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Something to do.
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BOSTON: JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY,
Latb Tiouob & Fields, and Fiblds, Oboooo, & Co.
1871.
I
./
Bntend aecordlng to Act of Congnw, In the j«m IfiTl.
BY JAMK8 R. OSGOOD * CO.,
to the Office of the UhimrUn of Congw-, »t Wuhtagton.
\
Umivsrsitv Press: Welch. Bigeuw, & Co., Cambridge.
SOMETHING TO DO.
CHAPTER I.
AT the theatre, Saturday afternoon. The i)liiy was a fairy extrava- g.mzii. Nymphs and naiads, elves and goblins, spirits crowned with liquid fire, ! ghosts with hair of twisted glowing ser- ] pcnts, sylphs and gnomes, Queen Mab \ and Qijeen Titania, Pnck and OlxM-on, ; weird fanta.stic shapes and shadows, { passed dancing and singing, crawling and ; flying, across the stage in quick succes- j aion, meeting each other in impossible positions and moving in an inextricable medley of figures. A dwarf with an immense w^hito l)eard waved his silver etaflf before great tropical lilies and gor- geous Eastern roses, and slowly their petals unfolded and disclosed the en- $1 chanted beings imprisoned within ; and next a giant, whose head towered l)eyond the moon sailing thro\igh the blue vault above him, with a sceptre of iron touched the liberated, and changed them, in the twinkling of an eye, to green-coated toads and hissing vipers and fierce scor- pions, to await the arrival of some now genii to release them oneo more.
Lights sparkled, flowers bloomed, trees waved, meteors flashed, perfumes spread themselves around, fountains splashed, streams dashed over mossy rocks down the mountain side, and un- der all and through all breathed deli- cious, bewitching fairy music, melting and maddening and stirring the soul to a state of ethereal ecstasj'.
"Aw, yes," dnvwled a young fellow with a shadow of mustache, who must have been eighteen, and who was there- fore btase, "the ballet is vewy pwetty, I own, bawt I must beg to be excused from being gwately amused by the west
of the entawtainment. Man o' the world can't of cawrse be taken in by any illusions. To one — aw, hem, ha, ha, ha! — who knaws the gwccn-woom so well tvs — aw — myself, say, there 's paws- itively nawthing loft l)ut the ballet."
In front of the young follow sat a group who had not yet advanced so far into tho world as to find that all is van- ity of vanities except the ballet, — a gentlomini with his two little daughters. Tlie younger child had never before been at a theatre, and she was wholly absorbed in the wonderful phantasma- goria. She was a brilliant child ; from • tho glory in her face, the waves in her hair, and the electric sparkle in her eyes, j'ou might have guessed that drops of purified fire instead of blood throbbed through her veins.
Her sister was beautiful, like the starlight. It was light, and not fire, which permeated her i)eing. There ap- peared no trace of resemblance between them ; yet is not starlight also fire breathing in a loftier sphere 1
The father was a gentleman, and proud ; his face was grave, but touched with sweetness in the eyes. To him the little Celia clung, while her eyes dilated with rapture and her breath came quickly.
The curtain fell, but rose after a mo- ment upon the niiignificencc of the cav- erns beneath the sea. Mermaids, with " comb of pearl and golden curl," sported with dolphins ; strange, irides- cent fish dartod thi-ough the waters. Then came swinuniiig a great, terrible shark, with bloody jaws and glittering teeth. He swallowed tho fairest of the mermaids, and a burst of horror came from the wide-eyed little Celia. Then
'
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i
* !
SOMETIIINIJ TO DO.
aufldoiily, from the very blue other, like u tliisli, I'liiiio 11 Hpirit clothed in riiiMl)owH and de\v-(lrt»|m, - a Hpirit of dazzlint; heaiity. The whole houHe applaiidud, " Aiitoinettii," " Antoininu," wa« heard on every wide from entiinsiiiHtie voices. Tiie lieautifid Hpirit-child who awakened uU this enthusiuMni did not heed it at all, but went on with her part, which seeined to be to weave niaj^ic spells about the Hhark and soften and tame it, till suddenly it stood up, its skin i>urst
As for Celia, she believed so fully in the reality of the play and in the spir- ituality of Antoiuetta that she heeded neither the renuirk of the ytuuifj; fellow nor its interpretation by Alice.
Wiien tlie scene closed, there was furious calling I'or the reappearance of Antoiuetta, as siic did not show hern df ni (dl'/i-dii with tlio other actors.
She woidd not come then, out slio came a few mimites later, in another costume, ti> dance apiin. 'i'he maiui-
otf and shrivelled away, and the beauti j ger had outwitted lier bv arranging this
fid mermaid was a beautiful mortal, and the ugly shark was her gay young lover, who had been enchanted, and they blessed the Hpirit-child, who soared aloft into the sky. The scene wis a very long one, and the little Antoiuetta had to dance and sing in her own perfect way a doxeii times ; but though the audience encored and stamped and clapped and shouted, she still disregarded them xittcrly, and would not pause for an instant to listen, so they continued their applimsc but a few seconds at a time lest they might lose some of her words.
"Aw," said the blane young gentle- man, " little Antoiuetta knaws the rawpcs vewy well. Helievo me, Fwed, she 's a little fuwy, and pwovokcs the manager so that he would nevaw keep her a day longaw if cvewybody did n't wave aliout her so. Ho likes the tin," ■continued this elegant young gcntle- iman.
"Well, what's the matter with her anyway ? " asked his companion.
" Why, you awbscrvo how imcawn- ventioual she is. She won't even make a courtesy when she 's applauded. She nevaw would, fwom her debut on. The managaw twied to make her (I heard it — aw, ahem ! — fwom a/wencl), and she was wight down impudent, and said that when she played she meant to make it as natuwal as possible, and it was n't natuwal to stop and make a bow, and she nevaw would faw anybody. And she won't wepcat a thing, naw appeaw in the tableau aftaw the scenes. Tell you what, Fwed, she 's a wousaw ! "
" Good, good little Antoinetta," whis- pered Alice to her father. " Is n't it lieautiful that she believes in art as holy while she is yet a child 1 "
addenda to the play. Now she cour- tesied to the assenddage, evidently see- ing no incongruity in doing so l)efore a dance, and thus she gave an opportu- nity to her admirers to shower her with bouquets.
*' Oh ! " said littlcCelia, trembling and almost crying, " why have we brought her no flowers'? There are all those cardinals and gentians in full bloom in the swamp."
And so the Matinee closed, and they went out from the da/zling tlicatro into the glad .Septend)er daylight, and u little ride in the cars brought them to their own village, just after the sun had set and the clear stars were coming slowly into the blue sky.
Near the gate of their pretty stone cottage they met a sunburnt bright boy, in farmer's dress, who greeted them in the cheeriest of voices.
" So you 've been down under the sea ! " said he. " And I suppose you couldn't stop to think of the sunset afterwards, so, on the whole, 1 should n't wonder if I in my cornfield had had more real lesthetic — is n't that the word, Mr. Wilding 1 — enjoyment than the rest of you, though I wished so much I had been going too."
" For shame ! " said Alice, coloring a little in her earnestness. " If I had not foimd the sunset more beautiful rather than less so after seeing so gor- geous a play, I would never enter a theatre again."
The boy laughed. " What is art, I wonder 1 I never saw much of it, but I 've always miderstood that it rather took the edge off nature." He spoke half to Mr. Wilding and half to Alice. The gentleman only smiled, but Alice again answered : —
SOMETHING TO DO.
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vo(\ 80 fully in 1 in the H|)ir- ut sho liceded f ytiung fellow \lico.
1(1, there WI18 i|ilie!iriuicc of t hIiow here ;lf iictoiM.
then, »ut rIio
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aiTiinjrinsj; this
Mow KJie cour-
, evidently sec-
in^ 8(1 before ii
ive an t)|)i)ortu-
shower her with
n, tronihling and ivve we brought e are nil those in full bloom in
closed, and they du/zlinn theatre )er daylight, and rs brought them list after the sun tars were coming
y-
heir pretty stone sunburnt bright who greeted them ;es.
down luider the d 1 stippowe yon uk of the sunset ,vhole, 1 should n't field had had more that the word, ment than the rest ed so much I had
1 Alice, coloring a ness. "If I had ,>t more beautiful fter seeing so gor- ild never enter a
"What is art, I V much of it, but )od that it rather iture." Ho spoke and half to Alice, smiled, but Alice
" Art which was true art would not try to do that. Art intcrjirets nature to lis."
" Well," said the boy, still gayly, "that may be true; l)ut, just for the fun of it, I wish you 'd tell me whtit sort of nature such aii extravaganza lUi this one interpreted to you."
'• Not dmrth/ anything," said Alice, shaking her head gravely and thought- fully ; " but it HWf'jfxtfil a thousand pos- sibilities which I am not wise enougii to put into words. Don't you think I 'm right, father ] "
" Yes, you exi)reHS in a different way u thought which assumes more tangible form in my mind each year, that there has never been legend, fairy tale, or myth invented so wild that it has not a foundation 8om(!whero existing in our commonplace, cvory-day life. Such tales arc beautiful because the imagina- tion has seized the germ of a living fact, and fantastic because it has but ])artially Bci/cd it and lias altered its relations to other facts."
Ho did not speak dreamily, as to himself, expecting the children to com- prehend only vaguely, but directly and fully to Alice, who had asked the ques- tion. It was this continual intercourse with a subtle and thoughtfid mind which had given her, a girl of fourteen, the power of thinking and speaking so far beyond her years.
"But for Colia," continued the boy, who was himself a thinker in another form of life, " she who is too much a child to comprehend this, and for nine tenths of the people at the thoatro, who are in mind children, — what is such a play to them but the substitution of art for nature 1 "
"They feel, though they may not think," replied Alice. " Besides, they at least see beauty."
" And for many of them," added her father, " the theatre is almost the only place where they do see the beautiful. They have factories and shops instead of cornfields to reflect in, and though there is intense spiritual significance in machinery, and richness and depth in the colorings and fabrics they vend in shops, yet those are the products of art. So, Aleck, you must allow that, since they cannot have nature, it is
better to have art than to have nothing."
" Yes," said the boy, responding to Wilding's smile. " But for iie()j)le who can have miturc ?"
" .\h I " said Alice, eagerly, " but art is the outgrowth of minds of genius. They have been inspired directly from nature, and have translated their con- ceptions into language which we who are duller can understand."
" And however vaguely their moan- ing may bo comprehended by many minds," said Wilding, "yet it is surely a grand thing that to those same minds shouhl come a series of beautiful pic- tures, though their eternal relations to each and to the plan of the universe are unperceived."
" I don't know what you all mean," said (y'clia, half angrily. " For my part, I know it was beautiful, (ifautifuf, beauti- ful, this afternoon, and 1 was perfectly happy, and I wish you 'd let me be a ballet-girl."
"There, Aleck," said Alice trium- phantly,
" ' Since eyes were made for sening, Dcauty is Ha own excuse for being';
and you see, too, that ' a thing of beau- ty is a joy forever.* It is quite worth while that the world should bo made joyful, I think."
" As if joy or happiness were the great educator or the chief end of man ! " said Aleck, half scornfully.
" But joy is worth while, Aleck," said Alice, as she followed her father into the house.
The man of genius, wh' "■.? inspired brain had interpreted the ■ v-'iciies of nature to the duller percepti^...l.^ of the cultivated Wilding and his daughters, was at that twilight hour sitting in a dirty room filled with tobacco-smoke, shuffling some dirty cards, and drink- ing whiskey in company with several boon companions.
Wilding was not so unsophisticated that he would have been surprised to know this, but he was optimist enough to take the best he saw without inquir- ing too curiously after the worst which he did not see. Furthermore, ho be- lieved with all his heart in beauty, art, genius, and Qod.
SOMETHING TO DO.
I
i
CHAPPER II.
k
WILDINCf did not ftHHociiito with his m-i^flilioi'H. He. htul notliiii^ in conunon with thi'in, luid Itu wunlii not putroni/.o. Neitiicr did lio f^o U> chinrii. Sunday nmrninj;; lio i-ntort'd liin Htiidv, and pitlicrod liis hookH armind him. Alice and C'eha, left tot heuittclvcM, pasHed tlmuigh the nmtic pito to tlie meadow liehind the house, aenmH through the woodland to the HWamp where the cardinals grew. The tlashin)^ flowern took root deep in the Htream, and oven Celia'u light foot Hank into the black mud, iih hIio Htepped from one tuft of niBliea to another to gather them, The clear eyes of Alice, with the suidight in them, espied far away among the cotton-grass the deep azure of the quiet gentians, and she came back with lier arms full just as Celia had come up dripi>ing from the swamp, laden with cardinals. Then they sat on a great rock under the trees, and laid the flowers against the green and golden moss which covered tlie stones beside tlio little brook at their feet. They talked in a glad, eager, cliildlikc WUy of . "-J the beautiful Saturday past, the beunti- ful Simdny present, and the beautiful Monday coming. And still (Jelia came back again and again, as to a refrain ; " Why did n't we carry some ilowcrs for Antoinettal There were none so lovely as these among all that were thrown to her."
Then Alice remembered that her fa- ther was going to the city on Monday, and suggested that they send by him a box of flowers. So they gathered the freshest and brightest mosses, and made a bed for the glowing blossoms to rest in, and at dinner they asked their father if he would do their errand.
" And then we should know just what Antoinetta said to thorn," remarked Celia.
Bnt Wilding could not himself go to the theatre. He had aflairs of im- portance before him. Still, ho woidd take the flowers to tho city and send them.
So the children wrote a note to go ivith them.
Dbar Antoinbtta, — We are little
girls who liv5 in tho country. Wo naw you play at tho theatre Saturday after- noon, and wished wo too had curried flowers f«ir yon. So wo have gathered our own wild-flowers to send yon, for wo love you, since you ure heuutifid and aro true to art.
Ai.UE and Ckia\ Wilding.
At twilight Wilding called Alice to tho study, and talkoil to her for an hour, ('elia was grieved to be shut out, but sho loved her father too well to show it ; so she opened tho piano and played wild melodies, fo\mdcd on tho themes sho had heard as the undercur- rent of tho oxtravagan/a.
At last Wihling and Alice camo into tho room, and tho moonlight showed their faces grand, glad, and solenni. Alico struck souto tiini, full chords, and they all sang glorious old masses.
Tho beautiful Saturday passed, the beautiful Sunday passed, and the beau- tiful Moniaiy came. At twilight, Klon- day evening, Alice and Celia stood on tho platform of tho railway sta- tion, wondering why tho train was bo very late. Aleck, going by from hia work, 8topi)ed and talked to them a little while. At last the shriek of tho whistle was heard. There were so many waiting for tho cars that Aleck advised the girls to remain just ontsido by tho great elm, promising to find Wilding and bring him to them.
" How long Aleck stays ! " said Celia, "and what a noiso tho people are making ! "
Then Aleck came back — alone. His face was pule, though so sunburnt. " How can I ever tell you 1 " said ho, with a trembling voice.
Colia looked frightened and began to cry. Alico was as pale as the far-off stars just faintly showing in tho sky, and as quiet.
" You need not toll ns," sho said in a low, clear voice. " Celia, by and by I will tell you about it."
There was indeed no necessity for explanation. The compassionate glances directed to tho children from the bus- tling crowd about the station would have told the story without Aleck's pale face. Alico guessed what the men were bring- ing concealed under a cloth, and hur-
ROMETF^'Na TO DO.
^iintiy. Wo Huw
.Suttinlny aftcr-
toi) Imd curried
wo huvo f,'utlu'ri!iJ
to Mond villi, for
ure l>uutitiriil unU
I'i'XIA Wn.DINO.
callff] Alico to
to her lor uii
evt•l^ to 1)0 Hliiit
futlicr too woll
iK'd tlio piano und
roiiiidtMl on tlio
im tlio uiidorcur-
7.1X.
I Alieo cunio into
noonlijrlit allowed
l:i<l, and Holonin.
1, full tliords, and
old niuHHou.
iiday piiascd, tho
ioil, mid tho heau-
At twilight, Mon-
und Ccliii stood
tho rnilway sta-
tho truin wiuj so
)inj,' by from Ida
ulkod to them a
tho shriek of tho
Thoro were so
0 curs thftt Aleck muiii just outsido jromising to find n to them.
ttiya ! " said Cclia, tho pcoplo aro
ick — alono. His gh so sunburnt.
1 your' said ho,
lied and begun to nlo us the fiir-otf wing in the sky,
us," she said in a ,'lia, by and by I
no necessity for jassionato glances Bu from the bus- tution would havo Aleck's palo face. I men were bring- i cloth, and hur-
ried Ci'lia away before she, too, should comprehend.
" Lot them bring him in here," she Baid to Aleck, when they reached the liouMo, throwing open the door t>f her fallier'rt pleasuiit little sanctum. "Celia and I will Kdiy hero to wehiome him."
" Hut - - but — ought you — " Aleck could i^o no further.
" Yes ; only »lo not let any ono stay liere witli us."
So Aleck went away, intent on doing the little he could for the sisterH. Me liroke tho tidings to Dorothy, tho do mestic, und calmed her paroxysms be- fore the bearers arrived with their mournful burden. Then ho motioned that tlie door should bo closed when Wilding was laid on his own bed ; for, Htrange as it seemed to leave tho chil- dren alone with their father, he bidieved too fully in Alice not to think that he ought to follow her rocjuest.
A wild, terril)lo cry from ('elia rang through the house, und tho neighbors who hud gathered about would havo hastened to her, but Dorothy und .Meek, who knew Alico, sot their faces ugainst that.
Tho cry was repeated uguin and again, biit at last grew softer and tho voice broke into sobs.
"Darling," said Alieo in hor still tones, "sit hero with mo close by fa- ther, and watch his dear face, while I tell you what he said to me last night. Helicvo that ho himself is speaking to you." She would have burst into un- controllable weeping, but for feeling the need there wivs that Celia should be calmed. In a moment she wont on. " Ho told mo that ho had some trouble with his heart, and that ho felt it HO much lately that he believed it might not bo long before what has come might como. He thought we ought not to bo imprepared for it, but he would not sadden us by speaking of it before he was obliged. I remember some of his own words, Celia. Ho said : * No grief can bo so groat as to shatter a whole life. Every sorrow, and even every sin, comes to us with a special message, not to deaden but to quickon U8. One does not understand this ex- cept through living it. When grief comes to you, remember this. Suffer
to the utmost if need be, but never bo overiK)rne. Do calm, as one who bo lieves in <lod hIuiuIcI be. Step firm, though you walk over burning cnals.' "
The heroic tones of Wilding's voico rang in the words of .Mice, and to her this philosophy was strong and pntcnt. Hut the tear stained, impassioned faco of Celia looked tip wondering. It wiih not iKH-ause she was so much a child that she failed to comprehend, but that her nature was so utterly unlike that of her sister. Her lovt; was a devouring tlanie, and abHtraetions, though of eter- nal truths, could not comfort her whilo no warm life breathed from tho cold, prostrate figure of her father.
"Ho said," continued Alice, '•that life in any form is a glorious and sub- lime thing, and that because //m life was deeiiening in another phaso of existeneo, ours, too, should deepen. Ah, t'elia, every upward stop ho took on earth helped us on, and why not now 1 "
" Hccuuso we can't feel his hand lead- ing us, or sfe him tako a step," cried t'elia, in agony.
Alico turned aside her head, so inudo- (piatc was her power to comfort another, und so fast did it seem to be falling even herself. Wilding, however, had thought of this, and hud given her words piirpo.^ely for Celia.
" Ho said, too," Alico nt last added, " that love is the immortal part of our nature, and cannot dio. As tho soul expands, so its lovo expands, and so his love is close about us, closer than ever yet it has Iwen. T^ot that help us on."
Celia sobbed still, biit more quietly.
" God loves us," said Alice, and then they sat silent for an hour in each other's arms.
The neighbors had meantime dis- persed. They had never been accus- tomed to enter tho house while its owner lived, and wero shy now, though real kindness of heart had led them to try to do something for the orphans. But they found tho same iniconqucrablo spirit of reserve still brooding over the place, and wore glad not to stay.
Dorothy at lust ventured to knock ut tho door and speak to Alice. "Seems to me Celia ought not to stay in there so long," said she, too wise to urge Alice's own needs upon her.
6
SOMKTIIINO TO DO.
■
i
"Tliiiiik joii, Dorothy," ri'pliod Alice, ami hIiu drew Ccliii, liulf roHiHtiii^, into thu littlu |iiii'liit', wlieru tliu liru li^'litcd on till' liciutli jimt lii'tnrn tlioy hud pint- to nit'i't tlit'ir t'utliL'r Ntill liiu/i'd cheerily. They dill imt think to wonder iit it, l>ul Aleck hud watched it und hud lieen determined they Hhonld huhm no point (if ii^iht und cheer wiiicli^uH yet poHsi- lile in the ^jotun overhun).'in;; them. ]|e wurt Ntill in the lionse, und hud nni;- ge^ted to Dorothy that Hhe Mhonld muk(' ready u little tulile in the purlor and try to indnce the Hi«ter(* to cat Homo tliiiij,'. lie knew it would huve lieen UHcleH.s to uttem))t thiH in the little din- InK-t'ooni where they had expected snch a coney tea with their t'uther. Hut noth- ing could ur^'e Celiuto tabte a mouthful, though Alice i'orced herselt' to eat a piece of toast and drink Nomo tea, H(dely for her HisterV Hukc. " No mutter," Huid Dorothy to Aleck. "Celia will cry herself to sleep, and will net Htronj^ that way; hut MisH Alice won't cl(),>*o her cycH tluM night, und I thank the Lord bIic 'h oaten MoinethinK."
And 8o it wuH. Alice lay down hcsidc Celia. Tiio little one passed into a lethargy, hut Alice did not sleep. She lay with her. eyes wide open all night, watching the moon pusH the arc of the 8ky hefore her window, and the stars, one hy one, move hoyond her vision till the clouds were flushed with morn- ing. She had been still all night. No fever had pidsed through her veins, no horrible racking headache had mad- dened her ; hut she had been close to the borders of the spirit-world. She hud proved her own soul, and her heart hud bcut reHiM)n8ivo to her first full recognition that there is a God.
CHAPTER III.
THE Rev. ilrs. Buckram sat witli her children around her. The Rev. Mr. Buckram, who belonged to that class of musicians denominated " second violins," was employed in beat- ing a carpet furiously outside the sitting- room window, und by no moans in such a way that the dust should enter his consort's eyes, though sutiiciently near
that mIio might iioo ami direct opora- tioHH. The Rev. Mr. Huekram was clud in a fadeil red -calico drcNHing gown, with blue tuMsi'ls, and his feet hixnriateil in some wide h'ather slippers systemati- (ally turned in at the heel, fie might have b«'en supposetl to Ih! thus uttired in honor of iiis oecnpution ; but such a supposition would Iiunc been erroneous, IIS he was most commonly to be ob- served in the same array, except on Sundays, when u seedy alpaca coat took the place of the drcssiuggown, und some boots, cut down and laced up so ingeniously that the unsopliisticuted Ihickram family supposed thein not to lie distinguished froni shoes by unin- itiated eyes, replaced the slippers. In- deed, on week-days his avocations fro- (|uently led him to discard the drcssing- g<iwn altogether, while an inunenso yellow tippet and a brimless hat added to his creutnro comfort when he found it neces.sary to labor out of doors on cold days. Fortune, in fact, had not smiled on llev. Benjamin Buckram, except, indeed, that it hud bestowed upon him a family so large that tho gaping seams of their somewhat incon- gruous garments were only typical of the state of his finances in their ina- bility to nu»ke both ends meet. Tho liev. Renjamin had, however, apparently accepted his fate with resignation, und had at last come to regard certain household labors which fell to his charge as even more sociable, and hence more exhilarating, than the occupation of writing sermons ; and having, at this date, served ten different parishes with iiiJifferent success, he gave up sermon- writing, supposing that tho stock on hand miglU be sutKcient to support him down the vale of years. Some of his people suggested that they did n't re- ceive much for their money ; but they did not say it to him, and, if they had, he might truthfully have rejoined that he did n't receive much for his work. So fur matters were even, and the bar- gain a fair enough one ; and, having thus discharged his public duties so easily, our parson devoted himself to those of a domestic nature with worthy zeal, and made a very affectionate father and a supremely obedient and devoted husband.
^^
yurf
I (lirort ojicrn- ukrmii wuH ilml
• llVHHill;,' ^{OWII,
M ftM't liixiirintiMl jiptTM MyHt«!iimti- I'l'l. Ill) niinlit l)t' thus littiri'il ioii ; liiit Niicli IV
l)e«'M I'l'I'IIIU'DIIH,
u>u\y to lie (.1)- rray, cxct'iit on al|iiu'ii I'liiit took
MsillJi-JJOWll, lilltl 11(1 lllCL'll l||) HO
uns(i|iliiNtinitL'(l
t'tl them not to
shoeH by unin-
ho (flippers. In-
H iivociititinH fre-
iml the (IrcKsing-
lo an inimenHO
inileNM hilt luided
b when lie found
out of doors on
in fact, had not
janiin Dnekrain,
it had bestowed
0 largo that tho somewhat ineon-
1 only typical of leos in their ina- unds meet. Tho wovcr, apparently I resignation, and • regard certain i fell to his charge
and henco nioro
0 occupation of
1 having, at this !nt parishes with gave up sernion- at the stock on nt to support hinj rs. Some of his
they did n't rc- noney ; but they and, if they had, [»ve rejoined that ch for his work, en, and tho bar- •ne ; and, having public duties so coted himself to ,ture with worthy iffectionato father icnt and devoted
80MKTIIIN0 TO DO. T
Mrs. Buckram was not droMHcd in | pri/o during tho noiitoollego tonn, —for
faded ciilii r lent her slippers ; she sut j even poor piirsonM who do hiuisework
composodly, arrayed in a Niirt gray g"wn, ; for u living have energy and loiiraKo which tittcil her buxom tigure well, and enough left to give their sons an edu< Huwed ipiii'tly without undue liuste nr' cation which thousands of well-to du worry. 'I'Ik* brow was placid, and you ' tradesmen think far lieyoud their lucans. might have culled her u gentle woman The prinmry articles in Mrs. IJuck- but for a vicious little turning down of ram's crei^d were ; I'irst, whatever /do
tho corners of the mouth. The eyes were clear, and the hand refined (her daughter .Mary .Vnu did tho housework, assisted liy the Kev. II. II.), and you might have guessed her to lie a person of culture until you heard her urging Mary Aim to play to you that beauti- ful new piece of hers, Fisher's Horn-
is absolutely perfect ; second, whiitevor my chililrcii do is absolutely perfect in comparison with the deeds of every other inhabitant of the known world except myself.
Hence .Jonathan's essay met witli liur approbation, and couse(|uently with tho approbation of bor husband and children.
pipe with variations, adding that Mary j It may be as well to say, m /Ki.iMnt,
Ann played a great deal of sueii elassi cal music. However, she was a parson's wife antl hail never been to tho opera, which sho regardetl as a device of the ill-disposed old serpent.
Tho children, of whom far be it from us to attempt to estimate tho number, wore facsimiles of tho father, all with molasHCS-candy-colored hair, and watery blue eyes, and opaque white skins, and round adipose bodies. They were gfjod children too, and always minded their parents, especially their mother. iJut as "there is no flock, however watched and tended, but one Uark sheep is there," so among this flock was one tough, wiry little sheep, a dozen years old or thereabouts, with eves as black as coals, hair blacker yet, and face as brown as a berry. He looked some- what like his mother ; that is, if he had been a woman grown, and " subdued by grace" and tho cares of a parish, he might have looked like her. Neverthe- less, there may have been one more drop of black b'ood in him than in her, that one being just enough to turn the balance of his life on the other side. At any rate, she was saintly, and Master Frank did not look as if he either was or was likely to be a saint. At present ho was employed in pinching his little sisters behind his mother's back, and terrifying them with such horrible faces of threatening that they dared not enter a complaint against him.
Mary Ann was sewing, and Jonathan, tho eldest son, was reading aloud, with considerable rhetorical flourish, an essay with which bo was going to take the first
that it did not take the pri/.e ; but Mrs. Ituckram said that there was tho most flagrant injustice displayed in awiirdin({ the honors, and that everyliody said that Jonathan liuckriini omiht to havo had the first prize, and that his essay was in fact tho most profound and ele< gant which had been read for tho last ten years.
" Yes," remarked Jonathan, medita- tively, having concluded, " I cannot do- . ny to myself that it is rather a good thing. Perhaps it is — u — unbecom- ing in me to say so, but really — "
"Why, no, it isn't unbecoming," in- terrupted his mother, with asperity in her tones and a smilo on her lips, — tho smile intended for Jonathan, and tho asperity for bis detractors, whoever or wherever tiiey might bo. " I declare, nobody can be blame<l for seeing his own merits. Nobody is self-conceited un- less he thinks himself smiirter than ho is. And that essay is a real good one," and she laughed a delighted little laugh.
