought of it
so often, wondering if you were in earnest, or if
you were merely trifling with my feelings."
"I certainly had no intention of trifling with
you," returned Frederic ; " neither do I know as I
was really in earnest. At all events it is fortunate
for us both that Alice came in as she did ;" and
having said so much, Frederic could now look
calmly upon a face which changed from a serene
Summer sky to a dark, lightning-laden thunder-
cloud as he told her the story he had come to tell.
In her terrible disappointment, Isabel so far for-
got herself as to lose her temper entirely, and Fred-
eric, while listening to her, as she railed at him for
what she called his perfidy, wondered how he ever
could have thought her womanly or good.
" It was false that Marian was living, and had
taken care of him when sick," she said. " He
could not impose that story upon her, and he only
wished to do it because he fancied that he was in
2 1 8^ MARlAIf GREV.
some way pledged to her and wished for an excus6,
but he might have saved himself the trouble, for
even had Alice not appeared she would have told
him No. She liked him once, she would admit,
but there was nothing like living beneath the same
roof to make one person tire of another, and even
if she were not disgusted with him before, she
should have become so while taking care of him in
New York, and so she wrote to Agnes Gibson, who,
she heard, had spread the news that she was en-
gaged, though she had no authority for doing so,
but it was just like the tattling mischief-maker !"
" Are you through ?" Frederic coolly asked, when
she had finished speaking. " If you are I will con-
sider our interview at an end."
Isabel did not reply and he arose to go, saying
to her as he reached the door, " I did not come
here to quarrel with you ; I wish still to be your
friend, and if you are ever in trouble come to me
as to a brother."
" The villain ! I believe I hate him and o-nly
to think how those folks in Kentucky will laugh,"
Isabel thought when she was alone. " But it's all
Agnes' doings. She inveigled more out of me than
there was to tell, and then repeated it to suit her-
self. The jade !" and at this point Isabel broke
down in a flood of tears, in the midst of which the
door-bell rang again, and hurrying to the stairs she
listened to the names, which this time were " Mr.
and Mrs. Rivers " (Agnes and her husband), and
they asked for her.
Drying her tears, and bathing her eyes until the
redness was gone, Isabel went down to meet the
"jade," embracing her very affectionately, and tell-
ing her how delighted she was to see her again, and
how well she was looking.
" Then why do you not embark on the sea of
matrimony yourself, if you think it such a beauti-
fier," said Agnes.
HOME AGAIN. 2l$
" Me ?" returned Isabel, with a toss of her head ;
" I thought I wrote you that I had given up that
foolish fancy."
" Indeed, so you did," said Agnes, " but I had
forgotten it, and when I saw Mr. Raymond at the
Tontine, where we are stopping, I supposed, of
course, he had come to see you, and I said to Mr.
Rivers it really was too bad, for, from what he said
at our wedding, I fancied there was nothing in it,
and had made up my mind to take you with us to
Florida, as I once talked of doing. Husband's sis-
ter wants a teacher for her children, don't she,
dear ?"
Mr. Rivers was about to answer in the afifirma.
tive, but before he could speak Isabel chimed in :
" Oh, you kind, thoughtful soul. Let me go with
you ; do. Nothing could please me more. I have
missed your society so much, and am so unhappy
here !"
Agnes was pleased with the idea of having Isabel
go with her to her new home. And before parting
it was arranged that in October Isabel was to join
her friend in Kentucky, and go with her from
thence to Florida, where she was either to remain
with Mrs. Rivers, or teach in the family of Mr.
Rivers' sister.
The story of Isabel's intended trip to Florida
was not long in reaching Rudolph McVicar, who
had been wondering why sonriething didn't occur,
and if he were to be disappointed after all.
" I wasted that paper and ink for nothing," was
his mental comment when he heard from her own
lips that Isabel was going ; for, he finally ventured
to call upon her, demeaning himself so well that,
like her mother, Isabel began to think he had re-
formed.
Still there was an expression in his eye which she
did not like, and when at last he left her, she
experienced a feeling of relief, as if a spell had been
2i6 MARIAN GkEV.
removed. After her recent interview with Frederic
she would not go to his house, so her mother went
to New Haven, staying with her daughter a week,
and then returning to Riverside, while Isabel
started for Kentucky, where, as she had expected,
she met with Mr. and Mrs. Rivers, and was soon on
her way to Florida.
When sure that Isabel was gone, and that Sarah
Green's letter had indeed been written in vain,
Rudolph, who cared nothing now whether Marian
were ever discovered to her husband or not, went
to New York and embarked on a whaling voyage,
as he had long thought of doing, fancying that the
roving life of a seaman would suit his restless
nature.
And now, with Rudolph on the sea, with Isabel
in Florida, with Marian at school, and Frederic at
Riverside, we draw a vail over the different char-
acters of our story, until three years have passed
away, bringing changes to all, but to none a greater
change than to Marian Grey.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE GOVERNESS.
It was a bright September afternoon, and the
dense foliage of the trees looked as fresh and green
as when watered by the Summer showers, save
here and there where a faded leaf came rustling to
the ground, whispering of the Winter which was
hastening on. Softly the Autumnal sunlight fell
upon the earth, and the birds sang as gayly as if
there were no hearts bereaved, no humble proces-
sion winding through the crowded streets and out
THE GOVERNESS. 221
into the country, where, in a new-made grave, a
mother's love was buried, while the mourners, a
young man and a girl, held each other's hand, in
token that they were bound together by a common
sorrow. Not a word was said by either ; and when
the burial rite was over, they returned to the car-
riage, and were driven back to their desolate home,
where the young man threw himself upon the
lounge, and burying his face in the cushions, sobbed
aloud :
" Oh, Marian, it's terrible to be an orphan and
have no mother."
Up to this hour he had restrained his grief, but
now that he was alone with Marian, he wept on,
until the sun went down and the night shadows
were creeping into the room. Then lifting up his
head, he said, " It is so dark so dismal now and
the hardest of all is the givin' up our dear old home
where mother lived so long, and the thinkin' maybe
you'll forget me when you live with that grand
lady."
" Forget you ! Oh, Ben, I never can forget how
much you have done for me, denying yourself
everything for my sake," Marian said, while Ben
continued, " Nor won't you be ashamed of me
neither, if I should come sometimes to see you ?
I should die if I could not once a while look into
your eyes ; and you'll let me come, won't you,
Marian ?"
" Of course I will," she replied, continuing after
z. moment, " It is not certain yet that I go to Mrs.
Sheldon's. I have not answered her last letter
because You know what we talked about before
your mother died!"
" Yes, I know," returned Ben, " but I had forgot
it my heart was so full of other things. I'll go out
there to-morrow. I'd rather you should teach at
Riverside, even if you'd never heard of Frederic,
\'k^n go to that gr^iici lady, wh9 niight thtnl?,
222 MARIAN GREY.
because you was a governess, that you wan't fit to
live in the same house."
" I have no fears of that," said Marian. " Mrs.
Harcourt says she is an estimable woman ; but
still, I would rather go to Riverside, if I were sure
Frederic would not know me. Do you think there
is any danger?"
" No," was Ben's decided answer, and in this
opinion Marian herself concurred, for she knew
that she had changed so much that none who saw
her when first she came to Mrs. Burt's would re-
cognize her now.
About three months before the night of which
we are writing, she had been graduated at Mrs.
Harcourt's school with every possible honor, both
as a musician and a scholar. There had never
been her equal there before, Mrs. Harcourt said,
and when her friend, Mrs. Sheldon, who lived in
Springfield, Mass., applied to her for a family
pupil, she warmly recommended her favorite pupil,
Marian Grey, frankly stating, however, that she
was of humble origin that her adopted mother or
aunt was a poor sewing woman, and her adopted
brother a peddler. This, however, made no differ-
ence with Mrs. Sheldon, and several letters had
passed between herself and Marian, who would
have accepted the liberal offer at once, but for a
lingering hope that Ben would carry out his favor-
ite plan, and procure her a situation as teacher at
Riverside. She had occasionally met Frederic in
the street, and once she was sure his eye had rested
upon her in passing, but she knew by its expres-
sion that she was not recognized, and when Ben
suggested offering her services as Alice's governess,
she readily consented.
During these years, Ben had not lost sight of
Frederic's movements, though it so chanced that
they had met but twice, once just after the receipt
of Alice's picture, and once the previous autumn.
THE GOVERNESS. 223
when Frederic was about returning to Kentucky,
for, with his changed feelings toward Marian, he
felt less delicacy in using her money less aversion
to Redstone Hall, where his presence was really
needed, for a portion of the year at least.
But he was at Riverside now, and Ben was about
going there to see what arrangements could be
made, when his mother's sudden death caused
both himself and Marian to forget the subject until
the night after the burial, when they talked of the
future, and decided that on the morrow Ben shonld
go to Riverside and see if there were room in
Frederic's house for Marian Grey. The morning
came, and at an early hour Ben started, bidding
Marian keep up her spirits, as he was sure of bring-
ing her good tidings.
Frederic was sitting in his chair, which stood
near the window, and thinking of Marian and his
hitherto fruitless efforts to find her. He was be-
ginning to get discouraged, and still, each time he
went to the city, he thought " perhaps I may meet
her to-day," and each night as the hour for his
return drew near, Alice waited upon the piazza
when the weather was fine, and by the window
when it was cold, listening for a step which never
came, until she grew less hopeful, and Marian
seemed farther and farther away as month after
month went by bringing no tidings of her. Fred-
eric knew that she must necessarily have changed
from the Marian of old, for she was a woman now,
but he should readily recognize her, he said. He
should know her by her peculiar hair, if by no
other token. So when his eye once rested on a
face of surpassing sweetness, shaded by curls of
soft chestnut hair, which in the sunlight wore a
rich red tinge he felt a glow like that which one
experiences in gazing for a single instant on some
picture of rare loveliness ; then the picture faded,
the figure glided \ty, and there was nothing left to
224 MARIAN GREY,
tell how, by stretching forth his hand, he might
have touched his long-lost Marian. Moments there
were when she seemed near to him, almost within
his reach, and such a moment was the one when
Mrs. Huntington annonnced Ben Butterworth,
whom he had not seen for a long time.
Involuntarily he started up, half expecting his
visitor had come to tell him something of her.
But when he saw the crape upon Ben's hat, and the
sorrow on his face, he forgot Marian in his anxiety
to know what had happened.
"My mother's dead," Ben said, and the strong
man, six feet high, sobbed like a little child, bring-
ing back to Frederic's mind the noiseless room, the
still, white face, and tolling bell, which were all he
could distinctly remember of the day when he, too,
said to a boy like himself, " My mother's dead."
Taking Ben's hand, he pressed it warmly in token
of his sympathy.
" He is a good man," Ben thought, wiping his
tears "away: and after a few choking coughs and
brief explanations he came at once to the object of
his visit.
He should peddle now just as he used to do, of
course, but wimmen wan't so lucky, and all Marian
could do was to teach. He had given her a tip-top
larnin', though she had earnt some on't herself
by sewin'. She had got a paper thing, too, with a
blue ribin, from Miss Harcourt, who praised her up
to the skies. In short, if Mr. Raymond had not
any teacher for Alice, wouldn't he take Marian
Grey ? And Ben twirled his hat nervously, while
he waited for the answer.
" I wish you had applied to me sooner," said
Frederic, " for in that case I would have taken her,
but a Mrs. Jones, from Boston, came only a week
ago, so you see I am supplied. I am very sorry,
for I feel an interest in Miss Grey, and will use tny
Ipfllu^nc? to progwr? her ^ situatioii,"
THE GOVERNESS. 22$
"Thank you ; there's a place she can have, but I
wanted her to come here," returned Ben, who was
greatly disappointed, and began to cry again.
Frederic was somewhat amused, besides being
considerably disturbed, and after looking at the
child-man for a moment, he continued :
" Mrs. Jones is engaged for one year only, and
if at the end of that time Miss Grey still wishes to
come, I pledge you my word that she shall do so."
This brought comfort at once. One year was
not very long to wait, and by that time Marian
would certainly be past recognition, and as all Ben's
wishes and plans centered upon Mr. Raymond's
falling in love with his unknown wife, he was readily
consoled, and wiping his eyes, he said apologeti-
cally, " I'm dreadfully tender-hearted, and since
I've been an orphan it's ten times wus. So you
must excuse my actin' like a baby. Where's
Alice ?"
Frederic called the little girl, who, childlike,
waited to put on her bracelet, so as to show the
man that she still wore it and liked it very much.
She seemed greatly pleased at meeting Ben again,
asking him why he had not been there before, and
if he had received her picture.
" Yes, wee one," he said. " I should have writ,
only that ain't in my line much, and I don't always
ipell jest right, but we got the picter, and Marian
ivas so pleased she cried."
"What made her?" said Alice, wonderingly.
" She don't know me."
" But she knows you're blind, for I told her," was
Ben's quick reply, which was quite satisfactory to
Alice, who by this time had detected a note of sad-
ness in his voice, and she asked what was the mat-
ter.
To her also Ben replied, " My mother's dead,"
and the mature little girl understood at once the
dreary loneliness that a mother's de^th niust brin^
226 MARIAN GREY.
even to the heart of a big man like Ben. Immedi-
ately, too, she thought of Marian Grey, and asked
" What she would do ?"
" I come on to seeif yourpa no, beg your pardon
to see if the Square didn't want her to hear you
say your lessons," was Ben's answer, and Alice ex-
claimed, " Oh, Frederic. Let her come. I know I
shall like her better than Mrs. Jones, for she's
young and pretty, I am sure. May she come ?"
" Alice," said Frederic, " Mrs. Jones has an aged
mother and two little children dependent upon her
earnings, and, should I send her away, the disap-
pointment would be very great. Next year, if we
all live, Miss Grey shall come, and with this you
must be satisfied."
Alice saw at once that he was right, and she gave
up the point, merely remarking that " a year was a
heap of a while."
" No, 'tain't," said Ben, who each moment was
becoming more and more reconciled to the arrange-
ment.
One year's daily intercourse with fashionable peo-
ple, he thought, would be of invaluable service to
Marian, and as he wished her to be perfect, both in
looks and manners, when he presented her to Fred-
eric Raymond, he was well satisfied to wait, and he
returned to New York with a light, hopeful heart.
Marian, on the contrary, was slightly disappointed,
for like Alice, a year seemed to her a long, long
time. Still there was no alternative, and she wrote
to Mrs. Sheldon that she would come as early as
the first day of October. It was hard to break up
their old home, but it was necessary, they knew,
and with sad hearts they disposed of the furniture,
gave up the rooms, and then, when the appointed
time came, Marian started for her new home, ac-
companied by Ben, who went rather unwillingly.
" We ain"t no more alike than ile and water," he
WILL GORDON. 22/
said, when she first suggested his going, 'and they
won't think as much of you for seein' me."
But Marian insisted, and Ben went with her, men-
tally resolving to say but little, as by this means he
fancied " he would be less likely to show how big a
dolt he was I"
CHAPTER XX.
WILL GORDON.
Mrs. Sheldon's residence was a most delightful
spot, reminding Marian a little of Redstone Hall,
and she felt that she could be very happy there,
provided she met with sympathizing friends. Any
doubts she might have had upon this subject were
speedily dispelled by the appearance of Mrs. Shel-
don, in whose face there was something very famil-
iar ; and it was not long before Marian identified
her as the lady who had spoken so kindly to her in
the car between Albany and New York, asking her
what was the matter, and if she had friends in the
city. This put Marian at once at her ease, and her
admiration for her employer increased each mo-
ment, particularly when she saw how gracious she
was to Ben, who, true to his resolution, scarcely
spoke except to answer Mrs. Sheldon's questions,
and to decline her invitation to dinner.
" L should never get through that in the world
without some blunder," he thought, and as the din-
ner-bell was ringing, he took his leave, crying like
a child when he parted with Marian, who was
scarcely less affected than himself.
Qoing to the gtfition, he sauntered into the ladies'
228 MARIAN GREY.
room, where he found a group of young girls, who
were waiting the arrival of a friend, and who, mean-
time, were ready for any fun which might come up.
Ben instantlyattracted their attention, and one, who
seemed to be the leader of the party, began to quiz
him, asking " where he lived, and if he had ever
been so far from home before ?"
Ben understood the drift of her remarks at once,
and with imperturbable gravity, replied :
" I come from down East, where they raise sich
as me, and this is the fust time I was ever out of
Tanton, which alius was my native town !"
Then, taking his tobacco box from his pocket, he
passed it to an elegant-looking man, whom he read-
ily divined to be the brother of the girl, saying to
him :
" Have a chaw, captain ? I'd just as lief you
would as not."
As he heard the loud laugh which this speech
called forth, he continued, without the shadow of a
smile :
" I had 'strue's I live, for I ain't none o' your
tight critters. Nobody ever said that of Ben Bur
Ben Butterwith," he added, hastily, for until Marian
was discovered to Frederic, he thought it best to
retain the latter name.
" Ben Butterworth," repeated the young girl in
an aside to her brother " Why, Will, didn't sister
Mary tell us that was the brother or cousin of her
new governess ? You know Miss Grey mentioned
his name in one of her letters."
" Yes, sir," said Ben, before Will had time to re-
ply. " If by Mary, you mean Miss Sheldon, I'm the
chap. Brought my sister there to-day, to bp her
school-ma'am, and I don't want you to run over
her neither, 'cause you'll be sorry bimeby. That
was all gammon I told you about never being away
from home before, for I've seen considerable of the
world."
WILL GORDON, 229
The cars from Boston were by this time rolling
in at the depot, and without replying to Ben's re-
mark, the young lady went out to look for her
friend.
That night, just after dark, Mrs. Sheldon's door
bell rang, and her brother and sister came in, the
latter dressed in the extreme of fashion, and bear-
ing about her an air which seemed to indicate that
she had long been accustomed to receive the hom-
age of those around her. Seating herself on the
sofa, she began, " Well, Mary, Will and I have come
over to see this wonderful prodigy. Mother was
here, you know, this afternoon, and she came home
half wild on the subject of Miss Grey, insisting that
I should call directly, and so like a dutiful daughter
I have obeyed, though I must confess that the
sight of Ben Butterworth, whom we met at the sta-
tion, did not greatly prepossess me in her favor."
"They are not at all alike," said Mrs. Sheldon,
" neither are they in any way related. Miss Grey
is highly educated, and has the sweetest face I ever
saw. She has some secret trouble, too, I'm sure,
and she reminds me of a beautiful picture over
which a vail is thrown, softening, and at the same
time heightening its beauty."
" Really," said Will, rousing up, "some romance
connected with her. Do bring her out at once."
Mrs. Sheldon left the room, and going up to
Marian's chamber, knocked at the door.
" My brother and sister are in the parlor and
have asked for you," she said.
" I will come down in a moment," Marian re-
turned.
And smoothing her collar and brushing her hair,
she descended to the parlor, where Ellen Gordon
sat prepared to criticise, and William Gordon sat
prepared for almost anything, though not for the
vision which greeted his view when Murian Grey
appeared before him. The dazzling purity of her
230 MARIAN GREY.
complexion contrasted well with her black dress,
and the natural bloom upon her cheek was in-
creased by her embarrassment, while her eyes
dropped modestly beneath the long-fringed lashes,
which Ellen noticed at once, because they were the
one coveted beauty which had been denied to her-
self.
" Jupiter !" was Will's mental comment. " Mary
didn't exaggerate in the least, and Nell will have
to yield the palm at once."
Something like this passed through Ellen's mind,
but though on the whole a frank, right-minded girl,
she was resolved upon finding fault with the stran-
ger, simply because her mother and sister had said
so much in her praise.
" She is vulgar, I know," she thought, and she
watched narrowly for something which should be-
tray her low birth, but she waited in vain.
Marian was perfectly lady-like in her manners ;
her language was well chosen ; her voice soft and
low ; and before she had been with her half an
hour Ellen secretly acknowledged her superiority
to most of the young ladies of her acquaintance,
and regretted that she, too, had not been educated
at Mrs. Harcourt's school, if such manners as Miss
Grey's were common there.
At Mrs. Sheldon's request Marian took her seat
at the piano, and then Ellen hoped to criticise ; but
here again she was at fault, for Marian was a bril-
liant performer, keeping perfect time, and playing
with the most exquisite taste.
As she was turning over the leaves of the music-
book, after the close of the first piece. Will said to
his sister :
" By the way, Nell, I had a letter from Fred to-
day, and he says he will be delighted to get you
that music the first time he goes to the city."
Marian started just as she had done that after-
noon, when Mrs. Sheldon called her youngest boy
WILL GORDON. 23 1
Ffed. Still there was no reason why she should
do so. Frederic was a common name, and she
kept on turning the leaves, while Ellen replied^
" What else did he write, and when is he going
south ?
Marian listened eagerly for the answer, which
was " Sometime in November, and he has invited
me to go with him, but I hardly think I shall.
He's lonesome, he says, and can find no trace of
his run-away wife. So, there's a shadow of a
chance for you, Nell."
Marian's hand came down with a crash upon the
keys of the piano, but Ellen thought it was an ac-
cident, if she thought of it at all ; and she replied :
"Fie, just as though I would have a man before I
knew for certain that his wife was dead. I admire
Mr. Raymond very much, and if he had not been
so foolish as to marry that child, I can't say that
he would not have made an impression, for he is
the finest looking and most agreeable gentleman I
ever met. Isn't it strange where that girl went,
and what she went for .? Hasn't he ever told you
anything that would explain it?'
Up to this point Marian had sat listening eagerly,
and wondering where these people had known
Frederic Raymond. Then, as something far back
in the past flashed upon her mind, she turned, and
looking in the young man's face, knew who he was,
and that they had met before. His name had
seemed familiar from the first, and she knew that
he was the Will Gordon who had been Frederic's
chum in college, and had once spent a vacation at
Redstone Hall. He had predicted that she would
be a handsome woman, and Frederic had said she
could not with such hair. She remembered it all
distinctly, but any effect it might then have had
upon her was lost in her anxiety to hear the an-
swer to Ellen's question.
" Fred generally keeps his matters to himself,
i^i kARlAM GREV.
but I know as much as this : He didn't love that
Miss Lindsay any too well when he married her,
but he has admitted to me since that his feelings
toward her had undergone a change, and he would
give almost anything to find her. He is certain
that she was with him when he was sick in New
York, and since that time he has sought for her
everywhere."
William Gordon had no idea of the effect his
words produced upon the figure which, sat as
motionless on the music stool, as if it had been a
block of marble. During all the long, dreary years
of exile from home there had not come to her so
cheering a ray of hope as this, and the bright bloom
deepened on her cheek, while the joy which danced
in her blue eyes made them look almost black be-
neath the heavy lashes. Frederic was beginning
to love her he had acknowledged as much to Mr.
Gordon, and her heart bounded forward to the
time when she should see him face to face, and hear
him tell her so with his own lips. Ellen's next re-
mark was :
" I presume it would be just the same even if he
were to find her. He is a great admirer of beauty,
and she, I believe was very ordinary looking."
" Not remarkably so," returned Will. " She was
thin-faced and had red hair, but I remember think-
ing she might make a handsome woman "
" Red hair ! Oh, Will !" and Ellen laughed at
the idea.
A sudden movement on Marian's part made Will
recollect her, and he hastened to apologize for his
apparent forgetfulness of her presence.
" You will please excuse us," he said, " for dis-
cussing an affair in which you, of course, have no
interest."
" Certainly," she replied, while the young man
continued :
WILL GORDON. 233
" Will you give us some more music ? I admire
your style of playing."
Marian was in a mood for anything, and turning
to the piano she dashed off a merry, spirited thing,
to which Will's feet kept time, while Ellen looked
on amazed at the white fingers which flew like
lightning over the keys, seemingly never resting for
an instant upon any one of them, but lighting here
and there with a rapidity she had never before
seen equalled. It was the outpouring of Marian's
heart, and the tune she played was a song of jubilee
for the glad tidings she had heard. Before she
had half finished. Will Gordon was at her side,
gazing into her face, which sparkled and glowed
with her excitement.
" She is strangely beautiful," he thought, and so
he said to Ellen when they were walking home
together.
" She looks very well," returned Ellen, " but I
trust you will not feel it your duty to fall in love
with her on that account. Wouldn't it be ridicu-
lous for you, who profess never to have felt the
least affection for any woman, to yield at once to
Mary's governess ?"
" Mary's governess is no ordinary person," an-
swered Will. " How like the mischief she made
those fingers go in that last piece. I never saw
anything like it ;" and he tried to whistle a few bars
of the lively strain.
That night three men dreamed of Marian Will
Gordon in his bachelor apartments, which he had
said should never be invaded with a female's ward-
robe Ben Burt in his room at the Lovejoy Hotel
and Frederic Raymond in his home upon the
Hudson. But to Marian, sleeping so quietly in her
chamber, there came a thought of only one, and
that one Frederic Raymond, whose picture lay
beneath her pillow. She had never placed it there
until to-night, for she had felt that she had no right
234 MARIAN GREY.
to do SO. But Mr. Gordon's words had affected a
change. He said that Frederic was beginning to
love her at last that he had sought for her with-
out success that he would give almost anything
to find her. It is true she could not reconcile all
this with her preconceived opinion : but she had no
wish to doubt it, and she accepted it as truth, think-
ing it was probably a very recent thing with him,
searching after and loving her.
Very rapidly and pleasantly the first few weeks
of her sojourn with Mrs. Sheldon passed away.
She was interested in her pupils, two bright-faced
little girls, and doubly interested in their brother,
Fred, whose real name she learned was Frederic
Raymond, he having been called, Mrs. Sheldon
said, after William's particular friend. Frederic
Raymond was a frequent subject of conversation
in Mrs. Sheldon's family, and once, after Marian
had been there four or five months, and Will was
spending an evening there, the matter was dis-
cussed at length, while Marian, dropped stitch after
stitch in the cloud she was crotcheting, and finally
stopped altogether as the conversation proceeded.
" I am positive," said Mrs. Sheldon, " that I saw
Mrs. Raymond in the cars, between Albany and
Newburg. It was four years ago, last Autumn,
and about that time she came away. There was a
very young girl sitting before me, dressed in black,
with long red curls, and she looked as if she had
wept all her tears away, though they fell like rain
when I spoke to her and asked her what was the
matter. I remember her particularly from her ques-
tion, ' Is New York a heap noisier than Albany or
Buffalo?'"
" That ' heap ' is purely Southern," interrupted
Will, while his sister continued :
" She said she had but one friend in the world,
and that one was in New York."
Here Will glanced involuntarily at Marian who
WILL GORDON. 235
he thought looked flushed and red, and so he closed
the register and opened a door, thinking the heat
of the room might have affected her.
Returning to his seat, he replied to his sister's
remark, " That was undoubtedly Marian Lindsey.
Did you speak of it to Frederic ?"
" No," said Mrs. Sheldon, " I have always
thought he disliked talking of her to me, and that
makes me think there is something wrong that he
did her an injury."
" Every man who marries without love injures
the woman he makes his wife," said Will, " and
Frederic does not profess to have loved her then.
His father drew him into this match, and for some
inexplicable reason Fred consented, when all the
time he loved Isabel Huntington. But he has re-
covered from that infatuation, and I am glad of it,
for I never liked her, and had the thing been pos-
sible, I should say she poisoned him against Ma-
rian. Why, Miss Grey, you are actually shiver-
ing," he added, as he saw the trembling of Marian's
body, and this time he opened the register and
shut the door, offering to go for a shawl, and ask-
ing where she had taken such a cold.
" It's only a slight chill it will soon pass off,"
she said, and as Mrs. Sheldon was just then called
from the room. Will drew his chair a little nearer
to Marian and continued :
" This Raymond affair must be irksome to you,
who know nothing about it."
"Oh, no," said Marian faintly. "I am greatly
interested, particularly in the girl-wife. Can't he
find her? Perhaps though, he don't really care."
"Yes, he does," interrupted Will. " He disliked
her once, but I believe he feels differently toward
her now. His hobby in college was a handsome
wife, but he has learned that beauty alone is worth-
less, and he would gladly take Marian back."
" Red hair and all ?" Marian asked mischievously,
23^ MARIAN GREY.
and Will replied, " Yes, I believe he's made up his
mind to the red hair. I didn't object to it myself,
and I once saw this girl." And Will proceeded to
give a most minute description of Redstone Hall,
of its master, and of herself, as she was when he
visited Kentucky.
Frederic's marriage was then touched upon.