" Well — a — don't you think it might bo rather soothing to my cousins when they comol" inquired Jonathan. " I suppose they need some good — well — strengthening counsel, and this would be an indirect way of — a — administer- ing it. I rrt-ther like that idea."
Jonathan had a fancy for the word rather, which ho pronounced slowly and thoughtfully, giving tho " a " its broad sound.
" O dear ! I wish they 'd come," burst out Frank, with along-drawn sigh ; " anything for a row."
" Frank ! " said his mother, with con-
;i«.rfiWfiriiCi»a
8
SOMETHING TO DO.
Bidcrablc sharpness; " there, I 'm not go- ing to correct you again for using that word. Do you go straiglit into my bed- room and stay tliere till I send for yon."
Frank obeyed submissively, but, hav- ing closed the door, hu began a series of the most extraordinary contortions of his face over seen, and shook his tist in tlie direction of the sitting-room.
" 1 hate you, you old mother," said he ; " and 1 '11 do something before long, yon see if I don't. 1 '11 run away, I de- clare 1 will."
But presently espying n dress of his mother lying on the bed awaiting re- pairs, he solaced himself l)y trying it on and attitudinizing before the glass.
" O dear ! I wish I could swear," said he, " but I don't (juite dare ; besides, I don't know how. I wonder if I shall have to go to i)rayer-meeting to-night. I wonder if tho.so girls will be anything like Mary Aim ; wonder if they '11 cry if I pinch 'em."
Tlie girls refeiTod to by this amiable child were his cousins, Alice and Celia Wilding, who were coming to make their homa with their aunt Buckram, and were expected that very evening.
CHAPTER IV.
A WEEK later the sisters wei'c fairly established, for some years at least, it would appear. Prayer-meeting night had again arrived, and Mrs. Bucki'am announced her desire that her uieces should accompanj- her thither.
"/don't believe I want to go, Alice," said Celia fretfully, as she had a moment alone with her sister. " I hate Uucle Benjamin's prayers any time. What makes you go 1 "
" 0, well," said Alice, " I don't think it would be quite polite to refuse the very first time we are asked. Since our home is to be here, I suppose we must do what we can to make the rest hapi)y."
"0 dear !" burst out Celia, " I wish you wouldn't say our home, because 't is n't, 't is n't, 't is n't, and I hate it ! O, that old pink-and-red spread on our bed, — is n't it dreadful 1 I declare, I won't sleep imder it again. I wish I could set it on fire."
In all the paroxysms of rage with which Celia went to Alice fifty times a day, she was sure to end with something of this kind, something wherein her mar- vellous intuition of beauty and fitness had been shocked. There is always something hard and severe in a child of unusual capacity, for it jierceivcs incon- gruities without having become so tem- pered as to overlook them.
"('omc on, girls," said Mary Ann; " we 're all ready."
The church was a little whito-painted, green-blinded afl'air, with a neat. spire pointed with a vane which, while it is ecjually ornamental, is supposed by Yan- kees to be more useful and less Popish than a cross. The church hwked, as all New England churches do, clean and pretty, an<l formed the climax of the vil- hige scenery which is approjniate. But though tlie inhabitants of Uockdalo were of the strictest sect, Puritans, the Rev. lienjamin's preaching for some years j)a.st had not been of that startling na- ture which is calculated to draw multi- tudes to the house of worship ; therefore the priiyer-mcotings were held in a small apartment called the vestry, and to this place the Buckram family now wended their way. It was a dark and dingy lit- tle room, fitted with nnpainted benches, whose backs were so very upright that yo»i instinctively wondered if they did not get tired of standing so straight.
Although the muster from the par- sonage was so large, the little room was not full ; in fact, the Buckram family composed about half the . assembly. But Mr. Benjamin remarked cheerfully that " where two or three are gathered together, etc." As his nieces were not in the habit of attending such gather- ings, they were totally at a loss to com- prehend the purport of the " etc.," but the remainder of the audience appeared to feel satisfaction in it, so all was prob- ably right. Mr. Buckram commenced the service l)y reading a hymn in a somewhat shambling manner, and then pitched the* tune himself. One or two male voices joined, dragging and scuffling from one note to another in a manner meant, no doubt, to be solemn. Mrs. Buckram then united her treble to the chorus, but, owing to an extraordinary inability which she had always mani-
ns of rngo with
lico fifty times a
id witli something
wherein her mar-
.'(Uity and fitness
There is always
k'ere in a ehild of
it perceives incon-
}^ hccomo so tem-
lem.
said Mary Ann ;
ttlo wliito-paintcd, ith a neat.spiro hicli, while it is supposed i)y Yan- \\ and less I'opish urcli looked, as all ics do, clean and ; climax of tlio vil- apj)roj)riate. But s of Rockdale were Puritans, the Rev. for some years tiiat startling na- :ed to draw multi- worship ; therefore kero held in a small vestry, and to this amily now wended dark and dingy lit- inijKiinted benches, very upright that ndcred if they did ling so straight, ster from the par- the little room was ic Buckram family df the ^ assembly. ;marked cheerfully three ai'e gathered lis nieces were not tiding such gather- ly at a loss to com- of the " etc.," but audience appeared it, so all was prob- ckram conmienced ng a hymn in a manner, and then nself One or two igging and scuffling )ther in a manner be solemn. Mrs. d her treble to the ) an extraordinary had always mani-
SOMETHING TO DO.
9
Tested to discern the difference between the melodies of " All hail ! the power " and " Sister, thou wast mild and lovely," except as accompanied by the words, she proceeded in a surprising and novel monotone, which failed to cheer the spirits of the solemn men. But at this era Mrs. Deacon Grumm and her hired girl entered and set in with a vigorous falsetto, at wiiich all the singers took heart and went gloriously on to the end. Then Mr. Buckram prayed in n very easy way, without exerting himself much, and afterwards edified his hearers with expositions upon several passages of Scripture. His remarks especially re- ferred to the differences between the "sheep and the goats." Having con- cluded, he lazily stated that there would now bo opportunity for further observa- tions from the brethren. There was a long and sombre pause, after which a sallow man, with a coat which must have seen service in a bam, arose. He began in a mournful voice, in a minor key: —
" My friends, — ahem, — I feel that it is good to bo here. It is a blessed place and the ' gate of heaven.' I feel it a gi-eat privilege to be permitted to come up to the house of prayer. I feel to thank the Lord for his benefits. My friends, — ahem, — I have been interested, greatly interested, in what our minister has ben sayin'. I feel that it 's a great and solemn truth, and that we 'd all ought to think of it a groat deal more. There 's a gi'eat and an awful dift'erence between the sheep and the goats. Some on us here present is sheep, I trust and believe. I hope and pray that wo may be. Some on us is goats. That 's a great and an awful thought. Some on us is one, and some on us is the other. Now I beg and be- seech each one here present to consider this question and to ask himself solemnly, ' Which he I ?' 0 my friends, it 's an awful question. But I can put it to myself boldly, and as boldly can I an- swer. I may be mistaken, none on us can know certain till we git to the judg- ment-seat which we be, but unless I^'ni very greatly mistaken, which I don't consider very likely, I can answer boldly, ' I 'm a SHEEP.' "
"So he is — sheepish" said the for- lorn Frank iu a loud whisper to Celio,
toward whom he already began to have drawings. His mother was safe at the other end of the bench, else he would not hav c dared to H[)eak ; and even now she heard the whisper and favored him with a frown which would have been who can tell 1k)w many <legrec8 blacker had she heard what he said.
Deacon Grumm arose. His voice ap- peared to issue from the pit of his stomach and to find no outlet through his nose.
" My brethren," said ho, " I fear that we arc in a very low state. I fear that / am in a very low state myself. I do not experience the joy which 'once I knew when first I knew the Loi"d.' I am glad that Brother Peck feels so sure of being in the * artt of safety,' but I should feel that it was sinfulness and selfrighteousness if I felt such an as- surance. We are poor, l)lind, and mis- erable creatures, and ' (iod is angry with the wicked every day.' We are told to ' flee from the wrath to come,' and my sins hold mo back with such a power that I can't flee. Yes, my brethren, I am jn a very low state, and this church is in a very low state. When I look at these vacant seats T feel depressed. When I see the young people in the town around all going in the ways which 'take hold on death,' I am struck with terror. This is a wicked world we live in. Our hearts are hard and des- perately wicked. ' W^c have all sinned and come short of the glory of God.' I feel that it would be just that we should be cast at once, with our sins upon us, into the ' lake which burneth with fire,' ' where their worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched.' But the Lord is a liord of mercy. Jesus of Nazareth suf- fered ' in his own body on the tree,' and was made a propitiation for our trans- gressions. I cling to the cross. I have no other hope ; and this hope is not a lively hope, for I confess my sins and know that there is ' none good, no, not one,' and there is gi'cat danger that when we come and say ' Lord, Lord,' he will reply, ' I never knew you ; depart from me, ye wicked, to everlasting de- struction.' 0 my brethren, 'the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night,' and I expect that I shall not be prepared. I 'm afraid none of us will
10
SOMETHING TO DO.
t ['
be, tho church seems to bo in such a low Htiitc. Let us ])niy."
Ad Alice and (Jolia had not the ac- quaiutaiico witii certiiiu stereotyped (inotiitious wliich their aunt's chihh'en had, tlicso remarks apjjeared extraordi- nary, and tliouyh very disjointed and incDinpreheusible, at least original and startling.
With the " Amen " of Deacon ( Jrumm, a tall, loose man sprang up, and began in a very voluble manner : —
" 0 my dear friends, and my breth- ren, and my sisters too, I hev been edified and refreshed by what 1 've heard at this 'ero meetin' ; it 's a glorious thing for la'ethreu to meet together in unity and agree. I feel my heart strengtiieued and enlarged by it. Noth- in', no, nothin' should ever induce mo to give up the prayer -meetin'. The preached word is good in its place. I 'm an arduous 8U[)porter of the preached word, and on Sundays I feel a blessed peace, not of the earth, earthy. But the influence of the preached word as compared with that of the jjrayer-meet- in' is but as a sand on the sea-shore or a drop in tho ocean. I came in here feelin' that I should get good, and 1 've got it. I feel it here, and I know I 've got it. I think with Brother Peck that I am assured that / am a sheep, for I 'm sure that ' I 've washed my robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."
Cclia looked surprised, for tho meta- phor was not a familiar one to her, and she supposed it was to be taken literally, which seemed hardly possible, regarding the extremely ancient-looking linen worn by tho brother in question.
" I belicvv ," ho went on, " that it is the privilege of all on us to hev this blessed assurance, and I praise the Lord that I hev it. But I think Brother (irumm is right when ho says the church is in a low state. O my friends, what we need is a revival ! Nothin' else can hev any effect. When I see so many young pussons, and tho middle-aged, and tho old, going straight down to the bottom- less pit, I can but hold out a hand to restrain 'em, if so lx> they will listen to it. Some on 'em '11 not hear the * voice of the charmer, charm ho never so wise- ly ' ; but, 0 my friends and brethren,
some on 'cm will. Let us go out into tho liighways and hedges and compel 'em to come in. Let us tell 'em there is only one way to be saved from tho ' wrath to come.' Let us tell 'em of tho place prepared for tho wicked, where they shall burn in fires ' heated peveu times hotter,' through an everlastin' eternity. It is the place ' pr'-jiared for the devil and his angels ' by the ' meek and lowly ' Jesus, who, when he was re- viled, reviled not again. AVe ought to bo thankful and praise the Loid that such a place is prejjared to satisfy tho holy demands of the glorious and divine Justice. I feel that 1 am girded to tho good work, and 1 'm ready to set forth ; and, having put my hand to the jjlough- share, 1 will not look back, remembering Lot's wife, who turned back and became a pillow of salt. If all these members here present is oidy prepared to follow my example and say Amen to it, in a few, a very few, weeks we may expect a glorious outpoiu'ing of tho Sj)irit of the Lord in this place. 0 my friends, let us have a revival ! "
Mr. Jonathnn Buckram, — "I believe, with those who have already spoken, in the deep need of a revival of piu-e re- ligion in this community. I have just come from a preciovis season of refresh- ing in the college of which I am a mem- ber, and my heart is all aglow to do something in the service of Jesus. Like the chiming of distant bells is the voice of my Kcdeemer in my soul. He has come to seek and to save that which was lost. There is nothing wliich wo can do ourselves which will secure to us tho blessed inheritance provided ibr tho just. All good works are as naught. Wo have simply to believe. I will relate a little anecdote, which to my mind seems wonderfully impressive and in- structive. A poor sailor boy was very ill, and was put in a part of the ship by himself, — the ' sick bay,' I believe it is called. One night there arose a terrific storm. Tho waves dashed high, tho billows roared, tho sea was lashed into fury, and the gallant ship was tossed to and fro upon the bosom of the mighty deep as if it had been a frail shell. At last it became evident that tho ship must sink, and then there was fearful despair depicted on all countenances.
• ta« 7
SOMETHING TO DO.
11
3S
US go out into gcs iiud compel 8 tell 'em there saved from the us tell 'em of 10 wicked, where ' hetited peven nn eveilustiu' ICC ' pr'paretl for ' by the 'meek whcu ho was re- AVc oujrht to 80 the Lord that red to satisfy the orious and divine am girded to tho eady to set forth ; md to the plough- jack, remembering back and became ill these members ire})ared to follow Amen to it, in u cs we may expect X of the Sj)irit of e. 0 my friends,
ram. — "I believe, already spoken, in revival of pure re- nity. I have just 1 season of rcfresh- which I am a mem- is all aglow to do ice of Jesus. Like it bells is tho voice my soul. Ho has
0 save that which nothing which wo
ih will seoirc to us ce provided ibr tho ks are as naught. 'tieve. I will relate hich to my mind mpressive and in- ailor boy was very part of the ship by bay,' I believe it is here arose a terrific
dashed high, tho lea was lashed into
ship was tossed to jom of the mighty n a frail shell. At lent that the ship
1 there was fearful all countenances.
All rushed for the boats. Now tho poor, ill sailor-boy was unable to move, and though ho shouted to others, no one heard him above the tempestuous roll- ing waters. He felt then that he should be left to perish. But suddenly he hearil a voice above. It was his captain's voice. 'Counige, Ned !' he said in his gruff voico ; ' there is room in the boats for everybody, and you shall not be left behind.' Now what did tho poor boy do? Ho could not lift a finger for him- self, but he became cheerful. And why 1 Because he had/((i</i in the captain's word. He i, 'lieveil him. Now, my dear friends, that is exactly what we are to do. Our soitU are «t«-sick, so that we cannot lift a finger in our own behalf, but we have heard the voico of the blessed Uodoemcr, and wo have only to believe. Notliing could be simpler. Ah, my friends, with such promises held out before us, shall any of us fail of tiio great salvation f "
Mr. Buckram now suggested tliat the time was passing, and, after another hymn kindred to tho first, ho dismissed the meeting.
A young woman camo up to speak to Mrs. Buckram. Tlio latter did not con- sider her nieces old enough to bo intro- dviced ; but they discovered in the course of tlio conversation that tho young wo- man's name was Miss lloby, and they had previously heard that she kept the district school. She was about as tall as a yardstick, but as rotund as a pin- cushion. She wore a calico dress and a big bonnet. There was a certain hint of pathos in her fivco and her voice, but not in her words. She had a most vol- uble tongue, and talked at the top of her speed till the family reached home, and then yielded to their invitation to walk in, enforced by the offer of Mr. Jonathan to attend her home whenever she wished to go.
" What a good meeting we had to- night ! " said she, in a cordial tone.
" Very good," rejoined Mrs. Buckram, with her acrid littlo smile ; " only I do wish Deacon Grumm woula n't always tidk about tho low state of tie church. I 'm sure there is much nioro interest since Mr. Buckram came thho there ever was under Mr. Meeks."
"Yes, to be sure, it is rather dis- couraging to hear such things, but
then Deacon Grumm is such a good old man."
" Yes, 0 yes ; I would n't have you think that 1 don't think he is very good," put in Mrs. Buckram.
" Yes, and then, don't you think, Mrs. Buckram, that sometimes when people feel so low it is just the stirring of the Spirit in their hearts, and that it is an indication of a better state of things 1 "
" iiut / iirisfi," remarked Jonathan, "that Mr. I'ierce would learn to speak grammatically."
"Ah, Mr. Jonathan," said Miss lloby, vivaciously, " you must n't ex- pect plain country people to be polished and cultivated like you collegians, and Mr, Pierce is very earnest. When ho spoke about going out into the high- ways and hedges and gathering in the lo.st, I declare it made tho tears come to my eyes, and I felt we should really have a revival here before long."
" But," replied Jonathan, somewhat pompously, " I think he holds a wrong doctrine. He thinks it is by showing the horrors of hell that souls are to bo won, while I think it is by holding up the terms of salvation, more especially ' only believe,' as I said to-night."
" Yes, I think so too," said Miss Roby. "I hope you'll excuse my say- ing so, but I liked your remarks par- ticularly. I shall not forgot them for a long time. I thought that story was veri/ beautiful and touching, and so ap- propriate."
" It set forth the way of salvation very strikingly," remarked Mrs. Buck- ram.
" Yes," said Miss Roby ; " but still, if people don't want to accept them, — of course I know they ought to, but some people don't, and if they don't, why, then they must have the strongest mo- tives set before them, and there is where such people as Mr. Pierce do good, and I sometimes think that their very igno- rance and illiterate manner of speaking may impart a kind of fervor which is more effective with a certain class of minds than the graces of oratory. Now / was most benefited by Mr. Buckram's and Mr. Jonathan's remarks, but there may have been those present most affected by something which was more
12
SOMETHING TO DO.
ii)
within their comprehension, — though I do not mean exactly timt cither, for your remarka were as simple iw elegant, but — Well, you understand what 1 mean."
At this juncture, Mrs. IJuckram sent the children all to bed, as she believed in primitive hours. So they heiu-d no more and saw no more of Miss Uoby that night, thougli afterwards they were her pupils for three years.
CHAPTER V.
WHEN the sisters were safe in their own room, Celia spoke out, vehemently as usual, but more in a sur- prised thiui an angry way.
" Was n't it strange and dreadful, Alice ] I will never go to another. What did it mean 1 "
"I hardly know," replied Alice, "it was so confused, but I suppose they meant it to bo a religions meeting. You know they believe some very strange things, and they can't help talk- ing about them. I only wonder that they do not speak of them oftcncr. If Uncle Benjamin and Aimt Lydia really think that everybody who does n't agree with them is going straight down to such awful and endless suffering, I don't sec how they can ever smile or think of anything but how to save as man}- as possible."
" 0, it 's horrible ! " cried Celia, clenching her little hands. " You 're sure it can't bo true, Alice 1 "
" iSitre," said Alice, in the most rest- ful tone. " It is not possible, my dear, L because there is a God over us. If he had not come so near to us just now, darling, I might not be so certain, but now I cannot help believing."
"And you will never, never, never believe it ) " cried Celia, in a fit of ap- prehension.
" No, I suppose not. How coidd 1 1 Why arc you afraid 1 "
" I don't know," said the child, still passionately ; " only it makes me shud- der, and if it were not so hideous, I think the very terror might make me believe it some time. Still, you know I never could, for I must have beauty.
I could n't believe anything true which was n't beautiful."
Mrs. I'uckram had been endeavoring for the week past to implant some no- tions of theology in the very miin- formed minds of lier nieces, and had so far only succeeded in harassing them and making their new home, wifh all its strange incongruities, jar more and more ujuju the sensitive liearts so lately wrung by sorrow, ('elia, who was by nature as fierce ns a little tiger, had been so far subdued by her peaceful years of childhood, and now especially by her father's sudden death, that she kept herself moderately civil to her aunt, but broke out like a whirlwind when alone with Alice, who was suH'er- ing untold agonies, bravely as she held herself It is curious and painful that people of such different natures are sometimes compelled to live together iu such close companionship. Alice re- pressed herself partly because she had a reverent nature and recognized her aunt's position of authority over her, though she knew in her heart that only in trivialities was it possible that she could be bound to obey, and yet more because she feared the influence of this mode of life on Celia's fiery spirit ; and indeed it seemed calculated to rasp and exasperate the child, and develop all the forces of passion which had lain dormant in her heart because she liad been so tenderly and lovingly treated.
" I thought," continued Celia, " that religion was meant to make people good ; but I don't think Aunt Lydia is very good, — do you 1 "
"I think," replied Alice, "that peo- ple are so differently made that it is impossible for one person to say that another is not good. We can never know the inner life of another fully, and so we can never know the entire mean- ing of its outward cxijression."
« Well, Alice," sighed the little one, " I think you arc perfect, at any rate ; and I wish I was as good, only I know I never shall be."
The next morning Alice sat sewing by her aunt, and Celia slipped away down through the woods at the back of the house, and amused herself by gath- ering great branches of the resplendent October leaveB. Where the waters of
~r
'■itL%:z
SOMETHING TO DO.
13
pything tnic which
I>ccn ciKleiivoring iiiil>liuit somt- 110- 1 tlio very imin- I'leces, and hud so n harnssiiig tlicm w home, with all 'its, jiir iiKij-c and vo heartH so lately 'elia, who was hy a little tiger, had 1 l»y her ])cacefid Ind now especinlly 'u death, that she itely civil to her like a whirlwind !c, who was sutter- ravely as she held s and painful that 'lent natures are to live together iu nship. Alice re- y because she had id recognized her ithority over her, er heart that only possible that sJie K'y, and yet nioro ie influence of this '« fiery spirit ; and idated to rasp and I and develop all 1 which had lain ; because she had lovingly treated, nucd Celia, "that to make people nk Aunt Lydia is
Alice, "that peo- mado that it is
rson to say that Wo can never
another fully, and
the entire mean-
■ession."
ed the little one,
feet, at any rate ;
3od, only I know
Alice sat sewing ia slipped away Is at the back of herself by gath- tho resplendent e the waters of
the brook sparkled clearest, the bend- ing boughs shone most gloriously. I wonder why.
Oelia was just seating herself on a mossy log, when she was startled by a gi-uff, hard little voice issuing from the tree over her head.
" Ho ! Celia ; how did you conao hero ? Who l(!t you come 1 Mother did n't, / know." Therewith Master Frank swung himself lightly down and alight- ed i)V her side.
" Why not 1 " replied Celia. " I did n't ask her."
" O, you did n't, — did n't you 1 What do you expect she '11 say when you get home 1 "
" I don't know," said Celia, in amaze- ment. " 1 never supposed she would care. I never asked my father when I wanted to go into the woods."
" But then you see you did n't have any mother," remarked Frank, with his hands in his pockets. " That makes all the dift'erence, you know."
" No, it don't," stiitl Celia, indignant- ly. " I should never have wanted to do anything my mother didn't like."
" Oho ! " said Frank, raising his eye- brows, and poking his short, stitf hair till it stood up straight. " What a queer girl you are ! Say, was n't your father a jolly man, though 1 "
" He was just like the angel Gabriel," said Celia, without any very distinct notions as to the angel in question, ex- cept that ho was very grand.
"Was heV asked Frank, softly whistling. " Well, then, 1 tell you, I should n't want to sec him. You see I hate angels, — they 're bosh ! and I 'm afraid I 'vo got to go to heaven some time, and I don't want to. Don't tell mother, now, will you?" Ho seemed suddenly seized with a panic. "Be- cause, you see, I don't mean that I want to go anywhere else, though, — I should like to live and never die, only I want to be a man first, for I hato to stay here ; don't you, Celia 1 "
"Yes," said Celia, instantly and un- reflectingly. " I hato it, of coureo ; but I should n't think you would feel so, be- cause you have your father and mother and all."
"Oho! That's just what it is! I don't want them to die, you kuow, but
I wish they 'd all go off in somo nice place where 1 shotdd never seo them again, and have a splendid time."
('elia sympathized so much that sho had great ado to prevent herself from shaking hands then and there witii her cousin upon their common sentiments. But her instinctive tiolicauy of feeling saved her, and she triod to say, in a manner as much like that of Alice as might be, " Hush, Frank I That is n't right."
" Pooh ! I did n't suppose you would talk gammon. 1 hate it. I wonder how i/oii would like to be my mother's son I" He laughed a little, and then continued : " Now you 're hero and I 'm hero, I should like to have a talk with you. .Mother says Alice and you are heathen, and don't know anything about good things. And I should just like to know what you used to do at homo ; for I can't bear good things, only I don't seo what else there is .to do. Now, Sun- days, for instance, what did yon do if you did n't go to church and prayer- meeting and Sunday school ] "
" 0, wo had a blessed time Sun- days ! " said Celia, with somo excite- ment. " Father was sure to be at homo then, though ho was often away through tho week. But wo did n't stay with him in tho morning, for that time he spant in tho study."
" Why, I did n't know ho was a min- ister," said Frank, with great surprise and disgust. " Ho was n't."
"Then what did ho have a study fori" demanded Frank, with a-siwrity. " My father never goes into his study except to 800 about his sermons."
" But mi/ father loved to study," re- turned Celia, proudly, " And ho was very wise. On pleasant days in the summer Alice and I used to wander in the woods in tho moniing, and gather wild-flowers and tell stories. Then we came back just in time for dinner."
" Did you have dinner Sunday?" in- quired Frank, with new surprise.
"Of course. And then in tho af- ternoon we always walked and talked and read with father, or perhaps wont sailing with him in his beautiful boat, and some rare times he took us to ride, and wo carried luucheon and
I
^
14
SOMETHING TO DO.
all alono by
Imd a beautiful picnic ourselves."
" Tlmt \vii8 u't. luiy jrrcat fun, was it 1 " said Franli. " 1 Wkv picnics well enoujj;li, but I should want soniebody there be- sides fatiier and -Mary Ann. Hoating . must have iiecu }j,<)o(l fun, tliough. But j weren't you dreadfully afraid of beinji i drowned ( "
" Wiiy, no, indeed ; I don't sec why. Tatlier "knew all about a boat and was ] vcrv careful, and wo only went still days."
" 0 vcs ! I don't mean that.
But
you know it was Sunday. And the Sunday-school book^ say that all the bad jjcople who go in a boat Sundays are always drowned, no matter how pleasant it is wlicn they start. I don't tiiink I should dare to go."
"Well, 1 should," said Celia, "and my father was not bad, but the best man who ever lived, so 1 know it was right."
" Queer, though, that you were n't drowned. 1 don't think"^! should be quite so much afraid now. I supposed everybody was drowned who went sail- ing Simday. No, come to tliink of it, there was one boy, Maurice Taylor, who was almost di'owued, and that converted him. But I don't want to be converted, either, till the last minute."
"But I don't think it would be so dreadful to be drowned," said Celia. "The water is so beautiful and blue, and the sunset flushes it so, and the moon makes such a bright path across it, and there are such lovely seaweeds, and away down there are pearls and gold and ever so many strange things. () Fr.iuk, I wish you had just seen little Antoinetta at the theatre play that she was a sea-spirit."
" Did yoii ever go to the theatre 1 " questioned Frank, now fairly aghast.
" Never but that once," said (^elia. " That was the last Saturday father was with us. And I 'm so glad, for I believe it was the very hap[>ie8t day of all my life."
"You don't suppose that's what made him die, — do you ]" said Frank. "Why, no," replied Celia, opening her eyes wide ; "how could iti"
"Mother thinks so, I know," said Frank, "for she said he,^i^ed very sud-
dcnly and that it was a direct judg- ment upon him ; but she would n't tell me why, though I teased her. But you see that 's it. It 's awful wicked to go to the theatre."
" i never heard of that before," said Celia, "and I don't believe it now. It's i)erfectly gorgeous."
" But I tell you you '11 go to hell if you go to the theatre. Thcr ■ 's a book in our Sunday school, " The W'ay to the Pit," about a boy who went to the pit of the theatre and ended by going to the bottomless pit, I believe, — stop, let's see, I don't know but he was converted in the end, I believe he was, but if ho had n't been, he would have gone there. The first part of the book is real inter- esting, though. Isn't there a place at a theatre called the pit ] " >■
" No," said Celia, " I don't know of any. Btit, Frank, 1 don't believe there is any such place as hell, so of course 1 'm not afraid of going there."
" But of coiu'se there is such a place," said Frank, " and 1 "m just as afraid as I can be. I tell you what," he added confidentially, " if it was n't for that I should run away. I should like to get into a theatre myself 1 know I should think it was splendid, for we had a Sunday-school exhibition once, and I took jiart, and 1 had the best time that ever / had, though that is n't sayuig very much either. But I should like it bully. Only, you sec, I don't dare."