Will telling how angry his chum used to be when
he received a letter on the subject from his father.
" We were studying law together," he said, " and
as we were room-mates in college, it was quite nat-
ural that we should confide in each other ; so he
used to tell me of his father's project, and almost
swear he wouldn't do it. I never was more aston-
ished than when I heard he was to be married in a
few days. ' It's all over with me,' he wrote, ' I
can't help it !" and he signed himself ' Your
wretched Fred !' But what are you crying for.
Miss Grey ? What is the matter?"
" I am crying for poor Marian Lindsey !" was
the answer ; and Marian's tears flowed faster.
Will Gordon was distressed at the sight of any
woman's tears, but particularly at the sight of
Marian Grey's, and he tried to console her by say-
ing he was sure Mr. Raymond would sometime
find his wife, and they would be the happier for
what they had suffered.
Will Gordon was older than Frederic Raymond.
Quite a bachelor, his sister Ellen said, and she
wondered that he had lived so long without taking
a wife. But Will was very fastidious in his ideas
of females, and though he had traveled much, both
in Europe and his own country, he had never seen
a face which could hold his fancy for a moment,
until the sunny blue eyes of Marian Grey shone
upon him, and thawed the ice which had laid about
his heart so many years. Even then he did not
quite understand the feeling, or know how it was
that night after night he found himself locked out
WILL GORDON. 237
at home, while morning after morning his sister
Ellen scolded him for staying out so late, wonder-
ing what attraction he could find at Mary's, when
he knew that he would never disgrace the Gordon
family by marrying a governess, and a peddler's
adopted sister, too! Will hardly thought he
should, either. He didn't quite know what ailed
him, and in a letter written to Frederic, who was
now in Kentucky, he gave an analysis of his feel-
ings, after having first told him that Marian Grey
was the adopted sister of a Yankee peddler, who
had once visited Redstone Hall, and who, he was
sure, Frederick would remember for his oddities.
"I wish you could see this girl," he wrote, " I'd
like to have your opinion, for I know you are a
connoisseur in everything pertaining to female
charms, but I am sure you never in all your life saw
anything like Marian Grey. I never did. And
yet it is not so much the fairness of her conplexion,
or the perfect regularity of her features, as it is the
indescribably fascinating something which demands
your pity as well as your admiration. There is
that about her mouth and in her smile which seems
to say that she has suffered as few have ever done,
and that from this suffering she has risen purified,
beautified, and if I may be allowed a term which
my good mother would call wicked in the extreme,
glorified as it were !
" Just picture to yourself a graceful, airy figure,
five feet four inches high then clothe it in black,
and adapt every article of .dress exactly to her
form and style, then imagine a face, which I can
not describe, with the deepest, saddest, brightest,
merriest, sunniest, laughing blue eyes you ever saw.
You see there is a slight contradiction of words, but
every one by turns will apply to her eyes. Then
her hair oh, Fred, words fall me here. It's a mix-
ture of everything brown, black, yellow and red.
By gaslight it is brown, and by daylight a most
238 MARIAN GREY.
beautiful chestnut or auburn rippling all over her
head in waves, and curling about her forehead and
neck.
" Beautiful Marian ! Yes, I will call her Marian
here on paper, with no one to see it but you. 'Tis
a sweet name, Fred ; the name, too, of your lost
wife. I told her that story the other night, and
she actually cried.
" Do write soon, and give me your advice, though
what I want of it ics more than I can tell. I only
know that I feel strangely about the region of my
waistbands, and every time I see Miss Grey I feel
a heap worse, as you folks say. She is of low ori-
gin, I know, and this would make a difference with
a man as proud as you, but I don't care. Marian
Grey has bewitched me, I verily believe, until I am
I don't know what.
" Do write, Fred, and tell me what I am, and
what to do. But pray don't preface your letter
with long-winded remarks about marrying my equal
looking higher than a peddler's sister, and all
that nonsense, for it will be lost on me. I never
can get higher than Marian's eyes, unless, indeed, I
reached her hair, at which point I should certainly
yield, and go over to the enemy at once."
This letter reached Frederic one rainy afternoon
when he had nothing to do but to read it, laugh
over it, reflect upon and answer it.
Frederic Raymond was prouder than Will Gor-
don, and at first rebelled against his friend's taking
for a bride the sister of unpolished, uneducated
Ben. " But it is his own matter," he said ; " I see
plainly that he is in love, so I will write at once
and tell him what is the ' trouble.' "
Accordingly he commenced a letter, in which,
after expressing his happiness that his college friend
had not persisted in shutting his eyes to all female
charms, he wrote ;
WILL GORDON. 239
" I should prefer your wife to be somewhat
nearer your equal in point of family, it is true, but
your description of Marian Grey won my heart
eriiirely, and you have my consent to offer yourself
at once. By so doing, you will probably deprive
Alice of her governess, and me of a pleasant com-
panion, for I had made an arrangement with Ben
to have Miss Grey with us next year. But no
matter for that. Woo and win her, just the same,
snd Heaven grant you a happier future than my
past has been.
' ' Beautiful Marian !' you said, and without
knowing why, my heart responded to it. She is
beautiful, I am sure, and your description of her is
just what I would like to apply to my own wife
my lost Marian. You see I have withdrawn my
allegiance from dark-eyed maidens, and gone over
to blue eyes and auburn tresses.
" By the way, speaking of the dark-eyed maidens
reminds me that Agnes Gibson's husband is dead,
and she is sole heiress of all his fortune, except a
legacy which he left to Miss Huntington, who lived
in his family at the time of his death. Rumor says
he led a sorry life with both of them, but at the
last his wife cajoled him into making his will, and
was really kind to him. She is at her father's now,
and Miss Huntington is there also. I called upon
them yesterday, and have hardly recovered yet
from the chilling reception I met from the latter.
" But pardon me. Will, for this digression, when
I was to write of nothing bi^ Marian Grey. The
name reminded me of my own wife, and that, as a
matter of course, suggested Isabel. Give my com-
pliments to Miss Grey, and tell her that, under the
circumstances, I release her from her engagement
with myself, and that, if she is a sensible girl, as I
suppose she is, she will not keep you on your knees
longer than necessary. Let me hear of your suc-
cess or failure, and, on no account, forget to invitq
240
MARIAN GREY.
me to the wedding. It is possible I may be obliged
to come North on business, in the course of a few
weeks, and, if so, I shall certainly call on you for
the sake of seeing Marian Grey.
" Yours truly,
" F. Raymond."
CHAPTER XXI,
will's wooing.
The silver tea-set and damask cloth had been
removed from Mrs. Gordon's supper-table. The
heavy curtains of brocatelle were dropped before
the windows ; a cheerful fire was burning in the
grate, the gas burned brightly in the chandelier,
casting a softened light throughout the room, and
rendering more distinct the gay flowers on the car-
pet. The lady-mother, a fair type of a thrifty New
England woman, had donned her spectacles, and
from a huge pile of socks was selecting those which
needed a near acquaintance with the needle, and
lamenting over her son's propensity at wearing out
his toes !
The son, meantime, half lay, half sat upon the
sofa, listlessly drumtping with his fingers, and
feeling glad that Ellen was not there, and wonder-
ing how he should begin to tell his mother what he
so much wished her to know.
" I should suppose she might see it," he thought
" might know how much I am in love with Ma-
rian, for I used to be always talking about her, and
now I never mention her, it makes my heart thump
so if I try to speak her name, Nell will make a
WILL'S WOOING. 241
fuss, perhaps, for she thinks so much of family ;
but Marian is family enough for me. Mary likes
her, and I guess mother does. I mean to ask
her.
" Mother !"
" What, WilHam ?" and the good lady ran her
hand into a sock with a shockingly large rent in
the heel.
No woman can be very gracious with such an
open prospect, and, as Will saw the scowl on his
mother's face, he regretted that he had spoken at this
inauspicious moment.
"I'll wait till she finds one not quite as dilapi-
dated as that," he thought, and when the question
was repeated :
" What, William ?" he replied :
" Is Nell coming home to-night ?"
" I believe so. I wish she was here now to help
me, for I shall never get these mended. What
makes you wear out your socks so fast ?"
" I don't know, I'm sure, unless it's beating time
to Miss Grey's lively music. Don't she play like
the mischief, though ?"
Mrs. Gordon did not answer, and Will continued,
" Let me help you mend. I used to in college, and
in Europe, too. Thread me a darning needle,
won't you ?"
Mrs. Gordon laughingly complied with his re-
quest, and Will was soon deep in the mysteries of
sock-darning, an accomplishment in which he had
before had some experience. Very rapidly his
mother's amiability increased, until at last he ven-
tured to say, " Let me see, how old am I ?"
" Thirty last August, just twenty years younger
than I am."
" Then, when you were at my age you had a boy
ten years old. I wonder how J should feel in a like
predicament,"
242 MARIAN GREY.
" I'm afraid you'll never know," and Mrs. Gordon
commenced on a fresh sock.
" Mother, how would you like to have me marry
and settle down ?" Will continued, after a mo-
ment's silence, and his mother replied :
" Well enough, provided I liked your wife."
"You don't suppose I'd marry one you didn't like,
I hope. Just look, can you beat that ?" and he
held up what he fancied to be a neatly darned
sock, which, spite of its bungling appearance, re-
ceived so much praise, that he felt emboldened to
proceed.
Taking Frederic's letter from his pocket he passed
it to his mother, asking her to read it, and give him
her opinion.
" You know I never can make out Mr. Ray-
mond's writing," Mrs. Gordon said, " so pray read
it yourself."
But this Will could not do, and he insisted until
his mother took the letter and began to read, while
he forgot to darn, so intent was he upon watching
the expression of her face. At first it turned very
red, then white, for she felt as every mother does
when she first learns that her only boy is about
yielding to another the love she has claimed so long.
" Have you spoken to Marian ?" she asked, giv-
ing him back the letter, but not resuming her work.
" No," was his answer ; and she continued,
" Then I wouldn't."
" Why not ?" he asked, in some alarm ; and his
mother replied, " I've nothing against Marian, but
we are so happy together, and it would kill me to
have you go away."
" Is that all ?" and in his delight Will ran the
darning-needle under his thumb nail ; " I needn't
go away. I can bring her home, and you won't
have to mend my socks any more. Those back
chambers are seldom used, and "
" Back chambers !" Mrs. Gordon exclaimed. " I
will's wooing. 343
guess if you bring a wife here, you'll occupy the
parlor chamber and bedroom. I was going to re-
paper them in the Spring, and I think on the whole
I'll refurnish them entirely, for you might some-
times have calls up there."
" You charming woman," cried Will, kissing his
mother, whose consent he understood to be fully
won.
He knew she had always admired Miss Grey, but
he expected more opposition than this, and in his
delight he would have gone to see Marian at once,
were it not that he had heard she was absent that
evening. For an hour or more he talked with his
mother of his plans, and when at last Ellen came
in, she, too, was let into the secret. Of course, she
rebelled at first, for her family pride was very
strong, and the peddler Ben was a serious objec-
tion. But when she saw how earnest her brother
was, and that her mother had espoused his cause,
she condescended to say :
" I suppose you might do worse, though folks
will wonder at your taste in marrying Mary's gov-
erness."
" Let them wonder, then," said Will. " They
dare not slight my wife, you know," and then he
drew a pleasing picture of the next Summer, when,
with his mother, Marian and Ellen, he would visit
the White Mountains and Montreal.
" Why not go to Europe ?" suggested Ellen.
" Mr. Sheldon talks of going in August, and if you
must marry this girl, you may as well go, too."
" Well spoken for yourself," returned Will ; " but
it's a grand idea, and I'll make arrangements with
Tom as soon as I have seen Marian. Maybe she'll
refuse me !"
" No danger," was Ellen's comment, while her
mother thought the same, for in her estimation no
one in their right mind could refuse her noble boy.
Jt w^s a long night to Will, and the next daj:
244 MARIAN GREY^
longer still, for joyful hope and harrowing fears
tormented his mind, and when at last it was dark,
and he had turned his face toward Mr. Sheldon's,
he half determined to go back. But he didn't, and
with his usual easy, off-hand manner, he entered his
sister's sitting room. Though bound to secrecy,
Ellen had told the news to Mrs. Sheldon, who, had
told her husband ; and soon after Will's arrival, the
two found some excuse for leaving him alone with
Marian Grey.
Marian liked William Gordon very much partly
because he was Frederic's friend, and partly because
she knew him to be a most affectionate brother and
dutiful son two rare qualities in a traveled and
fashionable man. She was always pleased to see
him, and she welcomed him now as usual, without
observing his evident embarrassment when at last
they were alone. There were no stockings to be
darned, and he did not know how to commence,
until he remembered Frederic's letter. It had
helped him with his mother it might aid him now
and after fidgeting awhile in his chair, he said :
" I heard from Mr. Raymond yesterday."
" Indeed !" and Marian's voice betrayed more
interest than the word would indicate.
" He wrote something about you."
"About me!" and Marian started so suddenly
that she pulled her needle out from the worsted
garment she was knitting.
" What did Mr. Raymond write of me ?"
" I'll show you just a little," and Will pointed
out the sentence commencing with " Give my
respects to Miss Grey," etc.
The sight of the well-remembered handwriting
affected Marian sensibly ; but when she came to the
last part, and began to understand to what it all was
tending, her head grew dizzy and her brain whirled
for a moment. Then an intense pity for Will Gor-
don filled her soul, for looking up she met the
WILL' S WOOING. 245
glance of his eyes, and saw how much she was
beloved.
" No, no, Mr. Gordon !" she cried, putting her
hands to her ears as he began to say : " Dear
Marian." " You must not call me so ; it is wicked
for you to do it, wicked for me to listen. I am not
what I seem."
Her not being what she seemed. Will fancied
might refer to something connected with her birth,
and he hastened to assure her that no circumstance
whatever could change his feelings, or prevent him
from wishing her to be his wife.
" Won't you, Marian ?" he said, holding her in
his arm so she could not escape. " I have never
loved before. I always said I could not, until I saw
you ; and then everything was changed. I have
told my mother, and Ellen, too. They are ready
to receive you. Look at me, and say you will
come to my home, which will never again be so
bright to me without you. Won't you answer
me .''" he continued, while she sobbed so violently
as to render speaking impossible. " I am sorry if
my words distressed you so," he continued.
" I am distressed for you," Marian at last found
voice to say. " Oh, Mr. Gordon, I should be most
wretched if I thought I had encouraged you in this !
But I have not, I am sure. I like you very, very
much, but I cannot be your wife I"
" Marian, are you in earnest ?" And on Will
Gordon's face was a look never seen there before.
He did not know until now how much he loved
the beautiful young girl. All the affections of his
heart had centered themselves upon her, and he
could not give her up. She had been so kind to
him had welcomed him with her sweetest smile
had seemed sorry at his departure and was not
this encouragement ? He had taken it as such,
and before she could reply to the question : " Are
you in earnest ?" he added :
246 MARIAN GREY.
" I have thought, from your manner, that I was
not indifferent to you, else I had never told you of
my love. Oh, Marian, if you desert me now, I
shall wish that I could die !"
Marian released herself from his arm, and, stand-
ing before him, replied :
" I never dreamed that you thought of me save
as a friend, and if I have encouraged you, it was
because you reminded me of another. Oh, Mr.
Gordon, must I tell you that long before I came
here I had learned to love some other man hope-
lessly, it is true ; but that can make no difference.
Had I never seen him never known of him I
might, I would have been your wife, for I know
that you are noble and good ; but it is too late
too late !"
He did not need to ask her now if she were in
earnest ; he knew she was, and bowing his head
upon the arm of the sofa he groaned aloud. Half
timidly Marian laid her hand upon his head, and,
as he felt the touch of her fingers, he started, while
an expression of joy lighted up his face, only to
pass away again as he saw the same unloving look
in her eye.
" If I could comfort you," she said, " I would
gladly do it ; but I cannot. You will forget me in
time, Mr. Gordon, and be as happy as you were
before you knew me."
He shook his head despairingly. " No one could
forget you ; and the man who stands between us
must be a monster not to requite your love. Who
is he, Marian ? or is it not for me to know ?"
" I would rather you should not it can do no
good," was Marian's reply; and then Will Gordon
pleaded with her to think again before she told him
no so decidedly. She might outlive that other
love. She ought to, certainly, if it were a hopeless
one ; and if she only gave him half a heart he would
be content until he won the whole. They would
will's wooing. ^4/
^o to Europe in Autumn, and beneath the sunny
skies of Italy she would learn to love him, he knew.
"Won't you, Marian?" and in the tone of his voice
there was a world of eager, yearning love.
" I can't ; it is utterly impossible !" was the de-
cided answer ; and, without another word, Will
Gordon rose and went, with a breaking heart, from
the room he had entered so full of hope and pleas-
ing anticipations.
The fire burned just as brightly in the grate at
home as it had done the night before ; the gas-light
fell as softly on the roses in the carpet, and on his
mother's face there was a placid, expectant look as
he came in. But it quickly vanished when she saw
how pale he was, and how he sunk down into his
easy-chair as if he would hide from everyone his
pain. There had never been a secret between Mrs.
Gordon and her son, for in some respects the man
of thirty was as much a child as ever ; and when
she said :
" What is it, William ? Has Marian Grey refused
my boy ?" he told her all, and that henceforth the
world to him would be a dreary blank.
It was a terrible disappointment, and as the days
wore on, it told upon William's health, until at last
his mother sought an interview with Marian Grey,
begging her to think again.
"You can be happy with William," she said,
" and I had prepared myself to love you as a
daughter. Do, I beseech of you, give me some
hope to carry back to my poor boy ?"
" I cannot I cannot !" was Marian's reply.
" Don't you like my William ?" asked Mrs. Gor-
don.
" Yes very, very much ; but I loved another
first." And this was all the satisfaction Marian
could give.
Mrs. Sheldon next tried her powers of persua-
sion, pleading for herself, quite as much as for her
248 MARIAN GREY.
brother, for she loved the young girl dearly, and
would gladly have called her sister. But nothing
she could say had the least effect, and Ellen deter-
mined to see what she could do. She had been
very indignant at first, to think a poor teacher
should refuse her brother, and something of this
spirit manifested itself during her interview with
Marian.
" I am astonished at you," she said ; " for,
though we have treated you as our equal, you
must know that in point of family you are not, and
my brother has done what few young men in his
standing would have done. Why, there never was
a gentleman in Springfield whom the girls ac-
counted a better match than William, unless it
were Mr. Raymond from Kentucky, and they only
gave him the preference becauses he lives south,
and possibly has a wife somewhere. So they
could not get him, if they wished to. Now if you
were in love with him, and he were not already
married, I should not think so strangely of your
conduct, for he may be Will's superior in some
respects; but I cannot conceive of your refusing
him for any common man, such as would be likely
to address you."
Marian did not think it necessary to reply in
substance to this long speech, neither did she re-
sent Ellen's overbearing manner ; but she answered,
as she always did :
" I would marry your brother, if I could ; but I
cannot."
" Then I trust you will have a pleasant time
teaching all your days," said Ellen, as she slammed
the door behind her, and went to report her suc-
cess.
All this trouble and excitement wore upon
Marian, and after a time she became too ill to leave
her room, but kept her bed, sometimes fancying it
all a dream sometimes resolving to tell the people
Will's wootiJG. 4^
who she was, and always regretting the sorrow she
had brought to William Gordon.
One night, toward the last of March, as he sat
with his mother in the room where he first told her
of his love for Marian Grey, the door-bell rang, and
a moment after, to his great surprise, Frederic
Raymond walked into the room. William had for-
gotten what his friend had said about the possibil-
ity of his coming north earlier than usual, and he
was so much astonished that for some moments he
did not appear like himself.
"You know I wrote that business might bring
me to Albany," said Frederic, "and that if I came
so far I should visit you."
" Oh, yes, I remember now," returned William,
the color mounting to his forehead as he recalled
the nature of the last letter written to Frederic,
who, from his manner, guessed that something was
wrong, and forebore questioning him until they
retired to their room for the night.
" Fred," said William, after they had talked
awhile on indifferent subjects, " Fred," and Will's
feet went up into a chair, for even a man who has
been refused feels better, and can tell it better, with
his heels a little elevated, " Fred, it's all over with
me, and it makes no difference now whether the
sun rises in the east or in the west."
" I suspected as much," returned Frederic, " from
your failing to write and from the length of your
face. What is the matter ? You didn't coax hard
enough, I reckon, and I shall have to undertake it
for you. How would you like that ? I dare say I
should be more successful," and Frederic's smile
was much like that of the Frederic of other days,
when he and Will were college friends together.
" I said everything a man could say, but the chief
difficulty is that she don't love me and does love an-
other," returned Will, at the same time repeating
i56 MARtAN GRteV.
to his companion as much of his experience as he
thought proper.
"A discouraging beginning, I confess," said Fred-
eric ; " but perhaps she will relent."
" No, she won't," returned Will ; " she is just as
decided now as she was that night. I have ex-
hausted all my persuasion ; mother has coaxed, so
has Mary, so has Nell, and all to no purpose.
Marian Grey can never be my wife. If it were not
for this other love, though, I would not give it up."
" Who is the favored one ?" Frederic asked, and
his friend replied, " Some rascal, I dare say, for she
says it is a hopeless attachment on her part, and
that makes it all the worse. Now if I knew the
man was worthy of her, I should not feel so badly."
" I am sorry for you," said Frederic. " We little
thought, when we were boys, that we should both
be called to bear a heavy burden. Mine came
sooner than yours, and it seems to me it is the
harder of the two to bear."
" Fred, you don't know what you are saying.
Your grief cannot be as great as mine, for I love
Marian Grey as man never loved before, and when
she told me ' No,' and I knew she meant it, I felt
as if she were tearing out my very heartstrings.
You acknowledge that you never loved your wife ;
but you married her for I don't know what you
married for "
" For MONEY !" And the word dropped slowly
from Frederic's lips.
" For money f" repeated Will. " She had no
money. She was a poor orphan, I always thought.
Will you tell me what you mean ?"
" I have never told a living being why I made
that girl my wife," said Frederic ; '" but I can trust
you, I know, and I have sometimes thought I might
feel better if some one shared my .secret. Still, I
would rather not explain to you how Marian was
the heiress of Redstone Hall, for that concerns the
will's wooing. 2^i
dead ; but heiress she was, not only of that, but of
all the lands and houses said to belong to the Ray-
mond estate in Kentucky ; not a cent of it was
mine ; and, rather than give it up, I married her
without one particle of love married her, too,
when she did not know of her fortune, but supposed
herself dependent upon me."
" Oh, Frederic, I never thought you capable of
such an act. I knew you did not love her, but the
rest . It hurts me to think you did it, and that
you still live on her money."
" Hush, Will !" and Frederic bowed his head for
shame. " I deserve your censure, I know, but if
my sin was great great has been my punishment.
Look at me, Will. I am not the light-hearted man
you parted with six years ago upon the college
green ; for, since that dreadful night when I first
knew Marian had fled, and I thought she was in the
river, I have not had a single moment of perfect
peace or freedom from remorse. I have not spent
more of her money either than I could help. Bad
as I am, I shrink from that. Redstone Hall grew
hateful to me it was haunted with so many bitter
memories of her, and was, besides, the place where
I sinned against her a second time by daring to
think of Isabel."
" Fred Raymond !" and in his indignation. Will's
feet came down from the chair, " you did not aggra-
vate your guilt by talking of love to ker f"
" No, I did not, though Heaven only knows the
fierce struggle it cost me to see her every day, and
know I must not say one word to her of love. I
left Redstone Hall at last, as you know. Left it
because it was Marian's, and Riverside was my
father's, before Marian came to us ; so it did not
seem quite so much like spending her money, for I
did try to be a man and earn my own living. They
did not get on well without me in Kentucky. They
252 MARIAN GREV.
needed me there a part of the time, at least ; and
when, at last, I began to feel differently toward
Marian, I felt less delicacy about her fortune, and
I have spent my winters at Redstone Hall, where
the negroes and the neighbors around all suppose
Marian dead, for I have never told them that she
was with me in New York. Isabel knows it, but for
some reason she has kept it to herself ; and I am
glad, for I would rather people should not talk of
it until she is really found. I have sought for her
so long and unsuccessfully that I'm growing dis-
couraged now."
" If you knew that she was dead, would you
marry Isabel ?" asked Will ; and Frederic replied,
" Never!"
Then, he told how the little blind girl had stood
between him and temptation, holding up his hands
when tliey were weakest, and keeping his feet from
falling. " But that desire is over. I can look
Isabel Huntington in the face, and experience no
sensation save that of relief to think I have
escaped her. With the legacy left her by Mr.
Rivers, and the little means her mother had, she
has bought a small house near Riverside ; so I shall
have them for neighbors every Summer. But I do
not care. I have no love now for Isabel. It died
out when I was sick, and centered itself upon the
girl, who, I know, was Marian, though I cannot find
her. If I could. Will, I'd willingly part with every
cent of money I call mine, and work for my daily
bread. Labor would not seem a hardship, if I
knew that when my toil was done, there was a wife
waiting for me at home a wife like what I hope
my Marian is, and like what your Marian Grey
may be."
" Not mine, Frederic. There is no Marian for
me," said Will.
*' Nor for me, perhaps," was the sad response,
THE BIRTHDAY. 253
and in the dim firelight, the two mournful faces
looked at each other, as if asking the sympathy
neither had to give.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE BIRTHDAY.
The next morning, as the young men were mak-
ing their toilet, Frederic said to Will :
' This is Marian's twentieth birthday."
" Is it possible ?" returned Will. " It seems but
yesterday since I saw her, a little girl with long
curls streaming down her back. I liked her very
much, she seemed so kind, so considerate of every
one's comfort ; and I remember telling you once
that she would be a handsome woman, while you
said ' Never, with that hair !' "
" Neither can she," rejoined Frederic. " She
may be rather pretty, but I still insist that a
woman with red hair cannot be handsome."
"Tastes differ," returned Will. "Now, I'll
venture to say Miss Grey's hair was red when she
was a child. It is not very far from it now, in the
sunlight ; and everybody speaks of her hair as her
crowning beauty."
" I wish I could see her," said Frederic ; " for, as
she will not be your wife, I suppose she will be
Alice's governess. And it is quite proper that I
should have an interview with her, and talk the
matter over. Will you call with me this even-
ing?"
" Certainly," returned Will ; " for, though it will
afford me more pain than pleasure to meet her, I
will not be so foolish as to avoid her,"
254 MARIAN GREY,
Breakfast being over, the young men started for
a walk down town, going by Mrs. Sheldon's house,
of course, although it was entirely out of their way.
But neither thought of this, and they passed it on
the opposite side of the street ; so that Will could
point out Marian's room to Frederic.
" That's it," he said" the one with the blinds
thrown open. There she has often sat, I suppose,
thinking of the villain who stands between me and
happiness. The rascal ! I tell you, Fred, I wish I
had him as near to me as you are !" and Will Gor-
don fancied how, in such a case, he would treat a
man who did not love Marian Grey !
It was at this moment that Mrs. Sheldon entered
Marian's room, and advancing toward the window,
looked down the street. Catching a view of her
brother and his friend, she exclaimed :
" Frederic Raymond ! I wonder when he came ?"
" What ? Where ?" Marian asked, quickly, at
the same time raising herself upon her elbow and
looking in the direction Frederic had gone.
" Mr. Raymond, Will's friend from Kentucky,"
returned Mrs. Sheldon. " He must have come last
night ?" and as little Fred just then called to her
from without, she left the room.
When she was alone, Marian buried her face in
the bed-clothes, and murmured :
" Oh, if I could only see him ! I long to test his
power of recognition, and see if he would know me..
I hope he will call here."
She was greatly excited, and the excitement
brought on a severe headache, which rendered it
impossible for her to leave the room, even if he
came. This Mrs. Sheldon lamented, for she had
invited the young men to tea, and while accepting
her invitation. Will had asked if Miss Grey would not
be able to spend a part of the evening with them."
" She is to be Fred's governess, you know," he
THE BIRTHDAY.
255
said, " and he naturally wishes to make her ac-
quaintance."
This request Mrs. Sheldon took to Marian, who
asked, if " to-morrow would not do as well?"
" It might," returned Mrs. Sheldon, "were it not
that he leaves on the early train."
Turning upon her pillow, Marian tried to sleep,
hoping to lose the pain in her head but it would
not be lost ; and when, as it was growing dark, she
heard the sound of voices in the parlor, which was
directly beneath her room, and knew Frederic was
there, she covered her face with her hands and
wept aloud to think she should not see him.
After tea was over and she did not appear, Mr.
Raymond spoke of her, asking if he should not
have the pleasure of seeing her.
" She is suffering from a nervous headache," Mrs.
Sheldon said, " and cannot come down, for which
I am very sorry, as I wished you to hear her
play." After a moment she continued: "There
had been something said, I believe, about her going
to you next September, but I warn you now that
I shall use every possible effort to keep her. We
sail for Europe in August, and she will be of invalu-
able service to me then, as she speaks French and
German so readily. The tour, too, will do her
good, and you must not be surprised to hear that
shq, cannot come to Riverside."
Mr. Raymond was too polite to oppose Mrs.
Sheldon openly, but he had become too deeply in-
'terested in Marian Grey to give her up without a
struggle, and when alone again with Will, in the
chamber of the latter, he broached the subject, ask-
ing his companion if he thought there was any pro-
bability of Miss Grey's disappointing him.
" I mean to write her a note," he said, and sitting
down by Will's writing desk he took up a sheet of
paper and commenced, " My dear Marian."
*' Psh^w !" J;e ej{;glainied, " wji^t am I thipking
256 MARIAN GREY.
about?" and tearing up the sheet he threw it into
the grate and commenced again, addressing her
this time as " Miss Grey."
He considered her services engaged to liimself,
he said, and should expect her in Riverside early
in September. She could come sooner if she liked,
for Mrs. Jones was to leave the first of August.
"That European trip may tempt her," he thought,
and he added, "I am glad to learn from Mrs. Shel-
don that you are such a proficient in German and
French, for I have serious thoughts of visiting the
Old World myself before long, and as Alice, of
course, w^ill go with me, we shall prize your com-
pany all the more on account of these accomplish-
ments."
This note he intrusted to Will, who gave the note
to Marian the first time that he met her, after she
was well enough to come down stairs as usual.
" It is from Mr. Raymond," he said, and Marian's
face was scarlet as she took it and looked at him
to see if he knew her secret.
But he did not, and with spirits which began to
ebb she broke the seal and read the few brief lines,
half smiling as she thought how very formal and
business-like they were. But it was Frederic's
handwriting, and when sure Will did not see her
she pressed it to her lips.
"What you do that for?" asked Httle Fred,
whose sharp eyes saw everything not intended for
them to see. *
" Sh-sh," said Marian ; but the child persisted.;
" Say, what you tiss that letter for ?"
Will Gordon was standing with his back to her,
but at this question he turned quickly and looked
at her.
" There's something there," she said, passing the
note again over her lips as if she would brqsh th
" something " away.
MARIAN RAYMOND. 25/
This explanation was satisfactory to Fred, who
asked, " Did you get it ?"
But Will was not quite certain, and for several
days he puzzled his brain with wondering whether
" Marian Grey really did kiss Frederic Raymond's
note or not." If so, why did she .? She could not
be in love with a man she had never seen. She
was not weak enough for that, and at last rejecting
it as an impossibility, and accepting the trouble-
some " something " as a reality, his mind became
at rest upon that subject.
..
CHAPTER XXIII.
MARIAN ItAYMOND.
Spring passed rapidly away, enlivened once by
a short visit from Ben, who, having purchased an
entire new suit of clothes for the occasion, looked
and appeared unusually well, talking but little
until he was alone with Marian, when his tongue
was loosed, and he told her all he had come to
tell.
He had been to Riverside, he said, and Mrs.
Russell, who was still there and was to be the future
housekeeper, was very gracious to him, on account
of his being the adopted brother of their next gov-
erness. Miss Grey.
" She showed me your chamber," he said, " and
it's the very one they fixed up so nice for Isabel.
Nobody has ever used it, for Miss Jones slep' in a
little room at the end of the hall. Frederic has had
a door cut from Alice's chamber into yourn, 'cause
he said how't you and she woyld wa.nt tP be neaf
2S8 MARIAN GREY.
to each other. And I'll tell you what, when you
git there, it seems to me you'll be as nigh Heaven
as you'll ever git in this world. Mrs. Huntington
has bought a little cottage close by Frederic's," he
continued, " and she's livin' there with Isabel, who
has got to be an heir "
" An heiress !" repeated Marian. " Whose,
pray ?"
" Don't know," returned Ben, " only that man
she went to Florida with is dead, and he willed her
some. I don't know how much, but law, she'll
spend it in no time. Mrs. Russell said her lace
curtains cost an awful sight, though she b'lieved
they was bought second-hand, in New York."
Isabel's curtains having been discussed, and her-
self described as Ben saw her " struttin' through
the streets," he arose to go, telling Marian he
should not probably see her again until he visited
her in the Autumn at Riverside.
" I guess I wouldn't let it all out at once," said
he, " but wait and let Frederic sweat. It'll do him
good, and he isn't paid yet for all he's made you
suffer. I ain't no Universaler, but I do like to see
folks catch it as they go 'long."
Once Marian thought to tell him of William
Gordon's unfortunate attachment, particularly as
he was loud in his praises of the young man ; but
upon second reflections she decided to keep that
matter to herself, hoping that the subject would
never be mentioned to her again. And in this her
wishes seemed to be realized, for as the weeks after
Ben's departure went by, William began to be
more like himself than he had been before since
her refusal of him. He came often to Mrs. Shel-
don's, sang with her sometimes as of old, and she
fancied he was losing his love for her. But she
was mistaken, for it was strengthening with each
hour's interview. The very hopelessness of his
passion rendered it more intense, it would seem,
MARIAN RAYMOND. 259
until at last, unable longer to remain where she
was, and know she could never be his, he went
from home and did not return again until near the
middle of August, when he found Mrs. Sheldon's
house in a state of great confusion.
Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon were going to Europe.
They would sail in about two weeks, and as Marian
had positively declined to accompany them, they
had engaged another governess, who was to meet
them in New York. It was decided that Marian
should remain a few days with Mrs. Gordon, and
then go to Riverside, where her coming was anx-
iously expected by Frederic and Alice. This
arrangement was highly satisfactory to Will, who
anticipated much happiness in having her wholly
to himself for a week. There would be no sister
Ellen, with curious, prying eyes, for she was going
with Mrs. Sheldon as far as New York no little
girls always in the way no funny Fred, to see and
tell of everything nobody, in short, but his good
mother, who, he knew, would often leave him alone
with Marian.
During his absence from home he had thought
much upon the subject, and had resolved to make
one more trial. She might be eventually won, and
if so, he should care but little for the efforts made
to win her. With this upon his mind, he felt rather
relieved than otherwise when the family at last
were gone, and Marian was an inmate of his moth-
er's house. Both Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon had urged
him to accompany them, and he had made arrange-
ments to do so, in case he found Marian still firm
in her refusal. T^ey were intending to stop for a
few days in New' York, and he could easily join
them the day on which the ship was advertised to
sail. He would know his fate before that time, he
thought, and he strove in various ways to obtain an
interview with Marian, who, divining his intention,
was unusually reserved in her demeanor toward
26o MARIAN GREY
him, and if by chance she found herself with him
alone, she invariably formed some excuse to leave
the room, so that Will began at last to lose all
hope, and to think seriously of joining his sister as
the surest means of forgetting Marian Grey.
" She does not care for me," he said to his
mother, one night after Marian had retired. " I
believe she rather dislikes me than otherwise. I
think on the whole I shall go, and if so, I must
start in the morning, for the vessel sails to-morrow
night."
Accordingly, next morning, when Marian came
down, she was surprised to hear of Will's intended
departure.
Breakfast being over, there remained to him but
half an hour, and as a part of this was necessarily
spent with the servants, and in preparations for his
journey, he had at the last but a few moments in
which to say farewell to Marian. She was in the
back parlor, his mother said, and there he found
her crying. Will's sudden determination to visit
Europe affected her unpleasantly, for she felt that
she was in some way connected with it, and she
was conscious of a feeling of loneliness, such as she
had not experienced before since she first came to
Mrs. Sheldon's.
" Are you crying ?" Will said, when he saw her
with her head bowed down upon the arm of the
sofa.
Marian did not answer, and with newly awakened
hope. Will drew nearer and seated himself beside
her. " It might be that he was mistaken after all,"
he thought. " Her tears would seem to indicate
as much. Girls were strange beings, everybody
said," and passing his arm around Marian, he whis-
pered : " Do you like me, then ?"
"Yes, very, very much," she answered, "and
now that you are going away, and I may never see
MARIAN RAYMOND. 261
you again, I am so sorry I ever caused you a mo-
ment's pain."
" I needn't go, Marian," Will said, drawing her
close to him. " I will stay, so gladly, if you bid
me do so. But it must be for you. Shall I Ma-
rian ? Shall I stay ?"
Looking into her face, which she had turned
towards him, he thought he read a confirmation of
his hopes, but the first words she uttered, wrung
his heart with cruel disappointment.
"I cannot be your wife," she said. " I mean it,
Mr. Gordon, I cannot, and it would be wicked not
to tell you. Can I trust you ? Will you keep my
secret safe, as I have kept it almost six years ?"
There was some insuperable barrier between
them, and Will Gordon felt it, as he answered :
" Whatsoever you intrust to me shall not be be-
trayed."
"Then, listen," she said. " I told you I was not
what I seemed, and I am not. People call me
young, but to myself I seem old, I have suffered so
much. I told you that before coming here I had
given to another the love for which you sued, and
I told you truly ; but Mr. Gordon, there was more
to tell ; that other one, is my own husband l"
" Oh, Marian, this indeed is death itself !"
groaned Will, for though he had said there was no
hope, it seemed to him now that he had never
believed or realized it as when he heard the words,
" my own husband."
"Do not despise me for deceiving you," Marian
continued. " If I had thought you could have
seen anything to desire in me, I might, perhaps,
have warned you in time, though how could I tell
you, that I was an unloved wife?"
" Where is he that man ?" Will asked, for he
could not say "your husband."
Marian's confession was a death-blow to all he
had dared to hope, and he asked for the husband
262 MARIAN GREY.
more as a matter of form than because he really
cared to know.
" Mr. Gordon," Marian said, rising to her feet,
and standing with her face turned fully towards
him, " Must I tell you more ? I thought I needed
only to speak of a husband, and you would guess
the rest. Don't you know me? Have we never
met before ?"
" Never to my knowledge," he answered.
" Look again. Is not my face a familiar one ?
Did you never see it before ? Not here not in
New England but far away. Is there not some-
thing in my person, or my voice, which carries you
back to an old house on the river where you once
met a little red-haired girl ?"
She did not need to say more. Little by little
it had come to him, and, starting to his feet, he
caught her hand, exclaiming, "Great Heaven!
The lost wife of Frederic Raymond !"
" Yes," she answered, and leaning her head upon
his arm, she burst into tears, for he seemed to her
like a brother now, while she to him
He could not think of her as a sister yet he
loved her too well for that ; but still his feelings
towards her had changed in the great shock with
which he recognized her. She could never be his
he knew, neither did he desire it. And for a mo-
ment he stood speechless, wholly overwhelmed
with astonishment and wonder. Then he said,
" Marian Raymond, why are you here ?"
" Why ?" she repeated bitterly. " You may well
ask why. Hated by him who should care for me,
what could I do but go away into the unknown
world, and throw myself upon its charities, which,
in my case, have not been cold or selfish. God
bless the noble-hearted Ben, and the sainted woman,
;his mother, who did not cast me off when I went
to them, homeless, friendless, and heart-broken."
Involuntarily, Will Gordon, too, responded to
MARIAN RAYMOND. i^^
the words, " God bless the noble-hearted Ben," for,
looking at the beautiful girl before him, he felt
that what she was she owed to the self-denying,
unwearied efforts of the uncultivated but gener-
ous Ben.
" Marian," he said again, " you must go to your
husband. He is waiting for you. He has sought
for you long ; he has expiated his sin. Go, Ma-
rian, go "
" I am going," she answered, " and if I only knew
he really wanted me "
" He does want you," interrupted Will. " He
has told me so many a time."
Marian was about to reply, when Mrs. Gordon
appeared, warning her son that the carriage was at
the door ; and with a hurried farewell to Marian
and his mother. Will hastened off, whispering to the
former, " I shall write to you when on the sea "
" And keep my secret safe. I would rather di-
vulge it myself," she added.
He nodded in the affirmative, and was soon on
his way to the station, so bewildered with what he
had heard, that he scarcely knew whether it were
reality or a dream. Gradually, however, it became
clear to him, and he remembered many things
which confirmed the strange story he had heard.
He wished he might write to Frederic, and tell
him that Marian Grey was his wife, but he would
not break his promise, and he was wondering how
he could hasten the discovery, when, as the cars
left the depot at Hartford, a broad hand was laid
upon his shoulder, and a voice which sounded fa-
mihar, said, " Wall, captain, bein' we're so full, I
guess you'll have to make room for me."
" Ben Butterworth," Will exclaimed, turning his
face toward the speaker, who recognized him at
once.
" Wall," he began, as he took the seat Will readily
shared with him, " I didn't 'spose 'twas you. How
264 MARIAJt GRy.
do you do, and how's Marian ? Has she gone to
Riverside yet ?"
" No," returned Will, and looking Ben directly
in the face, he continued, " How much of Miss
Grey's history do you know ?"
" Mor'n I shall tell, I'll bet. How much do you
know ?" and Ben set his hat a little more on one
side of his head.
" More than you suppose, perhaps," returned
Will. " And if you, too, are posted, I'd like to talk
the matter over, but if not, I shall betray no
secrets." *
" I swan, I b'lieve you do know," said Ben.
" Did she tell you ?"
Will nodded, and Ben continued, " She wrote to
me that you knew Mr. Raymond, and liked him,
too ; I guess he ain't a very bad chap after all,
is he ?"
The ice was fairly broken now, and both Will and
Ben settled themselves for a long conversation.
Will did not think it betrayed Marian's confidence
to talk of her with one who understood her affairs
so much better than himself, and before they
reached New York, he had heard the whole story
how Ben had stumbled upon her in New York,
and taken her to his home without knowing any-
thing of her, except that she was friendless and
alone how the mother had cared for the orphan
girl, and how Ben, had done for her what he could.
" 'Twan't much any way," he said, " and I never
minded it an atom, for 'twas a pleasure to 'arn
money for her schoolin'."
And Ben spoke truly, for it never occurred to
him that he had denied himself as few men would
have done toiling early and late, through sunshine
and storm, wearing the old coat long after it was
threadbare, and sometimes, when peddling, eating
but two meals a day, by way of saving for Marian.
Of all this he did not speak to his companion. He
MAktAN kA-S^MOKlJ. ^jj
did not even think of it, or, if he did, he felt that
he was more than paid in seeing Marian what she
was. Accidentally, he said that his name was really
Ben Burt, and he should be glad when the time
came for him to be called that again.
"When will that be?" Will asked, and Ben replied
by unfolding to him his long cherished plan of hav-
ing Frederic make love to his own wife.
"You might write to him, I s'pose," he said,
"but that would spile all my fun, and I'd rather
let the thing work itself out. He's bound to fall
in love with her. He can't help it, and I don't see
how j/ou could. Mabby you did." And Ben looked
quizzically at his companion, who colored as he re-
plied merely to the first part of Ben's remark.
" I certainly will not interfere in the matter,
though before meeting you I was wondering how I
could do so and not betray Marian's confidence. I
am sure now it will all come right at last, and
you ought to be permitted to bring it round in
your own way, for you have been a true friend to
her, and I dare say she loves you as a brother."
This was touching Ben on a tender point, for his
old affection for Marian was not dead yet, and
Will's last words brought back to him memories of
those dreary winter nights, when, in his way, he had
battled with the love he knew he must not cherish
for Marian Grey. He fidgetted in his seat, got up
and looked under him, sat down again and looked
out of the window, and repeated to himself a part
of the multiplication table, by way of keeping from
crying.
" Bless her, she's ,n angel," he managed at last
to say, adding, as he met the inquiring glance of
Will : " It's my misfortin' to be uncommon tender-
hearted, and when I git to thinkin' of somethin'
that concerns nobody but me, I can't keep from
cryin', no way you can fix it," and two undeniable
'26& MARIAN GRfiir.
tears rolled down his cheeks and dropped from the
end of his nose.
" He, too," sighed Will, and as he thought how
much more the uncouth man beside him had done
for Marian than either Frederic or himself, and that
he really had the greatest claim to her gratitude
and love, his heart warmed toward Yankee Ben as
to a long tried friend, and he resolved to leave for
him a substantial token of his regard.
" Why don't you settle down, as a grocer, in some
small country town ?" he asked, as they came near
the city.
" I have thought of that," said Ben, " for I'm get-
tin' kinder tired of travelin', now that there ain't no
home for me to go to once in so often. I think I
should like to be a grocery man first-rate, and
weigh out saleratus and bar soap to the old wimmen.
Wouldn't they flock in, though, to see me, I'm so
odd ! But 'tain't no use to think on't, for I hain't
the money now, though mabby I shall have it
bimeby. My expenses ain't as great as they was."
By this time they had reached the depot, and
Will, who knew they must part there, said to him,
" How long do you stay in New York ?"
" Not long," returned Ben, " I've only come to
recruit my stock a little."
" Go to the Post-Office before you leave," was
Will's reply, as he stepped from the platform and
was lost in the crowd.
" What did he mean ?" Ben thought. " Nobody
writes to me but Marian, and I ain't expectin' no-
thin' from her, but I guess I may as well go."
Accordingly, the next night, when Will Gordon
was looking out upon the sea, Ben went to the of-
fice, inquiring first for Ben Butterworth and then
for Ben Burt. There was a letter for the latter,
and it contained a draft for three hundred dollars,
together with the following lines :
MARIAN RAYMOND. ^6;;
"You and I have suffered alike, and In each of
our hearts there is a hidden grave. I saw it in the
tears you shed when talking to me of Marian Grey.
Heaven bless you, Ben Burt, for all you have been
to her. You have done for her more, perhaps, than
either Mr. Raymond or myself would have done
in the same circumstances, and thus far you are
more worthy of her esteem. You will please accept
the inclosed as a token that I appreciate your self-
denying labors for Marian Grey. Use it for that
grocery we talked about, if you choose, or for any
purpose you like. If you have any delicacy, just
consider it a loan to be paid when you are a richer
man than I am. You cannot return it, of course,
for when you receive it I shall be gone.
" Yours, in haste, WILLIAM GORDON."
This letter was a mystery to Ben, who read it
again and again, dwelling long upon the words,
" You and I have suffered alike, and in each of our
hearts there is a hidden grave."
" That hits me exactly," he said, " though I
never thought of callin' that hole in my heart a
grave ; but tain 't nothin' else, for I buried somethin'
in it, and the tender, brotherly feelin' I've felt for
Marian ever since was the grave stun I set up in
memory of what had been. But what does he know
about it, though why shouldn't he, for no mortal
man can look in Marian's face and not feel kinder
cold and hystericky-like at the pit of his stomach !
Yes, he's in love with her, and that's the way she
came to tell who she was. Poor Bill ! poor Bill ! I
know how to pity him to a dot," and Ben heaved
a deep sigh as he finished this long soliloquy.
The money next diverted his attention, but no
puzzling on his part could explain to him satisfac-
torily why it had been sent.
" S'posin' he was grateful," he said, " he needn't
give me three hundred dollars for nothin', but be-
S6g MARIAN GREY.
in' he has, I may as well use it to start in busine&s,
though I shall pay it back, of course," and when
alone in his room at the hotel where he stopped, he
wrote upon a bit of paper.
"New York, August 30, 18
" For vally rec. I promise to pay William Gor-
don, or bearer, the sum of three hundred dollars
with use from date.
"Benjamin Burt."
This note he put away in his old leathern wallet,
where it was as safe and as sure of being paid as
if it had been in William Gordon's hands instead of
his.
Meantime Marian at Mrs. Gordon's was half re-
gretting that she had told her secret to William,
and greatly lamenting that she had been inter-
rupted before she knew just how much Frederic
wished to find her. That his feelings toward her
had changed, she was sure, but she would know by
word and deed that he loved her before: she revealed
herself to him, and the dark mystery of that cruel
letter must be explained before she could respect
him as she had once done. And now but a few
days remained before she should see him face to
face, for she was going to Riverside very soon.
Some acquaintances of hers were going west by
way of New York, and she decided to accompany
them, though by doing so she would reach River-
side one day earlier than she was expected.
" It would make no difference, of course," she
said, and she waited impatiently for the appointed
morning.
It came at last, and long before the hour for start-
ing she was ready, her apparent eagerness to go
being sadly at variance with the expression of Mrs.
Gordon's face, for the good lady loved the gentle
girl and grieved to part with her.
MARIAN RAYMOND. 269
" I am sftrry to leave you," Marian said, when the
last moment came, " but I am glad I am going.
Sometime, perhaps, you may know why and then
you will not blame me."
She could not shed a tear, although she had
become greatly attached to her Springfield home,
and her excitement continued unabated until she
reached New York, where they stopped for the
night. There were several hours of daylight left,
and stealing away from her friends she took a
Third Avenue car, and went up to her old house,
where strangers were living now. She did not care
to go in, and she passed slowly down the other side
of the street, thinking of all that had passed since
the night when she first climbed those stairs, and
asked a mother's care from Mrs. Burt. She did
not think then that she would ever be as happy as
she was to-day, with the certainty of meeting Fred-
eric to-morrow. It seemed a great while to wait,
and as Ben had once counted the weeks in seven
years, so she now counted the hours, which must
elapse ere she felt the pressure of Frederic's hand
for he would shake hands with her, of course, and
he would look into her face, for he had heard much
of her both from Will Gordon and Ben. Would
he be disappointed ? Would he think her pretty?
Would he know her ? And Alice what would she
say ? Marian dreaded this test more than all the
rest, for she felt that there was danger in the instinct
of the blind girl. Slowly she retraced her steps,
and returning to the Hotel went to her room, tell-
ing her friends that she was tired and must rest.
" Five hours more," was her first thought when
she awoke next morning from a sounder sleep than
she had supposed it possible to enjoy under such
excitement. Before long it was four hours more,
then three, then two, then one, and then the cars
stopped at the station at Yonkers.
" To Riverside," she said, when asked where she
270 MARIAN GREY.
wished to go, and in a few moments she was com-
fortably seated in the lumbering stage, which once
before had carried her up that long hill. Very
eagerly she strained her eyes to catch the first view
of the house ; and when at last it came in sight,
she was too intent upon it to observe the showily-
dressed young lady tripping along upon the walk,
and holding her skirts with her thumb and finger,
so as to show her dainty slipper.
But if Marian did not see Isabel, Isabel saw her.
It was not usual for the stage to come up at that
hour of the day, and as it passed her Isabel turned
to see where it was going.
" To Riverside," she exclaimed, as she saw it
draw up to the gate. " It must be the new gover-
ness," and as there was no house very near, she
stopped to inspect the stranger as well as she could
at that distance. " Black," she said, as Marian
stepped upon the ground ; " but I might have
known it, for regular built teachers always wear
black, I believe. She is rather tall, too. An
umbrella, of course. I wonder she hasn't her
shawl and overshoes this hot day. Her bonnet is
pretty. On the whole, she's quite genteel for a
governess," and Isabel walked on while Marian
went up the walk, expecting at each step to meet
with either Frederic or Alice.
She would rather it should be the latter, for in
case of recognition, she knew she could bind the
blind girl to secrecy for a time, but no one ap-
peared, and about the house there was no sign of
life. The door was shut, and after the driver had
placed her trunks upon the piazza and gone, Marian
stood ringing the bell. The loud, sharp ring made
her heart beat violently, and when she heard a
heavy tread, not unhke a man's, coming up the
basement stairs, she thought, " What if it is Fred-
eric himself ? What shall I say ?"
" It is Frederic," she continued, as the step came
MARIAN RAYMOND. 2^1
nearer, and she was wishing she could run away and
hide, when the door was opened by Mrs. Russell,
who was cook and housekeeper both, and she looked
a little crest-fallen at the sight of her visitor, whom
she recognized at once.
" Miss Grey, I b'lieve ?" she said, dropping a low
curtesy. " We wan't expectin' you till to-morrow ;
but walk in, and make yourself at home. I never
thought of such a thing as your comin' this mornin'.
Dear me, what shall I do ?"
This was said in an under-tone, but it caught the
ear of Marian, who, now that she had a chance to
speak, asked for Mr. Raymond.
"Bless you!" returned Mrs. Russell, "both of
'em went to New York early this morning, and
won't be home till dark, maybe, and that's why I
feel so. I don't know how to entertain you as they
do, and Miss Alice has been reckoning on giving
you a good impression. I'm so sorry, I warn't ex-
pecting to get any dinner to-day, and was having
such a nice time, sewin' on my new dress;" and,
with the last, the whole cause of the old lady's un-
easiness was divulged.
In the absence of Frederic and Alice, she had
counted upon a day of leisure, which Marian's ar-
rival had seriously interrupted.
" I beg you not to trouble yourself for me," said
Marian, who readily understood the matter. " I
never care for a regular dinner ; indeed, I may not
be hungry at all."
The old lady's face brightened perceptibly, and
she replied :
" Oh, I don't mind a cup of tea, and I'll get you
something, and now you go up stairs to your room,
the one at.the right hand, with the white furniture.
Yes, that's the door right there ;" and Mrs. Rus-
sell went back to the making of her dress, while
Marian entered her chamber, feeling rather disap-
pointed i^t the absence of both Alice and Frederic,
272 MARIAN GREY.
CHAPTER XXIV.
FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN'S OLD HOME.
" Frederic," Alice had said, about six weeks
befoi-e Marian's arrival at Riverside, " who hired
Mrs. Merton to take care of you when you were
sick at the hotel?"
" The proprietor, I suppose," returned Frederic,
and Alice continued :
" But who told him of her ?"
" I don't know," Frederic said. " She was from
the country, I believe."
" Yes," returned Alice ; " but some person must
have recommended her, and if you can ascertain
who that person was, you may find Mrs. Merton,
and learn something of Marian."
"I wonder I never thought of that before," said
Frederic, adding, that if Alice had her sight he be-
lieved she would have discovered Marian before
this.
" I know I should," was her answer ; and after a
little further conversation, it was decided that Fred-
eric should go to New York, and learn, if possible,
who first suggested Mrs. Merton as a nurse.
This was not so easy a matter as he had imagined
it to be, for though Frederic himself was well re-
membered at the hotel, where he was now a fre-
quent guest, scarcely any one could recall Mrs.
Merton distinctly, and no one seemed to know how
^he came there, until a servant, who had been in
the house a long time, spoke of Martha Gibbs, and
then the proprietor suddenly remembered that she
had recommended Mrs. Merton as a friend of hers.
" But who is Martha Gibbs, and where is she
now ?" Frederic asked ; and the servant replied
that:
FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN'S HOME. 2/3
" Her home used to be in Woodstock, Conn. ;"
and with this item of information Frederic wrote to
her friends, inquiring where she was.
To this letter there came an answer, saying Mrs.
John Jennings lived in , a small town in the
interior of Iowa. Accordingly, the next mail west-
ward from Yonkers carried a letter to Mrs. Jen-
nings, asking where the woman lived who had
nursed Mr. Raymond through that dangerous
fever. This being done, Frederic and Alice waited
impatiently for a reply, which was long in coming,
for Mr. Jennings' house was several miles from the
post-office, where he seldom called, and it was more
than a week before the letter reached him, and then
it found him so engrossed in the arrival of a son,
that for two or three days longer it lay unopened
before he thought to look at it.
" I don't know what it means, I'm sure," he said,
taking it to his wife, who, having never heard of
the death of her old friend, replied, " Why, he
wants to know where Mrs. Burt lives. Just write
on a piece of paper : ' East street. No. ,
third story ; turn to your right ; door at the head
of the stairs,' I wonder if he's never been there
yet ?"
John was not an elaborate correspondent, and he
simply wrote down his better half's direction, say-
ing nothing whatever of Mrs. Burt herself, and thus
conveying to Frederic no idea that Merton was not
the real name.
" A letter from Iowa," Frederic said to Alice, as
he came in from the ofifice, on the night when Ma-
rian was walking past what was once her home.
" I have the street and number, and to-morrow I
am going there."
" And I am going, too," Alice cried. " I do
wish to-morrow would hurry, and I'm glad Miss
Grey is npt goming until the day ^fter. It will be
274 MARIAN GREY. '
so nice to have them both here. Do you suppose
they'll like each other, Marian and Miss Grey ?"