"'Well," said Celia, with sudden an- ger, " if I were a boy, — or a girl cither, — I should be ashamed to ho such a coward, and that 's all ! "
Frank flushed to the roots of his hair. " 1 ain't a coward. Jonathan 's a cow- ard. I had a great three-pronged tooth pidled and I never made a wliim- per ; and I can lick any boy in school, though I don't do it when Miss Roby is there, because she 'd tell mother. But when it conies to dying and getting into such an awful blistering, burning flame forever and ever and ever and ever, I tell you what, it's no joke." And he looked low and wretched.
" But you sha' n't think I 'm a coward," said he, suddenly firing. " Tell mo idl about that theatre, and the little girl who played."
So Celia, nothing loath, lived over
M^
^-^K %r
SOMETHING TO DO.
10
as a direct judg- hIic would n't tell it'd her. Hut you vful wicked to go
that lioforc," said believe it now.
I '11 go to holl if
Tlicr ' 's II liook
" The Way to the
0 went to the pit iidcd by going to .'licvc, — Btoj), let's
he wus converted he was, but if ho
1 have gone there, book is real inter- t there a place at it]"
" I don't know of don't believe there
hell, BO of course ig there."
ire u such a place," n just as afraid as u what," he added
was n't for that I
should like to get
I know I should
id, for we had a
ition once, and I
the best time that atisn'tsay'ng very ihould like it bully, t dare." a, with sudden an-
- — or a girl either, mcd to bo such a 11 ! " he roots of his hair.
Jonathan 's a cow- •eat three-prt)nged icvcr made a wliim- any boy in school, when Miss Roby is
tell mother. But dying and getting
blistering, burning ever and ever and lat, it's no joke." nd wretched, hink I 'm a coward," ring. " Tell mo i.ll
and the little girl
g loath, lived over
again the happy excitement of her aftc „,,on at the extravaganza. She hm har lly thought of it si.ico she heard Tttr the terrible sorrow which had ire tly befallen her, and the rapid t^. through which «»'e had at.^ ,,aHse:lha.l almost driven •* ^o n htr miiul. But now it was such a del ght "; got back to that beauty 'Wa.n that her^verv words glowed, and I'rank was , in such "a whirl and fever of excitement, tha he .luite forgot to be afraid even o his mother, which resulted in bnng- i„. them both liome late to dinner, upon
which strict inquiries were made, an. when it was discovered that they had both been away witliout leave, Mrs. Buckram excused Celia with only a
scolding
na it was the first time and
KCOKll"^, as It was mv 11
caused by a misunderstanding, but ivank was sentenced to a solitary after- noon in his mother's room.
And so tho life of the sisters went on for three ycarS.%-.
CHAPTER VI.
AT last came a day when to Celias complaint Alice answered, " You are right, we^ cannot live here, wo will CO to school."
She had thought of this often and anx- iously, but sbe had not wished to go , till Celia was old enough to be bene- fited by it, and could realize what it I would be for them to spend the little , money they had, and afterwards be obliged to work for their support. ^^
"I unless 1 sha' n't want to teach, Baid Celia, thoughtfully. "I '11 be an actress, I guess."
" Perhaps so," said Alice, " when you 1
are old enough." ... .,
" 1 'm as old now as Antoinina was,
said Celia. , ,,
"Yes" said Alice, "but her mother was an actress, so her home was in the theatres. But you would liavo to go nlone, and would have no one to guide you in right and wrong." _ ,, ■ \ "1 have my own conscience, saia Celia, tossing her head loftily.
Alice smiled. "Still you want some education and cultjjro aside from the stage ; and a boarding-school seems to
be the only place where we can afTord to go for it. Besides, Uncle Huckram is vour guardian."
" But if you said it was best, Alice, l
would run away."
Alice laughed. "I don't say so But vou mav stiidv elocution at school, and then you will be all ready to be an ac- tress by and l>y." , ,, :j ; .'I shall be rather old, though, 'said Celia; and .\lice did not tel her tliat hor ideas of actresses would probably chaiisie before that time.
No objection was made to the plan of L'oingto school. Mrs. Buckram vamly hinted that with a little pecuniary aid Mary Ami might acct.nipany the sisters, and consoled herself by thinking it well. „n the whole, that she should be sepa- rated from such heretical companions, though, as she justly remarke.l, • Mary Ann was rooted aii.l grounded in the faith, and bad no tendeiicies to free m- <iuiry " In her secret heart Mrs. Buck- ram thought that the sisters were un- wittingly jumping from the frymg-pan into the fire, though she did not desig- nate the places by those terms for she had selected a boarding-school for them , which bore the reputation of never hav- ing graduated a single unconverted
young lady. , ,
Their iireparations were not very elab- orate, though perhaps it took as long to make over the few simple dresses ma [becoming and tasteful manner as would I have been necessary for a fashionable ! wardrobe. But Alice worked silently and steadily, and no one realized that she was doing anything till it w-iis done. Celia was in such high spirits that she was even gracious to Mary Ann ; but she did not dare to express her cxulta- , tion except in private to Alice and 1' rank Frank, in the depths of his misery, had become an accomplished hypocrite and could conceal secrets.
" I tell vou what, Celia," said he, con-
udentiallv; " I don't know what I shall
,lo when you are gone. There 's nobody
else to have any kind of fun with, darn
'em ' " This last was as near as he daroa
approach to swearing, and it aftorded
him a great deal of delight to feel that
he was using an expression which would
have consigned him to the dungeons if
his mother had overheard it.
■ , ^ -
■:::::^rr:::S0>— XSSSSSiJ!^^*-'^^^^*-*-^''^**-^'
16
SOMETHING TO DO.
r.
" I 'II tell you what I 'm going to do," added lio. " No, I won't ; nobody cun 1)0 tnistud to keep u Huoivt l>iit niyHolt'. We (ion't know our own eneniies " (in ii graii(lilo(|ueiit tone); "l)ut murk my words, (-'eliii, nnd if you hear that I have diHappeared, don't you bo Htmid I 'm drowned."
" W'liat ! " said Celiii. " Arc you go- ing to run away ? "
" Never you mind," fiaid Frank, mys- teriously ; " hut there are some j)hiees in the world just as bud as hell, I giiesn. I declare 1 'tl al)out as soon go there at once, and done with it, as to wait. 1 siip- poae I 've got to go some time."
" For ahame, Frank I " rci>licd his cousin.
" ilut what do yoti know about it ] " urged Frank. " Mother says there 's 8ueh a place, and it makes her perfectly happy, thougii she don't want me to go there, — 1 don't think she cares very much, — and tiio reason you don't be- lieve it is because you have n't been converted."
" Well," said Celia, " I 'm never going to 1)0 converted ; and 1 don't care what Aunt Lydia says, I know I love (iod and lie loves me, and I 'm not a bit afraid."
" Well, I don't know anything," said Frank, " but I think, if I ever get away from here, 1 shall be real witty and have a jolly time, and I don't care. I don't want to go to hell, but I would n't give a Bnap to go to heaven if mother 's going to bo there."
" Hush ! " said Cdia ; " I guess that is n't right."
Belmore, in which the hoarding-school was situated, was a quiet country place, full ol beautiful trees, and the Seminary was neat and pleasant. As tlie carriage drove up the avenue with the two sis- ters, they saw groups of bright-faced, well-dressed girls gathered about the grounds, or walking arm-in-arm along the shaded paths.
Bright, clean, peaceful, — it was a change worth having from the jarring life of Ilockdule ; yet it was so intensely calm anil quiet that ('olia said, under her breath, " It 's beautiful, but is n't it like a convent '! "
" I always believed there must be a great deal of the best sort of happiness
in a convent," replied Alice; " that is, if one were there from choice, and free to go or stay at will."
A burst of merry laughter came to their ears at that moment and relieved the solemnity of the scene. Mrs. Ilen- shaw, the principal, greeted them for- mally, and assigned thorn a room, not elegant certaiidy, but so neat, and with such a vision of the hills, that they felt (contented at once. They felt more at home than they had done at any time since their father died.
Then came the tea, with its thin white slices of sweet bread and the tin- ger's breadth of cake, very simple, but very neat, and only scanty to those who did not like to eat nuich bread and butter.
Hut for such, as the girls speedily learned, their parents sent huge boxes of cakes and fruits ; so nobody suffered, after all.
After tea, some of the older girls came in to welcome the new-comers, and then one of the teachers. Miss Fmnions, just before bedtinu\ Miss Kmmons had the face of a saint and a low, soft voice in speaking, which cap- tivated Celitt at once. She hoped tho girls were not feeling homesick at first coming to a strange place.
"O no," said Celia, and she was going to add that they came from a place they hated ; but Alice, seeing the danger, interposed : " We are less likely to be homesick than most girls, as wo have really no home, but have been boarding for some time with au amit."
" I hope wo may make it very pleas- ant for you here, and that you may bo very happy, ' said Miss Emmons, sweet- ly. Then she kissed them good night, saying tenderly, " I hope you both love the Lord Jesus Christ, and then you can be lonely nowhere."
" I don't," said Celia, with her usual impulsiveness, and Alice said nothing. Sho had hoped, if possible, to avoid discussions in her new homo.
Miss Emmons looked shocked, and said, "0 my dear child, I shall pray for you to-night," and left tho room.
" Celia looked at Alice in consterna- tion. " Is n't sho beautiful f " said sho. "0, how I wish sho would not pray
80METIIINO TO DO.
It
I Alioo; "that is, if choice, and frco to
liui>,'htfr canio to lomcut and rolii'vcd Hceiie. iMiH. Hen- j,'roetcd them for- thcni a room, not it HO nciit, and with liills, that they felt They felt more at done at any time ■d.
tea, with its thin
hreml and the fin-
<■, very simple, init
■icanty to those who
; nuich lircad and
the f,'irlH speedily ts Kent huge boxes 80 nobody bnllcrcd,
of the older girls le tiie new-conjers, the teaeherH, Alisa re bedtime. Miss CO of a saint and a )ciikinf:, which cnp- !e. She hoped tho ig homesick at first place.
ilia, and she was they came from a ut Alice, seeing tho " Wo are less likely an most girls, as home, bnt have umo time with au
make it veri/ ploas- 1 that you may ho 88 Emmons, swcet- \ them good night, lope you both lovo , and then you can
ia, with her usual lice said nothing, possible, to avoid ! homo.
ked shocked, and lild, I shall pray
left tho room. Uice in constcma- ittiful ? " said she.
would not pray
for me ! I Wftnt to got acquainted with her, but of course I can't if that 's the way she 'h going to do. Uut 1 do lovo her."
"She is lovely," said Alice, with a sigh. " I suppimo wo need never expect to find a place where wo shall bo frco from thecl' ;iii'al (lisciissiiais."
It was ui t niiiiiy days l>eforo Celia was violently in love with Miss Kmmoiis. It is curious, but most l)oariliiig-Hch(>ol girls are sure to fall in lovo with some teacher iiiid endure all the littlo thrills nnd jc«loiisi(!H mid hciirt-burnings which usMiUly acconipiiny In ;/iiiii(/f jxtHnloii, (Jelia was perfectly delighted to l)o in a chiits of Miss Knniions, though in ga/ing at her siie forgot iier Ics.son and received a bad mark. .She spent her spare mo- ments in running up stairs and down on all sorts of errands, - for ice-water, for her lamp, her IxMiks, etc., etc., etc. Miss Knimons seldom had occasion to go anywhere without finding t^elia cIomc behind her, ready to open tlio doors and hold them open till she had passed through.
Alice was half amused and half an.v- ious in seeing this. Hhc was glad that Cclia's impulsive and passionate nature had found something to love. The sisters' love between them had, of course, been a (]uiet thing, and otherwise there had l>oen a dearth of objects, so that this was a wholly now experience. But to Alice Miss Emmons did not seem so perfect an angel, though she thought her lovely and sincere ; but her religion was not Alice's religion, and thero was a gidf fixed between them.
Alice, strangely enough, felt most at- tracted towards a pale, stern yomig woman. Miss Dixon, who spoke very little and was known to be sarcasflc. She was wonderfully learned, and, with all her sarcasm, did not say unkind things to her pujjils. Alice fancied that if she could only know her, sho might find points in conmion ; but Miss Dixon was unapproachable, and all Alice's at- tempts went for nothing.
Alice found herself as unablo to es- cape religious importunities as over, and in fact they wore harder to withstand than they had been at Rockdale. She had no sooner made friends with a fel- low-pupil over something interesting in
history or mathematics than tho girl would press her hand tenderly and whi?i|)er, " We have a dear little prayer-meeting in my room this even' ing. 1 should so lovo to have you come." Of course all the girls were not saints, but there was not a girl of ro- .spei-table htiinding in sehnol with whom Alice t^ould h.ive any sympathy in her stu<lies whi> was not devoted to prayer- meetings. Every good scholar, every decently behaved girl, besides many who were not well behaved, had been con- verted. Th(! rest seemed to take the general impression of their wickedness as true, and, to make it truer, coimnit- ted all sorts of enormities, which really fiightened the Wiidinys, who had al- ways believed tiiat a lio was tho worst s!n and that one should bo conscion- I ioits in tho smallest nuitter.
To cap tho cliiniix, as winter ap- proached, it was clear that ])reparatiou« were nuiking for a revival on a grand scale. I'rayer-mectings thickened; there was one before breakfast in the morn- ing, that the young ladies might com- mence tho day aright. After breakfast a time was set apart for jnivate devo- tions, after which tho whole school assembled for public prayers in the large dining-hall. Then the business of lessons began and proceeded without interruption till one o'clock. After din- ner some of the elect held another little pjivycr-meeting. Then came a lull imtil evening. Sometimes in the evening thero were meetings which the young ladies were all required to at- tend; tho elect assembling earlier and staying later, to pray for those who were still luiregejieratc. Then there wero divers littlo cli(|ues which mot at odd times. Each class hold meetings in the interest of its unconverted mem- bers. Each teacher invited the young ladies in her corridor to her room for jHTiyer. Several friends fixed u[)on ' some one })crson to bo j)Ctitioned for by ijame. Alice avoided all tho meetings which were not compulsory ; but Celia could not resist tho invitation which Miss Emmons, with tears in her eyes, ex- tended to her to join the mooting of the "wayward ones," to whom Miss Emmons talked like an angel, they all agreed.
. .1, 1 Ml
■y "
18
SOMETIIINO TO DO.
Had Celia been nloiic, it in very likely that nIiu might have become a dovotcu for the few yeiirs of her Hehi>i)l life, only to huvo a fiercer mental Kfruf,%'lc after wardu; for Hhe cimld eiiMdy bo jjovernud by her ufreitioiiH. Hut »»lio loved Alice dvurly hIho, and tlion;;h tbo latter did not restrain her in any way, in fact scarcely advised her, her very presence calmed the more im|)etuoiiH nature of her sisft r. \v.i Alice was far from bo int; calm within. Nhe bad not found it very <liflicult to maintain her own con- victiium white ut her aunt's, because she had seen no one whom she thoroughly re8|X)eted lioth mentally and morally. She had seen a few pure, imsolfisli peo- ple, but she had known them to bo in- ferior to her in intellect, and thoir views had not troubled her. Now she was among those who were her eqiials and superiors in mind, and she believed in character, and the struggle came which nmst come to every soul to whom the truth is ever to be a living thing. Who knows but this is the modern form of conviction for sin, and whether the calm which follows the decision of primal points is not the true conversion 1 Had the machinery of the revival been a lit- tle less palpable, had the converted girls shown a little change of character, had the teachers answered her anxious ques- tions with thoughts instead of texts, (a curious way which some people have, — curious, because if one docs not accept the infallibility of the Bible at first, how can texts jirove that or anything else to him 1 ) or if she had not felt in cveiy day and honr of her life how good God had been to her and how good he must surely be to all his creatures, she might have helped to swell the statistics of the re- ligions papers. As it was, she was very wretched and doubtful for months, long after the revival had entirely passed by ; but by degrees she regained the balance of her mind, and the poise was firmer than it had been even in her early days of trust
h
CHAPTER Vir.
Dora the Invincible, do yon indeed fancy your position un- aseailablel"
XJL ir
The speaker was a fresli vonng fellow, with a bloom on his cheeK, a wuve in his hair, and a bright cordial eye. The hjMiken to was a beautifid young girl who wa) mounted on the top of a hay- cart, wiiere islie brandished u long rako and laughed gayly.
" .\h, Mr. Impertinence, I see the terror in your eyes for uU your bold Hpcecbcs."
The yoimg fellow, discerning a chal- lenge, sprang lightly upon the hay in a twinkling, and Sliss Dora's tender heart made her rake powerless.
" There, my dear yoimg woman," said he, kissing her half a dozen times before she could remonstrate, " tell me again that yoii see terror in my eyes ! "
" I dare tell you again, but 1 won't," said the girl, overrunning with laughter, but trying to look angry.
" Saucy girl ! " cxclaitned he, repeat- ing his experiment. " I see terrors in j/our eyes just now."
" I '11 go and tell my mother," said the girl, laughing and bluKhing.
" 1 '11 wager sixpence you '11 do no such tlung," w\id the young fellow, dropping his voice. " You know you get little enough time in the open sun- shine now, and you won't shorten it. Besides," he added persuasively, "just think, ma chere, how little time I shall be m the village, and you would n't bo so cruel as not to let mo see you while I do stay 1 "
Dora didn't reply. 0 no ; she would not be so cruel. Cruel to whom 1
She did not need to call her mother, for at that very moment the sharp voice of her mother called her. Not that her mother had seen the foregoing. A yoimg gefhlcman, son of the richest man in town, and straight from the University, might do a variety of things without be- ing too closely looked after. But Dora May was a poor girl, and Dora May's mother did her own work, and there were five yo\inger children. So Dora had not many minutes in the out-door world.
" 0 dear ! " began Dora.
"Dear me?" queried the young fel- low, laughing. •
" Yon t " said Dora, scornfully, " Don't think it, sir. But 0 dear ! there
■ii(...i i,i,i,| ijij,!, ,1,.,., j,:-n r_i,KU!iJjifim
80METIIIN0 TO DO.
19
csh young follow, chcuk, II wave in cordiiil fj'c. Tho utifiil vuiiiib' girl tlio top of a Imy- liMlied u long rako
ncnco, 1 Hco tho for ull your boW
discerning a chal-
iijion tl»o l>iiy in n
|)i>rii'H tender heart
•1C8H.
ioung woman," said ilf a dozen times remonwtrate, " toll I SCO tenor in my
again, hut 1 won't," nning with laughter, lugry.
xclainied he, rcpeat- " I HCO terrors in
ill my mother," Biiid in<l hlusliing. pence you '11 do no the young fellow, e. "You know you ,imo in the open sun- pu won't shorten it. id persuasively, "just ow little time I shall and you would n't ho let mo see you while
ply. 0 no ; she would Cruel to whom 1 !cd to call her mother, Qomcnt the sharp voice lied her. Not that her ;he foregoing. A young of tho richest man in ht from the University, ty of things without bo- )okcd after. But Dora p girl, and Dora May's own work, and there ger children. So Dora ninutcs in the out-door
egan Dora, queried the young fel-
Dora, Bcomfully, But O dear ! there.
nro thoHO horrid biicuit to be made for supper."
" T is horrid, I agree," said he. " I toll yoii what, though, put a private mark on one of them and save it for me, and then I shall know you are thinking of mc even if I can't see you."
" The i<lea I " said i)ortt. " I guess you would n't want to eat a cold biscuit if I did save it for you."
" Vos, I should,' said ho. " I adore I cold biscuit."
Tho mother's sharp voice called through the trees again, and the young guntleinan, who had no fancy for any of the .May tribe except Dora herself, jumped hastily down lutd hel|)ed her to the ground ; then, giving her another kiss before she hail time to defend herself, ho mounted his horse and nnle away. In spite of tho repeated call, when he looked back from the little hill beyond ho si\w tho girl still loaning on her rake and looking after him. He was too far away to see her blush at being detected in the act, but hor attitude reminded him of a favorite picture, and ho whistled thoughtfully to himself. Then he said beneath his breath : —
" Of all Rttd words of tongnci or pen, The sadUu-st ait! thetw, * It might have been ! ' "
He added suddenly : " Suppose it had boon ! Ten to one they 'd havu sighed over it just as much. Still, she's mighty protty, and what's one vacation ] ' What 'a the hodds so long 08 you 're 'appy 1 ' "
'riicreupon he whistled to his horse and galloped homewards.
Dora moantimo made her biscuit, and, as he had requested, thought of him even when he was not at hand.
aid , sir.
CHAPTER VII I.
A (URL stood ironing in a hot kitchen, without a blind, one warm July day. She was young and fair, but her face was pale and weary. She moved listlessly, and seemed to find the irons too heavy for her slender hands to use easily. She looked through the open window and saw the trees in tlic orchard moving their leaves softly in
answer to a little brecso ; she saw their Hhadows lie {leaceful and cool on tho sweet graHH, and down by the fern Imr- dered little brook she heiu'd tho plain- tive whistle of tho meadow-lark and tho saucy piping of tho bobolink. She was a ii'irl who luved beautiful things, and her heart fluttered impatiently to get away from her burdensome sur- ruimdings to the lovclim'ss so littlo dia- tance iVom her. Ah ! she had always seen the cream of life just so near her iipH, and the cup was always taken away l)ofore she tasted it. The mead- ow lark, so in sympathy with her mood, might have (|uieted her if she could have hid<len her heiul in the long graaa and listened to the strain. As it was, it only maddened her. She heard a footstep outside. She stinted quickly, and listened with wido-o[)cn eyes. Alas I no. It was only one of her little sistoni who had been out on a ramble, and was coming in laden with oil kinds of pretty things.
♦' Sco here, Doi*a,'' said a little voice, merry enough, but with a certain sharp intonation which showed sho had not lived in a happy family. " Is n't this moss beautiful l And 1 'vo got lots of curiosities to show you."
Dora put down her iron and went to look at tho treasures with a sigh half of envy, Iksuiuso when she had been a child, as she was tho oldest in tho family and all tho little ones had to bo taken care of, there had been few rambles for her. Sho had had to help iron every ironing-day since she could re- member, even when sho had to stand on a st(X)l to reach tho hoard. No won- der that sho had clutched at every stray sunbeam of happier life that had penetrated to her. But sunbeams can- not bo caught liy clutohing at them, and hers had all vanished and left only a sad sense of disappointment, a heavier sadness than if she had never seen them or guessed there was any light be- yond the darkness.
" 0 Dora," called a sharp voice, from the other room, "won't you ever loam not to act like a child ) You know I don't w^ant my clean floor all covered with litter, and you stand there and enconragb Nelly to bring it in. And when do you expect that ironing is
KOMKTIIINO TO DO.
|p)inf;( to l)<> (Idiio if you lozo around tliiit way ( I nIiuII liavu to net oil' uiy bod niyHi'lt' iiud du it, I nctuidly bi'liovo."
" Why, nidlluT," iiiiMWort'd Dom, hnHtily, " Nelly Iiun Iivcii Jimt liit Litrolul as could ho, luid I ^uchh «>nu luiunto won't hiuku inui'li ditlcruiicu in the I rolling"
"O no," fretti'd the mother; " one niinutu to look lit Nully'H clutter, luid another niinutu to watch n liuttertiy, ond the next ininutu to liMten to u hird. I tfid/t lid up."
" JJon't, mother," mid Dorn, with n diHtroMMed expreHHion, ^oin^ to the hud room door. " I Hindi avt ulon^ very >vell. And it in ho mueh hetter tor you to keep (piiet when you have the head- Bchc."
"O yo8," Hnid the mother; "the trouhlo iH you kee|) epiiet too. You 've been half un hour ironing; that Hhirt, for I 'vo watched you."
" Well, that 'h my afl'air, said Dora, shortly. " As long an 1 j^et the work done, and do it ri<;ht, I tlon't know what harm it dooti anybody elue if 1 am slow."
" It makcH mo nervous, that 's all," Baid her mother with a twitch. " IJe- eidoH, there are those »uitH to be made for Nelly and Kmina, and I think if you 'vc t,'ot any time to waste you might work on those,"
•• Yes, of course," said Dora, curling her lip. " I 'vc been planning to go down in the orchard after 1 tinished the ironing, and got dinner, and washed the dishes ; but there 'a always some- thing to do in this house." And sho thought to herself that wiicn sho was a child sho had no " suits." Now though the material purchased for the younger children was the cheapest possible, they had their garments cut with a bewildering number of ruiHes, points, scallops, and bows, because such trimming cost nothing, eo'cept the higher life of their elder sister.
"To be sure there is," retorted Mrs. May. " You 'd better go soniewhero else, Dom. What's l»ecome of your bea\i'i"
" Mother, I wish you would keep ■till ! " exclaimed Dora, vehemently ; and unable, with lUl her eflbrts, to keep back her tears, she rushed out of the xoom and abut the door.
" Horn ! " called hor tnotlior ; but Hho paid no attention. She was ironing at her greatest H|H'ed, scitrcely noticing how she scorched the bosom of the shirt. Iler mother did not let her off MO euisily, however. She found her head- ache not ttM> severe t») prevent her from getting otf her bed, and, o|H>ning the dot>r lierself, she peered through it, and spoke : " Don't lie ho touchy, Dora. You act just like a littlu child. I don't blame j/oii, though I think you might have made him come to the iH)int Honiu time, instead of having him dan- gling round here for nothing every va- cation and keeping away all the rest. And now he 's gone away for good, I don't lielievu you 'II evei see anything more of him, and I think you 'd better set your cap for someiiody not tjuite so high and mighty before you ery your- self sick and lose all your goixl looks."
"Mother!" exclaimed Dora, in a blu/o of passion, "you nuiy ilo the iron- ing yourself, but I won't stay hero and hear such langiuigo, — before Nelly, too,"
Sho threw «lown her flat-iron, and, covering her ears that she might hear nothing more to exasperate her, sho ran out of the house and down along the side of the brook till she felt quite sure that she should not be discovered, and then flung herself sobbing and trembling on the grass.
" O oiother, mother," sho said, " if you only knew, you would try to sparo mo. And, O my dear one, why don't yo«i sparo mo, either] You will break my heart. I wish I wore dead."
But the paroxysm passed away. People who have to work every day and all day cannot afl'ord the luxury of indulging in u passion for a very long time, an(I Dora soon remend)ered, and was conscience-stricken thereby, that she had left her sick mother to do a heavy work.
" Poor mother ! " sho said, relenting. " I am 08 cruel to her as she is to me. O, why am I so cross 1" She bathed her face in the brook, and, binding up her hair which had fallen down, sho walked towards the house, not yet very peaceful, bnt trying to be so on the outside, and she thought, at, she went, what she had oilcn thought l)efore, that bor mother had once been a young girl.
ttJ
j»i.bui<^^/m.
^Ui-_l-il ■ W'MW |llH'<M.»'VMli.fi,e'W,! '^M
SOMEnilNO TO IK).
•I
otiior ; liiit nIio
wiiH ironing ut
li'urcely iintioin^
Imihoiii 1)1' the
not lot liir utf
• riiuml her lioiul-
iri'veiit lior I'nun
ikI, «>|H'iiiii|; tlio
|l tliroii^h it, uiid
) toiiili}', Dom.
littlu cliild. I
iiU I tliiiik you
'<>ni(< to the jtoint
liaviii;; him ilun-
lotliiiig t'vory vii-
wuy nil tho roHt.
nwii}' for j;ooil, I
vt't Hco uiiything
link you '(I better
lioily not tpiitu ho
ire you erv your-
our j,'(iim1 IdoKH."
nie<l Dorn, in a
I inny do the iron-
in't Mtiiy lioro niid
before Nelly, too."
her flnt-irou, nnd,
lit Hhu might hear
uiHperatu her, Hho
10 luid down iilung
till hIic felt qiiito
not bo discovered,
rsclf subbing und
SB.
ler," sho said, " if would try to Hparo car one, why don't r1 You will break wore dead." am pasHcd away.
0 work every dny fl'ord tho luxury of ion for a very long
1 remembered, and ken thereby, that L-k mother to do a
Hho Raid, relenting, her as hIic iH to mc. 088 1" She bathed ik, und, binding up 1 fallen down, sho liouac, not yot very { to bo so on the )ugitt, ait she went, thought l)oforc, that I been a young girl.
M pretty ami on honl workrd as itiw ; mIui hud married a |Nior, good nntttri"! man, capable of being hi!ii{K>ck(>d, but not capable of iindurHtandiiig any of her higher tiuitcM ; iihe had liu<l ten children, nix of whom were livi/i'j:; hIiu bad woikt il licrMcIf into u fecbl. " r- voiiH Htatf, mid tliiH wait thu wreck * Iter. Dura know hIiu ought not to blaitu but to lielp and comfort her. She went into tiic hoiiHO. Her mother was ironing, looking weak and feeble, and Dora's heart Hiiiik with Nhatne. She Htcailicd her voicu and said : "Mother, forgive me for doing ho ; but I winh you would not HDoak to mo about him. VVu were Himply A-iondH, aii<l now he hiiM gone away, and there is tho end of it."
Perhaps tho mother had felt herself Bomcwhat in the wrong, or perhapH hIiu felt too ill to ipiarrol longer ; no she only said: "O well, Hora, I think you try to be a good girl, but you have such a pitssiouato temiicr. [ really don't think I can ntand another minute ; do help mo got to bed."
So tho Htorm ]iuHHcd by for this time, and Doni dotormiiiod to keep watch over heraelf in future. Still hIio know Hho wiui not treated fairly, and hIio felt it more and njoro ovory day. Sho hud boon, fretted at all nor lifo without minding it unduly ; but then a goldeir hiuo hud always lain upon tho future boforo hor. Espocially for tho lust few years sho had funciod tho veil was lifted occaaionally enough for licr to hoc glimpsos of tho Kdcn ; but now, alas ! tho veil was in reality lifted too fidly and completely, and sho saw a stern truth behind it. Sho l)ogan to soo that tho future did not hold for her tho blessing uho had believed, and if not that, thou nothing ; sho knew well that all hor wealth would go down in one ship. Sho tried to conceal it from herself, but day after daj', slowly and surely, tho veil rose. Hor mother's words would have annoyed her miw more than of old, even if sho had not porsisted in talking about her " beau," at which poor Dora writhed in torture. Sho had never told her mother that sho waa ongixgod ; and she was thankful for it now, for sho was able to mako a protonoo, poor as it was, that she missed " only a friend."
Hut tho "continual dropping" beeamo too much for her, anri as tho winter (Irow on Mho U'lfun to talk a>M)ut goin|( to ill*' <ity to earn her living. Slie put the n(t(<(4itHity -f money before the eyo» of Ikt parctitu, fbouuli thcro were ijuito othiT fiilf*y:s bit'orc her own. Ilcriiioth- •r (leiiKHTv'l If Dorii wanted to sew for her living, »hy not stay ut homo iiiKJ li'vv afti moons aii«l evonings, after her hoiiHcwork was done < Hut the higher piiccs which wore oiVtTod in tho city for some kind^ of work which Dora could <lo tinally prcvailt'l and nIio waa allowed to go. In spite of lierself and the rainy morning und the tours of tho family, she started with a light heart It was Homcthing to Im) rid of the otor- iial clatter of tongues, and something more, though she triod hard to keep back tho thought, that hf was in tho city. What good would that doY If ho was forgetting her when sho was away from him, would she want him to cure for hor just bccuuso ho saw horl Or would ho bo likely to do so 1 Yot her heart was lighter than it had been.
CHAPTER IX.
AS tho time drew near for Alice to graduate, she began to think what to do next. C'olia was very sure that everybody who wanted a teacher would want Alice ; but, of course, they did not want a heretic ut the Seminary, and she was not ac(piainted with any one olso- whoro. Sho made in(|uirios of the girls in school, and at last heard of a lady in tho city who was looking for a day-gov- erness, to 1)0 occupied two hours each day in teaching a little girl. Of course sho could not cum enough for tho sup- port of both in that way ; still, it would be something, and sho lielioved that in the city thcro would be opportunities for both Celiu and herself to find other things to do, — so sho thought herself justified in deciding to go there. They iwth liked tho plan, — Colia for the chance of seeing something of art, and Alice because she longed to be in the very heart of humanity, she so wished to help other people. School closed in August, and they do-
22
SOMETHING TO DO.
^'!
cided to go to town at onco, though they would have to spend a month idly. Thoy hnd lived too deep a life to have many intimate friends among the girln ; and the few they iind were those who, like themselves, had been developed early by |)overty or some deep trial, and had no homes to which they could in- vito them ; so their only alternative | would havo been to spend the vacation j at Mr. Buckram's. Colia said she would i Bv.'eep the streets first, and Alice re- 1 plied : " He is kind-hearted, but tb^y ; arc poor ; and we have no claim on I them, because we do not love them." I
So they spent a day in house-hunting, ; and at last alighted upon a room up so i many flights of stairs that the rent was amall ; and as it had a largo closet at- tached, they believed thoy might man- \ age to keep house comfortably in it as I long as their money held out. |
They had retained a few favorite pieces of furniture from the sale after their father's death ; so they were able to fit up their room in a pretty way, though the incongruity of their little coal cooking-stove troubled Celiii.
On Saturday night, at the close of the first week in August, everything was arranged, and the two girls sat down, flushed and exhausted, by the open win- dows, and reflected on the ten dollars in their pockets, and that to have more they must earn it, or draw on the fast- failing stock in the bank.
" Oh ! " sighed Celia, fanning herself, "earning one's own living is tough work."
" Only we have n't begun to do it yet," said Alice, smiling. " For my part, 1 feel grateful to have the high- pressure of the boarding-school taken off-."
" 0 yes," said Celia ; " think of not having to go to church to-morrow xin- less we like. Isn't it hot up here, though 1"
" We have the stars, at any rate," Baid Alice, hopefully. " If we were on the first floor, the bricks would shut them out."
Till September the sisters lived on as best they could, learning all kinds of things about housekeeping, and spend- ing very little. No work appeared for Celia, but they hoped it might be be-
cause it was the dull season. They aooo saw, however, that actual effort must 1)0 mode to find her a place. So Alice with a patient eiirnesti.css, and Celia with a scornful curl of the lip, set about exam- ining the newspapers, day by day. But, alas ! though many ])eople wanted to teach, nobody seemed to want a teacher.
So September cunie, and with it the Cnvigs, by whom Alice had been en- g'gcd.
Dr. Craig was a successful and rising young physician, but, of course, his means would not admit of his having a whole house to himself in a fashionable part of the city. Alice found the place to be in an out of the way street, in which there was an unusual number of small, ill-bred boys at play. The only house which looked at all pleasant proved to bo No. If), in which the doc- tor's family resided. There was a great elm-tree beside it, — the only tree which the encroaching bricks had left in the street.
As Alice approached the house in one direction, she saw a strange figure ap- proaching it in another, — the figure of a man, was it, or of a monster 1 The person could not have been three feet high, but his head was as large — larger than that of a full-grown man. In fact, his whole body was large, and strangely contorted and misshapen. There was no pei-fection in any limb which might mako him one iota less hideous than he seemed at first. His hair was long, coarse, and black, and hung over his face as if attempting to conceal, so far as possible, the painfully twisted features. He walked with dif- ficulty, but was evidently hastening with all his might, for a crowd of little boys were collecting about him, and, led by one handsome, heartless little fellow, were heaping new insults upon him at every step. At first they satisfied them- selves with calling him names and imi- tating his movements ; but at last the tide of their fun seemed to swell so high that they could restrain them- selves no more, and the handsome boy walked up and knocked off' his hat, — not a new one, to be sure, but neat and respectable. At that moment the door of No. 15 suddenly opened, and a woman, bareheaded, new down the
>iii!i(qi;i'.'"A'^'.-rrr'/>'^//.'."
'.' .S'^*' K" i''.;i»'»^")m<*l'*'iw j.i!j<|'.'i Jn*! t'iSiLjftMte.
SOMETHING TO DO.
%
eason. They soon liuil effort must he CO. So Alice with mid Cclia with a ), set about exam- day by day. But, jMioplo wanted to to want a tcn>-lier, 0, and with it tho lice had been cn-
|cce8sful and rising t, of course, his 't of his liaving a If in a fashionable ce found the place the way street, in iiiusual number of it play. The only at all pleasant in which the doc- There was a great tho only tree which iks had left in the
cd the house in one
strange figure ap- other, — the figure
or of a monster 1 ot have been three head was as large of a full-grown man. ! body was large, rtcd and misshapon. cction in any limb
him one iota less emed at first. His -se, and black, and as if attempting to ssible, the painfully 3e walked with dif- ently hastening with crowd of little boys ut him, and, led by artless little follow, insults upon him at they satisfied them- lim names and imi- its ; but at last the seemed to swell so mid restrain them- l the handsome boy eked off his hat, —
be sure, but neat it that moment the ddenly opened, and led, flew dowu the
Bteps. Slic was a tall, angular woman, with a hard face, a firm step, and a ladylike hand. One hand she laid on the shoulder of the dwarf, and the other she raised in a threatening manner. Her voice was firm, like lier stop, and she froze the l)lood in those little boys' hearts when she spoke.
" Boys, don't ever ilare to let me see anything of this sort again. You shall go to jail, every one of you, before an hour from now, you vicious, ugly little wretches ! You need n't skulk away. I know every one of you, and I know i/oii, John Gilbert " (this to the handsome boy), " and you can't escape me. Stand here, I tell you, and hear what I have to say. You shall go to jail, as sure as I stand here, unless you do as I say."
The boys stood mute and spell-bound before the wrathful woman, from whose eyes flashed a light which showed she could and would do what she said.
"John Gilbert, do you go and pick up that hat and bring it here, and beg Mr. Rix's pardon ; and do every one of you promise me here never to speak one word to Mr. Rix again, unless he speaks to you first." Most of the boys looked ashamed, but watched for a sig- nal from Gilbert. Ho saw how matters stood, and Hetermined not to give up to a woman, so he defiantly put his hands in his pockets and turned on his heel ; but the woman was too quick for him. She poimced upon him and collared him, and dragged him, in spito of all his resistiince, into tlie basement, through a door which luckily stood open. Rix went hastily into the house. One or two of the boys beat a retreat, but most of thcn#rema;ned from curiosity, to see what became of their companion. In a moment the woman appeared again, and locked the door behind her. She had locked all the kitchen doors, evidently, and escape was impossible to the pris- oner, who appeared at the window, tele- graphing in great distress. " Well ! " said she, speaking to him from the out- side.
" Let me out, please let me out," cried he. "I'll do anything you say, and never do so any more."
" Catch me letting you out ! " re- turned tho woman, grimly. " You 've had one chance to do what I told you
iKjforo, and one is enough. I '11 let your father know where you are, so he won't expect you homo to dinner. I can eas- ily call there on my way to the police- station."
At this John began to howl and cnr, his fortitude quite deserting him. In fact, he dreaded his father more than tho police. The other boys stood in mortal fear, but one of them stepped up and presented the abused hat to the woman, and said, " We 's mighty sorry, Miss Twigg, and we won't do so no more. It was all him," pointing to the howling prisoner.
" I should think so," said Miss Twigg, sternly. " You who have known Mr. Rix all your lives, and who have had so many pennies and sticks of candy from him, to treat him in this mean way, just because a bad, ugly boy has moved into this street."
" Don't tell tho police, please," whim- pered one.
"Well," said Miss Twigg, "I won't tell the police this time, but I '11 tell your fathers ; and if I over see a sign of such a thing again, you shall go to jail. I give you fair warning."
Here tho prisoner redoubled his groans, and beat at the window till he had broken some glass.
" 0, let me out," cried he. " I '11 be good, I '11 be the best kind of a boy."
" If breaking a window is a good sign of being a good boy, you look like it," said the inflexible Miss Twigg.
"But I will, I will," said the boy, subsiding into tears, " only let me out."
" I '11 tell you what," said Miss Twigg. " You shall sit perfectly still and not try to get away for two hours, and then I '11 believe you, and not before. So mind what you do."
The boy looked sullen, but checked his sobs and grew composed.
The other boys dispersed, and Mise Twigg stalked off to inform all their fathers what they had done, — a re- venge in which she would not bo balked by all their entreaties.
Alice, who had stood rooted to one spot during all this sad scene, now walked up the steps and rang the belL She rang it twice, but no one ap' peared ; for which, indeed, there was a sufficient reason, for it was a lodging-
"liW"-'
24
SOMETHING TO DO.
house, occupied by scvcrnl families, and Miss Twigg was tlic general attendant at the front door. But tiiu door was lyar, as Mr. Kix had left it in walking •0 hastily into the house, and Aliec re- monibcred that Mrs. Craig's apartments were on the second floor, so she pushed it open and walked in. A door leading from the hull into a large room was wide open, and she could n(jt help sec ing at a glance the scene taking place there. It wa.s a plain, uncarpeted apart- ment, with a grand piano on one side of it, and an empty easel, with a high chair before it, on the other. A work- table and a few chairs comi)leted the furuiturc. Mr. Ilix was coiled in a great chair before the table, with his head on his arms, which were spread on the table. Alice saw all this at a glance, for no sooner did he hear her footfall than he started up, and, without looking at her, cried out, in a gruff voice, " Come here."
Alice hesitated, and stood a moment before the door. The dwarf turned round with an exclamation of impa- tience, but, suddenly seeing who was standing there, he stopped and ex- claimed furiously, " What do you mean by coming here ] "
"You said, 'Come here,'" replied Alice, bewildered.
Her sweet voice seemed to pacify him a little, and he said in a tone a trifle le;^s harsh than before, " Thought 't was Miss Twigg. I don't want strangers coming to insult me."
There was a quiver in his grating ▼oice, and Alice saw a tear in his eye. She cotdd not bear to go away and leave him so, and therefore she an- swered timidly, " I am very sorry if I have hinl your feelings in any way. I was only passing through the hall in search of Mrs. Craig, when you spoke."
The dwaif raised his eyes, which were his only beautiful and expressive feature, and looked keenly at her. Then he ■aid abruptly, " You are beautiful, and beauty is always an insult to deformity. I should like to Ixilievc you tell the tnith, but, of course, I can't."
Alice smiled a little, and said, " I am sorry, sir, that you don't believe me. Will you tell me how to find Mrs. Craigl" -..^ ,, ,
iHl
"^Ah!«
" Mrs. Craig ! " repeated he, with a half-scornful expression. " Are you one of her friends 1 "
" I have never seen her," replied Alice, " but I am to be governess to Bessie ' Craig."
j " Oho ! " said the dwarf, elevating i his eyebrows. *' Well, she has her sit- I ting-room on the second floor, No. 5." j Alice turned to go, but ho called out I again, " Sec here, miss, before you go j home, come here . again. I want to SLO you."
" Yes," said she ; " I shall bo hero about two hours, I suppose."
She knocked at the door of No. 5, and after a slight bustle within the door opened and Mrs. ('raig stood before her. She was a little below the medium height, with a well-rounded form, a fair complexion, an immense coil of brown hair, dimples with every sentence, a manner of clicking her heel with every step, and she wore a perfectly clean, stiff calico dress which had no great preten- sion either to style or beauty. She was a pleasant-looking person, and yet to Alice, after a few moments of observa- tion, it seemed that she was not exactly l>lcasuut to look at. There was some- thing covert in the dimples, and a pe- culiar shade of blue in her eyes, which looked as if she might not always bo trusted. However, Alice said to her- self that it was wrong to be prejudiced, and resigned herself to being pleased.
"Ah, Miss Wilding, good morning. I !un glad to see you. I began to fear you were not coming, for it is five min- utes late by my clock ; but perhaps I am not quite right."
" Yes," said Alice, somewhat disturbed, " I am late, and I am son-y to be so at my veiy first lesson, but there was a little trouble in the street just before the door as I came up, and I was de- tained."
" What was it 1 " said Mrs. Craig, in- stantly on the qui vive. So Alice told her what had passed as briefly as possi- ble, without adding the conversatioa she had had with Mr. Rix.
Mrs. Craig smiled reflectively, to keep her dimples in practice, and then said in a soft, sympathetic tone : " I do not understand how people can be so cruel. These boys are so rude it
•tr *v'*'ii.:.*.^*»"iV:>>!mia
SOMETHING TO DO.
ts
sated he, with a " Are you one
cr," replied Alice, crocss to DeHsio
dwarf, elevating she has her sit- iid floor, No. 5." jut ho called out before you go im. I want to
1
I shall bo hero >j)0Be." oor of No. 5, and within the door f stood before her. low the medium mded form, a fair nsc coil of brown Dverv sentence, a cr heel with every erfectly clean, stiff I no great preten- beauty. She was erson, and yet to jnients of obscrvar ihc was not exactly There wiis some- dimples, and a pe- in her eyes, which ight not always bo Alice said to her- ig to be prejudiced, to being pleased. ^St good morning. 1. I began to fear g, for it is five min-
ck; but perhaps I
>
lomewhat disturbed, 01 son'y to be so at I, but there was a I street just before up, and I was de-
aaid Mrs. Craig, in- live. So Alice told 1 as briefly as possi- ; the conversation r. Rix.
reflectively, to keep :tice, and then said 3tic tone : " I do r people can be bo I are so rude it
makes mo shudder, but I should I^avo laughed to see Miss Twigg. She ought to have been made a man to begin with."
" I admired her," said Alice, simply.
" Certainly," answered Mrs. Craig, emphatically. "She 's an old dear." Then in a moment she added : " I am so glad to find that there was a reason for your delay. Miss Wilding. I be- lieve in system and promptness. 1 succeed in accomplishing a great deal myself, tiiough most people as delicate as I would be unable to do very much, because I am so prompt and have so much system. Then, besides, I admire energy."
Alice felt as if she must brace herself up to the standard of this exemplary woman, and inwardly sighed.
"Bessie is my husband's sister," continued Mrs. Craig, " and ho wishes to have her well educated in every way. I began tcachmg h<Jr myself, but I found it too severe a strain upon me, because I am not strong. But I will examine her, and you will see that she is very thorough as far as she has gone."
So saying, she called Bessio from an inner room. The child was a sweet, flaxen-hau'cd, large-eyed little girl, win- ning in face and voice.
" Now, Bessie," said Mrs. Craig, with what appeared to Alice a somewhat needless expenditure of energy, " we will begin with geography. You may mention all the rivers of the United States flowing into the Atlantic Ocean, beginning with Maine."
The child stood up straight, with her hands behind her, and repeated with- out a mistake a list in which Alice often found herself at fault. Mrs. Craig asked scvenvl other questions of the same nature, to all of which Bessie responded promptly and pleasantly. Mrs. Craig smiled satisfaction, and seemed to And so much pleasure in showing off her own teaching that the greater part of the morning was occu- pied in the examination.
" Now," said the lady at last, "you see just what she knows, and you can tell her what to do for to-morrow."
Alice, with some embarrassment, designated a lesson in arithmetic, and
then said she had thought that it would be well to read with the child something which she could comprehend, — Natural History, for instance ; and that, with the music-lesson, wouhl be sutticient to oc- cupy the next day.
Mrs. Craig was charmed. Miss Wild- ing's ideas were so original and at tho same time so wholly in unison with her own. She promised herself nuich pleasure in being present ut tho les- sons.
Alice was aghast. She had felt she should stand somewhat in awe even of a pupil who could re[)eat such fornuda- l)le lists of places and dates, and she was utterly unable to conceive what she should feel in regard to the instruc- tor of tho pupil. But she could not find voice even to falter a request that the lessons might be private, and this was fortimate for her.
So Alice took her leave, and descended the stairs just as Miss Twigg with her culprit, who had now been confined two hours, and who looked very meek, departed from tho street door. Tho door of the room where she had seen Mr. Rix was closed, but she knocked softly, and tho dwarf himself opened it at once.
" Humph ! " said he, " you keep your word well. But I don't want to see you now."
" Then I '11 not come in," said Alice, qiiietly turning away.
" Yes, I do," said the dwarf, quickly. " Come in this miimte. Go sit there in the corner," and he pointed with his thumb to a large wooden arm-chair. Alice took her seat with some trepida- tion, which increased as the dwarf pushed the table in front of her and mounted it. Established there, he said with a short laugh : " There, now we arc comfort- able, and suppose we have a talk. Come now, you despise me, I suppose. You don't look as if you would. Just for cu- riosity tell me whether you do." There was something eager in his way of asking which touched his listener.
" Of course not," sho answered, in some wonder. " Why should you think sol"
" I told you why," he said, impatient- ly. " Because all beautiful people de- spise ugliness."
.^Jk,
2G
SOMETniNa TO DO,
*' The fftco or form could have noth- ing to do with my approciatiou of any one's character," Hiiid Alice, tiuietly.
" Pretty talk ! " growled the dwarf. "IJut 1 (im hideous, — am I not] Come, there 's a posci ibr your polite white
Alice hesitated. Of course the truth must be told, but how could she soften it ] She hated to give compliments, and yet, to be fair, she felt that she ought to give him her best as well as her worst thoughts of him.
" You are deformed," said she, and vou have no beauty of feature except your eves. Those arc expressive, and nooneVho had in any way the power of expressing the soul within could be hideous to mc."
"You arc one of the good sort, — are n't you ] " said he, satirically. " Now for another poser. Did you ever sec any- body who came as near being hideous as I do, — in an idiot asylum, or a side-show at a mcnagerio, or at an alms- house, for instance 1 " , " 1 have never been in cither ot tliosc places," replied Alice, scarcely repress- hig a smile. " I have never seen any one as much deformed as you, but 1 have seen many on whom it was more painful to look, —countenances stamped
with evil deeds." , • n . -^u l
Tiie dwarf brought down his fist with ! a thundering blow on the table, and though he bit his lip he could not force back the tears which filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.
He spoke after a moment: "You have Baid it." Then, with a sigh, " At any rate, you tell the truth, and I shall al- ways believe you. But I know now that the consideration which I get from peo- ple, when I do get any, can only come
from pity." , i i <• t
Alice shook her head slowly.^ j think yon are wrong, Mr. Rix, said she " No one defect can take from a man everything. A man is respected and honored for his mmd and soul, and not for hie fonn." , . j
" O how trite you are ! exclaimed he, with a shudder of disgust. " • Hand- some is that handsome does, I used to hear. I'm sick of it, for I know bet- ter"
" But / know it is true," said she, a
bright smile flashing across her face. " 1 believe, Mr. llix, in never being con- quered by circumstances."
She spoke with more energy than usual, and the dwarf seemed to catch a spark from her enthusiasm, for a sad smile flitted over his countenanct , and he said, " Sit hero a little, miss, and
listen." ,
Ho jumped off" the table and seated himself at the piano. He began to play with most exquisite feeling a so- nata of Beethoven. The soft, warm chords crept up and up, and Alice sat in glad amazement, listening to such music as she longed for but had heard only a very few times in all her life. The force of the music grew until it seemed as if every inch of the bare and desolate room were alive with it, as if the soul of the listener were 8ci)arated from the body and floating in that sea of harmo- ny. When it ceased llobert Rix looked round with a softened and glorified ex- pression. He had meant to ask her if his music was as beautiful as that of a perfectly formed man would have been, but he was raised too far above all such pettiness now.
"May 1 hear you play again some time ] " asked Alice, in her sweet way.
"Yes, yes," said ho; "you give me faith. Go now."
CHAPTER X. "'
"T HAVE a letter from Jonathan J_ for you, Alice," said Celia, greeting her sister on her return.
"From Jonathan! What can it bel" asked Alice, in surprise; and, open- ing it, she read : —
My dear Cousin Alice, — Orief has fallen on our household. We are in a darker valley than that of the shadow of death, even in the valley ol the shadow of sin. My reluctant pen almost refuses to write of such sorrow as we are now so bitterly experiencing, and I write without the knowledge of the rest of the family, who perhaps would not wish me to make an ap- peal to you. But to the subject. 1 Frank, our dear, though wayward
^^imm^mmm/fiim^^f^
- - *.)%. ij^i.^ ^'!^!fti?^5S^¥^r' 1
across her face, n never being con- ces."
rioro energy than
seemed to cntch a
lusinsm, for a sad
countc'uanc( , and
little, miss, and
tabic and seated
10. He begun to
uisito feeling a so-
Tho soft, warm
ip, and Alice sat in
ning to such music ut had heard only I all her life. The rew until it scented le bare and desolate
it, as if tlie soul of separated from the
that sea of harmo- llobert Rix looked cd and glorified ex- mennt to ask her if autiful as that of a m would have been, oo far above all such
ou play again somo 3, in her sweet way. ho; "you give me
TER X.
ittcr from Jonathan
," said Celia, greeting
(turn.
mt What can It
ti surprise; and, open-
sm Alice, — Grief household. Wc are y than that of the jven in the valley of 1. My reluctant pen write of such sorrow bitterly experiencing, )ut the knowledge of family, who perhaps me to make an ap- to the subject, ar, though wayward
ir*Wt-
SOMETIIINO TO DO.
27
Frank, that child of many prayers, the only wandering sheep in all our fold, — that boy whoso little hands were tauglit in infancy to bo clasped in prayer before they were old enough to grasp any- thing, — that one who, wJiatover his faiilts, however ho might rebel, was nightly compelled to kneel by a pious mother's side, and repeat his petitions,
— that one whom that mother did not neglect and leave to his own evil courses even when ho grew older (she always saw him safely in bed at nine o'clock, and never allowed him to omit his prayers, no matter how tired ho was), — that boy has left us, leaving no trace behind.
Secretly, silently, alone at midnight, ho left his unpressed couch and stole away, taking with him a little bundle of his effects. Imagine our consternation, our sorrow, our mutual upbraidings (liore Celia laughed), when ho proved to be absent from the brcakfust-tablo and when search developed the above facts. My parents wore horror-stricken. Every- thing seems to prove that he, poor mis- guided boy, tired of the salutary re- straints of homo, has disgracefully and causelessly — can I say the coarse words 1
— run away.
Aside from our passionate grief at losing him, wo have a deeper cause for anguish, beside which the first is only one drop in the bucket, only one sand on the sea-shore : we fear for his spir- itual and eternal welfare. Having re- moved himself voluntarily and com- pletely from the means of grace, what can wo do but fear he wi'l never again be brought under them 1 This fear has evon more foundation than it might at first seem to you. To t, school compan- ion, — James Marsh, yo a will remember,
— he has darkly hinted many times at a morbid, poisoned, unfounded, and incon- ceivable — when we think how carefully he has been brought up — longing for the theatre, that sink of iniquity. We
^rfear Jio may join some the.atrical cora- ^ojM^d then his soul would indeed be lo^Bp
I Know, at least I fear, that your sympathies are not with us on these points ; yet I cannot but take every means in my power to recover the lost boy, and I have thought that you, being
in the city, would perhaps see him or hear of him in some way, and I wislicd to enlist your services. Your sympathy with ua as a family, the natural kindness of your heart, have led mo to lielievo that you would be glad to do all in your power, though 1 supj)oso tliere is really almost nothing you can do.
And now, O my dear cousin, I cannot conclude my letter without beg- ging of you to be warned by this sol- eum example and be wise in time. Nothing but firm Christian principle can keep us from going astray, however satisfying natural religion may be for a time. Of all our family, brought up imder precisely tho same infiucncea, which is it who is thus bringing the gray hairs of his parents in sorrow to the grave ? The only one who was un- converted !
In love and grief your afflicted cousin, Jonathan Buckuah.
" Now is n't that splendid 1 " said Celia. " I never thought he would al- ways remain tied to Aunt Buckram's apron-string."
" I am sorry," said Alice ; "for his father and mother have really tried to train liim conscientiously, though they have l>een so unwise. And this must bo terrible to them." . " I don't know," said Celia. " I think Aunt Lydia has trained her children for her own glorification. At any rate, I am glad for him."
" I am not," said Alice, " for he has done what he verily believes to be wrong, and he will lose his own self- respect."
"After all, which is braver," said Celia, — "to sin outright, or be kept from it only by fear, as he was 1 "
Alice nodded, and began to relate hdr day's adventures.
CHAPTER XI.
THE days went on, and nothing "turned up." Celia examined every newspaper, but still nobody want- ed a teacher. She had excelled in com- position-writing at school, and Alice suggested that she should try to write
J
28
SOMETHING TO DO.
somcthhif; for the magazines; hut she van so (lishenrtcnud iind discourn^cd that kIk! hud no spirit for it, and ul'tur one or two vain attempts sliu flung her pen aside and dechired that she would not try u^ain till she hud somethinjj; else to do by which she could earn her livin-.', and so might feel calm.
Alice, too, was patiently trying to find something to do, but with no bet- ter succesH.
" Wanted. — A female teacher in a grammar school in M . 'I'ho com- mittee will examine candidates Friday, — inst." Alice road this one evening. " Here, at last, u teacher is wuuted," 8uid she.
" An experienced teacher, of course 1 " aaid Celia, in a low-spirited tone.
*' It does n't say so," said Alice ; and she read the advertisement aloud.
" Ihit you don't think I can do that, Alice," said Celia, impatiently. " Yon know I 'm not fit to teach such a school. I don't know anything about arith- metic and grummar and geography. I never can teach a school 1 must be
examined for. And in M , too. I
want to be in the city ; and, besides, I won't teach stupid children their stupid lessons. It 's bad enougli to think of teaching at all, when I have no taste for it, and I must have something dif- ferent from a public school."
Alice was silent, and in a moment Celia asked, " You can't mean, Alice, that you would advise mo to try 1 "
" I can't advise you at all," said Alice, sotlly ; " but I '11 tell you how I feel about it. There is every day more and more need that wo should find something to do. We have searched the papera for months, and have not seen a single advertisement which we tfould answer. There is at least a possibility that you could secure this situation ; and if you do not even try, and months hence everything else has failed, you may perhaps look back and regret that you have not made the effort."