" I dare say they will," Frederic returned, smiling
at the little girl's enthusiasm, and hoping she might
not be disappointed.
" I wish it would grow dark, faster," she contin-
ued, and Frederic, while listening to the many dif-
ferent ways she conjured up for them to meet
Marian, became almost as impatient as herself for
the morrow, when his renewed hopes might, per-
haps, be realized.
The breakfast next morning was hurried through,
and Alice and Frederic were soon on their way to
New York, where Frederic, who had some business
to transact, left Alice at a hotel.
Returning in an hour, and taking her hand, he
led her into the street and entered a Third avenue
car.
" We are on the right track, I think," he said ;
" for it was this way she went with the man de-
scribed by Sarah Green."
Alice gave a sigh of relief, and rather enjoyed
the pleasant motion of the car, although she wished
it would go faster.
" Won't we ever get there ?" she asked, as they
plodded slowly on, stopping often to take in a
passenger or set one down.
" Yes, by and by," said Frederic, encouragingly,
" I am not quite certain of the street, myself, but
I shall know it when I see the name, of course ;"
and he looked anxiously out as they passed along.
" Here it is," he cried, at last ; and, seizing Alice's
arm, he rather dragged than led her from the car,
and out upon the crossing. "Why," he exclaimed,
gazing eagerly around him, " I have been here be-
fore down this very street ;" and his eye wan-
dered involuntarily in the direction of the window
where once the white-fringed curtain hung.
Jt was gone now, while in its pUce appeared th?
FREDERIC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN'S HOME. 27$
heads of two or three dirty children, looking across
the way, and making wry faces at similar dirty
children in the window opposite. Frederic saw all
this, and it affected him unpleasantly, causing him
to feel as if he had parted from some old friend.
But where was that ? It must be in this locality ;
and he wondered how one accustomed to the
luxuries of Redstone Hall could live in this place.
" I've found it !" he said, as his eyes caught the
number ; and now, that he believed himself near to
what he had sought so long, he was more impatient
than Alice herself.
He could not wait for her uncertain footsteps,
and pale with excitement, he caught her in his
arms and hurried up the stairs. The third story
was reached, and he stood panting by the door,
where Mr. Jennings had said that he must stop.
It was open, and the uncarpeted floor, of which he
caught a glimpse, looked cheerless and uninviting,
but it did not keep him back a moment, and he
advanced into the room, which, by the three heads
at the window, he knew was the same where the
white curtain once had hung, and where now the
glaring August sunlight came pouring in, unbroken
and unsubdued.
At the sight of a stranger one of the heads
turned toward him, and a little voice said :
" Ma's out washin', and won't be home till
night."
There was a heavy feeling of disappointment
settling round Frederic's heart, for nothing there
seemed at all like what he remembered of Mrs.
Merton, but he nerved himself to ask :
" What is your mother's name ?"
" Bunce, and my pa is in the Tombs," was the
reply.
" How long have you lived here ?" was the next
question, a?ked with a colder, heavier he^irt:,
276 MARIAN GREY.
" Next Christmas a year," said the little girl, and
catching Frederic's arm, Alice whispered,
" Do let's go out into the open air,"
With a sigh Frederic turned away, and knocking
at other doors, asked for the former occupants of
those front rooms. Nearly all the present tenants
had moved there since Mrs. Burt's death, and no
one knew aught of her save one decent-looking
woman, who said " she remembered the folks well,
though they held their heads above the likes of
her. She'd seen them comin' in and out, and knew
they was well to do."
" Was their name Merton ? and did a young girl
live with them?" Frederic asked; and the woman
replied :
" Merton sounds some like it, though I'd sooner
say 'twas Burton, or something like that. I never
even so much as passed the time of day with 'em,
tor I tell you they felt above me ; but the girl was
a jewel so trim and genteel like."
" That was Marian," Alice whispered ; and Fred-
eric continued :
" Where are they now ?"
" Bless you," returned the woman. " One on
'em is in Heaven, and the Lord only knows where
t'other one went to."
Alice's hand, which lay in Frederic's, was clutched
with a painful grasp ; and the perspiration gathered
about the young man's lips as he stammered
out :
" Which one is dead ? Not the girl ? You dare
not tell me that?"
" I dare if it was so," returned the woman ; " but
'twas the old one the one I took to be the
mother ; though I have heard a story about the
girl's comin' here long time ago, before I moved
here. I was away when the woman died, and when
I got back the rooms was empty, and the boy and
PREt)ERIC AND AUCE VISIT MARlAJsf'S KtOME. 277
girl was gone ; nobody knows where ; and I hain't
seen 'em since."
Frederic was too much interested in Marian to
hear anything else, and he paid no attention to her
mention of a boy. Marian was all he wished to
find, but it was in vain that he questioned and
cross-questioned the woman. She had given all
the information she could ; and with an increased
feeling of disappointment he left her, glancing once
more into the room where he was sure Marian had
lived. On the floor a matronly looking cat was
lying and, as if recognizing a friend in Alice, it came
towards her purring loudly, and rubbing against
her side.
" Lands sake," exclaimed the woman who had
followed them. " Here's the cat the young girl
used to tend so much. I know it by the white spot
between its eyes. She must have give it to some
one when she went away, and it wouldn't stay. I
found it mewing and making an awful noise by the
door when I came back ; and though I ain't none
of your cat women, I flung it a bone or two till
them folks came, and the children kept it to tor-
ment, I 'spect, just as young ones will. I see one
of 'em with a string round its neck t'other day a
chokin' it most to death."
" Oh, Frederic," and Alice's face expressed what
she wished to say, while she caught up the animal
in her arms.
Frederic understood her, and speaking to the
oldest of the ehildren, he said, " Will you give me
your cat ?"
" No, no," the three set up at once, and Alice
whispered, " Buy her, Frederic, won't you ?"
'* Will you let me have her for fifty cents ?" he
asked.
" No, no," and the youngest began to cry.
" Give more," Alice said, and Frederic continued,,
^7& Marian greVj
" Fifty cents a piece, then. You can biiy a gr^at
many cakes and crackers with it "
" And candy," suggested Alice.
The youngest began to show signs of relenting,
as did the second, but the third persisted in saying
"No."
" Offer her more," Alice whispered, and glancing
around the poorly furnished room, Frederic took
out his purse and said, " You shall have a dollar a
piece, but part of it must be saved for your mother,
besides that, this httle girl is blind," and he laid
his hand on Alice's head.
This last argument would have been sufiScient
without the dollar, for it touched a chord of pity in
the heart of the child, and coming closer to Alice
she looked at her curiously, saying, " Can't you see
a bit more'n I can with my eyes shut ?" and she
closed her own by way of experimenting.
"Not a bit," returned Alice, "but I love kitty
just the same, because she used to belong to a dear
friend of mine. May I have her ?"
" Ye-es," came half reluctantly from the child, as
she extended her hand for the money.
" Oh, I'm so glad," Alice said, when they were
at a safe distance from the house. " I was afraid
they'd take it back ; and she held fast the cat, which
made no effort to escape, but lay in her arms, sing-
ing occasionally, as if well pleased with the ex-
change.
This, however, Frederic knew would not con-
tinue until they reached home, and stepping into a
shop which they were passing, he bought a covered
basket, in which the cat was placed, and the lid
secured, a proceeding not altogether satisfactory
to the prisoner. Alice, too, was equally distressed,
and when she learned that Frederic could not go
home until night, she insisted upon his getting her
a room at the hotel, where she could let her treas-
ure out without fear of its escaping. Frederic
ffefibEkiC AND ALICE VISIT MARIAN'S HOME. 2^
complied with her request, and in her delight with
her new pet, she half forgot how disappointed she
had been in the result of their visit. But Frederic
felt it keenly, for never had his hopes of finding
Marian been raised to a higher pitch than that
morning, and even now he could not give her up.
Leaving Alice at the hotel he went back again to
the street, and made the most minute inquiries, but
all to no purpose. He could not obtain the least
elue to her, and he retraced his steps with a feel-
ing that she was as really lost to him as if Sarah
Green's letter had been true.
" Why had that letter been written ?" he asked
himself again and again.
Somebody knew of Marian, and there was a
mystery connected with it a mystery of wrong, it
might be. Perhaps she could not come back, even
though she wanted to, and his pulses quickened as
he thought of all the imaginary terrors which
might surround her. It was a sad reflection, and
his spirits were unusually depressed, when just
before sunset he took Alice by one hand, and the
basket in the other, and started for home.
" I didn't think we should come back alone,"
Alice said, when at last they reached the station at
Yonkers, and she was lifted into the carriage wait-
ing for them. " It's dreadful we couldn't find her,
but I am so glad we've got the cat ;" and she
guarded the basket as carefully as if it had con-
tained the diamonds of India.
Frederic did not care to talk, but he leaned
moodily back in his carriage, evincing no interest
in anything until as they drew near home, the
driver said to Alice :
" Guess who's come ?"
" Oh, I don't know Dinah may be," was Alice's
reply, and then Frederic smiled at the preposter-
ous idea.
58o MARIAN GREY.
" No ; guess again," said the driver. " Some-
body as handsome as a doll."
" Miss Grey !" cried Alice, almost upsetting her
basket in her dehght. " I'm so glad, though I was
going to fix her room so nice to-morrow. How
lonesome she must have been all day with nothing
but the garden, the books, and the piano."
" She has been homesick," John said, " for I seen
her cryin', I thought, under a tree in the garden."
" Poor thing !" Alice said. " She won't be home-
sick any more when we get there ; I wonder if she
likes cats !" And as by this time they had stopped
at the gate, the little girl went running up the walk,
shaking the basket prodigiously and inciting its
contents to such violent struggles that in the hall
the lid came off, and bounding from its confine-
ment, the cat ran into the parlor, where, trembhng
with fright, it crouched as for protection at Marian's
feet.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE MEETING.
Notwithstanding Alice's fears the day had
not been a long one to Marian, who had been so
occupied in unpacking her trunks and in going
over the house and grounds as scarcely to heed the
lapse of time, and she was surprised when, about
sunset, she saw John drive from the yard, and
knew he was going for his master. Not till then
did she fully realize her position, and she went to
her chamber to compose herself for the dreaded
trial which each moment came nearer and nearer.
" Will Frederic know me ?" she asked herself a
tHE Meeting. 281
dozen times, and as often answered no ^^but Alice,
there was danger to be apprehended from her,
and Marian felt that she would far rather meet the
scrutinizing gaze of Frederic Raymond's eyes than
submit herself to the touch of the blind girl's fin-
gers, or trust her voice to the blind girl's ear.
That might not have changed. She could not
tell if it had, though she thought it very probable,
for six years was a long time, and it was nearly
that since she left Redstone Hall. She could not
sustain a feigned voice, she knew, and there was no
alternative but to wait the trial and abide the result
of a recognition. She felt a pardonable pride in
wishing to make a good impression upon Frederic,
for he could see, and she spent a much longer time
at her toilet than usual, and as she saw in the mir-
ror the reflection of herself there came a brighter
glow to her cheek, for she knew that the cherished
wish of her early girlhood had been fulfilled, and
that Ben Burt was right when he called her beau-
tiful.
The gas was lighted when she entered tlie parlor,
and turning it down a little, she took a book and
seated herself in the shade. But the volume might
as well have been wrong side up for any idea its
contents conveyed to her, so absorbed was she in
what was fast approaching, for she had heard the
carriage stop at the gate, and felt the cold moisture
starting out beneath her hair and on her hands.
" I will be calm," she said, and with one tremen-
dous effort of the will she quieted the violent throb-
bings of her heart, and leaning on her elbow, pre-
tended to be reading, though not a sound escaped
her ear. She heard the little feet come running up
the walk, and the heavy tread following in the
rear.
She heard the struggle in the hall between .Alice
and the cat, and when the latter bounded into the
room and crouched down at her feet, she thought
282( MARIAN GREV.
there was something familiar in that spot betweeil
the eyes. But it could not be, she said, though
Alice's exclamation of " Do, Frederic, shut the
door, so she cannot get away," seemed to intimate
that pussy was a stranger there. Stooping down,
she passed her hand caressingly over the animal's
back, whispering in a low tone, " Spotty, darling, is
it you ?"
Won by her voice, the cat sprang into Marian's
lap, just as Frederic glanced hastily in.
" Your pet is safe," he said to Alice, whom he
followed to the sitting-room, waiting there a mo-
ment, and then starting to meet Miss Grey.
She knew he was coming, and pushing the cat
from her lap, half rose to her feet, waiting for the
first words of greeting.
" Miss Grey, I believe ;" and Frederic Raymond
advanced towards Marian, who now stood up, so
that the blaze of the chandelier fell full upon her,
revealing at once her face and her form.
Had her very life depended upon it she could not
have spoken then, for the emotions the name "Miss
Grey " called up, mastered her speech entirely.
She knew he would thus address her, but it grated
harshly on her ear to hear him call her so, and her
heart yearned for the familiar name of Marian,
though she had no reason to expect it from him.
" You are welcome to Riverside," he continued ;
" and I regret that your first day here should have
been so lonely."
This gave her a little time, and conquering her
weakness she extended her hand to him. For an
instant he held it and looked into her face, which
did not seem wholly unfamiliar to him, while she
herself seemed more like a friend than a total
stranger, and when at last she spoke, assuring him
that she had nor been lonely in the least, he started,
for there was something in the tone which carried
him back to Redstone Hall, when he had played
-^He meeting. 383
with his dusky companions upon the river brink.
But Marian Lindsey had no portion of his thoughts
at that first interview with Marian Grey.
Motioning her to a chair, he sat down at a httle
distance and conversed with her pleasantly, asking
about her journey, making inquiries after Mrs.
Sheldon's family, and experiencing a most unac-
countable sensation when he saw how she blushed
at the mention of William Gordon ! Ben was next
talked about, and Marian was growing eloquent in
his praise, when suddenly a sight met her view
which sent the hot blood from her cheek and lip.
In the hall and where Frederic could not see her,
Alice stood, her hands clasped and slightly raised,
her lips apart, her head bent forward, and her ear
turned toward the door. She had started for the
parlor and come thus far, when she, too, caught the
tone which had affected Frederic, and her head
grew dizzy with the bewildering sound, for to her
it brought memories of Marian. Had she come?
Was she there with Frederic and Miss Grey ? She
waited to hear the sound repeated, wondering why
Miss Grey did not join in the conversation. It
came again, and a shade of disappointment flitted
over the face of the child, for this time it did not
seem quite so natural as at first, and she knew, too,
that it was Miss Grey who spoke, for her subject
was Ben Butterworth.
" What is it ?" Frederic asked, observing that
Miss Grey stopped suddenly in the midst of a re-
mark.
Marian pointed toward the spot where Alice
stood, but before Frederic had time to step forward,
the loud ring of the bell started Alice from her list-
ening attitude.
" The little girl, she acts so singular," said Ma-
rian, thinking she must make some explanation.
" She's bHnd, you know," Frederic answered in a
low tone, and going into the hall, he met Alice, just-
284 MARIAN GREY.
as a servant opened the outer door, and a stranger
entered, asking for Mr. Raymond.
" In a moment," said Frederic, and leading Alice
up to. Marian, he continued, " Your teacher," and
then left the two together.
For an instant there was perfect silence, and
Marian could hear the beating of her heart, while
she watched the wonder and perplexity in the eyes
riveted upon her, as if for once they had broken
from their prison walls and could discern what was
before them.
Alice was now nearly thirteen, but her figure was
so slight, and her features so child-like, that few
would have guessed her more than nine, unless they
judged by her mature, womanly mind. To Marian
she seemed unchanged ; and unable to restrain her-
self, she drew the child to her, and kissing her fore-
head, said to her kindly :
" You are Alice, my pupil, I am sure. Alice
what ?"
" Alice Raymond," and the sightless eyes never
moved for an instant from the questioner's face.
" Are you very nearly relafted to Mr. Raymond ?"
Marian asked, and Alice replied :
" Second cousin, that's all. But he has been
more than a brother to me since since "
The perplexed, mystified look increased on Alice's
face, and her gaze grew more intense as she con-
tinued : " Since Marian went away."
There was a moment's stillness, and then the
hand which hitherto had rested on Marian's lap was
raised until it reached her head, where it lay very
lightly, though to Marian it seemed like the weight
of a thousand pounds, and she felt every hair priqkle
at its root when the bhnd girl said to her :
"Ain't you Marian?"
" Yes, Marian Grey. Didn't you know my first
name ?" was the answer, spoken so deliberately
that Marian was astonished at herself.
THE MEETING. 285
There was a quivering of the lids, and the tears
rolled down Alice's cheeks, for with this calm re-
ply, uttered so naturally, the hope she had scarcely
dared to cherish passed away, and she said sadly :
" It cannot be her."
" What makes you cry, darling ?" Marian asked,
choking back her own tears, which were just ready
to flow, and which did gush forth in torrents, when
Alice answered :
" Oh, I wish I wasn't blind to-night !"
This surely was a good cause for weeping, and
pressing the little one to her bosom, Marian cried
over her for a few moments ; then drying her eyes,
she said :
" Why to-night more than any other time ?"
" Because I want so much to know how you
look," Alice returned, adding immediately : " May
I feel of your face ? It's the only way I have of
seeing."
" Certainly," Marian answered ; and the fingers
wandered slowly over every feature, but lingering
longest on the hair.
" What color is it ?" she asked, winding one of
the curls around her finger.
" Some call it auburn, some chestnut, and some
a mixture of both," was the reply, and Alice con-
tinued her investigations by mentally comparing its
length with a standard she had in her own mind.
The two did not agree, for the curls she remem-
bered were longer and far more wiry than the silken
tresses of Miss Grey.
" How tall are you ?" she asked, and Marian tried
to laugh, although every nerve was thrilling with
fear, for she knew she was passing through a dan-
gerous test.
" Rather tall," she repHed, standing up. " Yes,
very tall, some would say. Put up your hand and
286 MARIAN GREY,
Alice did as she requested, and her tears came
faster as she whispered : " You're the tallest."
" Did you think we had met before ?" Marian
asked, and then the sobs of the child burst forth
unrestrained.
Burying her face in Marian's lap, Alice cried, " I
don't know what I thought, only you don't seem
to me like I supposed you would. You make me
tremble so, and I keep thinking of somebody we
lost long ago. At first your voice sounded so nat-
ural, that I knew most she was here, but you ain't
like her. You're taller and fatter, and handsomer,
I reckon, and yet there is something about you that
makes my heart beat so fast. Oh, I wish I could
see what it is. What made God make me blind ?"
Never before had Marian heard a murmur from
the unfortunate child, and it seemed to her cruel
not to whisper words of comfort in her ear. But
she could not do it yet, and so she kissed her say-
ing : " Did you love this other one so very much ?"
" Yes, very, very much," was Alice's reply, " and
it hurts me to think we cannot find her. I thought
we surely should to-day, for we went there, Fred-
eric and I went where she used to live, and she
wasn't there. It was a dreary place, and Frederic
groaned out loud to think she ever lived there, but
we got her cat."
" Her cat ?" and Marian started eagerly.
" Yes," said Alice, " Frederic gave three dollars
for it." And forgetting her late grief in this new
interest, she told how they knew it was Marian's,
and then as Miss Grey expressed a wish to see it,
she started in quest of it, just as Frederic appeared,
telling them dinner was ready.
" Mrs. Jones used to sit here ; and I now give
the place to you," Frederic said, motioning to the
seat at one end of the table and himself sitting
down opposite, with Alice upon his right.
Jfl^rian became her new position well, and sQ
THE MEETING. 287
Frederic thought as he watched her. He could not
forbear looking at her, even though he saw that it
embarrassed her for she was so fresh, so fair, so
modest while there was about her an indescribable
something which he could not define.
Involuntarily his mind went back to Redstone
Hall, when another Marian sat opposite and did for
him the ofifice this one was doing. The contrast
between the two was great, but, with a nobleness
worthy of the man, he thought " Marian Grey is
far more beautiful, it is true, but Marian Lindsey
was my wife."
Dinner being over, Marian went, at Alice's re-
quest, to see the cat, which was safely confined in
a candle box, " by way of taming her," Alice said.
" I think there's no need of that," Marian said,
stroking her soft coat. " I am sure she will not run
away. What do you propose calling her ?"
" Marian, I reckon, only you might not want her
named after you, and it wouldn't be, for it's the
other one."
" I haven't the least objection," Miss Grey said,
" only Marian will sound oddly. Suppose you call
her ' Spottie,' there's a cunning white spot between
her eyes."
"Yes, Alice, let that be the name," said a voice
behind them, and turning, Marian saw Frederic,
who had all the time been standing near and watch-
ing them, as, like two children, they knelt together
by the candle-box and gave the cat its milk Ma-
rian and Alice, side by side, just as they used to be
of old just as Frederic had seen them many a
time.
The tableau was a familiar one, and so he felt it
to be, though he could not define the reason. The
tall, beautiful girl before him bore no resemblance
to the Marian of Redstone Hall, and still nothing
phe did seemed strange or new to him.
" J certainly have dre^nje^ of her," ^e said, whn,
288 MARIAN GREY.
lifting up her head she smiled on Ah'ce as she used
to do. " I have dreamed of her just as I some-
times dream of places, and see them afterwards in
waking."
This conclusion was entirely satisfactory, and he
returned with the girls to the parlor, while " Spot-
tie " followed after, hovering near Marian, whose
low spoken words and gentle caresses had reawak-
ened the affection which had perhaps been dormant
during the last years.
" Will you play for us. Miss Grey ?" Frederic
said, and without a word of apology, Marian seated
herself at the piano,whose rich .mellow tones roused
her enthusiasm at once, and she played more than
usually well, while Alice stood by listening eagerly,
and Frederic looked on, admiring the beautiful
hands which swept the keys so skillfully.
The evening passed delightfully, and when at a
late hour Marian bade Frederic good-night, and
went to her own chamber, her heart was almost too
full for utterance, for she felt that the long, dark
night was over, and the dawn she had waited for
so long was breaking at last around her. Alice,
who had been permitted to sit up so long as she did,
caught something of the same spirit. " It was almost
as nice as if Marian really were there," she said ;
and she came twice to kiss her governess, while on
her face was a most satisfied expression as she nes-
tled among her pillows, and listened to the footsteps
in the adjoining chamber where Marian made her
nightly toilet.
" Oh, I wish she'd let me sleep with her," she
thought. " It would be a heap more like having
Marian back." And, when all was still, she stepped
upon the floor and glided to the bedside of Marian,
who was not aware of her approach until a voice
whispered in her ear :
" May I stay here with you ? I've been making
t?^Jieve that you was Marian our Marian, I qjeftt)
LIFE AT RIVERSIDE. 289
and I want to sleep with you so much, just as I
used to do with her may I ?"
" Yes, darhng," was the answer, as Marian folded
her arms lovingly around the neck of the blind girl,
whose warm cheek was pressed against her own.
And there, just as they were used to do in the
old Kentucky home, ere sorrow had come to either,
they lay side by side, Marian and Alice, the one
dreaming of the Marian come back to her again,
and the other, that to her the gates of Paradise
were opening, and she saw the glory shining
through, just as in Frederic Raymond's eyes she
had seen the glimmer of the love-light which was
yet to overshadow her, and brighten her future
pathway.
CHAPTER XXVI.
LIFE AT RIVERSIDE.
It was a joyful waking which came to Marian
next morning, and when, fresh and glowing from
her invigorating bath, she descended to the piazza,
she was surprised at finding Frederic there before
her, looking haggard and pale, as if the boon of
sleep had been denied to him. After Marian and
Alice had bidden him good-night, he, too, had re-
tired to his room, which was directly under theirs ;
and sitting in his arm-chair, he had listened to the
footsteps above, readily distingishing one from the
other, and experiencing unconsciously a delicious
feeling of comfort in knowing that the long-talked-
of Marian Grey had come to him at last, and that
she was even more beautiful than he had imagined
her to be from Will Gordon's desqription, He;
290 MARIAN GREY.
would keep her with him, too, he said, until the
other one was found, if that should ever be ; and
then, as the footsteps and the murmur of voices in
the chamber above him ceased, and all about the
house was still, his heart went out after the other
one, demanding of the solitude around to show him
where she was ; to lead him to her so that he could
bring her back to the home where each day he was
wanting her more and more. And the solitude
thus questioned invariably carried his thonghts to
Marian Grey, whose girlish beauty had made so
strong an impression upon his mind. " How would
the two compare ?" he asked. " Would not the
governess far outshine the wife ? Would not the
contrast be a painful one ?"
" No, no," he said ; "for though Marian Lindsay
is not so beautiful as Marian Grey, she was gentle,
pure and good." And then, as he sought his pillow,
he went back again in fancy to that feverish sick-
room and the tender care which alone had saved
him from death ; while mingled with this remem-
brance were confused thoughts of Marian Grey,
who seemed a part of everything for turn which
way he would, her eyes were sure to shine upon
him ; and once, when, for a few moments, he fell
into a troubled sleep, she said to him, " I am the
Marian you seek."
Then this vision faded, and he saw a little grave,
on whose humble stone was written, " The Heiress
of Redstone Hall," and with a nervous start he
woke, only to doze and dream again, until at last
he was glad when the dawn came stealing across
the misty river, and looked in at his window. The
sun was not up when he arose, and going out upon
the piazza, tried by walking to gain the rest the
night had failed to bring. As he walked, Spottie
came purring to his side, rubbing against his feet,
and looking into hj face as if she would tell him, if
LIFE AT RIVERSIDE. 29 1
she could, that the lost one had returned, and was
safe beneath his roof.
Frederic could not be said to care particularly for
cats,"but there was a charm connected with this one
gamboling at his feet, and he did not think it an
unmanly act to stoop down and caress it for the
sake of her who had often had it in her arms.
" Can you tell me nothing of your mistress," he
said aloud, for he thought himself alone.
Instantly the cat, whose ear had caught a sound
he did not hear, bounded toward the door where
Marian Grey was standing. Advancing toward her
Frederic said, ' Yon must excuse me. Miss Grey.
I am not often guilty of petting cats, but this
one has a peculiar attraction for me, inasmuch as
it once belonged to to Mrs. Raymond," and
Frederic felt vastly relieved to think he had actu-
ally spoken of his wife to Marian Grey, and called
her Mrs. Raymond. He knew Will Gordon had told
her the story, and when he saw how the color came
and went upon her cheek, he fancied that it arose
from the delicacy she would naturally feel in talk-
ing with him of his runaway wife. He was glad he
had introduced the subject, and she could continue
it or not, as she chose. Marian hardly knew how
to reply, for though she longed to hear what he
had to say of Mrs. Raymond, she scarcely dared
trust herself to question him.
At last, however, she ventured to say, " Yes,
Alice told me that it was once your wife's. She is
dead, isn't she ?"
Frederic started, and walking off a few paces,
repHed, " Marian dead ! not that I know of ! Did
you ever hear that she was?" and he came back
to Marian, looking at her so earnestly that she
colored as she repHed :
" Mr. Gordon told me something of her ; and I
had the impression that "
She did not know how to finish the sentence,
292 MARIAN GREY.
and she was glad to hear an uncertain step upon
the stairs, as that was an excuse for her to break
off abruptly, and go to Alice, who had come down
in quest of her, expressing much surprise that she
should rise so early and dress so quietly.
"Mrs. Jones used to make such a noise coughing
and sneezing," she said, " that she always woke
me, while Isabel never got up till breakfast was
ready, and sometimes not then, when we were in
Kentucky. Negroes were made to wait on her,
she said. She'll be coming over here to call and
see how you look. I heard her asking Mrs. Rus-
sell last week if you were pretty, and she said "
" Never mind what she said," suggested Marian,
adding laughingly, " I have heard of Miss Hunting-
ton before. Will Gordon told me of her, and Ben,
too. He saw her in Kentucky ; so you see, I am
tolerably well posted in your affairs ;" and she
turned towards Frederic, who was about to answer,
when Alice, who had climbed into a chair, and was
standing with her arm around the young man's neck,
chimed in :
" If Mr. Gordon told you that Frederic liked her,
it isn't so, for he don't ; do you, Frederic ?"
" I like all the ladies," was his reply ; and as the
breakfast bell just then rang, the conversation
ceased, and they entered the house together, Alice
holding fast to Marian's hand, and dancing along
like a joyous bird.
"You seem very happy this morning," Frederic
said, smiling down upon the happy child.