" So you think I 'm not trying to find anything to do 1 " said t'clia, aggrieved.
" I think you are trying, and trying hard, but the time may come when you will regret not having tried your ut- most"
" Well, well," said Celia, " I know that I should feel so now. It makes me feel wicked, and O, so contemptibly moan, to know that you, with your deli- cate health, are doing all the work and supporting us both, while I do nothing ! I would do anything I could. Ihi*, I do hate the idea of teaching. It seems to me people ought to do thaf for which they liave a natural gift."
" What is your natural gift 1 " in- quired Alice.
" There, that 's imkind ! though you did n't mean it, 1 know. I know that if I were rich I could find plenty to do. I could write if I were not harassed for my daily bread, and I could paint, and I could act. 0 Alice, I wish it was respectable to act ! "
" It is," said Alice ; " why don't you do it 1 I believe there you would find your real niche."
" 0 Alice, you unworldly child ! " said her sister, with a superior air. " If I were a genius, and could show it to the world the first night, there would be something worth while in it. Then it would be respectable. But a sec- ond-rate actress — no, Alice, I'm too proud for that. O, I wish I were a man ! There 's nothing a woman can do."
" Yet it would n't help you to bo a man," said Alice, thoughtfully. " If your foiie is acting, it would l)e as lit- tle respectable to be a second-rate actor as actress. If you have decided genius in one direction, there is that one thing for you to do ; and the fact that you were a man, and had your choice in an unlimited number of other callings, would still not help you there. It is only when we have made up our minds to do whatever wc can do that it is useful to have a vtu-iety to choose from."
"Well, I vfill, Alice," said Celia, sadly. "But perhaps ?t is wrong for the children's sake. We can only do well what we love to do."
"Yet you must be wrong, ■jj^bur^ ling," said Alice ; " for '^od ^^pRen makes it impossible fc ' \i:> lo do what we love."
" Why impossible 1" asked Celia, proudly. " Because we fear starvation. If we were ready to die, rather than do
is]
'">'-»t!.-i»«
Cclift, "T know
now. It nmkoa _ 80 contemptibly III, with your dcli-
iill the work and lilo I do nothing !
couUl. Ihi*, 1 do ing. It stcniB to that for which ift."
atural gifti" in- kind! though you ow. I know thut
find plenty to do. ivcrc not Imrassod imd I could paint,
Alice, I wish it
!t!"
• ; " why don't you icrc you would find
unworldly child ! " a superior air. " If ul could show it to night, there would I while in it. Then ictable. But a sec- no, Alice, I'm too 0, I wish I were nothing a woman can
n't help you to bo a thoughtfully. "If 5, it would ho as lit- ae a, second-rate actor I have decided genius licrc is that one thing lid the fact that you lad your choice in an ir of other callings, help you there. It I have made up our jver we can do that it ! a viu-iety to choose
'., Alice," said Celia, rhaps it is wrong for ke. We can only do 3 to do." ^^.^^ ('
at be wrong, mmat^ "for ^od mi^nen ble fo • vib to do what
siblel" asked Celia, luse we fear starvation. f to die, rather than do
ispft-jmiiisttj*^'^ '
SOMETHINO TO DO.
SO
wrong work, perhaps a way would open. It is the fear which conquers."
" But all must do some work," said Alice. " And you — you say you would not act, thotigli you fuel the power."
"There it is*" said Celia. "I am afraid to face the worlil. So I shall commit the sin of doing what I do not love."
" Can it bo a sin to deny ourselves 1 " asked Alice, in surprise.
" I 'm puzzled," said Celia. " Some- times sclf-sacriKce seems the highest thing. But then wo lose the beautiful expansion into what we might bo. And what wo are blessos others most. Be- sides, wo can't do well what wo don't love."
" That is for geniuses," said Alice. " A painter should paint instead of writing poetry, for instance — "
" Ah ! " interrupted Celia, " and though talent is not genius, everybody must have some little germ of genius, — for making paper-dolls, perhaps, and that is his work."
." But the greater comprehends the smaller," said Alice. " All can at least be faithful ; and that wo are greater than the work we do may make us able to do it as well, {)erhaps better, than he whoso legitimate worli it is, who stands on the same level with his work, and not above it."
" 0 dear ! " said Celia, anxiously. " 1 Bee I can't disguise my duty."
" If I could cam cnoiigh for both ! " said Alice. " I love so dearly my work, the very work you will hate."
"O Alice, Alice," cried Celia, "I am selfish, abominably, completely self- ish ! I '11 do anything. Give mo the paper. When must I apply 1 "
It is rather sad, when we have brought the whole force of our soul to boar upon making a sacrifice, to have that sacri- fice then denied us, not liecauso it has become imnCv.o»CTy, but because it has become impossible. Vet even this hard- est test of courage is again and again applied. And it w'ls so in this case. Cclia's application bcro no fruit what- ever, except that her lide in the cars left their stock of money a little lower than before. Among fifly applicants, some with influential friends, some with
years of exporienco to attest their ca- pacity, what chance could there bo for a lonely littlo girl like herl She had started with firm lips and a heart boat- ing high with the courage of selfdenial. .Slio came back with livid li]m and strengthless frame. She was so ex- hausted with the repression of her feel- ings wliii'h had been nccossury dur- ing her rido home, that slio had not power lefl to speak, and Alice eompre- iiended that the journey had been use- less.
" Ah," said Celia, sadly, as soon as she was sufficiently restored to say any- thing, " 1 am not sorry, for all those other girls needed the place as much as I. 1 shall never forget those disappointed faces. I think I should not have had the heart to take the situation, had it been oflbred mo."
" Well," said Alice, cheerfully, " now you have done your very utmost ; and, as failure is not our own fault, I have faith to belicvo wo shall be taken care of. It is only when we have neglected something ourselves that we have any reason to despair. Our money is not quite gone yet, and something is sure to come to help us."
" O, I wish I could die ! " cried Celia, passionately. " What does Cod mean by making creatures and then providing no place for themi Why are wo told to work, and yet no work is given us to dol"
"Well, my darling," said Alice, "I don't know what to say, but I tndy think that there is work enough for every one to do, and that, if wc ' do the duty which lies next us,' we shall see the one beyond."
"As I have done to-day 1" asked Celia, bitterly. " Yet I am more than ever blind to the next ono to-night. Work 1 I suppose there is enough work to do, but who wants to work for the mere sake of working without being paid for it 1 Besides, ono can't ; wo 've got to live first, before we can work."
" Yes," said Alice, wearily, "it 's very hard, my dear ; but then " looked tip with shining eyes - Love guides the way."
" I suppose so," said Celia. " I can't say I feel it very much myself, though. I only know I wish I waa dead uid
t'-%
and she " we know
so
SOMETiriNQ TO DO.
! <*;
n ■>
I
•J.
i
there was an end of mo, and I should n't be ti hiirdt'ii to unylKKly."
Ahcc turned quickly. " Never say that apiiii, little sister," said she, kissing her. "<'tm that he a Inirden which wo love heyond everything else in the world ? "
" Hu|i<' spiiiigH iiiimurtal in thu liiiniun brea.st."
That Hcntinient is mifficiently hackneyed to prove how true it is. Ami from day to day Ceiia experienced the most exhaiist- in;< fhutuations of h<)pe and despair. She searched the pai)er8 with Ircnihling eimenicsH, triisting every day that she might at last find something she could do. Kvery day, she turned away sick at heart, for nothing appeared. Once in a long time a copyist, a compositor, or something of that nature, would he advertised i'or, luul the proud child would press her hands on her torn and Btiflering heart and hasten to apjdy for the position. But what coid<l she do? She wrote an al)ominal)lc hand, and though she felt sure that if any one would only engage her she would take such pains to do her work faithfully as to give perfect satisfaction, how could she persuade anybody else to think so when twenty other girls stood waiting each of whom wrote like copi)er-plate 1 And who wanted to teach her to bo a comjjositor, and bo rcsponsihlo for her blunders for a month or two 1
" Here, Alice," said she fiercely, one day, flinging the paper aside, "they want a girl in a restaurant. I believe I 'II apply for that."
"Well," said Alice, dotibtfully. "Wouldn't that be rather hardl"
" Hard 1 " respcmded Celia, in a voice of wormwood. "Yes, I expect it is hard, but it can't 1x5 harder than sitting here from rooming till night, chafing with nothing to do."
" Then supjwse you try," saiti Alice.
" It is not very respectable," said Celia, beginning to repent.
" No," said Alice, *' hut it is honest, and our self-respect ought to be placed 80 high that no pressure of circum- stances can touch it. Whatever you do, you are Celia Wilding."
" Yes," said Celia, " I believe that as much as you, and in poetry such things all come out very prettily ; but in actual
M«MliMl»»
life, Alice, woidd you really yourself re- spect a jierson just as much — of course I don't mean would you treat her as well, but woidd you re»j>fct her just as much — if you knew she had been a waiter r'
"Of course I should," said Alice, opening her eyes wide in astonishment. "What diflereuce could it makel"
"None, I know," said Celia, angry with herself; "but I can't help feeling it is a great deal more respectahle to teach, or write, or even to set typo, than to do j)urely manual labor."
" Because you are of untainted pa- trician blood," said Alice, laughing.
" But you see, Alice, how nnich 1 am willing to do. I said many weeks ago that I would try fverythimi, that I would be courageous, and I 'II try this. Kiss mc, and let mo go before my courage fails."
In an hour she returned. She was as white as death. Alice had not seen her look so since the time of her first unsuccessful a]>plication for a school. Since then she had borne her disap- pointments sometimes with a certain stoicism, at others with her usual pas- sionate sarcastic fury.
She trembled so that sho could scarcely stand. She made "no reply to Alice's questions, but pressed her hand to her head in a confused way, as if to stay some raging tumult within. Then a terrible fit of tremor commenced ; her eyes dilated, her hands were clenched, and she fell down in hysterics, yet hardly in hysterics either, for sho did not once laugh, nor did the tears come, hut it seemed like a fit catised by severe nerA'ous pressure. Alice had been ac- customed to sec her sister in paroxysms of anger and grief, — for Celia was of such ardent feelings and such an excitable temperament that she had never learned self-control well, — but she had never seen anything before so fearful as this. She was at a loss to know what to do for her. It was hours before she was calm. She refused all food, and did not speak, although she seemed to try to do so. At last, however, Alice succeeded in getting her into bed, and, exhausted by her emotions, she finally slept. It is a strange and merciful thing, that, the more violent the emotious have been,
.7?^flW*^"
aOMETIIINO TO DO.
1^1
cally yourself ro- much — of course you treat her as re»j>fct licr just as
hIio hud been a
uld," siiid Alice, in ttHtonis'imcut. (1 it nmkol" Hiiid Ccliii, ftii|,Ty can't help feeling iro rcspcctiiltlo to n to set type, than iibor."
of uutiiintcd pa- kllec, laughing. Lc, how much I am id many weeks ago ytliiufi, that I woidd i '11 try this. Kiss before my courage
turned. She was as ce had not seen her
time of her first iition for a sckool. ,d bonic her disap- nes with a certain with her usual pas- iry.
BO that she could le made *no reply to ut pressed her hand nfuscd way, as if to imult within. Then nor commenced ; her lands were clenched, ■n in hysterics, yet \ cither, for she did r did the tears come, J, fit caused by severe
Alice had been ac- r sister in paroxysms
- for Celia was of such id such an excitable she had never learned
- but she had never )rc so fearful as this, to know what to do [lours before she was I all food, and did not e seemed to try to do ever, Alice succeeded i bed, and, exhausted ho finally slept. It is irciful thing, that, the
emotions have been,
the heavier the drowsiness which creuiw over many [Miopio. Alice did not leave her sister's side, and just as twilight wiM closing in ('cliu awoke with u start of horror. The recollection seemed to come back to her, and she wept for a long time. Tlieu she becamo more composed and answered Alice's inquir- ies, and began to talk in a sad, crushed voice. " I suppose I must tell you, Alice," said slu-, " what success I have met with." Alice waited breathlessly, and after a pause her sister added, *' I can never tell you what was siiid in my ear while I stood waiting with a crowd of others. I came away in an instant, without waiting to apply. Alice, I understand that it is not man- ual labor which makes a position dishon- orable."
Alice grew pale, and then said slowl}', "I will not believe that this can be the case in all such places. I have heard, I think, that they were places of tempta- tion, btit I l)elieved one could always guard hci-self."
" I hope it may bo so in most places," said Celia, drearily, " I do not think the man who spoke to me could have been one of the proprietors, and yet he must have had influence with them, be- cause — " Hero she stopped suddcidy, an ashun paleness overspreading her face, and then she added in a hurried whispur, " I am afraid at this moment, Alice. I shall never have the courage to roam about the streets alone again as 1 have done."
"It is horrible," said Alice, "but I believe you need not fear. There is enough honor in Boston to protect any girl who is not too daring."
Celia shuddered. " If I ever see that man ag!\in, I shall die," said she.
" And those poor young girls who were waiting with you," said Alice, thoughtfully. " It is terrible, but such a thing, against our will, makes us sus- pect a whole class."
" Yes," said Celia. " I shall never see a girl who belongs to that establishment without repulsion, and yet she may be innocent. Ah, how wrong this world is ! The innocent are suspected with the guilty, and have no means of clear- ing themselves."
"God gives us lessons so hard that
they secnj actually impossible," sjiid Alice. " What infinite charity wo must learn to have for those who fall under temptations which might have been our own ! "
" Yes, yes, charity," said Celia. " Yet no one need ever fall," she added, with energy ; " there is always the alternativo of death."
" Yes," said Alice, in a compusnionato voice, " death by starvation must con- tain moments of such horror that the soul becomes insane and is not responsil)lL'."
" Death by suicide, I mean," said Celia, quickly. " We have that alter- nativo, and drowning costs nothing."
"Could suicide ever be right, thoughl" questioned Alice.
" If wo had our choice between wrong or death, how could death be wrong]" asked Celia, with fire.
" If the choice came within a moment of time, to bo sure," said Alice, " wo could not hesitate. But that could never bo except when physical force was exerted against us, and in that case wo cannot talk of temptation at all. But where the alternative was presented to our minds ah)ne of doing wrong, or the chance, tho probability even, of dying by starvation, we should, of course, bj doing right, and only right, to choose death ; but could wo have an equal right to choose to kill ourselves ? "
" I can't see the diflForence," said Celia. '* If one is to die at any rate, ho may at least save himself as much pain lUJ he can. A kind physician woidd do that for a patient dying a natural death."
" Yes," said Alice, " if wo could ever bo absolutely sure that we should die. But God, who gives us life, has alone tho right to take it ; and at the very moment wo faint, believing we can live no lon- ger, we do not know what hand ho is about to stretch out to save us, nor what work there is in the world which he wishes us to do."
" If people were angels they might live according to your theories, Alice," said Celia, sharply ; " but most of us are very mortal."
" But though wo daily fall bitterly short of our standard, we have no right to make it lower," said Alice. ^^
32
SOMETHING TO DO.
,:|
CHAI'TEH Xll.
THK weckH went on, iind Htill no hojjo canio to ("diii. For inimy (liiyH iit'tor the eiieoiiiitur related in tliu last cliiipter slie Imrdly dured to leave the houHe itlone ; hut at litnt tlie Herene courage of her aixter eonununieiited it- self to her uIho, and uhe went out oh UHunl. coming back iipiin nnd upiin with n i^lower tread iind ti more faded glow in her oyon. Hut the l)itter ex- perience waH hIowIv teachinj; her u Htrength and eonipoHuro wiiich hIiu had never learned in any otiier eireuni- BtanceB. She passionately loved Alice, who understood her nature and never irritated her, and, however frettin;^ the incidents of her life were, she was not oliliged to bo brought in close relations with people whose injudiciousness cxas-
ttcrated her, ns when she had lieen at ler aunt's and at Hchool. When we once clearly recogni/e that there Ih no hulividual against whom wo can inveigh OS the cause of our misfortunes, we si.il- denly stand still, rcmcndiering, if we complain, who it is against wliom we complain. The most faidt-Hnding among us all must then be dumb. And so Celia, though she had not risen to that high piano where ono can look gladly and fearlessly at all things, knowing that a Father who loves us, though he dwells in mystery, sends all, bore herself pa- tiently, and grow pale and thin without growing cross.
And, as Alice had believed it would be, thoy wore not left in utter destitu- tion ; for Dr. Craig, who was much pleased with his little sister's governess, found a few music-scholars for her ; and the two girls were now assured of the absolute necessaries of life as long as Alice's health did not fail, or her patrons desert her.
Celia felt a little rebellious that this Bhould have (!ome to Alice instead of herself; for Alice was not strong, and, if there was not work enough to be had for them both to do, it seemed a pity that the stronger of them could not have any of it. But Celia know noth- ing of music, though she played a little in her own wild way, wholly by ear, 80 she could not take cither of the places. Alice comforted her by leftv-
ing her all their little housekcoping, — which' was sonu-thing of a task, though they lived in one mom, an>l ho letting i her feel herself of use in the world, ] and of use especially to Alice, who I was doing no much for her. I Alice i'ound teaching music very un- I satisfactory. It was not that for which I she felt herself best fitted, and it chafed her to feel her incapacity And yet she was an excellent teacher. She dearly loved music without being of a musical tenipeniment. It was the greatness of her soul, rather than a deli- cate ear, which enabled her to appreci- ate HO ex(|uisitely the masterpieces of musical composition. Few amateurs could play Hiin|ile pieces as well hm kIio, because she had such capacity for ex- pression, and she had so patiently cul- tivated her powers that she i)iayiil even ditticult pieces well ; and yol tlie natural talent for music was wantiii), antl no amount of expression could Ki<;>|ily tho want of execution, though it is eijually true that no amount of execution could have supplied the want of expr'^aion. It probably was less irksome to her to teach music on account of her very deficiencies, because, however (piickly kIic comprehended the spirit and mean- ing of a pasKJige, her ear was Iokh keen in detecting >'!<o harmonies on which it was built, and a false note hero and there did not excruciate her as it might have done a jwrson of quicker i)ercep tion. She taught well, too, not only because she was patient and faithful, but because she herself had foimd music tho same slow labor it is with most pupils, and was loss impatient with their dul- ness than one would have been whoso genius had made it possible to spring from height to height at once without toiling up tho intermediate sfepj. But she know that music was not her voca- tion.
In time tho wardrobe of the sisters Iwgan to look very Blmbby. Alice al- ways wore black, and preferred it. She laid away a nicer dress for very rare occasions, not knowing how long it might be before she could buy another, and by great care, and wearing a calico wrapperwhen she had any work likecook- ing to do, she mode her other only black dress look fresh and neat always, though
heJ off
:-!r
flOMETIIINO TO DO.
ss
0 honHokccpiiifC, — (if a titsk, though otii, uiul Ho luttiiiK iiMC in till' world, ly til Alitf, who ir hur.
M^ niUMic very un-
iiot timt for which
titti'd. Hiid it t^hured
imcity And yt't
!nt teacher. Sho
without ln'iiiK' "f
lint. It was tho
, rnther than u doU-
ili'd hi-r to it|i|)ri'ci-
thc maHtcr|)ificH of
III. Few iiiimtcnrB
ii'ccs as will HM nht»,
ich cii|iucity for ox-
md HO iiatii'Utly cul-
that Nhc jilayiil oven
; and yet the imtural
•118 wiintiii}. and no
on conld Ki']'|)ly tho
though it is eiiually
it of execution could
want of expr'^BBlon.
tsH irksoino to her to
account of her very
He, however quickly
. the spirit and mean-
lier ear was Ickh keen
iarmonic« on which it
false note hero and
uciato her an it inif^ht
on of qiiicker i)ercep-
t well, too, not only
patient and faithful,
erself had founi' music
iritis with most pupils,
atient with their dul-
ould have hcen whoso
I it poBsililc to pprinjr
leight at once without
crniediatc stepi. Uut
lusic was not her voca-
ardrobc of the sisters ory shabby. Alice al- and preferred it. She If dress for very rare mowing how long it jhe could buy another, e, and wearing a calico shad any work likecook- ide her other only black ind ueat always, though
It had l>oon worn so long. Hut Colia had no such talent. She had always had a faculty for nmhing through things, and tearing her dreMses, and all the mending in the world could not niiikc them their original selves again, lie- ■idoH, although she wore black from motives of e>.H)noniy, and hail reluctantly consented to do so usually even at school, HJio yet hated it heartily, and knew that she looked like a fright in Ruuh a Hoinl)ro sotting. If her chanu;- tor was gaining strength and consistency from poverty, she had not giiinod in beauty, as siio worked day l)y ilay in their little attic in her hopelesily shaliby drcsa and with tho glow and glitter gone from her eyes. Alice patiently mended and thoughtfully contrived, and made the most of everything ; while Celia felt that if slio could nit have all, a little inoro or loss was of no conse- quence. She absolutely longed for in- tense color, liking monotony in dress scarcely more than in life ; and one day, in desperation, sho sent a soiled old school-dress to tho dyer's with orders to have it dyed scarlet. Tho material was a poor one, and the color produced was a dingy brick -rod. But Alice could see nothing wasted, and horoioally toi^k the dress hersolf to wear during the hours she passed in tho house, that she might save her other one.
" Alice, you look like a clown," said Celia ; " do lot mo sell that dross for rags."
" No," said Alice, smiling. " It 's useful, if not beautiful, and I look no more liko a clown than you would have done if tho color had been brilliant and you had worn the dross into the street."
" But I can wear scarlet," said Celia. " Pshaw ! of course I know, though, that it would have modo mo ridiculous, because everybody nowadays seems to have such an ugly taste as to wish to creep round in old sad-colored gowns when there are tints as gorgeous as Na- ture herself whioh they might wear. 0 dear, doar! it really seems to me that the world is completely askew. At any rate, Alice, I with you 'd take that dress otT, for it sets my teeth on edge."
But Alice laughed and shook her head. " It is one of the consequences of our sins," uid she, "that we have
to bear tho penalty long after wo huv9 repented of the act."
In tho mean time th'o acquaintanco so Htrangely bcgini with Uoliert Ilii was increasing. He was always harsh and sarcastic ; but Alice had evidently i|uickoncd in some measure tlu< dying embers of faith in munkind in the dwarf's heart. So he talked to her and played to her. To one who loved niusi(! HO passionately as she, and who could yet lu'ar so little of it, this was a great treat. And ho liked to pliiy to her, for he had never had another lis- tener who appreciated luni. Ho would never consent to see Celia, however, for hu dreaded now faces ; and perhaps he guessed, as he peeped at her through tho blind, when shu sometimes camo to tho door with Alice, that her physical antipathies were violent. He liad but two friends. Miss Twigg and a young gentleman who had once rescued him when a scene occurred similar to the one which had mtroduced Alice to him. Tho young gentleman was an artist, and his studio was a source of unfailing delight to lloburt, who was too sonsi- tivo to go to public picture-galleries. Tho artist was a gay young man, but in a thoughtful mood ho painted the fooe of tho dwarf, toning down the irregu- larities, infusing power and depth into tho eyes, filling the whole hard counto- nanco with pathetic meaning, till the picture was the highest he had ever painted. But he never showed it to any one, lest by some fatal mischance Itobort should hoar of it and misinter- pret the motive. Forovor tho beat we are and do is known to no one.
Miss Twigg had been brought up in riches, and was now poor. She had boon brought up to work samplers and to do other equally valuable fancy-work, to draw a little with dividers, but had not been furnished many resources within herself. She had a masculine turn of mind, and had been titught tho most rigid fornuilco of fcmineity. Sho had been hardened, rather than crushed, by sorrow. Her friends were all dead, her fortune almost gone. She could not teach, and knew of nothing else a woman could do. So she worked chair- seats and sofa-pillows, and even copied engravings into hideous worsted worl^
-1
flOMETIITNO TO DO.
(crcwol wurk, indoo.l !) ond fuuiid lior ■elf K>'ltiti;{ oxccMMivcly ii^'ly uiiil ill- tvnipiirod, when an old, iiliiumt for^ottoii friend, tlyiii^', lie(;K*'d liur to take ui ii boiirdur licr tleforiiied l>oy, who wiu so Kmn to l)u l*tft iduiie in the world. The foiintiiiim <>r her heart were ut liwt ■tirred. She (i(re|il<d the trust, und wiiH Hiiviul from lieiii); iiHoiirold woniun. By de)ire('8, iiu her fortune ineltod iiwiiy, •hu filled her hoUHo with lodgurx ; but Ilohert Hueined to heloiig to her in n diftererit way front thu runt, to bo her »ory own.
CHAPTKU XIII.
AT Imit (/clin ciimc homo ono day with a nuliiint fiiec. "She Imt* ■uruly found HomethiiiK now," thou(;ht Alice ; but bhe would not Huy ho, in order that Hlie nii^ht neein to receive tho whole glad Hurpriue ut onco. She woH, however, iniHtuken ; tho world'b oyHter-Hhell woh iih hard oa ever to open, and Celiu wau no nearer rcachinu; its interior inyHtericH than when nIic started out. But she hiul nowH, never thclcMH, and niado Alice i^iiosh for five minutoM whom hIio hod met unexpect- edly on tho street.
"You guess wider of tho mark every moment," said she, joyously, " and 1 ■hall have to tell you. What do you ■ay to Aleck Huniol"
Alice flushed quickly with delight. "Why did n't you bring him homo with you 1 " sho asked. " I would rather •00 him than anybody clso in the world."
" He could n't come just now, but ho ia coming very soon, perhaf/i this very day. I will tell yon about it. In the first pliicc, I wont to Mather's for the advcrtisemont. (Of course, it was of no use, I might have known that to bo- gin with ; but I 'm glad I tried, for, if I had n't, I should always have thought that it might have done some good. ) But then I began to walk along ■lowly, with my usual happy reflec- tions,"— riitaer bitterly she said this, — " till suddenly I heard tho heartiest voice close by mo say, ' I toll you tho woman question is getting serious.' This naturally made me look up, aud I think,
at any rate, tho voico would havo r«- callcrl something to mo without tho wonU, At least, I whoidd hardly have known Aleck if I had n't heard his voice, beciUMi he has •hanged a great deal, and wours a great beard and so forth ; but as it wuh I knew him in n second, aud bcfori' he had i|Uiti) passed mu I gaxpi'd out iu pi'ifcct terror, lest 1 should miHK him, ' O, aren't you Aleck llunu'1' At that he stopped nhort and looked 8trni);lit at me. ' Yes, 1 'ni Aleck Hume,' said he, strai^rht for- ward as usual, 'and I wish I ennid re- member you, but I don't in tlit least.' The young gentleman with him laughed and said in a low tone, ' You old ogre ! What do you always tell the truth fori' Hut you know, Alice, I nevir should think of being hurt because Aleck could n't remember me, though it was disconcerting to have such a grand young man as his companion stand laughing at me, so I said In Idly, ' I 'ra Cclia \Vilding, and you ought to remem- ber my name if you have forgotten my face.'"
"0, I can imagine how ho looked then ! " said Alice.
"Yes, ho IcKjked exactly so!" con- tinued (/'elia, gayly, "and he shook hands liko a perfect ti^cr, and askod after you. 1 told him you were in tho city teur/iiiif/ (think of that, Alice, but I did n't say how much), and that I lived with you. I daire say ho thinks we arc flourishing witli an independent fortune." She laughed as merrily as a chdd. "Another thing, Alice, and 1 'm afraid you won't like t\\\n so well. I really don't know how it happened. I have tried to think since, but in some very natural way 1 found myself invit- ing Aleck's friend to come with him. Ho seemed to liko it, und said at once that he certainly would. What do you think, Alice 1 "
Alice jwndered. " I 'd rather soo Aleck by himself. Yet he will como often, I hope, and wo shall sec him alone. On the whole, perhaps, I am glad, because you have so few opportu- nities for seeing anybody."