"I am," she replied. " I'm most as happy as I
should be if we had found Marian yesterday.
Wouldn't it be splendid if this were really Marian,
and wouldn't you be glad ?"
Frederic Raymond did not say anything ; but as
he looked at the figure in white presiding a second
time so gracefully at his table, he fancied that it
would not be a hard matter for any man to be
LIFE At RIVERSIDE. 205
glad If Marian Grey were his wife. Breakfast being
over, Alice assumed the responsibiliy of showing
her teacher the place.
"You were here once, I know," she said, "and
left me those flowers, but you hadn't time then to
see. half. There's a tree down in the garden, where
Frederic's name is cut in the bark, and Marian
Lindsey's, too. You must see that ;" and she led
her off to the spot where John had seen her crying
the day before. " I ain't going to study a bit for
ever so long. Frederic says I needn't," said Alice.
"I'm going to have aright nice time with you."
And Marian was not sorry, for nothing could please
her better than rambling with Alice over what was
once her home.
Very rapidly the first few days passed away, and
before a week had gone by, Marian understood
tolerably well the place which Marian Lindsey
occupied in her husband's affections, and she
needed not the letter received from William Gor-
don, to tell her that the Frederic Raymond of to-
day was not the same from whose presence She had
once fled with a breaking heart. He was greatly
changed, and if she had loved him in the early days
of her girlhood, her heart clung to him now with
an affection tenfold stronger than she had ever
known before. From Alice, who was very com-
municative, she learned many things of which she
little dreamed, when, in New York, she was hiding
from her husband, and believing that he hated her.
Alice liked nothing better than to talk of Marian,
and one afternoon, when Frederic was in New
York, and the two girls were sitting together in
their pleasant chamber, she told the sad story in
her own childish way, accepting her companion's
tears, which fell like rain, as tokens of sympathy for
the lost one.
" Frederic cried just like he was a woman," she
said, " when he came up from the river, cold, and
294 MARIAN GREY.
wet, and sick, and told us they could not find her.
I remember, too, how he groaned when I asked him
what made her kill herself ; she didn't, though,"
she added quickly, as she heard Marian's exclama-
tion of horror at the very idea ; " she wasn't even
dead, but we thought she was, and we mourned
for her so much. The house was like a funeral all
the time till Isabel came." ,
" And how was it then ?" Marian asked.
Alice did not reply immediately, and as Marian
saw the shadow which flitted over her face, she
pressed her hands together nervously, for she
fancied that she knew what Redstone Hall was
like when Isabel, her rival, came.
" You were telling me about the house after Miss
Huntington's arrival," she rejoined, as Alice showed
no signs of continuing the conversation, but sat
with her eyes fixed upon the floor as if she were
thinking of something, far back in the past.
At Marian's remark she started, and with the
same dreamy, perplexed look upon her face, re-
plied :
" Perhaps i ought not to tell ; but you seem so
near to me that I don't believe Frederic would
care. He's got over it, too, but he loved Isabel,"
and Alice's voice sank to a wi.lsper, as if afraid the
walls would hear. " He loved her a heap better
than he did poor dear Marian, who somehow found
it out that night, and rather than be his wife when
he didn't want her, she ran away, you know."
" Yes, yes, I know," Marian gasped, while Alice,
continued, " And so when Isabel came, he couldn't
help loving her some, I suppose, though Dinah
thought he could, and she used to scold mightily
when she heard her singing and playing, as she did
all the time, so as to get Frederic in there," and
Alice's tone and manner were so much like old
Dinah, and so highly expressive of her meaning,
that Marian could not forbear smiling. " I talked
LIFE AT RIVERSIDE. Hg^
to Frederic one night," said Alice, " and told him I
didn't believe Marian was dead, and I reckon I
made him think so, too, for he promised he would
wait for her ten years."
" Will he marry then, if he does not find her?"
Marian asked, by way of calling out the little girl,
who replied :
" I suppose he won't live all his life alone : at
any rate, he said he wouldn't. Oh, Miss Grey!"
and Alice started so quickly that Marian started,
too ; " I'd a heap rather Marian would be his wife
than anybody, because he married her first ; but if
she don't come back, can't you guess what I wish
would be?" and Alice wound her arms around the
neck of Marian, who did guess, but could not
embody her guessing in words.
" Did Mr. Raymond never hear from her?" she
asked, and resuming her seat, Alice replied :
"Yes, and that's the mystery. One cold March
night when Isabel was dressing for a party, and
was just as cross as she could be, there came a let-
ter from Sarah Green, saying she was dead and
buried with canker-rash."
" Dead !" Marian exclaimed. " When ? Where ?"
" In New York," answered Alice ; and Marian
listened to the story of her supposed decease, won-
dering, as Frederic had often done, whence the
letter came, and why it had been sent.
" It must have been a plan of Ben's to see what
he would do," she thought ; and she listened again,
with burning cheeks and beating heart, while Alice
told of Frederic's grief when he read that she was
dead.
" I know he cried," said Alice, " for there were
tears on his face, and he sat so still, and held me so
close to him that I could hear his heart thump so
hard," and she illustrated by striking her tiny fist
upon the table.
Then she told how some time after she had inter-
29^ itlARIAN GREY.
rupted Frederic in the parlor, just as he was asking
Isabel to be his wife, and had almost convinced him
again of Marian's existence.
" Blessed Alice," said Marian, involuntarily.
"You have been Miss Lindsey's good angel, and
kept her husband from falling."
" I couldn't help it," answered Alice. " I knew
she was alive ; and I was so glad when he started
for New York. I was sure he'd find her ; and he
did. There is no doubt about it. She took care
of him a few days, and left him when Isabel came.
Your brother Ben the nice man who gave me the
bracelet telegraphed for her to go ; and you would
suppose she was crazy she flew around so, order-
ing the negroes, and knocking Dud down flat be-
cause he couldn't run fast enough to get out of her
way. That made Aunt Hetty, his grandmother,
mad, and she yellowed Isabel's collar that she was
ironing. If I hadn't been blind I should have cried
myself so, those dreadful days when we expected
to hear Frederic was dead, for next to Marian I
love him the best. He's real good to me ; and
when I asked him once what made him pet me so
he said : 'Because our dear, lost Marian loved you,
and you loved her.' "
" Did he call her his ' dear, lost Marian ?' " and
the eyes of the speaker sparkled with delight, while
across her mind there flitted the half-formed reso-
lution that before the sun had set, Frederic Ray-
mond should know the whole.
Before Alice could answer this question there
was a ring at the door, and a servant brought to
Miss Grey Isabel Huntington's card.
" I knew she'd call," said Ahce. " She wants to
see how you look ; but I don't care, for Frederic
says you're a heap the handsoinest ; I asked him
last night, after you quit playing and had left the
room."
The knowledge that Frederic Raymond preferred
LIFE AT RIVERSIDE, 297
her face to that of Isabel made Marian far more
self-possessad than she would otherwise have been,
as she went down to meet her visitor, whose call
was prompted from mere curiosity, and not from
any friendliness she felt towards Marian Grey.
Isabel had heard much of Marian's beauty from
those who had met her since her arrival at Riverside,
and she had come to see if rumor were correct.
During the last three years she had not improved
materially, for her disappointment in failing to win
Frederic Raymond had soured a disposition never
particularly amiable, and she was now a censorious,
fault-finding woman of twenty-five, on the lookout
for a husband, and trembling lest the dreaded age
of thirty should find her still unmarried. For
Frederic she affected a feeling of contempt ; insin-
uating that he was mean that his property was
not gained honestly ; that she knew something
which she could tell but shouldn't all of which
had but little effect in a place where he was so
much better known than herself. And still, had
Frederic Raymond evinced the slightest interest in
her, she would gladly have met him more than half
the way, for the love she really felt for him once
had never died away. The story of Marian's exist-
ence she had repudiated at first, and in the excite-
ment of going south, and the incidents connected
with her sojourn there, she had failed to speak of it
to Mrs. Rivers, choosing rather to make her friends
believe that she had dehberately refused the owner
of Redstone Hall. Recently, however, and since
her arrival at Riverside, she had indirectly circu-
lated the story, and Frederic had more than once
been questioned as to its authenticity. Greatly to
Isabel's chagrin he took no pains to conceal the
fact, but frankly sppke of Mrs. Raymond as a per-
son who had been, and who, he hoped, was still a
living reality. Very narrowly Isabel watched the
proceedings at Riverside, and when she heard that
298 MARIAN GREV.
Alice's new governess was in some way connected
with the " gawky peddler " whom she remembered,
she sneered at her as a person of no refinement,
marvelling greatly at the praises bestowed upon
her. At last, curious to see for herself, she donned
her richest robes, and now, in the parlor at River-
side, sat awaiting the appearance of Miss Grey.
"Let her be what she will, Frederic can't marry
her, and that's some consolation," she thought, just
as Marian appeared, and, assuming her haughtiest
manner, she arose and bowed to Frederic Ray-
mond's wife.
Coldly, inquisitively, and almost impudently, Isa-
bel scrutinized the graceful girl, mentally acknowl-
edging that she was beautiful, and hating her for
it. With a great effort, Marian concealed her own
agitation, and replied politely to the first common-
place remarks addressed to her, as to how she liked
Riverside, and if this was her first visit there.
"No," she answered to this last question "I
came here once with Ben, who you remember was
at Redstone Hall."
" I could not well forget him. His odd Yankee
ways furnished gossip for many a day among the
negroes." And Isabel tossed her head scornfully,
as if Ben Burt were a creature far beneath her
notice.
After a little, she spoke of Mr. Raymond, asking
Marian, finally, what she thought of him, and say-
ing she supposed she knew he was a married man.
" I know he has been married, but is there any
certainty that his wife is still living ?" Marian asked,
for the sake of hearing her visitor's remarks.
" Any certainty ! Of course there is," said Isabel,
experiencing at once a pang of jealousy lest the
humble Marian Grey had dared to think of Frederic
as a widower, and hence a marriageable man. " Of
course she's living, though, I must say, he takes no
great pains to find her. He did look for her a lit-
LIFE AT RIVERSIDE. 299
tie, I believe, after he was sick in New York ; but
he did it more to divert his mind from a very mor-
tifying disappointment than from any affection he
felt for her, and it was this which prompted him to
go to New York at all."
" What disappointment ?" Marian asked, and af-
fecting to be embarrassed, Isabel replied :
" It would be unbecoming in me to say what the
nature of it was, and I referred to it thoughtlessly.
Pray, forget it. Miss Grey;" and she turned the
leaves of a handsomely bound volume lying on the
table, with well-feigned modesty.
Marian understood her at once, and was glad
that Isabel was too intent upon an engraving to
observe her agitation. Notwithstanding what Alice
said, Frederic had offered himself to Isabel, and
her refusal had sent him to New York, where he
hoped to forget his mortification, and where sick-
ness had overtaken him. In the kindness of her
heart Isabel had come to him, and the words of af-
fection which she had heard her speak to Fred-
eric were prompted by pity rather than love, as
she then supposed. And after Isabel had left him,
he had looked for her merely by way of excitement,
and not because he cared to find her. Such were
the thoughts which flashed upon Marian's mind,
and destroyed her half-formed resolution of telling
Frederic that night. She did not know Isabel, and
she could not understand why she should be guilty
of a falsehood to her a perfect stranger.
As they sat talking, there came along the grav-
eled walk a step familiar to them both, and the
color deepened on their cheeks ; while in the light
which shone in the eyes of blue, and flashed from
the eyes of black, there was a spark of jealousy,
as if each were reading the secret thoughts of the
other.
Frederic had returned from the city earlier than
was his custom, for he usually spent the entire day ;
366 Marian grey.
but there was something now to draw him home
besides the blind girl, and he was conscious of
quickening his footsteps as he drew near his house,
and of watching for the sight of a face, which, he
knew, would smile a welcome. He heard her voice
in the parlor, and before he was aware of it, he
stood in the presence of Isabel. Marian watched
him narrowly, marveling at his perfect self-posses-
sion ; for Isabel was to him an object of such in-
difference that he experienced far less emotion in
meeting her than in speaking to Marian Grey, and
asking her if she had been lonely.
" You men are so vain," Isabel said, " and think
we miss you so much. Now I'll venture to say
Miss Grey has not thought of you all day. Why
should she ?"
"Why shouldn't she?" Frederic asked, giving
Marian a smile which sent the blood tingling to her
finger-tips.
"Why shouldn't she?" returned Isabel "just
as though we girls ever think of married men. By
the way, have you heard anything definite from
Mrs. Raymond since she left you so suddenly in
New York, or have you given up the search ?"
Marian pitied Frederic, he turned so white, and
almost hated Isabel as she saw the malicious tri-
umph in her eye. Breathlessly she awaited the
answer, which was :
" I shall never abandon the search until I find
her, or know, certainly, that she is dead. I went
to the place where she used to live not long ago."
" Indeed ! What did you learn ?" and a part of
Isabel's assurance left her, for she felt that his
searching for his wife was a reality with him, while
Marian's heart grew hopeful and warm again, as
she listened to Frederic telling Isabel of the dear
old room which had been her home so long.
" I can't conceive what made her run away,"
Isabel said, fixing her eyes upon Frederic, who
LIFE AT RIVERSIDE. 30I
coolly replied, " / can ;" and then turning to Marian
lie commenced a conversation upon an entirely dif-
ferent subject.
Biting her lip with vexation, Isabel arose to go,
saying she should expect to see Miss Grey at her
own house, and that she hoped she would some-
times bring Mr. Raymond with her.
From this time forth Isabel was a frequent visi-
tor at Riverside, where she always managed to say
something which seriously affected Marian's peace
of mind, and led her to distrust the man who was
beginning to feel far more interest in the Marian
found than in the Marian lost. This Isabel saw,
and while her bosom rankled with envy towards
her rival, she exulted in the thought that, love her
as he might, he dared not tell her of his love, for a
barrier a living wife had built between the two.
Though professing the utmost regard for Miss Grey,
she did not hesitate to speak against her when an
opportunity occurred, but her shafts fell harmlessly,
for where Marian was known she was esteemed,
and the wily woman gave up the contest at last
and waited anxiously to see the end.
Towards the last of October, Ben, who was now
a small grocer in a New England village, came to
Riverside for the first time since Marian's resi-
dence there. Never before had he appeared so
happy, and his honest face was all aglow with his
delight at seeing Marian at last where she be-
longed.
" You fit in like an odd scissor," he said to her
when they were alone. " Ain't it most time to
tell ?"
" Not yet," returned Marian. " I would rather
wait until I am back at Redstone Hall. We are
going there next month, and then, too, I wish I
knew how much of Isabel's insinuations to be-
lieve."
" Isabel be hanged," said Ben. " She lied, I
302 MARIAN GREY.
know, and mebby that letter was some of her dev-
ilment."
Marian replied by telling him of the letter from
Sarah Green, and asking if he could explain it.
But it was all a mystery to him, and he puzzled his
brain with it for a long time, deciding at last that
it might have come from some of her Kentucky
acquaintance, who chanced to be in New York, and
sent it just for mischief.
" But they overshot the mark," he said. " You
ain't dead by a great sight, and I b'lieve I'd let the
cat out pretty soon. That makes me think you
wrote that Spottiewas here. Where is the critter?
'Twould be good for sore eyes to see her again."
Marian went in quest of her, and on her return
found Alice with Ben, who, in her presence, dared
not manifest all that he felt at sight of his old
friend. Taking the animal on his lap he looked at
it for a moment with quivering chin ; then stroking
its soft fur, he said, with a prolongation of each
syllable, which rendered the sound ludicrous,
" Grumal-kin -^oor gri-mal-kin" and a tear dropped
on its back.
" What !" exclaimed Alice, coming to his side,
" what did you call the kitty ?"
" Gri-mal-kin" Ben answered, adding by way of
explanation, " that, I b'lieve, is the Latin for cat."
Marian could hot forbear laughing aloud, and as
Ben joined with her, it served to keep him from
crying outright, as he otherwise might have done.
" What are you going to do with it when you go
south ?" he asked, and upon Alice's replying that
they should leave it with Mrs. Russell, he proposed
taking it instead and keeping it until spring, when
he could return it.
This suggestion was warmly seconded by Ma-
rian, and as Alice finally yielded the point, Ben
carried Spottie off the next morning, promising
the little girl that it should be well cared for in hei
REDSTONE HALL. ^03
absence. Alice shed a few tears at parting with
her pet, but they were like April showers, and
soon passed away in her joyful anticipations of a
speedy removal to Kentucky, for Frederic was
going earlier this season than usual, and the loth
of November was appointed for them to start. If
they met with no delays they would reach Redstone
Hall on the anniversary of Marian's bridal, and to
her it seemed meet that on this day, of all others,
she should return again to her old home, and she
wondered if Frederic, too, would think of it. He
did remember it, for the November days were
always fraught with memories of the past. This
year, however, there was a difference, for though
he thought much of Marian Lindsey, it was not as
he had thought of her before, and he was con-
scious of a most unaccountable sensation of satisfac-
tion in knowing that, even if she could not go with
him to Kentucky, her place would be tolerably
well filled by Marian Grey.
CHAPTER XXVII.
REDSTONE HALL.
News had been received at Redstone Hall, that
the family would be there on the 13th ; but Fred-
eric's coming home was a common occurrence now,
and did not create as great a sensation among his
servants as it once had done. Still it was an event
of considerable importance, particularly as he was
to bring with him a new governess, who, judging
from his apparent anxiety to have everything in
order, was a person of more distinction than the
304 MARIAN GREY.
prosy Mrs. Jones, or even the brilliant Isabel, Old
Dinah accordingly worked herself up to her usual
pitch of excitement, and then, long before it was
time, started off her spouse, who was to meet his
master at Big Spring Station, and who waited im-
patiently at least an hour the arrival of the train.
" We are here at last," Frederic said, when they
stopped at the station ; and he touched the arm of
Marian, who sat leaning against a window, -her
head bent down, and her thoughts in such a wild
tumult that she scarcely comprehended what she
was doing or where she was.
During the entire journey she had labored under
the highest excitement, which manifested itself
sometimes in snatches of merry songs, sometimes
in laughter almost hysterical, and again, when no
one saw her, in floods of tears which failed to cool
her feverish impatience. It seemed to her she
could not wait, and she counted every mile-stone,
while her breath came faster and faster as she
knew they were almost there. With a shudder
she glanced at the clump of trees under whose
shadow she had hidden six years before, and those
who noticed her face as she passed out of the car,
marveled at its deathly pallor.
" Jest gone with consumption," was Phil's mental
comment ; and he wondered at the curious glance
which she gave to him. " 'Spects she never seen a
nigger before," he muttered ; and as by this time
the travelers were comfortably seated in the car-
riage, he chirrupped to his horses, and they moved
rapidly on toward Redstone Hall.
Marian did not try longer to conceal her delight,
and Frederic watched her wonderingly, asJwith
glowing cheeks and beaming eyes, she looked first
from one window and then from the other, the
color deepening on her face and the pallor increas-
ing about her mouth, as way-mark after way-mark
was passed and recognized.
REDSTONE HALL. 305
" You seem very much excited," he said to her at
last ; and, assuming as calm a manner as possible,
she replied :
" For years back the one cherished object of my
life was to visit Kentucky ; and now that I am
really here, I am so glad ! oh, so glad !" and Fred-
eric could see the gladness shining in her eyes, and
making her so wondrously beautiful to look upon
that he was sorry when the twilight shadows began
to fall, and partially obscured his vision.
" There is the house," he said, pointing to the
chimneys, just discernible above the trees.
But Marian had seen them first, and when, as they
turned a corner, the entire building came in view,
she sank back upon the cushion, dizzy and sick
with the thoughts which came crowding so fast upon
her. The day had been soft and balmy, and min-
gled with the gathering darkness was the yellow,
hazy light the sun of the Indian summer often
leaves upon the hills. The mist lay white upon the
river, while here and there a shower of leaves came
rustling down from the tall trees, which grew in such
profusion around the old stone house. And Marian
saw everything heard everything and when the
horses' hoofs struck upon the bridge, where once
they fancied she had stood and plunged into eter-
nity, an icy chill ran through her frame, depriving
her of the power to speak or move. Through the
twilight she saw the dusky forms gathered expect-
antly around the cabin doors saw the full, rounded
figure of Dinah on the piazza saw the vine-wreathed
pillar where, six years ago that very night, she had
leaned with a breaking heart, and wept her pas-
sionate adieu to the man who, sitting opposite to
her now, little dreamed of what was passing in her
mind. In a distant hemp-field she heard the song
some negroes sang, returning from their labor, and
as gh^ listened to the music, her te^rs began to
306 MARIAN GREY.
flow, It seemed so natural so much like the olden
time.
Suddenly, as they drew nearer and the song of
the negroes ceased, the stillness was broken by the
deafening yell which Bruno, from his kennel sent
up. His voice had been the last to bid the runa-
way good bye, and it was the first to welcome her
back again. With a stifled sob of joy, she drew her
veil still closer over her face, and when at last they
stopped, and the light from the hall shone out upon
her, she sat in the corner of the carriage motionless
and still.
"Come, Miss Grey," Frederic said, when Alice
had been safely deposited and was folded to Dinah's
bosom, " Come, Miss Grey, are you sleeping ?"
and he touched the hand which lay cold and life-
less upon her lap. " She has fainted," he cried.
" The journey and excitement have over-taxed her
strength," and, taking her in his arms as if she had
been a little child, he bore her into the house and
up to her own chamber, for he rightly guessed that
she would rather be there when she returned to
consciousness.
Laying her upon the lounge, he removed her hat,
and then looked anxiously into her face, which in
its helplessness seemed more beautiful than ever.
" Has she come to, yet ?" asked the puffing
Dinah, appearing at the door. " It's narves what
ailed her, I reckon, and I told Lyd to put some
delirian to the steep. That'll quiet her soonest of
anything."
Frederic knew that his services were no longer
needed, and after glancing about the room to see
that everything was right, he went down stairs,
leaving Marian to the care of Dinah, who, as her
patient began to show signs of returning conscious-
ness, undressed her as soon as possible and placed
her in the bed, herself sitting by and bathing her
face and hands in camphor and cologne. The faii^t-
REDSTONE HALL. 307
ing fit had passed away, but it was succeeded by a
feeling of such delicious languor that for a long
time Marian lay perfectly still, thinking how nice it
was to be again in her old room with Dinah sitting
by, and once as the hard, black hand rested on her
forehead, she took it between her own, and said in-
voluntarily, " Deiar Aunt Dinah, I thank you so
much."
" Blessed lamb," whispered the old negress, "they
told her my name, I 'spect. 'Pears like she's nigher
to me than strangers mostly is."
Twice that evening there came up the stairs a
step which stopped at the door, and Dinah as often
as she answered the knock, came back to Marian
and said, " It's marster axin' is you any wus."
" Tell him I am only tired, not sick," Marian
would say, and turning on her pillow, she wept
tears of joy to think that Frederic should thus care
for her.
At last, having drank the " delirian tea," more to
please old Dinah than from any faith she had in its
virtues, she fell into a quiet sleep, which was dis-
turbed but twice, once, when at nine o'clock Bruno
was loosed from his confinement, and with a loud
howl went rushing past the window, and once, when
Alice crept carefully to her side, holding her breath
lest she should arouse her, and whispering low her
nightly prayer. Then Marian moved as if about to
waken, and the blind girl thought she heard her say,
" Darling Alice," but she was not sure, and she
nestled down beside her, sleeping before long the
dreamless sleep which always came to her after a
day of unusual fatigue.
The dawn was just stealing into the room, next
morning, when Marian awoke with a vague, uncer-
tain feeling as to where she was, or what had hap-
pened. Before long, however, she remembered it
all ; and stepping upon the floor, went to the win-
(Jow, to feast her eyes once more upon her hpn)?.
308 MARIAN GREY.
Before her lay the garden, and though the Novem-
ber frosts had marred its Summer glory, it was still
beautiful to her ; and hastily dressing herself, she
went out to visit her olden haunts, strolling leisurely
on until she reached a little summer-house which
had been built since she was there. Over the door
were some pencil marks, in Frederic's hand-writing;
and though the rains had partly washed the letters
away, there were still enough remaining for her to
know that " Marian Lindsey " had been written
there.
" He has sometimes thought of me," she said ;
and she was about entering the arbor, when there
rose upon the air a terrific yell, which, had she been
an intruder, would have sent her flying from the
spot. But she did not even tremble, and she
awaited fearlessly the approach of the huge crea-
ture, which, bristling with rage, came tearing down
the walk, his eyeballs glowing like coals of fire, and
his head lowered as if ready for attack.
Bruno was still on guard, and when, in the dis-
tance, he caught a sight of Marian, he started with
a lion-like bound, which soon brought him near to
the brave girl, who calmly watched his coming, and
when he was close upon her, said to him :
" Good old Bruno ! Don't you know me,
Bruno ?"
At the first sound of her voice, the fire left the
mastiff's eye, for he, too, caught the tone which had
so startled Alice, and which puzzled Frederic every
day ; still, he was not quite assured, and he came
rushing on, while she continued speaking gently to
him. With a bound, half playful, half ferocious,
he sprang upon her, and, catching him around the
neck, she passed her hand caressingly over his
shaggy mane, saying to him, softly,
" I am Marian, Bruno ! Don't you know me ?"
Then, he answered her not with a human
tongue, it is true j but she understood his language,
REDSTONE HALL. 30$
and by the low, peculiar cry of joy he gave as he
crouched upon the ground, she knew that she was
recognized. Of all who had loved her at Redstone
Hall, none remembered her save the noble dog,
who licked her hands, her, dress, her feet ; while
his body quivered with the intense delight he could
not speak.
At last, as she knelt down beside him, and laid
her cheek against his neck, he gave a deep, prolonged
howl, which was answered at a little distance by a
cry of horror, and turning quickly Marian saw
Frederic hastening toward the spot, his appearance
indicative of alarm. He had been roused from
sleep by the yell which Bruno gave when he first
caught sight of Marian, and before he had time to
think what it could be, Alice knocked at his door,
exclaiming :
" Oh, Frederic, Miss Grey, I am sure, has gone
into the garden, and Bruno is not yet secured. I
heard him bark just like he did last year when he
mangled black Andy so. What if he should tear
Miss Grey ?"
Frederic waited for no more, but dressing him-
self quickly he hastened out, sickening with fear as
he came upon the fresh tracks the dog had made
when going down the walk. He saw Marian's dress,
and through the lattice he caught a sight of Bruno.
" He has her down !" he thought ; and for an
instant the pulsations of his heart stood still, nor
did they resume their wonted beat even after he
saw the attitude of Marian Grey, and his watch-
dog, Bruno.
" Marian !" he began, for he could not be formal
then. " Marian ! leave him, I entreat you. He is
cruelly savage with strangers."
" But I have tamed him, you see," she answered,
winding her arms closer around his neck, while he
licked her face and hair.
Wonderingly Frederic looked on, and all the
31(3 MARIAN GREY.
while there came to him no thought that the two
had met before that the hand patting Bruno's
head had fed him many a time and that amid all
the changes which six years had made, the saga-
cious animal had recognized his mistress and play-
mate, Marian Lindsey.
" It must be that you can win all hearts," he said,
marveling at her secret power.
Shaking back her curls, and glancing upward into
his face, Marian answered involuntarily :
" No, not all. There is one I would have given
worlds to win, but it cast me off, just when I needed
comfort the most."
She spoke impulsively, and as she spoke there
arose within her the wish that he, like Bruno, might
know her then and there. But he did not. He
only remembered what Will Gordon had said of
her hopeless attachment, and her apparent confes-
sion of the same to him smote heavily upon his
heart, though why he, a married man, should
care, he could not tell. He didn't really care he
thought ; he only pitied her, and by way of encour-
agement he said, " Even that may yet be won ;"
and while he said it, there came over him a sensa-
tion of dreariness, as if the winning of that heart
would necessarily take from him something which
was becoming more and more essential to his
happiness.
Their conversation was interrupted by Josh, who
was Bruno's keeper, and had come to chain him for
the day. Marian knew him at once, though he had
changed from the short, thick lad of twelve to the
taller youth of seventeen ; and when, as he saw her
position with Bruno, he exclaimed, "Goo-goo-good
Lord !" she turned her face toward him and an-
swered laughingly :
" I have a secret for charming dogs."
Involuntarily Josh's old cloth cap came off, while
over his countenance there flitted an expression as
REbSTONE HALL. 31 1
if that voice were not entirely strange to him.
Touching his master's arm and pointing to the lady,
he stammered out :
" Ha-ha-hain't I s-s-seen her afore ?"
" I think not," answered Frederic, and with a
doubtful shake of the head, Josh attempted to lead
Bruno away.
But Bruno would not move, and clung so obsti-
nately to Marian that she arose, and patting his
side, said playfully :
" I shall be obliged to go with him, I guess.
Lead the way, boy."
With eyes protruding like saucers. Josh turned
back, followed by Marian and Bruno, the latter of
whom offered no resistance when his mistress bade
him enter his kennel, though he made wondrous
efforts to escape when he saw that she was leaving
him.
" In the name of the Lord," exclaimed Hetty,
shading her eyes with her hand, to be sure that she
was right, " if thar ain't the young lady shettin' up
the dog. I never knowed the like o' that."
Then as Marian came towards the kitchen, she
continued, " 'Pears like I've seen her somewhar."
" Ye-ye-yes," chimed in Josh, who had walked
faster than Marian. " Who-o-oo is she, Hetty ?"
Marian had by this time reached the door, where
she stood smiling pleasantly upon the blacks, but
not daring to call them by name until she saw Di-
nah, whocourtesied low, and coming forward asked,
" Is you better this mornin' ?"
" Yes, quite well, thank you. Are these your
companions ?" asked Marian, anxious for an oppor-
tunity to talk with her old friends.
" Yes, honey," answered Dinah. " This is Hetty,
and this is Lyd, and this "
She didn't finish the sentence, for Hetty, who
had been earnestly scanning Marian's features,
grasped her dress, saying :
312 MARIAN GRfiV.
" Whar was you born ?"
" Jest like them Higginses," muttered Dinah.
" In course, Miss Grey don't want to be twitted
with bein' a Yankee the fust thing."
But Hetty had no intention of casting reflections
upon the place of Marian's birth. Like Josh, she
had detected something familiar in the young girl's
face, and twice she had swept her hand across her
eyes to clear away the mist, and see, if possible, what
it was which puzzled her so much.
" I was born a great many miles from here," said
Marian, and before Hetty could reply. Josh, whose
gaze had all the time been riveted upon her, stut-
tered out :
" Sh-sh-she is-s^s-s like M-m-miss Marian."
Yes, this was the likeness they had seen, but Ma,
rian would rather the first recognition should come
from another source, and she hastened to reply :
" Oh, Mrs. Raymond, you mean. Alice noticed
it when I first went to Riverside. You suppose
your young mistress dead, do you not ?"
Instantly Dinah's woolen apron was called inta
use, while she said :
" Yes, poor dear lamb, if thar's any truth in them
Scripter sayin's, she's a burnin' and a shinin' light
in de kingdom come." And the old negresa
launched forth into a long eulogy, in the midst of
which Frederic appeared in quest of Marian.
" I am listening to praises of your wife," she said,
and there was a mischievous triumph in her eye as
she saw how his forehead flushed, for he was be-
ginning to be slightly annoyed when she, as she
often did, alluded to his wife.
Why need she thrust that memory continually
upon him ? Was it not enough for him to know
that somewhere in the world there was a wife, and
that he would rather hear any one else speak of her
than Marian Grey.
" Dinah can be very eloquent at times," he said,
REDSTONE HALL. 3I3
"but come with me to Alice. She has been sadly
frightened on your account," and he led the way to
the piazza, where the blind girl was waiting for
them.
Breakfast being over, Marian and Alice sought
the parlor, where, instead of the old-fashioned in-
strument which the former remembered as standing
there, she found a new and beautifully carved
piano.
" Frederic ordered this on purpose to please
you," whispered Alice. " He said it was a shame
for you to play on the other rattling thing."'
This was sufificient to call out Marian's wildest
strains, and as a matter of course, the entire band
of servants gathered about the door to listen, just
as they once had done when the performer was Isa-
bel. As was quite natural, they yielded their
preference to the last comer, old Hetty acknowledg-
ing that even " Miss Beatrice couldn't beat that."
It would seem that Marian Grey was destined to
take all hearts by storm, for before the day was
over her virtues had been discussed in the kitchen
and by the cabin fire, while even the gallant Josh,
at his work in the hemp-field, attempted a song,
which he meant to be laudatory of her charms, but
as he was somewhat lacking in poetical talent, his
music ran finally into the well-known ballad of
" Mary Ann," which suited his purpose quite as
well.
Meantime, Marian, stealing away from Alice,
quietly explored every nook and corner of the
house, going last to the library, and seating herself
in the chair where she had sat when penning her
last farewell to Frederic. Where was that letter
now ? She wished that she could see it, and, with^
out any expectation of finding it, she pressed what
she knew was the secret spring to a private drawer.
It yielded to her touch the drawer came open,
and there before her lay her letter. She knew
3 14 kAblAN GfeteY.
it by its superscription, and by its tear-stained,
soiled appearance. She had wept over it herself,
but she knew her tears alone had never blurred and
blotted like this. Frederic's had mingled with them,
and her heart was trembling with joy when another
object caught her eye. The glove she had
dropped upon the bridge was there, wrapped in a
sheet of paper, and with it the handkerchief !
" Frederic has saved them all," she thought, as
she continued her investigation, coming at last
upon a picture of herself, taken when she was just
fifteen.
" Oh, horror !" she cried, laughing, until the tears
ran, at the forlorn little face which looked upon her
so demurely. "Frederic must enjoy looking at
you and thinking you are his wife," she said, and
she felt a thrill of pride in knowing that she bore
scarcely the slightest resemblance to that picture.
There was a similarity in the features and in the
way the hair grew around the forehead, while the
eyes were really alike. But the likeness extended
no further, and she did not wonder that none, save
Bruno, had recognized her. Returning the picture
to its place, she was about to leave the room, when
Frederic came in, appearing somewhat surprised to
find her sitting in his chair as if she had a perfect
right so to do. At first she was too much confused
to apologize, but she managed at last to say :
" This cozy room attracted me, and I took the
liberty to enter. You have a very fine library, I
think ; some of the books must have been your
father's."
It was the books, of course, which she came to
see, and sitting down opposite to her, Frederic
talked with her about them, until she chanced to
spy a portrait, put away behind the sofa with its
face turned to the wall.
" Whose is it ?" she asked, directing Frederic's
REDStONE HALL. 3t5
attention to it. " Whose is it, and why is it hidden
there ?"
" It is an unfinished portrait of Mrs. Raymond,
taken from a daguerrotype of her when she was
only fifteen. But the artist did not understand his
business, and it looks even worse than the orig-
inal."
This last was spoken bitterly, and Marian felt
the blood rising to her cheeks.
" I never even told Alice of it," he continued,
" but put it in here, where I hide all my secrets."
" Oh, Mr. Raymond, please let me see it," Ma-
rian said. " I lived in New York a long time, and
perhaps I may have met her, or known her under
some other name ? May I see it ?" and she was
advancing toward the sofa, when Frederic seized
both her hands, and holding them in his, said :
" Miss Grey, you must excuse me for refusing your
request. Poor Marian was far from being hand-
some, and I sometimes thought her positively ugly.
She is certainly so in the portrait, and a creature
as highly gifted with beauty as you, might laugh
at her plain features, but if you did " He paused
a moment, and Marian's eyelashes fell beneath his
steady gaze " And if you did," he continued, " 1
never could like you again, for she was my wife,
and as such must be respected."
Marian could not tell why it was, but Frederic's
words and manner affected her painfully. She
Tialf feared she had offended him by her eagerness
to see the portrait, while mingled with this was a
feeling of pity for poor, plain Marian Lindsey, as
she probably looked upon the canvas, and a deep
respect for Frederic, who would, if possible, pro-
tect her from even the semblance of insult. Her
heart was already full, and, releasing her hands
from Frederic's, she resumed her seat, and burst
into tears, while Frederic paced the room, wonder-
ing what, under the circumstances, he was expected
3l6 MARIAN GREY.
to do. He knew just how to soothe Alice, but
Marian Grey was a different individual. He could
not take her in his lap and kiss away her tears,
but he could at least speak to her ; and he did at
last, laying his hand as near the one grasping the
table edge as he dared, and saying, very gently :
" If I spoke harshly to you, Miss Grey, I am
very sorry ; I really did not intend to make you
cry. I only felt that I could not bear to hear
you, of all others, laugh at my poor Marian, and
so refused your request. Will you forgive me ?"
And by some chance, as he looked another way,
his hand did touch hers, and held it ! He did not
think that an insult to the portrait at all. The
touch of Marian Grey's fingers drove all other
ideas from his mind, and for one instant he was
supremely happy.
From the first, he had thought of Marian Grey
as a beautiful young girl, whom some man would
one day delight to call his own ; but the possibility
of loving her himself had never occurred to him
until now, when, like a flash of lightning, the con-
viction burst upon him that, spite of his marriage
vow spite of the humble origin which would once
have shocked his pride Marian Grey had won a
place in his heart from which he must dislodge her.
But how ? He could not send her away, for she
seemed a part of himself, but he would stifle his
love, he said, and, as the best means of doing so,
he would talk to her often of his wife as a person
who certainly had an existence, and would some
day come back to him ; so, when Marian replied :
" I feared you were angry with me, Mr. Raymond ;
I would not have asked to see the portrait had I
supposed you really cared," he drew his chair at a
respectful distance and said : " I cannot explain
the matter to you, but if you knew the whole sad
story of my marriage and the circumstances which
led to it, you would not wonder that I am som-
REDSTONE HALL. 317
what sensitive upon the subject. I used to think
beauty the principal thing I should require in a
wife, but poor Marian had none of that, and were
you to see the wretched likeness you would receive
altogether too unfavorable an impression of her,
for, notwithstanding her plain face, she was far too
good for me."
"And you really wish to find her?" Marian
asked, and Frederic, a little surprised at the ques-
tion, replied :
"Yes, I really wish to find her," adding, as he
saw a peculiar expression flit over Marian's face :
"wouldn't you, too, be better pleased if Redstone
Hall had a mistress ?"
"Yes, provided that mistress were your wife,
Marian Lindsey," was the ready answer; and Fred-
eric was conscious of an uneasy sensation, for Miss
Grey's words would indicate that the presence of
his wife would give her real pleasure.
Of course, then, she did not care for him, as he
cared for her ; and why should she ? He asked
himself this question many times after the chair
opposite him was vacant, and she had left him there
alone. Why should she, when she came to him
with the knowledge that he was already bound to
another. She might not have liked him, perhaps,
had he been free, though, in that case, he could
have won her love, and compelled her to forget the
man who did not care for her. Taking the chair
she had just vacated, he tried to fancy that Marian
Lindsey had never crossed his path, and Marian
Grey had never loved another. It was a pleasant
picture he drew of himself were Marian Grey his
wife, and, as he thought, it seemed to him more
and more that it must one day be so. She would
be his at last, and the sun of his domestic bliss
would shine upon him all the brighter for the
dreary darkness which had overshadowed him so
long. From this dream of happiness there 9ame a
3l8 MARIAN GREY.
waking, and he said aloud : " It cannot be, and the
hardest part of all to bear is the thought that, but
for my dastardly, unmanly act, it might, perhaps,
have been but now, never ! Oh, Marian Grey !
Marian Grey! I wish we had never met !"
" Frederic, didn't you hear me coming ? I made
a heap of noise/' said a voice close to his side, and
Alice's arm was thrown across his neck.
She had heard all he was saying, but she did not
comprehend it until he uttered the name of Marian
Grey, and then the truth flashed upon her.
" Poor Frederic," she said, soothingly; "I pity
you so much, for though it is wicked, I am sure
you cannot help it."
" Help what ?" he asked, rather impatiently, for
this one secret he hoped to bury from the whole
world, but the blind girl had discovered it; and she
answered, unhesitatingly :
" Can't help loving Marian Grey. I've been
fearful you would," she continued, as he made no
reply. " I did not see how you could well help it,
either, she is so beautiful and good, and every night
I pray 'that if our own Marian is really dead, God
will let us know."
This was an entire change in Alice. Hitherto
she had pleaded a living Marian now she sug-
gested one dead, but Frederic repelled the thought
at once.
" Marian was not dead," he said, " and though
he admired Miss Grey he had no right to love her.
He didn't intend to, either, and if Alice had dis-
covered anything he trusted she would forget it."
That night he joined the young girls in the par-
lor, and compelled himself to listen while Marian
made the walls echo with her merry music. But
he would not look at her, and at an early hour he
sought his chamber, where the livelong night he
fought with the love which, now that he acknowl-
edged its e?i:i3t?n?e, grew rapidly in intensity anJ
REDSTONE HALL. 319
strength. It was not like the love he had felt for
Isabel it was deeper, purer, more absorbing, and
what was stranger far than all, he could not feel
that it was wicked, and he trembled when he
thought how hardened he had become.
The next day, which was Sunday, he determined
to see as little of Marian as possible, but when at
the breakfast-table she asked him in her usual
frank, open-hearted way to go with her to church,
he could not refuse, and he went, feeling a glow of
pride at the sensation he knew she was creating,
and wondering why she should be so excited.
" I cannot keep the secret much longer," Marian
thought, as she looked upon the familiar faces of
her friends and longed to hear them call her by her
real name. " I will at least tell Alice who I am."
When church was out, Mrs. Rivers, who still lived
at her father's, pressed forward for an introduction,
and, after it was over, whispered a few words to
Frederic, who replied : " Not in the least," so de-
cidedly that Marian heard him, and wondered what
Agnes's remark could have been. She was not long
left in doubt, for, as they were riding home, Fred-
eric turned to her and said : " Mrs. Rivers thinks
you look like my wife."
Marian's cheeks were scarlet as she replied :
" Josh and Hetty thought so, too, and it is pos-
sible there may be a resemblance."
" Not the slightest," returned Frederic, half
vexed that any one should presume to liken the
beautiful girl at his side to one as plain as he had
always considered Marian Lindsey to be.
Leaning back in the carriage, he relapsed into a
thoughtful mood, which was interrupted by Marian's
asking, " if he believed he would know his wife in
case he met her accidentally ?"
" Know her ? Yes from all the world !" was
the hasty answer ; and Frederic did not speak agaiji
until they stopped at their own door,
320 MARIAN GREY.
That night, as Marian sat with Alice in their
chamber, she said to the little girl :
" If you could have any wish gratified which you
chose to make, what would it be ?"
For an instant Alice hesitated then she said :
" At first I thought I'd rather have my sight
but only for a moment and then I wished, if Ma-
rian were not dead, she would come back to us, for
I'm afraid Frederic is getting bad again, though he
cannot help it, I'm sure." '
" What do you mean ?" Marian asked, and Alice
replied :
"Don't you know? Can't you guess? Don't
you hear it in his voice when he speaks to you ?"
Marian made no response, and Alice continued :
" Frederic seems determined to love everybody
better than Marian, and though I love you more
than I can tell, I want her to come back so much."
" And if you knew she were coming, when would
you rather it should be ?" Marian asked, and Alice
replied :
" Now to-night ; but as this is impossible, I'd be
satisfied with Christmas. Yes, on the whole, I'd
rather it would be then ; I should call her our
Christmas Gift, and it would be the dearest, sweet-
est one that I could have."
" Darling Alice," Marian thought, " your wish
shall be gratified."
And kissing the blind girl affectionately, she re-
solved that on the coming Christmas, one at least
of the inmates of Redstone Hall should know that
Marian Grey was only another name for the runaway
Marian Lindsey.
TELLING ALICE. 32 1
CHAPTER XXVIII.
TELLING ALICE.
One by one the November days went by and the
hazy Indian Summer light faded from the Ken-
tucky hills, where now the December sun was shin-
ing cold and clear. And as the weeks passed away,
there hung over Redstone Hall a dark, portentous
cloud, and they who had waited so eagerly the com-
ing of the holidays trembled lest the merry Christ-
mas song should prove a funeral dirge for tile pet
and darling of them all. Alice was dying, so the
physician said, while Dinah, too, had prophesied
that before the New Year came the eyes which
never in this world had looked upon the light would
be opened to the glories of the better land.
For many days and nights the fever had burned
in the young girl's veins, but it had left her now,
and like a fragile lily she lay among her pillows,
talking of Heaven and the grave as something very
near to her. , Marian never for a moment left her,
except t'p take the rest she absolutely needed.
Frederic, too, often shared her vigils, feeling almost
as anxious for one as for the other. Both were
very dear to him, and Marian, as she witnessed his
tender care of Alice, and his anxiety for herself lest
her strength should be overtasked, felt more and
more that he was worthy of her love. Alice, too,
appreciated his goodness as she had never done
before, and once when he sat alone with her, and
Marian was asleep, she passed her hand caressingly
over his face, and said :
" Dear Frederic, you have been so kind to me,
that I am sure God has SQip? good in store for
you."
322 MARIAN CREY.
Then as she remembered what would probably
be the greatest good to him, she continued, " I
know what's in your heart, and I pity you so much,
but there is light ahead ; I've thought strange
things, and dreamed strange dreams since I lay
here so sick, and as I once was certain Marian was
alive, so now I'm almost certain that she's dead."
" Hush, Alice, hush," said Frederic, but Alice did
not heed him, and continued
" I never saw her in this world, and maybe I
shan't know her right away, though, next to mother,
I reckon she'll be the first to welcome me to Heaven,
if she's there, and I know she is, or we should have
heard from her. I shall tell her of her old home,
and how we mourned for her when we^thought she
was dead. I don't know what it was that made her
go away, ,but I shall tell her you repented of the
act, and how you looked for her so long, and that
if you had found her you would have loved her,
sure. That will not be a lie, will it, Frederic ?'
" No, darling, no," was the answer, and Alice con-
tinued :
" Then when I have explained all, I'll steal away
from Heaven, just long enough to come and tell
you she is there. You'll be in the library, maybe,
and I reckon 'twill be dark, though if you'd any ra-
ther, I'll come in the daytime, and, when you feel
there's somebody near, somebody you can't see, you
may know that it is me come to say that you are
free to love the other Marian."
"Oh AHce, don't," Frederic said, for it made his
heart bleed afresh to hear her talk of what he had
no hope would ever be.
But Alice's faith was stronger, and to Marian
Grey she sometimes talked in a similar strain, say-
ing, " she knew she should meet the other one in
Heaven," and Marian felt that she must undeceive
her. "It may possibly make her better," she
thought, and when, at l^gt, Christmas eve had come.
TELLING ALICE. 323
and it was her turn to watch that night, she deter-
mined to tell her, if she found that she had strength
to bear it. One by one, the family servants retired,
and when at last they were alone, Marian drew her
chair close beside the bed, wondering how she
should commence, and what effect it would have
upon the little girl.
" I've been dreaming of Marian to-day, and I
thought she looked like you do but she don't, of
course ; and I wonder how I'll know her for sure
from my mother, for she, too, was young when she
died, if it were you. Miss Grey, I could tell you
so easily, for the one who sang the sweetest song
and had the fairest face would certainly be Marian
Grey : but the other Marian how shall I know her
think ?"
Leaning forward so that her cheek touched the
pale one of the sick girl, Marian said :
" Wouldn't you know her by her voice ?"
"I'm afraid not," answered Alice; "I thought
you were she at first when I heard you speak."
" How is it now, darling?" Marian asked, in a
voice so tremulous that Alice started, and her face
flushed as she replied : "You are not like her now,
except at times, and then it's all so queer.
There's a mystery about you. Miss Grey and
seems sometimes just like I didn't know what to
think you puzzle me so !"
" Shall I tell you, Alice ? Have you strength to
hear who and what I am ?" Marian asked ; and
Alice answered eagerly :
" Yes tell me do ?"
"And you'll promise not to faint, nor scream,
nor reveal it to anybody, unless I say you may ?"
" It must be something terrible to make me faint
or scream !"
" Not terrible, dearest, but strange !" and sitting
down upon the bed, Marian wound her arm around
the little girl.
324 MARIAN GREY.
It was a hazardous thing telling that secret then,
but Marian did not realize what she was doing, and
in as calm a voice as she could command, she
began :
" People call me Marian Grey, but that is not my
name !"
" Not Marian Grey ! Who are you, then,
Marian what ?"
Marian did not reply to this question, but said
instead : " I had seen you before that night at
Riverside."
" Seen me where ?" and the little girl trembled
with an indefinable dread of the shock which she
instinctively felt was waiting for her.
" I had seen you many times," Marian said, " and
that is why my voice is familiar. Put your hands
upon my face again, and maybe you will know it."
" I can't, I can't ! you frighten me so !" Alice
gasped, and Marian continued :
" I must have changed much, for they who used
to know me have never suspected that I am in their
midst again none but Bruno. Do you remember
my power over him ? Bruno and I were playmates
together."
Marian paused and gazed earnestly at the child,
who lay panting in her arms, her face upturned and
the blind eyes fixed upon hers with an intensity
she had never before seen equaled. In the still-
ness of the room she could hear the beating of
Alice's heart, and see the bed-clothes rise and fall
with every throb.
" Alice," she said at last, " don't you know me
now ?"
" Yes" and over the white face there shone a
smile of almost seraphic sweetness. "You are
Marian my Marian Frederic's Marian Dinah's
Marian All of us Marian t" and with a low cry
the blind girl crept close to the bosom of her long-
lost friend,
TELLTNC ALICE, 32$
Stretcliing out her arms she wound them round
Marian's neck, and kissed her lips, her cheek, her
forehead, her hair, whispering all the time, " Blessed
Marian precious Marian beautiful Marian our
Marian Frederic's, and mine, and everybody s.
Oh, I don't want to go to heaven now : I'd rather
stay with you. Call Frederic, quick, and tell him ?
Why haven't you told him before? Ho, Frederic,
come here !" and the feeble voice raised to its
highest pitch, went ringing through the room and
penetrated to the adjoining chamber, where, since
Alice's illness, Federic had slept.
" Alice," said Marian, " if you love me, you will
not tell him now. I am not ready yet."
" What if I should die ?" Alice asked, and Marian
replied :
" You won't die. I know you won't. Promise,
Alice, promise," she continued, as she heard Fred-
eric's step in the hall.
" How can I how can I ? It will choke me to
death !" was Alice's answer, and the next moment
Frederic had crossed the threshold of the door.
" What is it, Miss Grey ?" he asked. " Didn't
you call ?"
" Alice is rather excited, that's all," said Marian,
" and you can go back. We do not wish to dis-
turb you."
"Frederic," came in a faint whisper from the
bedside, and knowing that father remonstrance was
useless, Marian stood like a rock, while Frederic
went to the child, who lay with her head thrown
back, the tears rolling down her cheeks, and the
great joy of what she had heard shining out all
over her little face.
"Did you want me, birdie?" he asked, but
before he had ceased speaking, Marian was at his
side.
Alice knew she was there, and she pressed both
326 MARIAN GREY.
hands upon her lips to force back the secret she
had been forbidden to divulge.
" Is she delirious ?" Frederic asked, and shaking
her head, Alice whispered : " No, no, but happy,
so happy. Oh, Frederic, I don't want to die !
Must I? If I take a heap of doctor's stuff, will I
get well, think?"
" I hope so," said Frederic, his suspicions of
insanity increasing.
" Give me your hand," she continued, " and
yours, too, Miss Grey."
Both were extended, and joining them together
she said, " Love her, Frederic. Love her all you
want to. You may you may. It isn't wicked.
Oh, Marian, Marian."
The last word was a whisper, and as it died
away, Marian seized Frederic's arm, and said,
beseechingly : " Please leave the room, Mr. Ray-
mond. You see she is excited, and I can quiet her
best alone. Will you go ?"
With a feeling that he scarcely understood what
the whole proceeding meant, and why he had been
called in, if he must be summarily dismissed, Fred-
eric went out, leaving Marian alone with Alice.
" Why didn't you let me tell him ?" the latter
asked, and Marian replied, " I shall tell him by and
by, but I am not ready yet, and you must not
betray me."
"I'll try," said Alice, " but 'tis so hard. I had
to bite my tongue to keep the words from coming.
Where have you been ? Why didn't you come to
us before. How came you so beautiful so grand ?"
Alice asked, all in the same breath.
But Marian absolutely refused to answer the
questions until she had become quiet and been re-
freshed with sleep.
" All in good time, dearest," she said, " but you
must rest now. You are wearing out too fast, and
you do not want to die."
TELLING ALIC^. 327
This was the right chord to touch, and it had the
desired effect.
" Let me ask one question, and say one thing,"
Said Alice, " and I won't talk another word till
morning. When you are ready may / tell Frederic,
if I am not dead ?"
"Yes," was the ready answer, and Alice con-
tinued : " Isn't it almost morning ?"
" Yes, dear."
" And when it is, won't it be Christmas day ?"
" Yes, but you have asked three questions instead
of one."
"I know I know ; but what I want to say is
tkis : I wished my Christmas gift might be Marian,
and it is. Last year it was a beautiful little pony,
but you are worth ten hundred million ponies.
Oh, I'm so glad so glad," and on the childish face
there was a look of perfect happiness.
Even after she shut her eyes and tried to sleep
her lips continued to move, and Marian could hear
the words : " Our own Marian our blessed Ma-
rian."
The excitement was too much for Alice, and when
next morning the physician came, he pronounced
her worse than she had been the previous night.
" But I ain't going to die," Alice said, resolutely;
"I can't die now," and it was this very determiua-
tion on her part which did more to save her life
than all the doctor's drugs or Dinah's wonderful
herbs.
For many days she seemed hovering between
life and death, while Marian never for a moment
left her, and Alice was more quiet when she was
sitting by, holding her feverish hand ; she seemed
to have lost all her desire to tell, though she per-
sisted in calling her teacher Marian, and a look of
pain always flitted over her face when she heard
her addressed as Miss Grey. Sometimes she would
328 MARlA^f GREY.
start up, and whisper, " Are you Marian for sure
our Marian, I mean ?"
" Yes, Marian Lindsey, sure," would be the an-
swer, and the little girl would fall away again into
a half unconscious state, a smile of joy wreathing
her white lips, and an expression of peace resting
on her face.
At last, as the New Year's morning dawned, she
woke from a deep, unbroken sleep, and Marian anc^
Frederic, who watched beside her, knew that she
was saved. There were weeks of convalescence,
and Dinah often wondered at Alice's patience ii
staying so long and willingly in the chamber whe^
she had suffered so much. But to Alice that sici-
room was a second paradise, and Marian the bright
angel whose presence made all the sunlight of her
life. i
Gradually, as she could bear it, Marian told her
everything which had come to her since she left
Redstone Hall, and Alice's eyes grew strangely
bright when she heard that the bracelet she had
always prized so much was made from Marian's
hair, and that Ben's visit to Kentucky was all a
plan of his to see if Frederic were married. Greatly
was she shocked when she heard of the letter which
had almost taken Marian's hfe.
' Frederic never did that cruel thing," she knew.
" But it was in his handwriting," Marian said,
" and until the mystery is cleared away, I cannot
forgive him."
For a long time Alice sat absorbed in thought,
then suddenly starting forward, she cried : " I know,
Isabel did it. I'm sure she did. I remember it all
so plain."
"Isabel," Marian repeated; "how could she?
What do you mean ?"
" Why," returned Alice, " you say you sent- it a
few weeks after you went away, and I remember so
well Frederic's going to Lexington one day, be-
tfetLli^G ALtCfi. P^
cause that was the time it came to me that you
were not dead. It was the first morning, too, that
Isabel heard my lessons, and she scolded because
I didn't remember quick, when I was thinking all
the time of you, and my heart was aching so. For
some reason, I can't tell what, I showed her that
note you left for me. You remember it ; don't
you ? It read :
" ' Darling Alice ! Precious Alice : If my heart
were not already broken, it would break in leaving
you.'"
" Yes, yes ; I remember," said Marian, and Alice
continued :
" She said your hand-writing was queer, when she
gave me back the note. That evening, Josh came
back from Frankfort with a heap of letters for
Frederic, and one of them I know was from you.
I was standing out under the big maple tree think-
ing of you, when Isabel came and asked to take the
note again, and I let her have it. Ever so long
after, I started to go into the library, for I heard
somebody rustling papers, and I didn't know but
Dud was doing mischief. Just as I got to the door,
I heard a voice like Isabel's exclaim, ' It is from
her, but he shall never see it, never ;' or something
like that, and when I called to her she wouldn't
answer me until I got close to her, and then she
laughed as if she was choked, and said she was try-
ing to frighten me. Marian, that her was you, and
that he was Frederic. She copied his writing, and
sent the letter back because she wanted Frederic
herself."