" As many as you, blessing," rejoined Colia, gayly. " But what do you think of the proj>nety of inviting him 1 "
Alice laughed. " The idea of your
BOMETTTINO TO DO.
voice would liAvo re-
( to mo witluxit the
, I Nhoiilil hunlly linve
I timl n't hoiinl liia
.' liuH I'liuii^i'd II ^ruat
11 iirvwi lifiu'il aiitl Bu
wiiH I knew liiiii in n ri- hu hiul i|into piuutod
in |»i'rfi'(t ti-rritr, Io«t
liini, 'O, lire n't you
At timt lit! Htoppcd
utrnitiiit at inc. ' Yi'h, 10,' miiil lie, Htnii^'htfor- iml I wIhIi 1 eonUl ro- t I tlon't in tilt IcitHt.' crniiii with liini luti^hod / tone, ' V'oii old oj^rc ! viiyn toll till! tint li fori'
Alice, I never should
hurt liuciiiisc Alock
bur mo, tliou;;lt it waa
I hiivc Hiich i\ grund
hitt conipiiiiion Htand , 80 I Buiil 1)1 'Idly, ' 1 'ra u\ you ought to rcmom- you Imvo forgotten my
mngino how ho looked
CO.
kcd exactly so ! " con- ;ayly, "aud ho shook lerfoct ti^jcr, and asked lid him _\ou were in the think of that, Alice, r how much), and that I I ditro say ho thinks ig with an indcpendout laughed as merrily as a ?r thing, Alice, and 1 'ra I't like this uu well. I •w huw it hiip|)enod. I [link since, hut in some ly 1 found myself invit- nd to come with him. like it, and said at once y would. What do you
•ed. " I 'd rather see elf. Yet ho will come and wo shall sec him 3 whole, perhaps, I am ou have so few opportu- t anybody."
i you, blessing," rejoined " But what do you think ■ of ujviting him 1 " d. " The idea of your
thinking first of the propriety ! Still, of course, as wi! live here ^<i much alone Hut I fool suro that I n«:H'd rmt olijcrt to any friend of Aleck *twim it k(<ciiu'<I niitiirul to you to invite ; I trust you both too much for that."
" Hut I don't kti«i«." said (Vliii, thoughtfully. " He 'v great and griind, yet if I depciK^i" on my infiii tions as much asyoii do, I don't know that ( should have invited him."
" It must have l>ccii intuition which mad(! you invite him at all," said Alice. " You would never have thought of it otherwise."
The sunlight sectncd brighter all day to the sisters, and tliey fanciiid it jicno tratctl into dark nooks and corners of their little sitting-room which had always before lain in shadow. Wheti Alice went to give her daily lesson to little HcKsie Cmig, she thought Mrs. Craig had never been so kind, and the few words which Robert Uix sj)oko to her had not an atom of liittcrncss. Cclia took courage, for the first time in many weeks, to bring out her paints ngain and copy an ivy-leaf from the bough across the window. And, after the lamps were lighted and they sat cosily sewing by the little table, they heard a fVoo, vigorous step on the stair, and another behind it, and then a firm quick knock. Alice opened tho door, lialf expecting, notwithstanding Colia's description, to moot again tho sunburnt, ruddy boy from whom she had parted. She started back, thinking .\leck'H friend had come first, but tho cheerful, hearty voice reassured her. " How do you do, Alice Wilding! You are just yourself."
" And you arc not yourself at all," said Alice. " I don't believe I should ever have known your face, though I could not forget your voice. At any nitc, there is nobody in the world I could bo so glad to sco."
She spoke more impidsivoly than usual, forgetting that Aleck was not alone. But the stranger made his pres- ence known straightway. "Aleck, you ought to be a happy man for six months."
" Mr. Richard Stacy, Miss Alice Wild- ing." In the mean time Mr. Richard Stacy and Miss Celia Wilding had shaken hands.
The visitors could never have guessed
that this charming little sittingroom served also for kitchen, dining room, and Nli'eping room. It whs so frcnh and Mwect, so full of clioice little thingc which even tho wealthy cannot buj but only the cultivated, the girls in their black dresses were so tuMtcfid and ladylike, that one might have imiigined that the whole Iioumc wa.i theirs and this little rootn only a cosey boudoir where they liked to sit in the evening. Kvcn Celiii's oM black dress, which sho so deplored and detested, was mado becoming by u jaunty little white apron sho had not worn for months ; and she hud taken her luxuriant hair out of her ugly net, and curled it and crimped it ami all the rf retrrfin with hearty inter- est. Alice looked always tho same, se- rene, beautiful, blessed.
"(^elia was so excited this morning that she did nothing in order," said .Mice, after a few minutes, "and, so far as I can discover, she told you our whereabouts and wctipations without once thinking to ask yours. Have you too come up to the city to livol I could hanlly have liclieved you would have been satisfied to leave tho woods and fields."
" Not I," replied Aleck. " I am not living here exactly ; I am only in the [legislature this winter, and I shall be glad enough to get back to the fields and woods again, you may be sure."
" So art has not yet claimed you," said Alice, with a smile, as her thoughts went back to a time years before, when they, as children, had talked of art.
" Hardly. I supposo you could n't call the liOgislaturo art, though, could youl except that it 's artful."
" Ah ! " said Stacy, striking in. " Aleck's coming to town is purely phil- anthropic. Ho had some slight faith in human nature at tho beginning of the present session, and fancied that the State Legialaturo was the 'fixed point' for his lever to move the world."
"And I have somo faith left still, Dick," replied Aleck, pleasantly ; " that is, faith in human nature, though I must confess my confidence in the Legislature is beginning to totter. As long as people will put such faithless creatures as Dick to make the laws, what hope can there be for the world I"
36
SOMETHING TO DO.
Dick laughed. "It takes just such •8 I to keep just such as you from going to pieces headlong. The Conservative element is n little more important than the Radical."
" Ah ! OS long as you believe that I shall keep in politics, notwithstanding my waning faith in them, — that is, if toy constituents will let me."
"That is good and grand, Aleck," laid Celia, flushing and happy. Mr. Bichard Stacy looked at her curiously, OS if he wondered if it was quite worth bis while to raise a little breeze. He apparently concluded that it was.
" I see Aleck is going to get all the glory," said he, " and that proves zny unselfishness, because nobody is so sure of being lionized as he who takes an unpopular part." He said it so gayly that Celia looked disconcerted, which could not have been, had there been a trace of bitterness in his words.
"Ah, Mr. Stacy," she answered Bweetly, so sweetly that Alice, who knew her usually to be too eager about any point in question, looked up sur- prised, " I sha' n't retract a bit, but I 'm willing to acknowledge that there may be people who are noble on the opposite side, because from their gtand- point their way is right. But then," flhe added, with a sparkle like a laugh in her face, "of course they are fearfully deluded."
Dick Stacy was a A'ery free-and-easy young man, and ho felt at that moment a wish that he was a little better ac- quainted with the young ladies, because he thought a pat on the shoulder, or even a kiss (to which he did not object), or anything to start a frolic, would have been the most expressive sort of an- swer, and good fun, on the whole. However, his sense of the proprieties kept him quiet. He only made a wry face as he answered: "So we are de- prived of glory, and receive pity as a substitute. Perhaps that 's better than nothing, especially at election - time, when it makes it more exciting for the candidate to appear in a pathetic light."
" But I don't think I do pity you," isaid Celia. " I think you 're too wise to bd ine of the deluded. I 'm really afraid you are rather a politician."
" The purport of that seems to be,
' You *ro wicked and you 're wise.' I '11 forget the wicked ai<d remember the wise. Thank you. Miss Celia." Herewith he made a bow and appeared to be very much at home.
" 0 dear ! " said Celia, " how am I ever to convert you if you persist in transmuting all my daggers in^o roses 1 "
" I don't need to be converted, — do I, Aleck 1 I was convorte;' in the best manner at camp-meeting last summer. I was done up in the most thorough style, and the old female who inducted me into the various mysteries of free grace and transubstantiation and me- tempsychosis and elective affinities, or whatever, prayed with such unction that 1 might not only be converted but pickled and salted down so that I could n't spoil, that I 've never had any uneasiness about myself since. I knew such fervent petitions could n't remain unanswered."
Aleck watched the girls closely while Dick was speaking. He knew that they had lived in a clergyman's family and a sectarian boarding-school ever since he had last seen them, and he had won- dered what the results had been.
"What an acquisition you must be to the Methodists, Mr. Stacy ! " said Alice. "You can help to swell their statistics every year."
" I should be glad to have a new baptism every season, to help on the good cause," said he; "but, being al- ready ' pickled and salted down,' I suppose I must be perfect now and can't be any better."
" Except in politics," said Celia, slyly.
" You 're bound to regenerate mo without knowing my opinions," said he, pretending to look injured.
" Ah ! " said Celia, " but you said you represented the Conservatives and Aleck the Radicals."
" And you are a Radical, of course 1 " he said, laughing. "Now Aleck is a Radical to that insane degree that I might be a thousand years behind him and still two or three hundred years in advance of everybody else."
"I like that," said Alice, with a bright face, " for I find I am more rad- ical than anybody I meet."
" In everything 1 " asked Aleck, in a certain pleased, grave way.
and you 're wise.'
ioked aiid remember
k you, Misa Colin."
e a bow and appeared
|at home.
id Celia, "how am I
you if you persist in
y daggers in^o roses 1 "
o be converted, — do I,
onverte' in the best
meeting last summer.
in the most thorough
d female who inducted
ious mysteries of free
ibstnntiation and me-
d elective affinities, or
)d with such unction
lot only be converted
I salted down so that I
that I 've never had any
t myself since. I knew
ititions could n't remain
id the girls closely while ing. He knew that they
clergyman's family and irding-school ever since ti them, and he had won-
results had been, acquisition you must be dists, Mr. Stacy ! " said can help to swell their ' year." be glad to have a new
season, to help on the laid he; "but, being ol- d and salted down,' I ist bo perfect now and better."
politics," said Celia, slyly, rmnd to regenerate mo ng my opinions," said he, look injured.
d Celia, "but you said ed the Conservatives and icals."
ire a Radical, of course 1" hing. "Now Aleck is a lat insane degree that I lousand years behind him )r three hundred years in jrybody else." lat," said Alice, with a for I find I am more rad- jody I meet." hingV asked Aleck, in a d, grave way.
SOMETHING TO DO.
3t
" Yes, in everjrthing."
"Spiritualism, Woman's Righ.s, Di- vorce Laws, Prohibition, Moral Suasion, Co-operative Housekeeping, etc., I sup- pose," said Dick.
Alice laughed. " We 're pretty bad, Mr. Stacy."
" Or pretty good, perhaps," said that young gentleman. " The liudicals are gloriously good, but ridiculously unprac- tical."
" Aleck looks practical, I 'm sure," said Celia.
"Listen," said Dick. "Aleck not only benefits the world by making (or endeavoring to make) new laws for the happiness of his fellow-creatures, but he 's also a ductor, that he may cure their sick bodies ; and if he finds most of his patients too poor to pay him, he cheerfully supplies the deficiency by pulling off his coat and working on his farm. Actually, / don't know but he works on their forms, and gives them the produce of his own. It would be just like him. Now, is that practicall"
Dick looked very handsome as he spoke, and very proud of his friend also.
" Be still, Dick," said Aleck. " You have n't given me a chance to speak a word since we came in."
" I like you to be a physician, Aleck," said Alice, " but I did not expect it of you any more than I expected you to be in the Legislature."
" But what could I have been ? — a clergyman or a lawyer ] "
" Not a lawyer, at any rate, though that is rather grand too " (here Dick bowed gaylj', for he was a lawyer), " and not a clergyman at just this era. I perceive that it was suitable, yet I al- ways think of you as a farmer, pledged wholly to nature."
"So is a physician, Alice. Botany, chemistry, anatomy, — you see it is all nature in one form or another."
" Human nature too," said Dick.
" Yes," said AlecL " As I don't live on Juan Fernandez, I must do something to help people more directly than by farming."
" You '11 think I 'm a heretic," said Celia; "but Alice and I are always disputing about that very thing. She believes in rushing out into the high- ways and hedges and finding some defi-
nite work to do for other people. I believe in doing it if it comes to you, and iu the mean time I think it l)est to live out your own nature, and on tlio whole that will bless the world most."
" You are a cold-hearted transcen- dentalist," said Alice, laughing.
" Nevertheless," said Mr. Stacy, "Miss Celia is in the right. For, if everybody followed her rule, everybody would bo perfect, and there would bo great variety in the world, besides, to giv3 a ' spice to life.' "
" Ah, hit they will not," said Alice. " So those who see their own way clear must work for other people, or there will be a vast work left undone."
" But since nobody can bo more than perfect," said Dick, carelessly, " where is the overplus to come from which is to go to the underdone people, and ' keep the balance true ' 1 "
" Suppose perfection, or, better, good- ness, consists in helping other people to it t " said Alice, eagerly.
" It may be goodness, but it can't bo perfection," said he ; " because if every- body was perfect there would be no such work to be done. And however we are askew now, I suppose everybodj was meant to be perfect originally."
"Ah, we don't agree on first princi- ples," said Alice. "I don't quite be- lieve that everybody was good at first and has been growing worse ever since."
" And I don't believe it at all," said Aleck. " It 's a faithless kind of belief. When we all come to Darwin, things will be clearer."
" I 'm not a Darwinian," said Mr. Stacy, " though when I 've wriggled through a few more stages I may be. But it 's no matter where people started from ; if they are ever all going to be perfect, the occupation of doing good will come to an end, so it can't be our ultimate work."
" My dear boy," said Aleck, " a uni- verse which is constantly evolving must eternally continue to evolve."
" Hurrah ! " said Dick, laughing. " That 's so grand I don't understand a word. So I know I 've cornered you."
" Not a bit," said Aleck. " There is now an infinite gradation of being below man as well as aliove him, and there must forever be ultimate particles from
SOMETHING TO DO.
which tho Bcries of evolutions begins, since there in such a thing aa iiijinity. So, however our race improves, there will nlwnys be work for us to do in helping others."
" Well," said Coliii, " I guess you nro only living out your own uahne in an other wny than 1 do, so wo arc disput- ing al)out nothing."
•' (Jood ! " Bttid Mr. Stacy, " we are all right, and nobody is wrong. Let 's shake hands all roiuid."
When the young gentlemen went away, the sisters found themHclvcs ex- hilarated into a talking mood instead of feeling that forlorn settling down of blackness which had invariably accom- panied the nightfall for many weeks, carefully as they had striven to conceal it from each other l)y trivial remarks which they forgot beforo the answer conic. ,
" I believe, Alice," said Celio, " that, for the sake of being in society one year, I would willingly die at the end of it. Just think of meeting people evening after evening, hearing conver- sation, riding and driving and travelling, and hearing music ! I don't wonder the old alchemists sold themselves for gold. It is the hlessiug of life. It gives ©very blessing."
Her face was flushed, her eyes spar- kled, and she looked handsome, radiant.
" Such a little sip of society as this is perfect nectar," continued Celia ; " there was Aleck with his great, grand theories, and Mr. Stacy with his genial, gentle- manly manner, and I did n't know how good a time 1 was having till they were gone, and I feel lifted up so many miles bej'ond the ground I stood on before. O, if such a little sip as this is so sweet, what must it be to drink in the whole ] "
Alice might have said, " It might be to drink the dregs." She thought it, but she never said disagreeable things that were unnecessary.
" At any rate, Celia, we are likely to get something more of it than before, for Aleck is to be here all winter, and if Mr. Stacy took interest enough in him and in you to come here once he probably will come again."
" 0 yes, Alice, he said he should. Is n't it very curious that we happened to meet him in just such a way 1 "
"It is very curious that you hap- pened to invito him here," said Alice, " and a very happy inspiration."
" Are you sure of that 1 " asked Celia, in such a strange, vague way that Alicu looked at her closely, and knew that, at any rate, it was not curious t!iat her sister had invited Mr. Stacy.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE next day Alice went as usual to little Bessie Craig, leaving Celia rather cross at tlio idea of taking up the burden of endless, useless search after work which, during the preceding evening, she had almost forgotten was laid upon her. Mrs. Craig, as usual, sat in tho room during the lessons. It annoyed Alice ; she could never get over an uneasy feeling that Mrs. Craig had a Iwundless curiosity, and though it was used to no ill purpose, it was nevertheless offensive. Just us she was concluding her lessons, there came a sharp knock at the door.
" Miss Twigg," said Mrs. Craig, with half a laugh. " I should know her knock in Japan."
And Miss Twigg it was. She paid no attention to Mrs. Craig's greeting, but, looking beyond her, said shortly : " Miss Wilding, Robert will see you when you get through up here, if you please," and shut the door.
" Whether you please or not, I should think," said Mrs. Craig, with her half- laugh. " Mother Twigg gets to be more of an ogre every day."
Alice made no reply, so Mrs. Craig was afraid she had said too much, and added, to mend the matter, " She is a bluff, downright old soul, at any rate, and sincere as a looking-glass."
" And she sincerely hates you," thought Alice, "and you hate her as much, but less sincerely."
When Alice knocked at the door of Robert Rix, she heard a hasty scram- bling for a minute or two before it was opened by Robert himself He bowed very respectfully, but did not extend his hand. Nothing would have induced him to touch any one but Miss Twigg. It was one of the saddest things about
SOMETHING TO DO.
0U8 that you hnp- hcro," Huid Alice, inspimtiun." thutl" asked Cclio, [igtic way that Alicu r, and know that, at )t ciirioua t'lat kor Stacy.
ilR XIV.
\lice went as usual
Crni^;, leaving Celia
) idea of taking up
lloHs, nsclcss search
tiring the preceding
hnoHt forgotten waa
it. Cniig, as usual, sat
iig the lessons. It
could never get over
that Mrs. Craig had
lity, and though it
ill purpose, it was
vc. Just as she waa
ssons, there came a
door.
laid Mrs. Craig, with I should know her
g it was. She paid Irs. Craig's greeting, id her, said shortly : iohert will see you )ugh up hero, if you he door.
•lease or not, I should Craig, with her half- rwigg gets to be more
reply, so Mrs, Craig I said too much, and le matter, "She is a Id soul, at any rate, Dkiug-glass." icerely hates you," ,ud you hate her as Borely."
)ckcd at the door of teard a hasty scram- or two before it was himself. He bowed but did not extend g would have induced Due but Miss Twigg. saddest things about
his calamity that ho was endowed with that sensitiveness which accompanies the finest and most delicate constitu- tions. Ugly, misshapen, horrible as ho was, he too had physical repulsions as powerful as those of Culia. He divined the sensation ho must cause in other people, and ho never even touched the hand of another in his bitterest, most lonely moment, when his heart was half l)rcaking for sympathy. To- day there was in his eyes a painful drawing down of the corners, as in those of a child who has been weeping, but his mouth had a harsh, scornful, sarcas- tic expression. He closed the door after Alice, and motioned her to a scat in the very corner of the room. Then, in his usual way, ho wheeled a table crosswise before her, completely block- ing her up, and u{)on this table he mounted. This was a favorite position of his for some unexplained reason, perhaps because it enabled him to look down on people, as if he were really tall and grand.
" Come now," said he, in his harshest, gruffest voice, " yoti protend to bo re- ligious, don't you 1 "
" I hope not," said Alice.
" Well, if you like it better, then, you are religious, whatever that ma}' mean, — which is n't much, / think."
Alice said nothing. She wondered what had happened to make him harder than usual.
" I 'm not religious," continued Rcj- ert. " I was n't made for such things. The Power that crushed my body cursed my life too." The last words he spoke with a flash of angry vehemence.
"Why don't you speak 1" said he again, after a pause. " Why don't you say something consoling ? " with a bitter laugh. " What did you suppose I wanted of you if you were going to sit there mum in a corner 1"
" I know nothing to say," replied Alice, slowly and gently.
"Pooh! Why not 1"
" I am not able to understand the in- tense pain you suffer, and till I can do that I have no right to insult you by oflTering you comfort."
" Come, I like that now," he said. " I knew you 'd tell the truth, at any rate. You doiiH know anything about suffer-
ing, you can't so much as conocivo what suffering is ; the little measure of it which has been filled up to you, in comparison to mine, is so little that if it could all be compressed into one mo- ment, that moment would be ecstasy of bliss beyond the happiest moment of all my life. Yoti donH know anything, you can't (fues» anything, you can't guess th» meaning of the word ' pain.' Yes, I 'm ghul you tell the truth. It 's more than most people do."
There was a long pause, and then ho spoke again : " Why don't you tell mo I 'm miserably wicked ! Come, that would be some comfort."
" Because I don't think so," said Alice. " I think you are miserablj tempted and tried."
"So, so," said Robert. "Rut you told a lie then. You Iwlievo that every- body ought to submit to the will of Pate {you call it God, I believe), and be as happy as a bird through everything."
" 0 yes, I Ixilievo it ; but it is true that I do not think you wicked and do not blame you."
" I don't understand that," said he^ shaking his head. Then ho continued, with impressive slowness, " I saw you one day, Alice Wilding, when you were tempted and tried, and you said life was too bitter, and then you blamed yourself and said you had been quite wrong. You aro charitable, but if you are also true you blame me for the same thing."
" I blamed myself," said Alice, " and it was right I should, iHicause I knew within myself the whole power of the temptation and the whole power of the resistance, and I knew that I had yielded where I was able to resist. About you I know nothing, and have no right to judge. You said yourself that I could not even guess your pain."
"I thought you believed in God," said he, suddenly.
"I do," said Alice, understanding him in a moment, "and I know that God never laid so heavy a burden on any human soul as to make it impossi- ble that that soul should rise up from ^ under it erect and pure. I do not so distrust the Father. Yet the weight lies heavy, heavier on some than on others, and the soul which seems to us
40
SOMETHING TO DO.
most cramped nnd bent mny rctilly liavc lifted itself upward with u strength and energy beyond our ciipiieity of conecp- tion. I tliink no one him done the best, yot, coniiMiring men witii men, we hiive no right to judge. The ntains which God sees are beyond our ken, and (iod himself docs not eondenni, but pities and blesses forever."
" it may be true," said Robert, in a tired way, " I don't know but it may be a plcnsunt belief, but for me I am not religious and don't understand it. Do you want to know why I am more bit- ter to-day than 1 sometimes am ] "
Alice nodded, and he wcTit on : " I 've tried to hide my head in this house so that I might escape some taunts if I could. It 's hard not to go outside your own doora, to see the sinishine only be- hind brick walls, never to breathe the country air or gather flowers, never to hear the music which is within a stone's- tbrow of you, never to cec a picture, never even to look at human faces, ex- cept such as you can peep at from be- hind a blind ; yet I 'vc borne this rather than show my niissha|)en body where men could sec and sneer at it. I am cursed in not having the soul of an idiot as well as the body of one. Ah well ! I have some friends, it seems, after all, and one is Ralph Nickcrson. He 's a wild young fellow and a painter. He 's bad enough, I suppose, but he adores beauty ; that 's why he likes me, 1 suppose ! He thinks I can appreciate pictures, though, so he invited me to the great private e.xhibi- tion of the artists. I wanted to go ; I was a fool. Lately the boys about the neighborhood have been so respect- ful to me that I began to think they 'd changed, supposed they might not sliow the repulsion which, of coui'se, they must feel." (Alice sighed within her- self, for she remembered her first en- counter with Miss Twigg, and feared that it was from no nobleness that the boys liad been silent.) " I thought, if I went in a hack, nolxidy need see me ex- cept OS I was getting out or in, for Ralph had promised me that I might go in the morning, and no one else was invited till afternoon. 0 well ! it went off' nicely. I believe I was perfectly happy at the time. I have an intellectual remem- brance of it, though I have lost the feel-
ing completely now. I must have been happy, 1 sup]jo80, or 1 shotdd n't have been so senseless. The green-house was opposite, and I caught a glimpse of it as I went in. Ral|>h said it was gorgeous beyond all ho had seen l>efore, and I wanted to see it. 1 must have be^.n hap- py to have felt the determination for more ha|)piness. So wo v.ent in. I paused beside something, 1 don't know what, — what coitld 1 have liked enough to stop 1 — while Miss Twigg and Ralph went on. Just then two ladies camo in, and were close by me before they saw me. At the same iniitant they stopped and half screamed. 1 heard one say distinctly, under her breath, ' Hon-ible ! there is no other such monster outsido of Rarnum's.' But the other lady gi-ew white and rigid as if an uncontroUablo dread, at which I coidd guess but too surely, had seized her. They hurried away, and I wish 1 had died."
The heart of Alice was aching with sympathy. She sjjoko quietly, keeping back her tears : " But they could not have been delicate persons, or they woidd not have seemed as they did. So why should yoti care for them 1 "
" 0, it is not for the woman who 8))oke that I care ! " he answered, with that forlorn drooping of the eyelid. " She was not delicate, I know ; but while she was rude enough to speak there must be thousands who would fed the same, though they hid it care- fully from me. I had almost' forgotten that. And, 0 God, what if my pres- ence there among the flowers, so inno- cent and free and happy, should deter- mine the life of some one yet luiborn to be a life like mine ! I should build me a prison cell and see no one, and that when J am starvinf/ for human sym- pathy and love. There was a bad omen, too, to greet me at homo. The caterpillar which I tended all the fall, and whose cocoon I had watched all winter, had broken its coverings and emerged a moth, but a moth with its wings hopelessly twisted. And / had tended it. Who knows what strange, blighting influence my eyes had had upon it 1 Ah well ! t^t is dead. De- formed moths do not live. Why are not such as 1 strangled in the cradle t Ah ! it vnuld be kind."
SOMETHING TO DO.
41
I must have bocn
1 sltoiild n't Imvo
he grecn-hoiiBc was
it a glimpse of it as
id it was jiorgoous
seen Iwfore, and I
ui»i have be^.n hnp-
determiniition for
I wo wont in. I
liing, 1 don't know
mve liked enongh
)s Twigg and Itiilph
two ladiesi came
mo before they saw
iiiitant they stopped
1 heard ono aay
• breath, ' Hon-iblo !
ch monster ontsido
tho other lady g!'cw
f an uncontrollable
coiild guess but too
her. They hurried
Imd died."
ce was aching with >ko quietly, keeping But they could not e persons, or they jemed as they did. care for them 1 " or the woman who " he answered, with ping of the eyelid, licate, I know ; but le enough to speak ousands who would i;h they hid it care- had almost' forgotten d, what if my pres- thc flowers, so inno- happy, should doter- iie one yet unborn to ! I shoidd build me see no one, and that «</ for human sym- There was a bad ; me at home. The tended nil the fall, I had watched all n its coverings and but a moth with its wisted. And / had knows what strange, e my eyes liad had ! that is dead. De- not live. Why are ngled in the cradle t ind."
There was a spariclo in Alice's eyes, — a sparkle of hope and joy.
"Bcuause," she said, in a thrilling tone, " lifo is too grimd and high a thing for ono moment of it to bo lost under no matter what conditions. The solemn march of all created beings, from the earliest blind grasping for consciousness to tho mighty angols of the sim, and beyond, must not , bo so interrupted. Wo must join in tho procession which, feeble as wo are, would bo incomplete without \is ; and we wish it too, for we are bound to prove tho utmost possible for every moment of the grand eternity God has given us."
His eye flashed responsive for an in- stant, and then the glow went out.
" A pretty theory," ho said, scornful- ly ; " but hundreds of sweet little chil- dren die every day. How are their places filled 1"
" If wo did not bolievo in immortal- ity, and an immortality of progress too, there would be no answer," replied Alice ; " but, knowing that, wo know there are other places and other duties for thorn, and that there is still no place here ac- tually unfilled, whatever it may seem."
" Pooh ! " said Robert, «' that will do for religious people ; but those children die without suffering at all. Why am I made to suffer 1 "
" There must be conditions in your being," she said, " which make the high- est lifo possible for you, and make you worth the most profound education."
Ho seemed a little softened as ho an- swero I : " Yet you who believe in God believe that every creature is worth to him exactly the same in the end, and is worth the ultimate education ; and all do not suffer — alike."
"Ah, Mr. Rix," said Alice, eagerly, " it is becauso you believe in God your- self that you talk to mo so ; and your faith is the purest, because the prob- lems which might shake it are to you unsolvablo."
Ho shook his head impatientlj'. " What can you do towards solving my questions i " he asked.
" I can tell you what I think," she replied. " How do we even know that all do not suffer alike 1 No one can in- terpret another's life. And surely, if we have existed before or may exist
hereafter in older and newer forms, who can say that the measure of suffering may not bo so filled up in ono world or another that all shall suffer the same t And if that is not true, as is very likely, still God has not made all alike. His mind is infinite, and must evolve infinite variety, and for tho highest develop- ment of each being a totally different education is no doul)t needed ; tho points attained by each may bo equal, but they need not bo tho same."
" 0 well," said Kobort, harshly, " )'ou destroy the little comfort that might be got out of such hideous, inconceivable suffering. If we could think that (iod had really chosen us for so high a des- tiny that wo must suffer beyond our fellow-creatures to roach it, there might be a kind of triumpli in that ; but if all arc to reach exactly the same point, and some are to tread barefoot over thorns while others dance over roses, where is justice ? "
" That God has chosen the best pos- sible for all of us at some time does not show that ho has not also chosen the best for each of us. Wo are different, but not differently loved."
" You are a good child, Alice Wilding. Now go." And Robert jumped hastily off his table, and opened the door so quickly that Alice was in the street in a second. But she guessed she had left him happier ; and Miss Twigg, who had known nothing about what hod troubled him in the morning, though sho had noticed the cloud of sadness which had enfolded him, knew that the evil spirit was exorcised when she heard the ring- ing chords of an anthem from his piano.