" Could she do such a thing," Marian said, more
to herself than to Alice, who replied :
" She can do anything ; for Dinah says she's one
of the , I reckon that I'll skip that word in
there, because it's almost swearing, but it means
Satan s unaccountables" and Alice's voice dropped
to a whisper at what she fancied to be profanity.
330 MARIAN GREY.
Marian could understand why Isabel should do
such a wicked thing even better than Alice, and
after reflecting upon it for a time, she accepted it
as a fact, and even suggested the possibility of
Isabel's having been the author of the letter from
Sarah Green.
" She was ! she was !" Alice cried, starting to her
feet ! " It's just like her for she thought Frederic
would surely want to marry her then. I know she
wrote it, and managed to get it to New York some
how ;" and as is often the case poor Isabel was com-
pelled to bear more than her share of the fraud,
for Marian, too, believed that she had been in
some way implicated with the letter from Sarah
Green.
" And I may tell Frederic now mayn't I ?" said
Alice. " Suppose we set to-morrow, when he's in
the library among the letters. He'll wonder what
I'm coming in there for, all wrapped up in shawls.
But he'll know plenty quick, for it will be just like
me to tell it all at once, and he will be so glad.
Don't you wish it was to-morrow now ?"
Marian could not say she did, but Alice was so
anxious, and had waited so patiently, that she at
last consented, and when at supper she met Fred-
eric as usual, she was conscious of a different feel-
ing towards him than she had ever experienced
before. He seemed unusually dejected, though
exceedingly kind to her, talking but little, it is true,
but evincing, in various ways, the interest he felt
in her, and even asking her to sit with him awhile
before returning to Alice's chamber. There was
evidently something on his mind which he wished
to say, but whatever rt might have been, seven
o'clock found it still unsaid, and as Alice retired at
that hour, Marian arose to go.
" Must you leave me ?" he said, rising too, and ac-
companying her to the door. " Yes, you must !"
TELLIISTG PREDEKIC. 33 1
and Marian little guessed the meaning these three
words implied.
She only felt that she was not indifferent to him
that the story Alice was to tell him on the mor-
row would be received with a quiet kind of happi-
ness at lea^ that he would not bid her go away
as she once had done before and with the blind
girl, she, too, began to think the morrow would
never come.
CHAPTER XXIX.
TELLING FREDERIC.
Hour by hour day by day week by week,
Frederic's love for Marian Grey increased, until
now he could no more control it than he could
stay the mighty torrent in its headlong course. It
was all in vain that he tried to keep Marian Lind-
sey continually before his mind, saying often to
himself : " She is my wife she is alive, and I must
not love another."
He did not care for Marian Lindsey. He did
not wish to find her now he almost hoped he
never should, though even that would avail him
nothing, unless he knew to a certainty that she
were really dead. Perhaps he nev^ could know,
and as he thought of the long years in which he
must live on with that terrible uncertainty forever
haunting him, he pressed his hands upon his fore-
head, and cried aloud : " My punishment is greater
than I can bear. Oh, Marian Grey, can it be that
you, who might have been the angel of my life,
were sent to avenge the wrongs of that other Ma-
rian !"
532 MARIAN GREV
He knew it was wicked, this intense, absorbing
passion for Marian Grey, but he could not feel it
so, and he would have given half his possessions
for the sake of abandoning himself one brief hour
to this love. And she loved him ! He was sure
of it ! He saw it those nights when he watched
with her by Alice's bedside ; he had seen it since
in the sudden flushing of her cheek and the falling
of her eyes when he approached. And it was this
discovery which prompted him to the act he medi-
tated. Not both of them could stay there, himself
and Marian, for he would not have her suffer more
than need be. She had recovered from her first
and early love ; she would get over this, and if
she were only happy, it didn't matter how desolate
her going would leave him, and she must go, he
said. He had come to that decision, sitting alone
in his library, and it had wrung great drops of per-
spiration from his brow and moans of anguish
from his lips. But it must be ^there was no alter-
native, he thought, and in the chair where Marian
Lindsey once had written her farewell, he wrote to
Marian Lindsey's rival that Redstone Hall could
be her home no longer.
"Do not think you have displeased me," he
said, " for this is not why I send you from me.
Both of us cannot stay, and though for Alice's sake
I would gladly keep you here, it must not be. I
am going to New Orleans, to be absent three or
four weeks, and shall not expect to find you here
on my return. You will need money, and I en-
close a check for a thousand dollars. Don't refuse
to take it, for I give it willingly, and though my
conduct is sadly at variance with my words, you
must believe me when I say that in all the world
you have not so true a friend as
Frederic Raymond."
TELLING FREDERIC. 333
Many times he read this letter over, and it was
not until long after midnight that he sought his
pillow, only to toss from side to side with fev-
erish unrest, and he was glad when at last Josh
came in to make the fire, and he knew it was
morning.
"Tell Dinah I will breakfast in my room," he
said, " and say to Phil that he must have the car-
riage ready early, for I am going to New Orleans,
and he will carry me to Frankfort."
" Ye-e-es, sir," was Josh's answer, as he departed
with the message.
" Marster have breakfast in his room, and a goin'
to New Orleans ? In the Lord's name what's hap-
pened him ?" exclaimed Dinah, and when Marian
came down to her solitary meal, she repeated the
story to her, asking if she could explain it.
" Marster's looked desput down in the mouth a
Jong time back," she said. " What you 'spect
'tis ?"
Marian could not tell ; neither did she venture a
sugge.stion, so fearful was she that Frederic's in-
tended departure would interfere with the plan of
which Alice had talked incessantly since daylight.
Hastily finishing her breakfast, she hurried to her
chamber, whither the note had preceded her.
*' Luce brought this to you from Frederic," said
Alice, passing her the letter, "and she says he
looks like he was crazy. Read it and see what he
wants."
Marian tore open the envelope, and read that
she must go again from Redstone Hall, and worse
than all, there was no tangible reason assigned for
the cruel mandate. The check next caught her
eye, and with a proud, haughty look upon her face,
she tore it in fragments and scattered them upon
the floor, for it seemed a mockery for him to offer
what was already hers.
" What is it. Marian ?" Alice asked, and recover-
334 MARIAN GREY.
ing her composure, Marian read her what Frederic
had written, while AHce's face grew white as hers
had done before.
"You go away !" she exclaimed, bounding upon
the floor, and feeling for the warm shawl which
she wore when sitting up. " You won't do any-
such thing. You've as much right here as he has,
and I'm going this minute to tell him so."
She had groped her way to the door and was just
opening it, when Marian held her back, saying :
" You must not go out undressed and barefooted
as you are. The halls are cold. Wait here while
I go and learn the reason of this sudden freak."
" But I want to tell him myself," said Alice, and
Marian replied :
" So you shall, I'll send Dinah to dress you, and
then I will come for you when it's time."
This pacified Alice, who already began to feel
faint with her exertions, and she crept back to bed,
while Marian descended the stairs, going first to
Dinah as she had promised, and then with a beat-
ing heart turning her steps toward the library. It
was much like facing the wild beast in its lair, con-
fronting Frederic in his present savage mood. He
felt himself as if his reason were overturned, for the
deliberate giving up of Marian Grey, and the feel-
ing that he should probably never look upon her
face again, had stirred the very depths of his heart,
and in a state of mind bordering upon distraction,
he was making the necessary preparations for his
hasty journey, when a knock was heard outside the
door.
" Who's there? I'm very busy," was his loud,
imperious answer, but Marian was not to be thus
bafHed, and turning the knob, she entered without
further ceremony, recoiling back a pace or two
when she met the expression of Frederic's eye.
With his hands full of papers, which he was thrust-
ing into his pocket, he turned toward her, saying :
TELLING FREDERIC. 335
' Why are you here, Miss Grey ? Haven't you
caused me pain enough already ? Have you re-
ceived my note ?"
" I have," she answered, advancing still further
into the room. " And I have come to ask you what
it means. You have no right to dismiss me so sud-
denly without an explanation. How have I of-
fended ? You must tell me."
" I said you had not offended," he replied, " and
further than that I can give no explanation."
" I shall not leave your house, nor this room un-
til you do," was her decided answer, and with the
air of one who meant what she said, Marian went
so near to him that he could have touched her had
he chosen.
For an instant the two stood gazing at each other,
Marian never wavering for an instant, while over
Frederic's face there flitted alternately a look of
wonder, admiration, and perplexity. Then that
look passed away and was succeeded by an expres? ,
sion of the deep love he felt for the beautiful girl
standing so fearlessly before him.
" I cannot help it," he said at last, and going to
the door, he turned the key ; then returning to
Marian, he compelled her to sit down beside him
upon the sofa, and passing his arm around her, so
that she could not escape, he began : " You say
you will not leave the room until you know why I
should send you from me. Be it so, then. It
surely cannot be wrong for me to tell, when you
thus tempt me to the act ; so for one brief half-
hour, you are mine mine, Marian, and no power
can save you now from hearing what I have to say."
His looks, even more than his manner, frightened
her, and she said imploringly, " Give me the key,
Mr. Raymond. Unlock the door and I will go
away without hearing the reason."
" I frighten you, then," he answered, in a gentle
tone, " apd ypt, Marian Grey, I would sell my Hfq
33^ MARIAN GREY.
inch by inch rather than harm a hair of your deaf
head. Oh, Marian, Marian, I would to Heaven you
had never crossed my path, for then I should not
have known what it is to love as madly, as hopelessly,
as wickedly, as I love you. What made you come
to me in all your bright, girlish beauty, or why did
Heaven suffer me to love you as I do ? My pun-
ishment was before as great as I could bear, and
now I must suffer this anguish, too. Oh, Marian
Grey, Marian Grey !"
He wound his arms close around her, and she
could feel his breath as his lips almost touched her
cheek. In the words " Marian Grey, Marian Grey,"
there was a deep pathos, as if all the loving tender-
ness of his nature were centered upon that name,
and it brought the tears from her eyes. He saw
them, and said :
" The hardest part of all to me is the knowledge
that you must suffer, too. Forgive me for saying
it, but as I know that I love you, so by similar signs
I know that you love me. Is it not so, darling ?"
Involuntarily she laid her hea^ upon his bosom,
sobbing :
" I have loved you so long so long."
But for her promise to Alice she would have told
him all, but she must keep her word, and when he
rejoined, " It does, indeed seem long since that night
you came to Riverside," she did not undeceive him,
but listened while he continued, " Bless you for
telling me of your love. When you are gone it
will be a comfort for me to think that Marian Grey
once loved me. I say once, for you must overcome
that love. You must tear it out and trample it be-
neath your feet. You can if you try. You are not
as hard, as callous as I am. My heart is like ada-
mant, and though I know that it is wicked to love
you, and to tell you of my love, I cannot help it. I
am a wretch ; and when I tell you, as I must, just
what a wretch I am, it will help you \,o forget me
TELLING FREDERIC. 337
to hate me, it may be. You have heard of my
wife. You know she left me on my bridal night,
and I have never known the joys of wedded bliss
never shall know, for even if she comes back to me
now, / cannot live with her !"
" Oh, Frederic !" And again hot tears trembled
on the hands which Marian clasped before her eyes.
" Don't call me that," Frederic said entreatingly,
as he removed her hands, and held them in his.
" Don't say Frederic, for though it thrills me with
joy to hear you, it is not right. Listen, Marian,
while I tell you why I married her who bears your
name, and then I'm sure you'll hate me nor call
me Frederic again. I have never told but one, and
that was William Gordon. I had thought never to
tell it again, but it is right that you should know.
Marian Lindsey was, or is, the Heiress of Redstone
Hall. All my boasted wealth is hers every cent
of it is hers. But she didn't know it, for " and
Frederic's voice was very sad as he told Marian
Grey how Marian Lindsey was an heiress told her
of his dead parent's fraud of his desire to save
that parent's name from disgrace, and his stronger
desire to save himself from poverty. " So I made
her my wife," he said. " I promised to love and
cherish her, when all the time my heart was longing
for another."
Marian trembled now, as she lay helpless in his
arms, and, observing it, he continued :
" I must confess the whole, and tell you that I
loved, or thought I loved, Isabel Huntington,
though how I could have fancied her is a mystery
to me now. My poor Marian was plain, while Isa-
bel was beautiful, and only Alice kept me from tell-
ing her my love. Alice stayed the act Alice sent
me to New York to look for Marian "
" And did you never hear from her ? Did she
never send you a letter ?" ]VIarian ?.sked, and \\^
j-eplied :
338 MARIAN GREY.
" Never ! If she had I should have known where
to find her."
Then, as briefly as possible, he told of his sick-
ness, and of the little girl who took such care of
him, and who he believed was Marian told, too,
of his weary search for her, and of the many dreary
nights he had passed in thinking of her, and her
probable fate.
" Then you came," he said, " and, struggle as I
would, I could not mourn for Marian Lindsey as I
had done before. I was satisfied to have you here,
until the conviction burst upon me, that far greater
than any affection I had thought I could feel for
that blue-eyed girl, and ten-fold greater than any
love I had felt for Isabel Huntington, was my love
for you. It has worn upon me terribly. Look !"
And pushing back his thick, brown locks, he
showed her where the hair was turning white be-
neath. " These are for you," he said. " There are
furrows upon my face and furrows upon my heart
and can you wonder that I bade you go, and so
no longer tempt me to sin ? And yet, could I
keep you with me, Marian ? Could I hold you to
my bosom just as I hold you now, and know that I
had a right so to do ? a right to call you mine
my Marian my wife ? Not Heaven itself, I'm
sure, has greater happiness in store for those who
merit its bliss than this would be to me ! Oh, why
is the boon denied to me ? Why must I suffer on
through wretched, dreary years, and know that
somewhere in the world there is a Marian Grey,
who might have been my wife ?"
" Let me go for Alice," Marian said, strugghng
to release herself. " There is something she must
tell you."
" Yes, in a moment," he replied, " but promise me
first one thing. The news may come to me that I
am free, and if it does, and you are still unm'arried,
yvill you then be my wife ? Promise me that yoij
TELLING FREDERIC. 339
will, and the remembrance of that promise will help
me to bear a little longer."
" I do !" said Marian, standing up before him,
holding one of his hands in hers. " I promise you,
solemnly, that no other man shall ever call me wife
save you."
There were tears in Frederic's eyes, and his whole
frame quivered with emotion, as, catching at her
dress, for she was moving toward the door, he
added :
" And you will wait for me, darling wait for me
twenty years, if it must be ?"
, There was a world of love and tenderness in the
answering look which Marian gave him as he opened
the door for her to pass out.
Swift as a bird Marian flew up the stairs in quest
of Alice, who was to tell the wretched man that it
was not a sin for him to love Marian Grey.
" Alice, Alice ! Go now go quick !" she ex-
claimed, bursting into the room.
" Go whar for the dear Lord's sake ?" said Di-
nah, who had that moment come up, and conse-
quently had made but little progress in dressing
Alice. " Go whar ? Not down stairs 'strue as
yer born. She'll cotch her death o' cold !"
" Hurry do I" Alice cried, standing first on one
foot and then on the other. " I must tell Fred-
eric something before he goes away. There, he's
going ! Oh, Marian, help !" she fairly screamed,
as she heard the carriage at the door, and Frederic
in the hall below.
Marian was terribly excited, and in her attempts
to assist she only made matters worse by button-
ing the wrong button, putting both stockings on
the same foot, pulling the shoe-lacing into a hard
knot, which baffled all her efforts, while Dinah
worked on leisurely, insisting that Alice "wasn't
gwine down, and if there was anythin' killin' whicl}
s
340 MARIAN GREY.
marster or'to know, Miss Grey could tell him her-
self."
" Yes, Marian, go," said Alice, in despair, as she
heard Dud bid Frederic good-by, and, scarcely con.
scious of what she was about, Marian ran down the
stairs, just as Phil cracked his whip, and the greys
bounded off with a rapidity which left her faint call
of " Stop, Frederick, stop !" far behind.
" I can write to him," she thought, as she slowly
retraced her steps back to Alice, who was bitterly
disappointed, and who, after Dinah was gone, threw
herself upon the bed, refusing to be comforted.
" Three weeks was forever," she said, and she
suggested sending Josh after the traveler, who, in
a most unenviable frame of mind, was riding rap-
idly towards Frankfort.
" No, no," said Marian, " I will write immedi-
ately, as he can get the letter as soon almost as he
reaches New Orleans. It won't be three weeks
before he returns," and she strove to divert the
child's mind by repeating to her as much as she
thought proper of her exciting interview with Fred-
eric.
But Alice could not be comforted, and all that
day she lamented over the mischance which had
taken Frederic away before she could tell him.
" There's Uncle Phil," she said, when, towards
night, she heard the carriage drive into the yard ;
" and, hark ! hark !" she exclaimed, turning her
quick ear in the direction of the sound, and rolling
her bright eye around the room ; " there's a step
on the piazza that sounds like his. He's come
back. I knew he would !" and in her weakness and
excitement the little girl sank exhausted at Mari-
an's feet.
Raising her up, Marian listened breathlessly, but
heard nothing except Phil talking to his horses as
he drove them to the stable.
" He has not come," gh? said, and A^ce replied ;
I-ELLIISTG t'RfeDERiCJ. 34t
" i tell you he has. There there, don't you
hear ?" and Marian's heart gave one great bound
as she, too, heard the well-known footstep upon
the threshold and Frederic speaking to his favorite,
Dud, who had run to meet " his mars," asking for
sugar-plums from New Orleans.
There had been a change in the time-table, and
Frederic did not reach Frankfort until after the
train he intended to take had gone. His first
thought was to remain in the city and wait for the
next train from Lexington. Accordingly he gave
his parting directions to Phil, who, being in no
haste to return, loitered away the morning and a
portion of the afternoon before he turned his horses
homeward. As he was driving up the long hill
which leads from Frankfort into the country be-
yond, he unexpectedly met his master, who had
been to the cemetery, and was just returning to the
Capitol Hotel.
All day Frederic had thought of Marian Grey,
and with each thought it had seemed to him more
and more that he must see her again, if only to
hear her say that she would wait all time for him,
and when he came upon Phil, who, he supposed,
was long ere this at Redstone Hall, his resolution
was taken, and instead of the reproof he knew he
merited, Phil was surprised at hearing his master
say, as he made a motion for him to stop :
" Phil, I am going home."
And thus it was that he returned again to Red-
stone Hall, where his coming was hailed with eager
joy by Marian and Alice, and created much sur-
prise among the servants.
" My 'pinion he's a little out of his head," was
all the satisfaction Phil could give, as he drove the
carriage to the barn, while Frederic, half repenting
of his rashness in returning, and wondering what
good excuse he could make, went to his own room
the one formerly occupied by his father'-^where
342 MARIAN GREY.
he sat before the grate, when Alice appeared, cov-
ered with shawls, and her face all aglow with ex-
citement.
She would not be kept back another moment,
lest he should go off again, so Marian had wrapped
her up and sent her on her mission. Frederic sat
with his face turned toward the fire, and though
by the step he knew who it was that entered the
door, he did not turn his head or evince the least
knowledge of her presence until she said, inquir-
ingly :
" Frederic, are you here ?"
" Yes," was the answer, rather curtly spoken, for
he would rather be alone.
" Frederic !" and the bundle of shawls trembled
violently. " I have come to tell you something
about Marian."
" I don't wish to hear it," was his reply ; and,
nothing daunted, Alice continued :
" But you must hear me. Her name isn't Miss
Grey. She is a married woman, and has a living
husband ; and you "
She did not finish the sentence, for like a tiger
Frederic started up, and seizing her by the shoul-
der, exclaimed : " Marian Grey is not married.
She never had a husband," and as the maddening
thought swept over him, that possibly the blind
girl told him truly, he staggered against the mantel,
where he stood panting for breath, and enduring,
as it were, all the agonies of a lingering, painful
death.
" Sit down," said Alice, and like a child he
obeyed, while she proceeded, " Miss Grey has de-
ceived us all, and it is strange, too, that none of us
should know her but Bruno. Don't you remember
how he wouldn't bite her, just because he knew her
when we didn't. Don't you mind how I told you
once, maybe the Marian who went away would
come back to us some day so beautiful we should
CELLING FREDErIc. 34^
not know her?" " Yes, yes," came in a quick, short
gasp from the arm-chair.
" Well, she has come back ! She called herself
Marian Grey so we would not guess right off who
she was, but she ain't Marian Grey. She's the
other one she's MY MARIAN, Frederic, and your
WIFE "
As Alice was speaking Frederic had risen to his
feet. Drop by drop, every particle of blood re-
ceded from his face, leaving it colorless as ashes.
There was an unnatural light in his eyes, his hands
worked nervously together, his hair seemed start-
ing from its roots, and with his head bent forward,
he stood transfixed, as it were, by the dazzling light
which had burst upon him. Then his lips parted
slowly, and more like a cry than a prayer of thanks-
giving, the words, " I thank thee, O my God," issued
from them. The next moment the air near Alice
was set in rapid motion there was a heavy fall,
and Frederic lay upon the carpet white and still as
a block of marble.
Like lightning Alice flew across the floor, but
swift as were her movements another was there
before her, and, with his head upon her lap, was
pressing kisses upon his lips and dropping tears
upon his face. Marian had stood outside the door,
listening, and when by the fall she knew the inter-
view was ended, she came at once and knelt by
the fainting man, who soon began to show signs of
consciousness. Alice was first to discover this, and
when sure that he would come back to life, she
went from the room, for she knew that she would
not be needed there.
She might have stayed yet a little longer, for the
shock to Frederic had been so sudden and so great,
that though his lips moved and his fingers clutched
at the hand feeling for his pulse, he did not seem
to know anything else, until Marian whispered:
" My husband may I call you so ?"
344 MARIAN GRElV.
Then he started from his lethargy, and, strug-
gling to his feet, clasped her in his arms, weeping
over her passioiiately; and murmuring as he did
so:
" My wife ^my darling-^my wife ! Is it true
that you have come to me again ? Are you my
Marian ?"
Daylight was fading from the room, for the win-
ter sun had set behind the western hills, and leading
her to the window, he turned her face to the light,
gazing rapturously upon it, and saying to her :
" You are mine all mine ! God bless you,
Marian ! My own beautiful Marian my bride
my wife !"
Surely, in this moment of bliss, Marian felt
repaid for all that she had suffered, when, at last, as
thoughts of the dreadful past came over Frederic,
he led her to the sofa, and said, " Can you forgive
me, darling ?" she turned her eyes up to his, and
by their expression of perfect happiness, he knew
she had forgotten the cold, heartless words he spoke
to her, when once, at that very hour, and in that
very place, he asked her to be his. That scene had
faded away, leaving no cloud between them. All
was sunshine and gladness, and with her head rest-
ing on his bosom not timidly, as it had lain there
in the morning, but trustingly, confidingly, as if
that were its rightful resting-place they sat
together until the tinge faded from the western sky,
and the night shadows crept into the room.
More than once Alice stole on tiptoe to the door,
to see if it were time for her to enter, but as often
as she heard the murmur of their voices, she went
noiselessly back, saying to herself : " I won't dis-
turb them yet."
At last, as she came, she stumbled accidentally,
and this woke Marian from the sweetest dream
which ever had come to her.
Telling Frederic. 345
" It is Alice," she said ; and she called to the
little girl, who came gladly, and climbing into Fred-
eric's lap laid her cheek against his own, without
word of comment.
" Blessed Alice, I owe you more than I can
repay," he said.
But for the helpless blind girl, this hour might
never have come to them, and Frederic felt it so,
as he hugged the little creature closer to him, bless-
ing her as his own and Marian's good angel.
Observing that she shivered with the cold, he arose,
and drawing the sofa directly before the fire, re-
sumed his seat again, with Marian between him-
self and Alice, his arm around her neck and his lips
almost constantly meeting hers. He could not re-
move his eyes from her, she seemed to him so
beautiful, with the firelight falling on her face and
shining on her hair. That hair puzzled him, and
he said, half laughingly, half reluctantly, " Your
hair was not always this color."
Marian replied by telling him the change came
after her long illness, and reminding him that she
was the same young girl of whom the Yankee Ben
had spoken when he visited Kentucky.
" And you almost died, then, for me," Frederic
said, kissing the sunny locks.
Just at this point, old Dinah appeared in the
door which, like most Kentucky doors, was left
ajar. She saw Frederic kiss Marian Grey saw
Alice's look of satisfaction as he did so, and in an
instant all the old lady's sense of propriety was
roused to a boiling pitch.
Since Marian had revealed herself to Alice, the
little girl had said to Dinah, by way of preparing
her for the surprise when it should come, that
"there was some doubt concerning the death of
Marian that Frederic believed she had been with
him in New York, and had taken means to find
her." This story was, of course, repeated amtsng
34^ Marian grey.
the servants, some of whom credited it, while others
did not. Among the latter was Dinah. She
wouldn't believe "she had done all her mournin'
for nothinV' and in opposition to Hetty, she per-
sisted in saying Marian was dead. When, how-
ever, she saw her master's familiarity with Miss
Grey, she accepted her young mistress's existence
as a reality, and was terribly incensed against the
offending Marian Grey.
" The trollop !" she muttered. " But I'll bring
proof agin her," and hurrying back to the kitchen,
she told the astonished blacks " how marster done
kissed Miss Grey spang on her har, and on her
mouth, and hugged her into the bargain, when he
didn't know for certain that t'other one was dead ;
and if they didn't believe it, they could go and see
for themselves, provided they went mighty still."
" Tole you he was crazy," said Uncle Phil, start-
ing to see the wonderful sight, and followed by a
troop of negroes, all of whom trod on tiptoe, a pre-
caution wholly unnecessary, for Frederic and Ma-
rian were too much absorbed in each other to hear
the dusky group assembled round the door, their
white eyes growing larger as they all saw Frederic's
arm thrown across Marian's neck.
" Listen to dat ar, will you ?" whispered Hetty,
as Frederic said, " Dear Marian," while old Dinah
chimed in :
" 'Clar for't, it makes my blood bile, and he not
a widower, nuther ! Quit dat !" she exclaimed
aloud, and, in an instant, Frederic sprang to his
feet, an angry flush mounting to his face when he
saw the crowd at the door.
Then, as he began to comprehend its meaning,
the frown gave place to a good-humored laugh, and
taking Marian's hand, he led her toward the assem-
bled blacks, saying to them :
" Rejoice with me that the lost one has returned
to us again, for this is Marian Lindsey my wife
TELLING P-REDERIC. 347
and your mistress changed, it is true, but the
same Marian who went from us more than six years
ago."
" Wonder if he 'spects us to swallow dat ar ?"
said the unbelieving Hetty.
Dinah, on 1 he contrary, had not the shadow of a
doubt, and she dropped on her knees at once, kiss-
ing the hem of Marian's dress, and exclaiming
through her tears :
" Lord bress you, Miss Marian. You've mightily
altered, to be sure, but ain't none the wus for that.
I'm nothin' but a poor old nigger, and can't say
what's in my heart, but it's full and runnin' over,
bless you, honey."
Dinah's example was contagious, and more than
one prostrated themselves before their mistress,
while their cries of surprise and joy were almost
deafening. Particularly was Josh delighted, and
while the noise went on, he took occasion to " bal-
ance to your partner," in the hall, with a young
yellow girl, who thought his stammering was music,
and his ungainly figure the most graceful that could
be conceived. When the commotion had in a
measure subsided, and Hetty had gone over to the
popular side, saying, "she knew from the first Ma-
rian was somebody," Frederic made a few brief ex-
planations as to where their mistress had been, and
then dismissed them to their several duties, for he
preferred being alone with his wife and Alice.
Dinner was soon announced, but little was eaten
by any one. They were too much excited for that,
and as soon as the meal was over, they returned to
Frederic's room, where, sitting again between her
husband and Alice, Marian told the former, as_ far
as possible, everything which had come to her since
leaving Redstone Hall.
" Can't I ever know what made you go away ?
Alice asked ; and Frederic replied :
348 MARIAN GREV.
" Yes, you shall ;" and, without sparing himself
in the least, he told her all.
" Marian an heiress, too !" she exclaimed. "Will
marvels never cease ?" and she laid her head which
was beginning to grow weary, upon Marian's lap,
saying, " I never knew till now one half how good
you are. No wonder Frederic thought that he had
killed you. It was wicked in him, very," and the
brown eyes looked sleepily into the fire, while Ma-
rian replied :
" But all is forgotten now."