Alice pondered with some surprise, oa her way home, on the fact that the con- versation of the evening before had cer- tainly had an undefined influence over everything sho hod said to-day. It seemed as if her mind was suddenly ex- panding. It was not strange, for she had come in contact with a great mind.
CHAPTER XV.
AS Alice had supposed, the girln were not left alone so much as they had been. Aleck spent half his
r
4t
SOMETHING TO DO.
leisure evenings with them. Ho would have interested himHclf in them for their father's sake and for the memory of old tiineH, for he was one of those hearty peDjile who helievo that every- body hiut a claim upon them ; hut, be- yond tliis, ho found an appreciation of his motives and a sympathy with his actions in these two unsophisticated girls that he did not meet anywhere else. Kven in the special clique of poli- ticians to which ho belonged he saw too clearly a spirit of party which often disgusted him. And in Alice he found one whose thought had tended in the same direction as his own, and to whom half a word would convey his aeaning as whole sentences could not do to any one else. Mr. Stacy came very often with Aleck. He was too im- pulsive not to follow the whim of the moment, and he had been charmed with Cclia from the firat instant he saw her. It was new to him to find a person of such high culture who was yet so fresh. He knew enough young ladies, for he moved in the highest circles by virtue of his money and talent, and he know enough fresh country girls, for he un- derstood the art of making himself agreeable ; but Celia stood on a middle ground, and was higher than either, to his thinking. She was daring and brave, too, in attacking his politics and ethics, and that ho liked, for there is a great fascination in having a person who is too great a stranger to say anything harsh talk to you about your faults. Besides, he always came off victorious. He showed Celia again and again that the world was not ripe for her theories ; and as ho was in earnest, and truthful in believing it himself, she could not help being convinced. Then Dick was hand- some, and had a rich voice. Celia wor- shipped beauty. Alice would shako her head, smiling, and say, "Well, Mr. Stacy, very likely you are right ; but then the world never will be ready un- less somebody agitates the matter, so I am ready to be one of those."
At this Dick would draw a comical picture of Alice in bloomers, stumping the State, and Celia would declare her- self disgusted.
Nevertheless Dick liked Alice amaz- ingly, though he never felt quite easy
with her. Ho could resist no beautiful woman. Cclia was not beautiful, but her charm lay outside of and beyond the shape of her features. His fueling for her was totally new to him, and quite distinct from his admiration of voung ladies in general. So it came (o pass that he accompanied Aleck ns often as he thought respectable to see the Wild- ings, and still oftener he sent them in- vitations to concerts and the theatre. Alice would not always go to the the- atre, and Aleck never went. She liked talking to him better than seeing any- thing below genius on the stage, but Celia was passionately fond of it, and had never had an opportunity to gratify her liking ; and Mr. Stacy used to say, laughing, " I believe in always going to the theatre when there is any grand work or grand actor to be seen. If not, I go to see the poor ones."
In this way the burden of life be- came easier. Celia wanted money more for the pleasure it would bring her than for any other reason, and if she had the pleasure without the monoy, it was, of course, just as well. But it was very galling to her to be so destitute in many ways, and to 1)0 unable to appear as well dressed as other pleasure-seekers. Dick himself cared a good deal about dress, especially in young ladies; but there was a certain glitter about Celia, even in her shabby, imbecoming black clothes, which made it impossible for him to criticise her, though this was by no means the ease with his female ac- quaintances. Alice was always beauti- ful, especially in black, and her culture showed itself in every motion.
The search for work was still tmsuc- cessful. Alice had found two or three other private pupils through Dr. Craig, but Celia was still without anything to do. And so a month had passed on since her encounter with Aleck.
One morning Celia lay with half- closed eyes while Alice was dressing.
"Come, Celia," said Alice, at last; "you will not be ready for break- fast."
" I don't want any bijeakfast," replied Celia, languidly.
" But you mean to rise by and by, I suppose," said Alice, smiling.
" I don't know."
SOMETHING TO DO.
«s
resist HO beautiful lot beautiful, but of and beyond tho I. His feeling for to him, and quite niration of voung o it cnnio io pass Aleck as often as le to SCO tho Wild- r ho sent them in-
and tho theatre, ays go to tho the- r went. She liked r than seeing any- on tho stflgc, but ;ly fond of it, and portunity to gratify Stacy used to say,
in always going to there is any grand to be seen. If not, ones."
burden of life be- wanted money more ould bring her than I, and if she had the
0 monoy, it was, of 1. But it was very be so destitute in bo unable to appear her pleasure-seekers. [ a good deal about
young ladies; but
1 glitter about Celia, y, tmbecoming black de it impossible for , though this was by
with his female ac- 9 was always boauti- lack, and her culture 3ry motion, urork was still unsuc- l found two or three lis through Dr. Craig,
without anything to th had passed on since 1 Aleck.
Celia lay with half- S.\\ce was dressing.
said Alice, at last; be ready for break-
iny bueakfast," replied
a to rise by and by, I ce, smiling.
"Are you ilH" said Alice, bending over her anxiously.
" No," said Celia ; " only tired of liv- ing. What is tho use in getting up 1 I have nothing to do ; that is, I can work if I choose, but 1 can't bo paid. I think tl»o struggle is useless."
"O well, Celia, wo are bettor off than wo wore, for I find more to do, and wo are not left without society and pleasure."
" And what is tho use of that 1 " asked Celia. " I only realize more and more the vast diffcrenco between our circum- stances and our tastes, and I feel the contrast more keenly. I was perfectly happy at tho theatre last night, but now I liavo to return to tho same old thing this morning, though I would n't complain if I could return to some real work, but to this fretful fruitless wait- ing for something to turn up, it is too hard. Alice, I saw some magnificent dresses last night, and worn by people without a bit of taste, — people who looked as ugly in royal purplo and sa- bles as I do in my old black dress. I know Mr. Stacy was ashamed of me."
"You know bettor than that," said Alice, smiling. " Mr. Stacy would n't take any one of whom ho felt ashamed to the theatre."
" I don't know about that," replied Celia, with some spirit. " Mr. Stacy is noble, and he knows I adore the theatre, so he might do many things out of kindness."
"And of course he hasn't penetra- tion enough to judge whether you would call that a kindness or not," said Alice, with gentle sarcasm.
"0, you know what I mean," and Celia sprang out of bod. " But I don't understand how Mr. Stacy can help being ashamed of me. He is so high- bred."
"And what are you, you absurd child 1"
" I have n't the town polish. If Mr. Stacy was going to the stake, he would look as perfect a gentleman as if he were being introduced to the queen."
" And certainly would n't go without blacking his bcots," said Alice, laugh- ing. "He is precisely the reverse of you in those particulars. However, he would new go to the stake." ^
"What!" said Celia, with a sudden flush. " I believe, Alice, that you do not think him noble."
" Yes, ho is noble," said Alice, re- penting; "only not noblest."
" There, you are thinking of Alock," said Celia, " and Aleck is grand. I love him as well as you do. But you know there ia a little country mud on his shoes."
" And country air in his breath," said Alice, coloring proudly.
Celia was silent and looked a little vexed. After breakfast she sallied out in qiiest of a situation, in reply to an advertisement Alice had noticed the night before. She went in a wrathful enough mood, first vehemently declaring to Alice her horror and detestation of life.
Tho situation she sought was that of copyist in an office. It made her fierce when she saw there were already twenty women in tho waiting-room, though it wanted ten minutes of tho time that was advertised. She sat down to await her turn, feeling that, if she could be successful, she should bo miserable with the memory of those twenty disappointed faces. Just as the clock reached the appointed moment the inner door opened and two gentle- men came out. One was the advertiser, and ho beckoned to the girl who sat nearest the door. The other was Dick Stacy ! Celia wore a thick veil. She never went to any place of the kind without one, but it seemed as if every person in the room must see her blushes, they burned so furiously. Dick, how- ever, did not seem to notice her, as he passed out with his fvee step and bright, grave face. She felt herself trembling, and, like a flash, came to her soul the acknowledgment that there was no one in the wide world whose every motion' was so dear to her. She sat in a stupor till the inner door was again opened, and the gentleman announced that he was satisfied with the first applicant, and courteously dismissed the others. She did not care at all. She was too nearly beside herself with shame to feel anything of this kind, even if she had been expecting any other re- sult. Her first impulse was to hasten home at o«ce, ai\d then she remembered
44
SOMETIIINQ TO DO.
that 8ho could not face Alice at present, and turned in another direction, walking; fast and impatiently. But she htid not taken a hundred steps when sumo one spoke her name, and, lookinji up, she saw Mr. Stacy's hundsuino face. She would have seen any one in all the world with less confusion nt that mo- ment. She said to herself that she was not o-shamed that it should be necessary for l»er to earn her own bread, that she hud even no right to be ashamed that she was seeking to earn and found her services wholly undesirod, and that she need not be ashamed to have any one know what it was so right she should do. Nevertheless she was a born patrician, and though her educa- tion and her innate nobleness hnd given her appreciation for and sympathy with plebeians, in the abstract at least, the patrician blood still tingled in the very ends of her lingers. Then she had so carefully concealed from Mr. Stacy any trace of actual poverty, though he must have seen that the sisters were far from rich, that the denouement was doubly painful.
They walked a few moments in si- lence. Then Dick said, with his easy smile, though perha])s he felt less easy tJion usjial : " Well, Miss Celia, there is no help for it. I suppose I have un- wittingly found out a secret which you would rather I should n't have known. And perhaps I might have pre- tended not to know and so have saved you some confusion, but you know I should never have felt very honest in that case."
He looked so handsome and so truth- ful as he spoke.
" You are right," said Celia, with an effort.
" Besides," continued Dick, " I could have been of no use to you if I could not have told you that I saw you. 0, what a confounded noise there is in this street ! You don't mind walking on the Common, — do you 1 It is so much quieter there, and I want to talk to you. It is of no consequence if you are not at home quite yet."
♦' 0 no ! " said Celia, bitterly ; " my time is of no value."
" You sha' n't say quite that," said Dick, cheerfully ; " but the most valua-
ble thing you can do with the present time is to take a walk with me."
They were silent till they found a quieter spot, and then Dick went on. " I hope you won't think I am imi)erti- nent if I tell you that I don't sup{)ose you received the situation ! "
" No," said Celia ; " I aliould hardly have wished to be fortunate at tliu ex- pense of so many others who perhaps need it more than I."
" N«) one can bo in greater need," said Dick, " because nobody else is bo proud."
Celia had a moment of triumph. She had been half afraid that Dick would think her poor-spirited to go about seeking work in that way. She understood very little what he thought.
" 1 suppose you really wish to find a place where you can earn something 1 " he said, wrinkling his forehead a little.
" I must find something or die," said Celia, (quickly and with a sob hidden in her voice which made it thrill. " Of course I sha' n't die of starvation," she added hastily, " for Alice is so good ; but I shall die of shame that there is no place in the wide earth for me in which I can work without being a mis- erable clog and burden on other peo- ple."
She did not look up ; but if she had, she would have seen a strange, heavy cloud pass across Dick's face. He did not answer at first, and when he did the words did not seem much to the purpose. Certainly they were not wl at lie might have said, though Celia did not think of that.
" One could almost believe in Woman's Rights," said he. "Nevertheless there are men almost as badly off, — though, of course, they don't suffer like women."
" Miss Celia," he said, rousing him- self, a moment later, " perhaps I might find you some work to do. I know a good many people here and there, and will do what I can. What would you prefer to do 1 "
" Anything for daily bread," said she, scornfully. " I hate work of all kinds, and am equally inexperienced in all, so it makes no difference. Yovf are very kind."
She tried hard to say the last words gratefully, but she did not succeed, and
SOMETHING TO DO.
4S
with the present
with me." bill thoy found a .>n Dick went on. jink 1 am ini]>ertt- it 1 don't suppoiie Uion ! "
1 should hardly Irtuuato at tlio cx- [hcrs who perhaps
in greater need," nobody else is so
icnt of triumph.
afraid that Dick
loor-spiritcd to go
in that way. She
i what he thought.
cully wish to find a
1 earn something 1 "
is forehead a little.
icthing or die," said
nth a sob hidden in
ado it thrill. "Of
die of starvation,"
for Alice is so good ;
ihame that there is
de earth for me in
fithout being a mis-
urden on other pco-
L up ; but if she hod, sen a strange, heavy Dick's face. He did t, and when he did b seem much to the y they were not wl at id, though Celia did
st believe in Woman's "Nevertheless there
badly off, — though, 't suffer like women." le said, rousing him- 3r, " perhaps I might rk to do. I know a
hero and there, and a. What would you
Jaily bread," said she, ite work of all kinds, lexperieuced in all, so rence. Yoi< are very
to say the last words I did not succeed, and
they Iwth knew it. She did not under- stand why she failed, for she did not recognize the instinct which told her he had not, after all, been kind. Yet ho had never in all his life been so kind to any one as ho was at that moment to her.
" If you wore a stout Yankee," said Dick, clearing his face of shadows, " my path would bo plain, for I could sound a trumpet detailing your virtues in the ear-s of every frieiul I have ; but I should n't like to do just that in your case. You may bo sure," he added, sweetly, "that, whotlicr I succeed or not, you shall not bo annoyed by any
fmblicity. In the moan time, when you lavo advertisements to answer, won't you promise to toll mo about them, and then perhaps I can help you, and at any rate save you some troiible 1 "
" Of course not," 8i\id Celia, with a miserable attempt at gayety. " Among a dozen apphcants, who would choose one who had a protector to bargain for herl No man of mercy, certainly." The instant she had said these words she suddenly remembered how much they implied, and grew crimson. Dick saw it, of course, and might have shown his tact by taking no notice ; but he paused in an embarrassed sort of way, and the black cloud swept across his face again. Celia thought she had never been so wretched in all her life. She would not risk another moment with him lest she should make the mat- ter worse, so she made it worst by say- ing abruptly, "I cannot spare any more time. Good morning," and she hurried away in one of her paroxysms. "What would ho think 1 What could he think 1 What had he thought 1" His embarrassment had told her too plainly. Alice had gone out, and Celia locked her door and gave way to a fit of anger and rage like one insane, — one of those fits which she hod at times experienced in a less degree all through her life, since her very childish days. She per- haps had hysterics, with the modifica- tion that her passion was stronger when she was alone, and that by a terrible effort of will she was quiet when Alice came hrnno, except that she was very cross ; but this was by no means unusual, and did not surprise her sister, who
thought she was only disappointed about the situation.
Meantime Dick did not turn to look afler her, as she broke away from him so Huddeuly. He wiis not so silly as to think wltut she supposed he did, but ho knew what she supiM^acd, and ho could not conveniently contradict her. How- ever, ho was thinking of something else, and stood five minutes in the sarnu sixit grinding his heel into the snowy pave- ment. Then ho sauntered off to a bil- liard saloon, and was soon absorbed in a game. He may have found it tedious though, us ho never played for money.
CHAPTER XVI.
" ~P^^^^ STACY has been cross to-
I J day," said Aleck, when ho called next evening, " and I could n't persuade him to come with me. He is going to apply himself more closely to business, he says, — which is absurd, I think. Work in the daytime and play in the evening, / say."
" I suspect you don't practise that," said Alice, pleasantly. " Mr. Stacy has whispered to mc a secret about you."
The niddy-faced young fellow abso- lutely blushed. In fact, he worked very hard in the Legislature, hoping to force through some measures rather too radi- cal to be carried without a tu8.sle, and then doctored poor people in the even- ing, sometimes even watching all night when the exigency was great. Though he did good modestly and secretly, and though he wotild have taken every pre- caution to prevent its discovery, perhaps, after all, he was not troubled to have it found out by those he respected and loved.
" Consistency, thou art a jewel ! " said Celia, trying to be gay, though she felt the significance of Dick's absence.
"Exceptions to every rule," said Aleck, laughing.
" But the preacher should n't always be the exception."
" I have dpne nothing, after all," said Aleck.
" Except overworic," said Alice. " Mr. Stacy told me."
46
BOMETIIINO TO DO.
"Well," said Alock, "I hclicvo in corrcliitioii of forccB. Momentum cnn't 1)0 piiiied. It is nlwnyN quantity mul- tipliud ity velocity. If the nnioiint of tho work is the snmc, wliiit difference docs it muke whether 1 do it in ton years or seventy t "
" There is a fallacy somewhere," said Alice, " lUK^ Huspcct it has something to «lo with ' protoplasm,' only I don't quite know what that is."
Aleck lan;;hed. " You arc so bright, I will confess. Tho vital force can ho supplied l»y protoplasm. But if wo ex- haust it faster than it can ho supplied, wo die, and can take no more, and so leave our work undone. But I don't do that. A delicate girl like you can't oven imagine how strong and full of life i am. I may talk to weak girls and dyspeptic clerks to the end of time, and yet not mean to advise that great, Btout creatures like myself should bo lazy."
" 0 Aleck Hume," burst out Celia, " what a despicable thing a woman is ! To be dragged down by a little mean miserable body when one might do something noblo ! Alice may scold you, but I envy anybody who has physical strength to escnpo his own pettiness."
" Ah, Aleck," said Alice, " it is a life of limitation to bo a woman ! "
"Yes, yes, yes," said Aleck, vehe- mently ; " but we shall live to see wo- man legally free, and everything clso will follow in the train of that good day."
" You can't make us stout like you, though, Aleck," said Celia, gloomily.
" iiy and by," said Aleck, cheerfull}'. " When the conditions of life are more sensible, a woman may have a constitu- tion with never a flaw, and have bound- ing health, if not actual raw strength. And the delicate girls of to-day must begin to take care of themselves as a first step to that glory."
" That we do," said Alice. " Neither of us work hard."
Celia looked up scornfully, and caught an expression on Aleck's face which made her exclaim : " You' think Alice must work hard to support us both."
Alice, surprised, because they had al- ways sought to conceal their stniggles from the young gentlemen, interrupted
hastily : " Alock knows I love to teach, and woidd do it if wo were rich instead of pcwr."
Celia, however, no longer cnrcd for concealment, and H[M>ko again, boldly and bitterly : " Aleek thinks that is no reason why I sliotdd take your earnings, which he knows must be too >;.na11 to support two without sclfdenial. Hut you arc unjust, Aleck, for you don't know how I have tried to find work. Only yesterday I. tried for a place as copyist, and was defeated."
" Forgive mo, (.'elia, said Aleck, with a distressed face. " Hut I was not so unjust as to think you knowingly took from Alice. I thought you had a little property, but were thoughtlessly iising it, and would suddenly find yourself destitute ; that perha])8 you did n't know the value of money. 1 was very wrong and very stupid."
" Yes, you were," cri«d Celia. ., " / not know the value of money ! I woidd sell my soul for enough to buy a aeccnt calico dress, and throw this ugly black thing into tho fire !"
" Are yoji really destitute 1 " asked Aleck, greatly moved.
" No," said Alice, with digtyity ; and then gave the few inevitable u^ords of explanation. " We arc, in «act," she added, "only quietly and privately test- ing tho rights and wrongs of tho woman question. We bear the burden of our century, and do not complain." .She s{)oke proudly, with a glanup at Celia which was almost severe, sne was so hurt at seeming to ask Aleck's sympathy.
" / complain, though Ulice, who works, does not," said Celia, bitterly. " And till I can find work I have right- ful causo to complain."
"You should have told mo before," said Aleck, reproachfully. "I might have helped. And may I tell Dick 1 He has a great deal of influence, you know."
Celia writhed inwardly, and answered, with curling lip : " Ho hlroady knows, Aleck. I had the pleasure of meeting him yesterday in the office where I made so vain an application."
Here was the key to tho'riddlo then.
"Well, said Aleck, "wo may to- gether devise something for you."
" Devise poison ! " said she. " It is
.^■<fnim.>liiWiilinilil.i
SOMETMINO TO DO.
47
rs I lovo to teach, were rich hiuteud
longer cnrcd for iko iiKiiin, boldly thiiikH thnt Ih no take your earnings, at be tuo K.niill to Hclf denial. Hut cck, fcr yon don't ricd to find work, ied for n plucu oh atcd."
said Aleck, with Hnt I wuH not bo on knowingly took gilt yon lind a little thonghtlcHHly ntting Icnly find yotn-sclf ii{)H yon did n't know • 1 was very wrung
K," cri^ Celia. .. " /
of money ! I wonld
)ngh to buy a decent
hrow thia ugly black
"
y dcBtitutol" asked
cd.
e, with dig^y ; and
,• inevitublox'"''*^'* *^f
0 arc, in mact," sho tly and privately test- wrongs of the woman 91 the burden of our not complain." She ith a glnnup at Celia t severe, she was so nsk Aleck's sympathy.
though Alice, who said Celia, bitterly, lid work I have right- aiu."
lave told me before," )achfnlly. "I might id may I tell Dick] leal of influence, you
iwardly, and answered,
"He already knows,
B pleasure of meeting
1 the office where I ipplication."
ey to thc'riddle then. \leek, "wo may to- lething for you." 1 1 " said she. " It is
the only sure cure. There is nn over- population of women in MuHsachuHotts, as I know by other means than the cen- sus."
" The woman question is a hard one," said Aleck ; " luit for any individual case we can genunilly find u remedy, and then wu are K^ing to move heaven and earth for her legal rights."
" I don't know what good voting would tlo me," said ('clia, drearily.
"The over -population would be the same," said Alice. -
" I thought you lioth believed in Woman's Rights," said Aleck.
" I belie vo in a ' forlorn hope,' for want of a better," said Celia, with a sigh.
" And I believo in the future," sivid Alice. " How can the race bo broader till woman isl But in this century whoever looks for happiness had better bear every ill rather than try to stem the current of public opinion. The star to which we look is far down the future."
" In the mean time, what is the use of living 1 " sjiid Celia. " I am not of the stuff of which martyrs are made. I must have love, and not cold reason, to spur me on."
" And that is just the stuff of which most martyrs are made," said Aleck. " But, conrage ! yon won't hato life, once lot you find work."
" You are right, Aleck," said Celia, with a gleam of returning hope. " I won't bo a coward."
Aleck and Dick, without speaking to each other, were both busy for a week in trying to find a place for Celia, and OS Dick hn,d most money and friends ho was successful. A friend of his wanted co])yiug done and would send the work to her in her own home, so she could avoid the publicity she so dreaded. The sum to be paid was not large, and Dick wished to add to it from his own purse ; but he had tlic delicacy not to do it, for he knew what agony of shame it wonld cause her should sho ever find it out.
So at the end of the week he called to tell her what he had done; but, as might bo supposed, the interview was embarracaing to cverj'body till Aleck happened in. " I did n't know Aleck knew you were looking for work," said Dick, as the aisters eagerly related what bad taken place.
" Only a week ago," said Aleck. " Was n't it bad for them not to tell either of us 1"
Dick's face beamed a moment ; ho rather liked it to bu taken for granted that ho stood on the saniu footing with HO old a friend as Aleck.
" That comes of their being ' strong- niiudcd,'" said he. "They think the rougher sex are only useless cunil)crcr8 of the grounil."
" That is unjust," said Alice, with a smile. " Wo think the world can never be what it ought to be without woman's help, and we Iwlieve that, in spite of her cramped and morbid life, the love in her outweighs most other things ; but if wo must make a comparison, m«/( are broader and stronger."
" Don't desert your colors, Alice," said Aleck ; " you know a woman's conr- age is as commtm and great a thing as a man's."
"('ourage and strength arc not the same," said Alice. " And though a woman can endure ail things when she is sure of sympathy, without that she dies. And to almost every woman comes a time when she cannot endure silently."
" O dear ! " said Dick, " To tell the truth, I must admit I don't know many saintly tnen who endure tremendous trials with a radiant face."
" But they are not so ridiculously, abominably, shamefully morbid us wom- en," cried Celia. "They are grand. There is nothing little about them."
" Certainly not," said Dick, amuaed. " But I thought yon believed in the ' free and equal ' doctrine."
" Freedom, yes," said Celia ; " but as for equality the Hindoo customs have the right of that. Still, since they are in the world, let them do what they can."
Alice tried to think it strange that Celia should speak so bitterly, just as the work she had been seeking so long had come to her. Dick was uneasy, but thought he had the sense to see that universal suffrage would do no good in this particular case.
" Men and women must meet in a more rational way than they do now," said Aleck, who could never keep still long, — " in college, for instance."
48
SOMETHING TO DO.
"Ah!" iw»i(l Dick, "with a hovv of •fiiir nirl-yrmliiia»'H,' whiit fun thtru woulil Ik- lliiliiij;! "
" 'i'ho HtuiU'iitH could ii't flirt moro than they do now," miid Alfiii<, "and thoy would know hoiiu; HiiiNllilt' nirU."
" IvMiclly," Hiiid |)i(jk, iiiiily ; ' liiit 1 tell yon in contidencf timt ii Hfimiljlt' ^irl wonid liu a horo to tho nndurgradn- ntett."
" Tell ino tT.ndi<lly," Haid Alico, sniil inj», "(hm't you like hcHt to talk with the liri^htfHt },'irl8 you meet 1 "
" They may bo aH liright an they please," Haid Dick, "only they mimt not t/n'nk nnich, or oUu they will he •slow.'"
" I know that well," said Celia, ea- gerly ; "for a woman's life i« snth that when hIic thinks at all she hccomeH morbid."
" No,'.' said Aleck, with some scorn. " IJoys have Huch an mnnitipited desire to show otl' that they can't cn<lnro any- body who knows more than they do."
" I don't believe that," said Alice. " They will always respect those who arc worth respecting."
" 0 well," said Dick, " it is pleasant, when \vc are going throigh a course of flirtation with some hardened fashion- ables, to reflect that in some quiet cor- ner, guarded from top-boots by picket- fences, some nice girls are being brought up in an unsophisticated way, so that when wo have gniduated and become sensible ourselves, wo may look about us, and cast the remnants of ourselves ot tho feet of those who can bestow on us the first gush of feeling, never hav- ing had a clianco to flirt themselves. On the whole, I don't believe in mixed schools."
There was just bitterness enough in his tone to prevent him from being o\it- rageous to the rest.
. " You are mightily mistaken," said Cclia. "Those bom to flirt »ro not prevented by picket-fences, and when there is a comi)lcto dearth of other chances, there are always the ' revival seasons,' when they aro urged to private conversations on personal religion with itinerant preachers ; and as tho hand- somest man always converted the gieat- cst number of pretty girls. I always called those religious flirtations"
" liot bygones bo bygones, " said Alice, aiuioyed.
" I think lK>arding schools are a lium- bug," said Dick. " Howuver, that is a matter of opinion and has n't much to do with tho Hutfrago (pu'stiim. lUit what you must do if you vote is to hold othce, notwithstanding yuur constitution and tastes. '
" Their constitutions are going to bo improved," said Aleck. "And nolmdy is obliged to hold oflico against his will." .
" Kxcept 'field-driver' in country towns," said Dick, gayly. " Imagino Miss Wilding elected to that otlico I Ihit seriously tho ijiower to hold oflioo would create the to^^te."
" Then that proves the present con- dition of woman a false one."
" Ah, well ! liut, from a selllsh point of view, is it worth while to cultivate a taste in them which leaves us without homes 1 "
"It wouldn't," said Alice. "Tho daydream of nine out of ten of all tho girls I know is to havo a home of her own and make it just as beautiful and happy as she can."
"(iranted," said Dick ; "and the tenth is tho Woman's-Kights woman of tha lot."
" No," said Alice, emphatically, — " ol- ways a girl who believed herKelf born to be dependent on others, and never to exert herself to make others linjipy."
" But could they mako a pie 1 " said Dick.
" As well as the * clinging vine ' kind," cried Celia. "And at school they al- ways had tho neatest rooms."
" Besides," sjiid Aliee, " if a woman had higher tastes, she could earn enough to pay her cook."
" Ugh ! " said Dick, " tlie idea of ono 's wife working for her living ! "
" Drudgery in the kitchen is n't working for a living, I suppose," broko in Aleck, indignantly.
"Nevertheless," said Dick, "if n woman don't know how to cook, she can't direct her servants."
"And a man must understand ma- chinery to superintend a factory," said Alice. " Every good woman loams to ^ook whon it is necessary."
" Ereiy ' good woman.' Ah I but
SOMBXrilNd TO DO.
hygoncM," said
IiooIm nro a Imm- owovir, tliiit is a (I liuN n't much JO ((uiKtinn. Uut oil vtitc in to Jiold
yourcoimtitutiou
iiH lire titnua to bo "And nolmdy ofl'ico tkpiluHt liiit
ivcr' in country
j.'iiyly. " lnm(?ino
I to tliiit ofTifoI
Miwcr to hold offioo
to."
•a tlio prcRfut con-
Isc one."