It did seem to be, and in the conversation which
lasted long after Alice had retired, there was many
a word of affection exchanged, many a confession
made, many a forgiveness asked, and when, at last
they parted, it was with the belief that each was all
the world to the other.
Like lightning the news spread through the neigh-
borhood that Frederic Raymond's governess was
Frederic Raymond's wife ; and, for many days, the
house was thronged with visitors, most of whom
remembered Marian Lindsey, and all of whom of-
fered their sincere congratulations to Marian Grey,
for so she persisted in being called, until the night
of the 20th of February, when they were to give a
bridal party. Then she would answer to Mrs.
Raymond, she said, but not before, and with this
Frederic was fain to be satisfied. Great were the
preparations for that party, to which all their friends
were to be bidden, and as they were one evening
making out the list, Marian suggested Isabel, more
for the sake of seeing what Frederic would say,
than from any desire to have her present.
" Isabel," he repeated, " never. I cannot
forget her treachery," and a frown darkened his
handsome face, but Marian kissed it away as she
said :
" You surely will not object to Ben, the best and
truest friend I ever had."
BEN.
349
" Certainly not," answered Frederic. " I ovve
Ben Burt more than I ever can repay, and I mean
to keep him with us. He is just the man I want
upon my farm your farm, I mean," he added,
smiling knowingly upon her, and catching in his
the hand raised to shut his mouth.
But Marian had her revenge by refusing to let
him kiss her until he had promised never to allude
to that again.
" I gave you Redstone Hall," she said, " that
night I ran away, and I have never taken it back,
but have brought you instead an incumbrance
which may prove a most expensive one." And amid
such pleasantries as these Marian wrote the note to
Ben, and then went back to her preparations for
the party, which, together with the strange dis-
covery, was the theme of the whole county.
CHAPTER XXX.
BEN.
Ben sat among his boxes and barrels cracking
hickory nuts and carrying on a one sided conver-
sation with a cat and six beautiful kittens, which
were gamboling over the floor, the terror of rats
and mice, and the pride of their owner, who found
his heart altogether too tender to destroy any one
of them by the usual means of drowning or decap-
itation. So he was literally killing them with kind-
ness, and with his seven cats and odd ways was the
wonder and favorite of the entire village.
The night was dark and stormy, and fancying he
had dismi5|e4 lii? last customer he had settl^i^
3 so MARIAN GREY.
himself before the stove, with nearly half a peck of
nuts at his side, when the door opened, and a little
boy came in, his hair covered with snow, which had
also settled upon other portions of his person.
" Good evenin', Sandy," was Ben's salutation.
" What brung you here to-night ?"
"Got you a letter," returned Sandy, who was
the chore boy of the post-master. " It's been a
good while coming, too, for all it says, ' in haste,' "
and passing the note to Ben, he caught up five or
six of the kittens, while Ben, tearing open the en-
velope and snuffing a tallow candle with his fingers,
read :
" Dear Ben : Frederic knows it all, and we are
so happy. We are to have a great party on the
20th, and you must surely come. Don't fail us,
that's a dear, good Ben, but come as soon as you
get this. Then I will tell you what I can't write
now.
"Yours truly,
" Marian."
" P. S. Alice sends her love, so does Frederic,
and so do I, dear Ben."
" I 'most wish she'd left off that last," said Ben,
when, after the boy Sandy departed, he was alone.
" It makes me feel so streaked like. Guy, wouldn't
I give all my groceries, and the seven cats into the
bargain, to be in Fred Raymond's boots ;" and,
taking up the kitten he called " Marian Grey," he
fondled it tenderly, for the sake of her whose name
it bore. " I shall go to this party," he continued,
as his mind reverted again to the letter, " though
I'll be as much out of place as a toad in a sugar
bowl ; but I can see Marian, and that blind girl,
and Josh. Wa'n't he a case, though ?" And lean-
ing back in his chair, Ben mentally made the neces-
sary arrangements for leaving.
BEN. 351
These arrangements were next day carried into
effect, and as he must start at once if he would be
there in time for the party, he took the night ex-
press for Albany, having left his feline family to
the care of the boy Sandy. The second night
found him on the train between Buffalo and Cleve-
land, and as the weather was very cold, and the
seat near the stove unoccupied, he appropriated it
to himself, and was just falling to sleep, when a
lady, wrapped in velvet and furs, with a thickly
dotted veil over her face, came up to him, and
said, rather haughtily :
" Can I have this seat, sir ?" I prefer it to any
other."
" So do I," returned Ben ; " but bein' you're a
woman, I'll give it up, I guess."
And he found another, of which there were
plenty, for it was the last car, and not one-third
full.
" Considerable kind o' toppin'," was his mental
comment, as he coiled himself in his shaggy over-
coat for a second time, sleeping so soundly that
nothing disturbed him, until at last, as they turned
a short curve, the car was detached from the others,
and, leaving the track, was precipitated down an
embankment, which, fortunately, was not very
steep, so that none were killed, although several
were wounded, and among them the lady who had
so unceremoniously taken possession of Ben's com-
fortable seat.
"Wall, now," said Ben, crawling out of a win-
dow, and holding fast to his hat, which, being new,
was his special care, "if this ain't a little the imper-
litest way of wakin' a feller out of a sound sleep,
to pitch him head over heels in among these black-
b'ry bushes and stuns ; but who the plague is that
a-screechin' so ? a woman's voice, too !"
And with all his gallantry aroused, Ben went to
the rescue, feeling his way through briars ^nd grass
352 MARIAN GREY.
and broken pieces of the car, until he reached the
forna struggling beneath the ruins, in close prox-
imity to the hissing stove.
" Easy, now, my gal," he said, lifting her up.
" Haul your foot out, can't you ?"
" No, no, it's crushed ;" and Ben's knees shook
beneath him at the cry of pain.
Relief soon came from other sources, and as this
lady seemed more seriously injured than either of
the other passengers, she was carried carefully to a
dwelling near by, and laid upon a bed, before Ben
had a chance to see her features distinctly.
" Pretty well jammed," he said, examining the
hat which the women of the farm-house had re-
moved.
Supposing he meant herself the lady moaned :
" Oh, sir, is my face entirely crushed ?"
" I meant your hat," returned Ben, " though if
I was to pass judgment on you, I should say some
of your feathers was crumpled a little ; but law,
beauty ain't but skin deep. It's good, honest ac-
tions that makes folks liked."
Taking the lamp, he bent to investigate, discov-
ering to his amazement that the lady was Isabel
Huntington !
Some weeks before Marian's identity with Fred-
eric's wife had been made known, Mrs. Rivers had
invited her to visit Kentucky, and as "there was
now nothing in Yonkers to interest her she had
accepted, with the forlorn hope that, spite of Fred-
eric's improbable story about a living wife, he
might eventually be won back to his old allegiance.
Accordingly, she had taken the same train and
car with Ben, and by rudely depriving him of his
seat near the stove had been considerably injured,
receiving several flesh wounds, besides breaking
her ankle. For this last, however, she did not
care ; that would get well again ; but was her face
Q disfigured as to spoil her beauty ? This vrs.^ J}??
BEN. 353
constant thought, as she lay moaning upon her pil-
lows, and when for a few nnoments she was alone
with Ben, whom she knew to be the Yankee ped-
dler, and who considered it his duty to stay with
her, she said to him :
" Please, Mr. Butterworth, tell me just how much
I am bruised, and whether I shall probably be a
fright the rest of my days."
" Wall, now," returned Ben, taking the lamp a
second time and coming nearer to her, " there's no
knowin' how you will look hereafter, but the fact
is, you ain't none too han'some now, with your
face swelled as big as two and all scratched up
with them pesky briars."
" Yes, yes," interrupted Isabel, " but the swelling
will go down and the scratches will get well. That
isn't all."
"You're right," said Ben, "that ain't all. You
know, I 'spose, that six of your front teeth are
knocked out."
"Yes, but false ones will remedy that."
"Wall," continued Ben, "you've fixed your teeth,
but what are you goin' to do with your broke
"Oh!" Isabel screamed, clasping her hand to that
organ, which, from its classic shape had been her
special pride. " Not broken is it broken, true ?"
" Looks mighty like it," Ben answered, " but doc-
tors can do anything. They'll tinker it up so it
will answer to sneeze out of and smell with as good
as ever ; and they'll sew up that ugly gash, too,
that runs like a Virginny fence from your ear up
onto your forehead and part of your cheek. Looks
as though there'd been a scar of some kind there
before," and looking closer, Ben saw the mark which
the hot iron had made the night when Isabel had
given the blow to the blind girl.
" Oh, I wish I could die," Isabel groaned, " if \
must be so mutilated."
354 MARIAN GREY.
" Pshaw ! no you don't," returned Ben, now act-
ing the part of a consoler. " Your eyes ain't dam-
aged, nor your hair neither, only singed a little with
the stove. There's some white ones, I see, but they
must have been there before. Never used Wood's
brimstony stuff, did you ? That'll keep it from
turnin'. I knew a chap once with a broke nose that
looked like the notch in the White Mountains, and
nobody thought of it, he was so good. Maybe
your'n ain't so bad. Perhaps it's only out of jint.
The doctor'll know here he comes," and Ben
stood back respectfully, while the physician exam-
ined the nature and extent of Isabel's injuries.
There was nothing serious, he said ; nothing from
which she would not recover. She was only stunned
and bruised, besides having a broken ankle. The
cut on the face would probably leave a scar, other-
wise she would be as well as ever, but she must re-
main where she was for two or three weeks, and he
asked if she had friends with her.
" No," she replied, while Ben said :
"Yes, I'm her friend, and though I want to go
on the wust way, I'll stay till her mother comes.
We'd better telegraph, I guess."
This brought the tears from the heartless Isabel,
for she appreciated Ben's kindness in not deserting
her, and when they were alone she thanked him for
staying with her, when she heard him say he wished
to go on.
" Were you going to Kentucky ?" she asked, and
Ben replied :
" Yes, goin' to see how Miss Raymond looks at
the head of a family. You've heard, I s'pose, that
Marian Grey was Fred's runaway wife, and that
they are as happy now as two clams."
Unmindful of the fierce twinges of pain it gave
her to move, Isabel started up, exclaiming, " No,
no, how can that be ?"
" Just as easy," Ben said, proceeding to narrate
BEN. 355
a few particulars to his astonished listener, who,
when he had finished, lay back again upon her pil-
low, crying bitterly.
This, then, was the end of all her secret hopes.
Frederic was lost to her ; Marian Grey was his wife,
and what was worse than all, her treachery was un-
doubtedly suspected, and what must they think of
her ? She was in a measure suffering for her sins,
and she continued to cry, while Ben tried in vain to
soothe her, talking to her upon the subject upper-
most in his mind, namely, Marian's happiness and
his own joy that it had all come right at last. Isa-
bel would rather have heard of anything else, but
when she saw how kind Ben was, she compelled her-
self to listen, even though every word he said of
Marian and Frederic pierced her with a keener pain
than even her bruises produced.
" I shan't be there for the doin's any way," Ben
thought, when Mrs. Huntington did not come at
the expected time, and as he fancied it his duty to
let Marian know why he was not there, he tele-
graphed to her, " We've had a break down, and
Isabel is knocked into a cocked hat."
This telegram, which created no little sensation
at the office, was copied verbatim and sent to
Frederic, who read it, while Marian was dressing
for the party. He could not forbear laughing
heartily, it sounded so much like Ben, but he wisely
determined to keep it from his wife and Alice, as
it might cause them unnecessary anxiety. He
accordingly thrust it in his pocket, and then, when
it was time, went up for Marian, who, in her bridal
dress, looked wondrously beautiful to him, and re-
ceived many words of commendation from the
guests, who soon began to appear, and who felt that
the bride of Redstone Hall well became her high
position. Many were the pleasant jokes passed at
Frederic's expense, and the clergyman who had
officiated at his wedding more than six years be-
3S6 MARIAN GREY.
fore, laughingly offered to repeat the ceremony..
But Frederic shook his head, saying he was satis-
fied if Marian was. And so, amid smiles and con-
gratulations, the song and the dance moved on, and
all went merry as a marriage bell, until at last, as
the clock told the hour of midnight, the last guest
had departed, and Frederic, with his arm round
Marian, was caUing her Mrs. Raymond, on purpose
to see her blush, when there came up the avenue
the sound of rapid wheels, followed by a bound on
the piazza, and the next moment Ben burst into the
room, holding up both hands, as he caught sight of
Marian in her bridal robes.
" My goodness !" he exclaimed. " Ain't she
pretty, though. It's curis how clothes will fix up
a woman."
The meeting between Frederic and Ben was like
brother greeting brother, for the former felt that
he almost owed his life to the great-hearted Yankee,
and he grasped his hand warmly, bidding him wel-
come to Redstone Hall, and, by his kind, familiar
manner, putting him at once at his ease. Alice,
too, did her part well, and, pressing Ben's hand to
her lips, she said :
" I love you, Ben Burt ; love you a heap, for be-
ing so good to Marian."
" Don't now," Ben said, whiningly. "Don't set
me to bellerin' the fust thing. 1 only did what any-
body would have done, unless the milk of human
kindness was all turned to bonnyclabber !" Then,
as he thought of Isabel, he continued, " I tried to
get here sooner, but Miss Huntington didn't come
till the last minute, and I couldn't leave Isabel.
How she does take on."
"What do you mean?" Marian asked. "Where
is Isabel ?" and as Frederic passed her the telegram,
she continued to ask questions, until she had learned
the whole.
" Poor girl !" she sighed ; " I pity her, and if she
were here, I would so gladly take care of her."
Instantly there flashed upon AUce's mind an idea
every way worthy of her, but she would not sug-
gest it then, as it was growing late, and when she
heard a loud yawn from Ben, she rang the bell, bid-
ding the servant who came "show Mr. Burt his
room ;" then kissing Frederic and Marian good
night, she, too, departed, leaving them alone.
Next morning, at the breakfast-table, she said to
Frederic :
" Don't folks most always take a bridal tour ?"
" Sometimes, when they can't be happy at home,"
returned Frederic. " Where does my blind birdie
wish to go ?"
" I don't really wish to go," answered Alice ;
" but wouldn't it be nice to surprise poor Isabel,
lying so bruised and sick in that old farm-house in
Ohio. Maybe she wants money ? I heard them say
at Yonkers that she had spent all Mr. Rivers left
her, except the house, and that was mortgaged.
I've got ten dollars that I'll give her."
" Blessed baby !" said Ben, bringing out his
pocket-handkerchief, which he was pretty sure to
need.
This suggestion was warmly seconded by Marian,
and after a little further consultation, it was decided
that they should start the next day for the place
where Isabel lay sick.
" She may confess about the letters," Marian said,
" and that will make me like her so much better."
This* being settled, Alice's next inquiry was for
her cat, and her eyes opened wide with wonder
when told of the six young kittens which had a
home in Ben Burt's grocery, and one of which was
called for her.
" It ought to be blind," said the little girl ; and,
with a quivering chin, Ben answered :
" That's it, though I shouldn't have told you for
3S8 MARIAN GREY.
fear of hurtin' your feelin's. The little cat is blind,
and when Sandy that's a boy who lives there
said how he would kill it for me, it struck to my
stomick at once, for that little critter lies even
Higher to my heart than the handsomest, sleekest
one, which I call ' Marian Grey,' and 'tis grey, too,
with mottled spots all over its back, while Alice is
white as milk !"
The cat story being satisfactorily concluded,
Ben went out to renew his acquaintance with the
negroes, who vied with each other in paying him at-
tention. Though they did not quite understand it,
they knew that he was in some way connected with
the return of their young mistress, and neither
Dinah nor Hetty made the least objection when,
before night, they saw the two black babies which
had usurped the rights of Djid and Victory, seated
upon his lap, and " riding to Boston to buy penny
cakes," at a rate which bade fair to throw them to
the top of the ceiling at least, if .not to land them
somewhere in the vicinity of the Bay State capital.
The next morning, Frederic, Marian and Alice
started for Ohio, leaving Ben in charge at Redstone
Hall.
" He'd 'tend to the niggers," he said, and he bade
the " Square," as he persisted in calling Frederic,
" not to worry at all about things to hum."
The family had scarcely been gone an hour when
Dinah came in quest of Ben, whom she found in
the parlor, drumming Yankee Doodle upon the
piano with one hand and whistling by way of
accompaniment.
" Thar was the queerest actin' man in the dinin'
room," she said, " and he done ax for marster,
and when I tole him he had gone to the 'Hio with
his wife, he laughed so hateful, and say how't she
isn't his wife, that I come for you, 'case thar's a look
in his eye I don't like."
" Catch him tellin' me Marian ain't a lawful
BEN. 350
tvife," Said Ben, starting from the stool and hurry-
ing to the dining-room, where, very much intoxi-
cated, Rudolph McVicar was sitting.
He had landed not long before at New Orleans,
and coming up the river as far as Louisville had
stopped in that city, where he accidentally heard a
young man speak of Frederic's wedding party,
which had taken place the previous night.
" Who is the bride ?" he asked eagerly. " Is it
Miss Huntington ?" and the young man who knew
none of the particulars, and who had once heard
that Frederic was to marry a lady of that name,
replied : " Yes, I believe it is, or at all events she
was his governess."
Rudolph waited for no more, but started at
once for Redstone Hall, chuckling with delight as
he thought of the consternation his visit would
create. He did not at first recognize Ben, neither
did Ben know him, so bloated had he become with
drink, and so rough and red with exposure upon
the sea.
" Where is the woman they call Mrs. Ray-
mond ?" he asked with a sneer ; and Ben replied :
" Gone with her husband to Ohio."
" Her husband !" repeated Rudolph. " He isn't
her husband. She has no right to be his wife, and
I have come to tell her so."
" You say that again, if you dare !" said Ben,
bristling up in Marian's defense. " You say that
Marian ain't Frederic's lawful wife, and I'll show
you the door, plaguy quick. I'm boss here now."
As Ben was speaking, Rudolph remembered that
they had ' met before, but he scarcely heeded that,
so intent was he upon the name which Ben had
uttered.
" Marian !" he repeated, a light breaking over
him ; " Is not Isabel Huntington the bride ?"
"No, sir," answered Ben, snapping his fingers
almost in the stranger's face. " She didn't come
360 MARIAN GREY.
that game, though she tried it hard enough. But
what do you know about it, any way ?"
" I know I've been a fool," answered Rudolph,
explaining, in a few words, what he had once
done.
" So you wrote that Sarah Green letter, you
scullion," returned Ben. " But it didn't do no
good ; and the smartest trick you ever done was
to sign yourself green. Ugh !" and Ben's voice was
quite expressive of his contempt. " I don't blame
you so much though," he continued, " for wantin'
to pester that Isabel, but you'd better let the Lord
'tend to such critters in his own way. He can fix
'em better'n we can," and Ben proceeded to give
an account of the accident in which Isabel's beauty
had probably been seriously impaired.
" I am so glad," was Rudolph's exclamation, and
he was proceeding further to express his malicious
joy, when Ben cut him short by saying :
" It don't look well to rejoice over anybody's
downfall ; though I'm none too friendly to the gal,
I shan't hear her berated, and you may as well
quit."
On ordinary occasions, Rudolph would have re-
sented any attempt at restraint, but he was too
intoxicated now fully to realize anything, and
staring vacantly at Ben, he made no reply, but
soon fell asleep, dozing in his chair for several
hours. Then, with faculties somewhat brightened,
he announced his intention of leaving. With an
immense degree of satisfaction, Ben watched him
as he went slowly down the avenue, saying to him-
self:
" Poor drunken critter, he's disappointed, I
s'pose, in not gettin' revenge his own way ; but I
don't blame her much for givin' him the mitten.
Wouldn't they have scratched each other's eyes
out, if they'd come together ! Better be as 'tis
he a nervous old maid, and he in a drunkard's
fefiN. 36i
gfave, where he will be mighty soon the bloat !"
and having finished his soliloquy, Ben returned
again to his music.
Meantime, in a most unenviable frame of mind,
Isabel was chiding her mother for doing everything
wrong, and bewailing her own sad fate :
" Oh, why didn't I stay at home," she said; "and
so not have become the fright I know I am ?"
It was in vain that her mother bade her feel
thankful that her life was spared. Isabel did not
care for that. She thought only of her lost teeth
and ugly scar, and turning her face to the wall, she
was wishing she could die, when the woman of
the house came in, telling her " some friends
were there from Kentucky."
" Who are they ?" she asked ; but before the
woman could reply, a sweet voice said :
" It's me, and all us ;" and AHce's little hands
were tenderly pressed to Isabel's feverish brow.
Then, indeed, the haughty girl wept aloud, for she
knew she did not deserve this kindness either from
Alice or Marian, the latter of whom soon came in,
greeting her as pleasantly as if she had never re-
ceived an injury from her hands. Frederic, too,
was perfectly self-possessed, expressing his sym-
pathy for her misfortune, and with these kind
friends to cheer her sick room, Isabel recovered in
a measure her former cheerfulness. But there was
evidently something resting heavily upon her mind,
and that night, when alone with Frederic and
Marian, she confessed her wickedness in opening
the letter, and sending it back with so cruel a mes-
sage,
" We knew you must have done it," Frederic
said, at the same time assuring her of his own and
Marian's forgiveness. " It kept us apart for many
years," he continued, "but I have found her at
last, and love her all the more for what I have suf-
fered."
362 MARIAN GREY.
And Isabel, when she saw the look of deep affec-
tion he gave to his young wife, covered her face
with her hands, while Marian asked " if she knew
of the letter from Sarah Green ?"
" No, no," she answered ; " I am innocent of
that," and they believed her, wondering all the
more whence it could have come or why it had
been sent.
Toward the close of the next day they took their
leave, cordially inviting Isabel to visit them at
Redstone Hall should she ever feel inclined so to
do.
" We will let bygones be bygones," Frederic
said, at parting. " You and I have both learned
that to deal fairly and openly is the best policy, and
it is to be hoped we will profit by the experience."
Isabel did not answer, but she pressed his hand,
and returned the kiss which both Marian and Alice
gave to her. As the latter was turning away she
detained her a moment while she whispered in her
ear : " Will you forgive me for that blow I gave
you when I thought I was about to be exposed ?"
" Yes, willingly," was the answer, and thrusting
the golden eagle under the pillow, Alice hurried
away. They found it after she was gone, and when
at last Isabel was able to go home, they found
their bills paid, too, and were at no loss to know to
whom they were indebted for the generous act.
" I do not deserve this from him of all others,"
Isabel said, and drawing her thick veil close over
her face she entered the carriage which had come
to take them to the station.
Summing up. 365
CHAPTER XXXI.
SUMMING UP.
It is early June, and the balmy south wind is
blowing soft and warm round Redstone Hall, which,
with its countless roses in full bloom, and its pro-
fusion of flowering shrubs and vines, looks won-
drously beautiful without, while within, the sunlight
of domestic peace is shining, with no cloud to dim
its brightness. Frederic and Marian are perfectly
happy, for the dark night which enshrouded them
so long has passed away, and the day they fancied
will never end has dawned upon them at last.
Ben, too, is there, ostensibly as an overseer, but
really as a valued friend, free to do whatever he
pleases, and greatly esteemed by those whom he
worships with a devotion bordering upon idolatry.
Everything pertaining to the place he calls his, and
Frederic hardly knows whether himself or Ben is
the master of Redstone Hall. The negroes ac-
knowledge them both, though, as is quite natural,
the aristocratic Higginses give the preference to
Frederic, while the democratic Smitherses, with
stammering Josh at their head, warmly advocate
Marster Ben, " as sayin' the curisest things and
singin' the drollest songs."
There is no spot in the world where Ben could be
so supremely happy as he is at Redstone Hall, with
Marian and Alice ; and when Frederic, on his re-
turn from Ohio, suggested his remaining there, he
evinced his delight in his usual way, lamenting the
while that his extremely tender heart would always
make him cry just when he did not wish to.
" I was never cut out for a nigger driver," he
said ; " but I guess I can coax as much out of 'em
3^4 kARIAl* GREY4
as that blusterin' Warren did ;" and making his
visit short, he hastened back to New England,
where he found no difficulty in disposing of his
grocery, and five of his numerous family.
These last he bestowed upon different people in
the village, taking great care that none of them
should go where there were children, and numerous
were his injunctions that they should be well cared
for, and suffered to die a natural death. Marian
and Alice were destined for Kentucky, where they
were welcomed joyfully by those whose names they
bore. Particularly was the white one, with its
sightless eyes, the pet of the entire household,
negroes and all ; while even Bruno, who, on ac-
count of his recognition of Marian, was now allowed
more liberty than before, and was consequently far
less savage, took kindly to the little creature, toss-
ing it up in his huge paws, licking its face, and
sometimes coaxing it into his kennel, where it was
more than once found, sleeping half hidden under
the mastiff's shaggy mane.
Frequently on bright days can Alice and her
kitten be seen seated in a miniature wagon, which
the Yankee ingenuity of Ben had devised, and in
which he draws his blind pets from field to field,
seeking out the shadiest spot and watching all their
movements with a vigilance which tells how dear
to him was one of them at least. In all the wide
world there is nothing Ben Burt loves half so well
as the blind girl, Alice. All the fairest flowers and
choicest fruits are brought to her. And when he
sees how she enjoys them and how grateful she is
to him, he murmurs softly :
" Blessed bird, I b'lieve I'd be blind myself if she
could only see."
But Alice does not care for sight, except at
times, when she hears the people speak of Mrs.
Raymond's beauty, and wishes she could look upon
the face whose praises so many ring. She is very
SUMMING UP. 365
happy in Frederic's and Marian's love, and happy,
too, with her faithful friend, Ben.
Once she hoped to improve his peculiar dialect
somewhat by imparting to him a greater knowl-
edge of books than he already possessed, and Ben,
willing to gratify her, waded industriously through
the many volumes she recommended him to read,
among which was "Watts on the Mind." But
vain were all his efforts to grasp a single idea, and
he returned it to Alice, saying that he " presumed it
was a very excitin' story to some, but blamed if he
could make out a word of sense from beginnin' to
finis.
" 'Tain't much use tryin' to make a scholar of
me," said he, winking at Marian, who was present.
" It's hard teachin' old dogs new tricks, and if I's
to read all there is in the Squire's library, I
shouldn't be no better off."
Marian thought so, too, and dropped a few well-
timed hints to Alice, who gradually relaxed her
efforts to teach one who, had he been educated,
would certainly not have been the simple-hearted,
unselfish man we know as Ben Burt.
Away to the northward among the New England
hills there is a forsaken grave, where the inebriate
Rudolph sleeps. His thirst for revenge is over, and
the forlorn girl who, in her mother's kitchen, washed
the dinner dishes for college students, just as she
used to when Frederic Raymond was a boarder
there, has nothing to dread from him. Mrs. Hunt-
ington's house on the river has been sold to cancel
the mortgage, and in the City of Elms she has re-
turned to her old vocation, and Isabel, with her
ugly scar, has scarcely a hope that among her
mother's boarders there will ever be found one
weak enough to offer her his hand. An humbled,
and it is to be hoped, a better woman, she derives
her greatest comfort from the letters which some-
times come to her from Marian, and which usually
366 MARIAN GREY.
contain a more substantial token of regard than
mere words convey.
One word now of William Gordon, and our story
is done. Ben had claimed the privilege of writing
the news to him, and he did it in his characteristic
way, first touching upon the note which, he said,
was safe in his wallet and sure of being paid, then
launching out into glowing descriptions of Marian's
happiness with Frederic.
This letter was a long time in finding Will, and
the answer did not reach Redstone Hall until the
family had returned from their summer residence
at Riverside. Then it came to them one warm
November day, just as the sun was setting, and its
mellow rays fell upon the group assembled upon
the piazza. Frederic, to whom it was directed,
broke the seal, and read the sincere congratulations
A\ liich his early friend had sent to him from over
the sea, read, too, that among the vine-clad hills
of Bingen, in a cottage looking out upon the Rhine,
there was a fair-haired German girl, with eyes like
Marian Grey's, and that when Will came back to
America he would not be alone.
" For this fair-haired German girl," he wrote,
" has promised to come with me. I have told her
of my former love, and when last night I read her
Ben's letter, the tears glistened in her eyes as she
whispered in her broken English tongue, ' God
bless sweet Marian Grey,' and I, too, Fred, from a
full heart respond the same, God bless sweet Mariaa
Grey, the Heiress of Redstone Hall."