Voin ft Ki'liish point
while to cultivate a leuves us without
sftid Alice. "Tho >ut of ten of nil tho mvo II Imnio of her uBt us beautiful and
)ick ; " ftnil the tenth ghta wouian of the
cmphnticftUy, — " al- lioved hcrHolf bom to :)thcr», and never to ko others hapjiy." ly make a pie 1 " said
' clinging vino ' kind," d at school they al- 38t rooms." Alice, " if a woman iho could cum enough
Dick, "the idea of ; for her living!" the kitchen is n't ng, I suppose," broke
tly.
said Dick, "if ft iw how to cook, she rvants."
nust understand ma- itcnd a factory," said [}od woman loarua to icossary."
woman.' Ah I bat
how abottt tho rnntcni'? Wliat id the tendincy I "
1 know nothing about the ' nuiterH,'
likcH ollu'r pcnpb to brlicvo in future poMsii>ilitii's whirit do not st'ciii Huch when wo look at tliu hard fuuo of tho
ns you call (Ik in, tlioiigh I miMpcct tli(\ | every day vvoilil."
have been iiiiHivjircHentoil. Hut this I know. When people desire to «lo a higher work, it only nrnkcH tlieiii imav faithful in a lower uiio. Only thoHc who wish to be iille nogloct their every (biy work. And woiuca are all tli(>ii' lives taught to wish that, becaiiMO they are told othei-x should support them."
" It \h III fair to tlispiitu with a woman," said Dick. " IJhivalry pre vents you IVoiu cornering her. Hut what are ymi going to do alniut fight ing to siiHtaiu your vote?"
"They can be nurses," said Aleck, " and that is as hard ua fiiciug the en- emy."
" I am glad you think so," said Dick, " for it is pleasant to know one's friends arc courageou.s."
" If men are cowards," said Aleck, " it is time tiiey were taught better."
•O think," 'said Alice, "they arc oft^ taught a superstitious fear of (Jod and eternity in their very cradli-s. If all felt sure that (lod loved them, they could n't be afraid of anything he might bring them."
A shado passed across Dick's face. "0 well, we must tuko men us thoy arc," said he.
" Mr. Stacy," said Colia, " when we got civiliaud enough for women to vote, wc shall be so near tho millennium that we shall not have any more wars."
" Splendid ! " said Dick. " Do prom- ise mo to go to the next convention of the ' down-trodden' and see how near the millennium wc are. Tho fact is, prac- tical men like me are needed to keep you idealists in working order."
" But we arc practical too,"* said Alice. " For instance, Celia and I are the best of cooks. I own I hate it, and leavo all the nice operations to Celia, liiit I ovn do it."
" I believe that," said Dick, pleas- antly. " I should n't have beeu so rude as to make remarks I thought i)crsonaI. All your faults como from your being too good to appreciate averago human nature. I mean that sincerely."
"Dick is incorrigible," said Aleck]
I like //"", at any rate," said Dick, with a Nwect lunk. Then his eye diiwly turned to the girls, (,'elia's I'aco was radiant, tho elnuds had all gone, ever tiiiro wa.': thrilling with her appro- ciat! in of the wanii, rich natiiro of tho voiiii^ fellow. Hut as he looked at her the light, in his eyes faded, and he said uneasily, " Aleck, we are staying uu uu- consciiiiiablo time. Let us go.''
Ami atYer ho had |Hirted from Aleck he walked up and down the street, musing. "Yes, Aleck," he said, as ho entered his boarding huu.se at last, " on the whole, you luo right. Thy woman ({uuutiou is getting serious.'*
cnArTi:ii xvii.
CELIA went to work next day with a lightened heart, and, having so iin|K)rtant an object before her, she succeeded in making her pages look very neat and distinct, though thoy were somewhat stiff'. Purhapa sho hoped to show them to Dick in tho evening,, but Aleck came alone, and for several successive evenings no word waa heard of Mr. Stacy. Celia's views of Woman's Uights veered round suddenly, and she found herself in tho mood to make a most exemplary " vino," espe- cially when tho thought camo over her that |)erhaps Mr. Stacy was more slmckcd by her radical principles, those l>cing a pait of herself, than at her working for a living, which ho knew to iio brought about by circumstances. Vet, after all, Celia's was not a wdftk character. It was ill-balanced, aud' that made her seem weak, ami it was u passionately affoctionato character which coulu cxpiind and become stable by growing in tho sunlight of love. Hor sister's lovo.Jiad done so much for her thati slio was becoming firm, w-han a now clement had como in, a now ue- c^sity for love, which forced bcr natiuft.
ferment. »Hcr bijiK was full! of
glorious insufficienoiSI," and the " an-
breaking into a smile " ; but, after all, hoTglcs " of such a " strife " cannot sO' aooa
7
o^lc
,>— r.t»..»M.-« — ....
-Jt^l©'?
c
no
SOMETHING TO DO.
i
"round into calm," as those of "nar- rower perfectness."
But if Dick had made good rcsohitions
not to go to the littlo room in X
Place, perhaps ho speedily thought how marked such a desertion would and wliat
appear, anu what a wrong miprcssion it would leave, so ho very soon sent an invitation to the sisters to go to the opera with him. There was a good deal of strength in Dick, thoiigh he made no fuss about it, and for tiio rest of the winter he avoided as much as possible those dangerous little chats at home with the girls. He also invited them oftencr to concerts than to the theatre, knowing that Alice would not refuse those ; so he had no tete-d,-tetes with Calia. Ho managed his attentions 80 skilfully that Alice, quick as she usually was in observing, did not no- tice that ho was at all less attentive than he liad been. But Celia realized how few opportunities she had to talk with him, and, understanding his char- acter well, though wanting the key to his actions, her cheek burned as she thought, " He does not wish to hurt our feelings by leaving us, but he wishes to pay us equal attentions lest / should mistake his motives. He must have seen what I feel." It is barely possible that, with all his strength and tact, he had calculated erroneously ; for the presence of a sympathetic nature is as much as words, and music and poetry develop the soul and make it more intensely susceptible to the high- est influences. Perhaps lovers were never cured of their love by going to concerts together. When Dick listened to a grand and holy symphony, he felt an almost boundless power to be and endure ; but when Celia sat beside him, with her richly glowing cheek, thrilling with her fine and subtle appreciation of every chord, he felt with redoubled keenness wha* he had to endure. He said to himself that on the whole he was glad that the business of the Legis- lature wa'S being so promptly finished •that the chances were that they would adjourn the last of March, which was almost at hand. Aleck was not glad. He was indignant thatisome measure|i which seemed to him imperative wev
anceJi
and that they wero to bo entirely ig- nored during the session. But the last week came, and the last day of it. He .went to bid the sisters good by, as he was going homo the next morning. He could not help seeing that Celia was disappointed that he was not •xccompa- nicd by Dick, who had unaccountably absented hin^self for a v.eck previous. Even Alice could not refrain from say- ing, " I thought Mr. Stacy would have come to bid us good by too."
" Perhaps he is not going to-morrow," suggested Aleck, though an instant later he remembered that Dick had distinctly told him he thould be oft' in the first train the next day, and he reluctantly said so, but suggested that it was pos- sible that he might have changed his mind. When Aleck was gone, a feeling of desolation came over the girls, and Alice realized how happy the winter had been to her, but Celia moved restlessly about, unwilling to go to bed, though it was too late to oxpect any one^lse. She was wakcfill and feverish all ak;ht, and in the morning there was a^ftful gleam in her eyes, and her liand treiiibl°.d so that she found it impossible to guide her pen. Alice said nothing, she dared not say anything, and went away to her work.
Celia huiTiedly set the room in perfect order, and then sat down to copy. She compelled herself to keep on, though she started with every footstep and strained her car to catch every passing carriage. But in half an hour's time she looked at the single page she had written and saw that it was blotted and blurred till it was perfectly illegible. At that verj- moment the hall door certainly opened, a free, springing step came quickly up the stairs, and before Celia had time to stop trembling, there was a knock which she knew very well. She hastened to open the door, and there stood Dick Stacy with a face as briglit, but less careless than usual.
" I can't come in," he said, yet step- ping into the room. " I am going home in the next train, but I could n't go without coming to say good by and thank you for making the winter veri/
jhappy to me. I am sorry to be too
late to see Miss Wilding, but you must
oonsideied of no immediate impprtance, I say goodby to her for me." As if ho
SOMETHING TO DO.
Si-
re to bo entirely ig- icssion. But the last JO Inst day of it. Ho Bisters good by, as ho the next morning, seeing that Celia was ho was not acconipa- 10 had unaccountably for a V cek previous, not refrain from say- Mr. Stacy would have )od by too."
not going to-morrow,"
though an instant later
bat Dick had distinctly
uld be off in the first
ay, and he reluctantly
gestod that it was pos-
ight have changed his
lock was gone, a feeling
mo over the girls, and
)w happy the winter had
Celia moved restlessly
to go to bed, though
to -expect any one^lse.
I and feverish all ak^t,
rning there was aW-ful
!S, and her liand trcn»bl°.d
id it impossible to guide
> said nothing, she dared
ig, and went away to her
lly set the room in perfect 1 sat down to copy. She elf to keep on, though sho rery footstep and strained h every passing carriage.
I hour's time she looked »ago she had written and s blotted and blurred till Y illegible. At that verj-
II door certainly opened, a step came quickly up the
3re Celia had time to stop re was a knock which sho 11. She hastened to open i there stood Dick Stacy i bright, but less careless
me in," ho said, yet step- •oom. " I am going home train, but I couldn't go ng to say good by and r making the winter very 3. I am sorry to be too ss Wilding, but you must ) her for me." As if ho
had not purposely, though perhaps with only a half-eousciotisness, waited over one train that ho might see Celia alone.
"I am very sorr}' — I mean I am very glad," began (y'elin, in a bewildered way, and he looked at her suddenly and mw the traces of lier agitation.
He seized her hand impulsively, and snid rapidly, " I am saying good by to you forever, and you must forgive mo " ; ho drew her closely to him and kissed licr passionately, then, releasing her so suddenly that she almost fell, he dashed down stairs and was gone.
An exquisite thrill shot through her frame. If Dick had looked back, he would have thought her transfigured. The pathetic and hard lines which had Iwcn forming in her face seemed instant- ly to have vanished, her cheeks glowed, her hair glittered, and her eyes were soft and beautiful. The consciousness of be- ing loved had filled up suddenly, per- fectly, every dry and waste place in her nature.
"Yet he leaves me forever. O, why?" and with a low, moaning cry she threw herself on the sofa.
Are there mysterious beings who live beyond the world of sense and carry by unknown ways the sounds too feeble to beat upon the outer airl or what is the magnetic chain which binds heart to heart ] Richard Stacy, tearing tlirough the streets in a hack at a furious rate, heard that low cry, though he stopped his ears to escape it ; and with a spsism of pain he pressed his foot hard on the floor of the carriage as if he were crush- ing the very soul of Satan beneath his feet. He had allowed only a little time to reach the station, lest in waiting for the train his courage should fail, and ho should not go at all. Once in the cars, there was no stopping-place till he reached home, for the train was express ; and there waited his own carriage and tlio coachman. As he had not arrived in the first train, they had sent the carriage the second time. He was an- gry, though without cause. If the car- riage had not been sent, no one would have known of his arrival and retreat would not have been impossible. He might have returned to the city in the evening train. Yet he thanked his fa- vorite sister who had heea " sure Dick
would come, and would think it pleas- anter to find some ono waiting for him."
CHAPTER XVIII.
GEORGE, wliat docs this mean, — ~ 'What God hath joined to- gether, let not man put asunder ' 1 "
The speaker was Bessie Craig, who had an inquiring brain, and wished her brother's views on all points.
It was a snowy, cosey day. Mrs. Craig's sitting-room was a very cheer- ful-looking place, for Mrs. Cra'g made a point of neatness and expended all her nature on trifles, — a good thing, per- liaps. She had taste, in a certain way ; tiiat is, she knew when colors harmo- nized, and when an engraving was well executed, and whether its frame was au fait. The pictures which she had se- lected herself wei-e all of ono type, — babies and their mothers. Sho made a point of doting upon babies, especially her own, though it was convenient that Bessie should tend it most of the time ; but then Mrs. Craig was so delicate and had 80 much to do. She had no flowers because flowers require time, and Mrs. Craig's time was no fully occupied. Tho baby was asleep in the next room now, and tho mother was making an apron for it, — an apron of tho plainest calico, but which she sighted at right and left, and held up to the light and asked her husband's judgment upon twenty times in five minutes, as to whether she had cut it exactly even, and would it be prettier scalloped or straight round tho neck, till one would not wonder that she had so much to do if she did every- thing in the same way. Meantime she expended her remaining energies in hushing any attempt at speaking from tho others by threatening them with the baby, and she instantly looked up at Bessie with her sweetest smile, and said reprovingly, " Bessie, my dear, tho baby."
"O, excuse me, Susie," said Bessie, dropping her voice. " I really foi^t" But, George, do tell me."
" Nonsense," said Dr. Craig, who was taking advantage of a stormy day to read at his own fireside. *
(
08
SOMETHING TO DO.
m
"Don't disturb your brother," said Mrs. Craig, again sweetly reproving.
" It don't disturb him," said Bessie, unconsciously ; " not a bit more than your asking him about that ai)ron, only he always answers you and he thinks that I am of no consequence. I wish I had a husband, and then perhaps I should get answered sometimes." She pouted a little, and Mrs. Craig glowed with delight. A strong point with her was the harmony of herself and hus- band. The Doctor seemed annoyed, and, looking up, said, " You know what it means without asking."
" No, I don't," asseverated Bessie, •with an injured look ; " and you have al- ways told me to ask about everything 1 did n't understand."
"Well, if you don't understand," «aid the Doctor, " you had better put the book away and try something sim pier."
" But I do understand the rest of it," eaid Bessie, persistently, " and I think you might tell me this."
" He is busy," said Mrs. Craig, " but I will tell you. It is what ministers say when they marry people."
" 0, is it ? " said Bessie, opening her eyes. " AVell, I don't see what it means any way."
"Why, when thej- arc married, you know, Goti joins them together," ex- plained Mrs. Craig ; " and then they must always be together, that is, man must n't put them asunder."
" Of course that," said Bessie, con- temptuously ; " 1 knew that when I was a child. If people once get married, there is the end of it. But I don't understand the first part yet. I don't Bee what God has to do with marrying them. The minister marries them."
Mrs. Craig laughed. " Because the Bible tells people to many," said she.
Dr. Craig looked up hastily. " Be- cause God tells people to love each other," said he, " and people should never marry unless they love each other better than everybody else."
" 0," said Bessie, " that 's it, — is it 1 Well, I should like to know if all the people who are married do love each other so much as that."
" Mercy, no," said Mrs. Craig, gayly ; " not one couple in a hmidrcd."
The Doctor looked sternly at his wife, as if to say, "Why tell the child aoi She will know it soon enough."
Mrs. Craig half colored, for she stood in awe of her husband, and he suddenly let fall his eyes on his book as if ho re- pented the look.
Bessie's eyes opened wider than be- fore. " Don't you 1 " said she.
The Doctor pretended not to hear. His face became graver and gniver, but Mrs. Craig replied with the greatest case : " Why, yes, of course ; I love George and he loves me as much as we can possibly love anybody."
" Well, but what do you mean 1 " said Bessie, slowly. " If people get married when they don't love each other, then God do^it join them to- gether, — does he 1 "
" When you know more, you will be wiser," said Mrs. Craig, amused. Then, noticing the perplexed look on Bessie's face, she added, " No, I suppose he don't. It is wrong for people to do that way."
"Well, then, said Bessie, conclu- sively, "if God don't join them to- gether, man can put them asunder, — can't he % "
Mrs. Craig went into such convul- sions of laughter over this that the mystery was why the baby did not wake. "You would do for a lawyer," said she.
" It is n't best to interpret the Scrip- ttire too literally," said the Doctor, with a smile of which no one saw the bitter- ness.
"I will tell you what, Bessie," said Mrs. Craig, with great good -humor, " you must n't go to thinking such things as that, because they are wicked, and I don't know how you will turn out if you go on so. You see, if people don't love each other when they arc married, they must learn to do so, and that makes it all right."
" I don't know," said Bessie, stoutly ; " there are some people you can't."
"0, you don't understand," said Mrs. Craig, in despair ; •' but you will when you grow up. When people are married they must love each other ; it is their duty, because they have always got to stay married."
" Li n't there any way of getting un-
..jfc MW^IMl»l*llFlll/miiiai%l
SOMETHING TO DO.
n
pd sternly nt his wife, iy tdl the child so] Ion enough." |colored, lor she stood
^nd, and he suddenly his book as if ho rc-
lened wider than be-
1 " said she.
tended not to hear.
;ravcr and graver, but
id with the greatest
Is, of course ; 1 love
Ives me as much as we
anybody."
■hat do you meani"
wly. "If people get
icy don't love each don't join them to-
now more, you will bo Cniig, amused. Then, rjlo.xcd look on Bessie's " No, I suppose he ng for people to do that
said Bessie, conclu- . don't join them to- i put them asunder, —
rent into such convul- ,cr over this that the fhy the baby did not vould do for u lawyer,"
5t to interpret the Scrip- y," said the Doctor, with h no one saw the bitter-
you what, Bessie," said ith great good -humor, go to thinking such because they are wicked, )w how you will turn out 80. You see, if people h other when they arc nust learn to do so, and ill right."
,w," said Bessie, stoutly; 10 people you can't." on't understand," said despair; -'but you will T up. When people are nist love each other ; it is cause they have always rried." I Buy w»y of getting un-
married 1 " pursued Bessie, not yet sat- isfied.
" People can get divorced," said Mrs. Craig, " but / tiiink that is wicked."
" Well, / don't," said Bessie, firmly. " If I j,'ot married to some ugly old man, I should want to get unmarried again, and I should hate liim if 1 could n't. Should n't you, George ? Would n't yon get a divorce if you were in my place 1"
(Juorgo tried to langli rather unsuc- cessfully, and answered seriously : " I hope never to live to see you divorced. The time for you to remember that a man is old and ugly is before you are married, and not after."
" y<m are against me too," said Bes- sie, in an aggrieved tone. " I think it is too bad. 1 always thought before tliat you and I had some — con — con — gen- iality." Hhj brought out the long word as if that ag:^ravated the offence. " But you are n't fair," continued she ; " be- cause you married somebody that was n t old and ugly, you can't understand how I should feel. I think you are selfish."
" Well, well w?83ie," said the Doctor, with a frowr.. ^ ?."\ busy now, and you must n't H' A mju you are older you will under;, ..> ' tcrwhat you are talking about, in the mean time don't be silly."
" I am not silly," muttered Bessie, with a cloud on her usually sweet face, " and I am sure George has always encouraged me to ask questions ; I think he is cross.'' At that instant the baby woke most op- portunely and began to cry.
" Poor little dear ! " said Mrs. Craig, in a cooing voice. " Now your apron won't be finished to-day."
" Let me take her," said the Doctor, looking up pleasantly.
"No; will you, though 1" said Mrs. (^raig. " I know you want to read, but then it will be such a convenience."
" It is no matter aliout my reading," said the Doctor. "Come hero, pussy."
The little one crowed and went very gladly to her father, who tossed her about and played with her in great glee.
"George, you are the best man in the world," said Mrs. Craig, sighting her apron again. " I am afraid those two button-holes are not exactly even. How
do they look to you 1 And yet I meas- ured exactly, I thought."
" Tlioy are all right, so far as I can sec," said the Doctor, iiidiflerently ; "and it is of no consequence if Mioy are not."
" 0 what a barbarian ! " said Mrs. Craig, playfully. " That is about all men know. If women scorn as stupid about men's affairs as men do about ours, I should n't think anyi)ody would need any other argument against Wo- man's Rights. No, George, J care too nmch about bal)y to bo willing sho shoidd wear anytliing, even an apron, which is n't just right. ' What is worth doing at all is worth doing well.' "
" Did you ever read Charles Lamb's Popular Fallacies?" inquired the Doc- tor, pausing a moment in his frolic.
" No," said Mrs. Craig, uncompre- hending. " You ought to know better than to ask me. With all I have to do, how can you expect me to have time to readr'
" True," said the Doctor ; and, remem- bering that his proposn: tO read aloud evenings had been met with tlie assur- ance that he would disturb baby's nap, he added, with a slight shade of sar- casm in his voice, to which, however, as he well knew, his wife's ear was im- penetrable, " I thought you might have had time before you were married and had the cares of life."
"0 George !" said Mrs. Craig; "but, of course, you don't understand, because men never have any sewing to do. Bo- fore I was married, I used to do all my own sewing, and that is quite enough for one woman to do."
The Doctor tfiok no notice of this re- mark, but went on playing with the baby. Bessie's precocious mind had taken it in, however, and she answered : " I don't see how that is, Susie. If all one woman can do is to make her own clothes, what becomes of the baby's clothes and the men's, besides all the rest of the work ] "
" 0, the tailors and seamstresses," said Mrs. Craig, innocently. " Besides, many people don't care about having things so nice as I do. And then I never had rude health."
"Susie," said the Doctor, suddenly, " I believe I must go and see that sick Mr. Winship. I think it will not be best
i«Ni» iiw*ii'^ i^'iip«<iiat inrntm, -t-ft^t
^J
im
04
SOMETHING TO DO.
to wait till afternoon. Can you tukc thebiibyl"
" 0 yes," said she ; " but 1 think you arc more particular than you need to be about liini. You know you will never get a cent of money from him."
" I know ho is very sick," said the Doctor with some sternness, " and very likely be can't aflord to jmy me."
" Well," said Mrs. C'raij^, with can- dor, " I always like to have you kind to the poor, though I think you ought not to wear yourself out over them ; but when it comes to pcoj)le who look as if they might pay and won't, it is an- other thing."
" They are just the kind of people who arc least able to pay, very often," said the Doctor. " Tho worst kind of poverty is tiiat which don't show. But, at any rate, it is n't best to let a man die because you have some scruples about him."
So saying ho deposited the baby in its mother's arms and went out into the storm,
" Dear man ! " said Mrs. Craig, affec- tionately, looking after him. "Bessie, George is tho best man in tho world. There never was a couplo so happily married as we are."
The clouds on tho Doctor's face set- tled darker and darker. He knew very well that there was nothing in Mr. Winship's case to have drawn him from his book and fireside that morning, but there was refreshment to him in the storm which beat cold against his face, and ho kept saying over and over to himself impatiently, and then slowly, and then finnly, " What God hath joined together, let not man put asun- der."
He was so preoccupied that at the comer of the street ho stumbled against a female form enveloped in a huge waterproof ; anu, stopping to apolo- gize, he recognized Bessie's governess, Alice Wilding.
" Why, Miss Wilding," said he, in surprise, "how could you ven.ture out in such a storm as this 1 "
"I thought," replied Alice, looking up brightly, though her face was wet with snow, " that, as I had mado an en- gagement, I ought to keep it even if it did storm. But if I bad known before
I started how severely it was storming, I bulievo I should have thought it im- possible."
" Don't go homo till I come with a carriage," said tho Doctor. "It isn't prudent for you."
As he went on, he kept sayint; to him- self, with a curious look on his face, "As I had made an engagf niont 1 ought to keep it, even if it did storm. But if I had known before I started how severely it was storming, I believe I should havo thouglit it impossil)le." And as he approached Mr. Winship's iiouse, ho added, " After one has really started, though, the possibility of going back does not apparently occur to one."
When Alice had finished her lessons, the Doctor was still away. She did not wish to remain with Mrs. Craig, nor did slio like to say slie was waiting for tho Doctor, since Mrs. Craig did not seem to think how the storm had in- creased, and so she resolved to go and see Robert a few minutes, and, if tho Doctor did not come, to ask Miss Twigg'a advice as to how she should get home.
Bobert was at work practising. Misa Twigg was busy in the kitchen, Imt ho was not alone. A young lady sat in a low chair by tho fire, sewing. She had a sweet face, a little pale and sad per- haps, as if life had not been entirely bright to her.
liobert was in an unusually pleasant mood. " I am very glad to see you," said he. " Miss Wilding, this is Miss May, who htis lately come to board with us. I think jou have n't seen her be- fore."
" No," said Alice, " but I am very glad to see her now. Don't stop practising, Mr. Rix. I want to wait here a few minutes, but I won't disturb you, and Miss May will talk to me."
So Robert went on playing, and under cover of the music the girls found it easier to talk, for they were both rather timid. It was not Alice's habit to make many advances, but Miss May had so sweet a look, and yet some- thing ^o touching in it, that she felt like making a greater effort than usual. And so in the course of half an hour she had succeeded in drawing her out so far as to loam something of her history.
'*''w,'.
.■.l>m-WMm^tf4tyt,
SOMETHINO TO DO.
69
cly it wns storming, mvo thought it im-
till I como with a Doctor. "It isn't
kept sayinc, tohim-
luuk on hia face,
cngngf niont 1 ought
it (lid storm. But
fore I started how
orming, I believe I
gilt it impossible."
icd Mr. Wiuthip's
After one has renlly
le possibility of going
ipparcntly occur to
I finished her lessons,
II away. She did not with Mrs. Craig, nor ly slic was waiting for
Mrs. Craig did not )w the storm had in- ho resolved to go and ■ minutes, and, if tho ne, to ask Miss Twigg's she should get liomc. work practising. Miss in the kitchen, b>it ho A young lady sat in a fire, sewing. She had ittlc pale and sad pcr- had not been entirely
i an unusually pleasant very glad to sec you," Wilding, this is Miss ;ely come to board with u have n t seen her be-
ice, " but I am very glad Don't stop practising, nt to wait here a few won't disturb you, and Jk to mc."
cut on playing, and tho music tho girls to talk, for they were id. It was not Alice's lany advances, but Miss at a look, and yet some- ng in it, that she felt reater effort than usual, course of half an hour ed in drawing her out so omething of her history.
She learned that she was tho oldest daughter of a largo family, living in the country. Siio had had u great deal of housework tu do, and had found that it wore upon her, and had doterniincd to try sewing instead, — a less hopeless thing in her case than in many, for slie was not only a rapid sewer, but hud particularly learned ti»o manner of lin- ing furs, whicli proved not unprofitable. Her princiipiil difficulty had been in finding a boarding-placo. She had tried one or two boarding-houses, but the food had been poor and ill-cooked, and things nut neat, and she had been obliged to share a room with three others. It was evident from her tone in speaking that her instincts were lady- like, and, however poor her life might have been, that these things annoyed her scarcely less than they would a lady born. About this time Miss Twigg, wishing to increase her income, had ad- vertised for a boardar, much against Robert's will ; but it had been necessary, as they had lost a portion of their little property in a recent fire. Miss May had thought herself fortunate to receive the place ; and the fact tliat she and Kobert sat so calmly in the same room proved to Alice that tho usual repulsion between the dwarf and his fellow-crea- tures did not exist in this case. Miss Twigg afterwards explained how she had refused previous applications for the place because she dared not trust the people with Robert, and that with Miss May she had felt so sure of tact and delicacy that she had ventured tD tell licr about him and then introduce her to him. Being forewarned, she had betrayed no emotion at sight of him, and all had been well. Although Miss May was very susceptible to beauty, slie was not so unaccustomed to disagreeable sights as to be affected by them in such a way as Celia, for instance, would have been.
Alice could hardly help sighing to see another joining the great army of seamstresses to escape doing house- work, which she felt sure would be healthier and better in every way. Miss May explained, to be sure, that her next sister was now old enough to silpply her place at homo, and that the money she could earn would be more
acceptable than hor servicos ; but Alioo felt sure thcro must iiavo been soma- thing hard in tho home life to forco a girl lil(e her alone into tho city to livu by sewing.
" Do you like the city advantages more than the country beauty, then 1" she asked.
" Why, I don't think the city has any advantages," said Miss May, as if pua- zled. " Things are cheaper, purhapa."
" I mean the advantages in art," said Alice, without smiling.
"0," said Miss May, " I did n"t tliink of those."
It struck Alice as strange that ono should think of anything else in going into the city.
" Tho sjjop - windows looked very pretty for a week or two," said Mias May ; " but one soon gets tired of those, and my homo is beautiful. Nothing could make up for losing that. There is a little deil just behind tho houso where we find the first hepaticas in tho spring. I wish you could see it. .Such beautiful green mosses covering tho stones in tho dark little brook, and such flowers all summer, - 'icpaticaand bloodroot and anemone ami columbino in the spring, and arethusa and star- flowers and Solomon's-soal in June, and in August tho cardinals, and then the gentians till the late frosts. I am per- fectly happy there wi*h my little sisters."
" You will misi< it when tho spring days come," said Alice.
'• I miss it now," said Miss May, tho tears coming into her eyes ; " for it is almost as beautiful in winter as in sum- mer. I am never tired of looking at tho bcautifid shapes in the brook when it is frozen, and then the water gurgles un- dorneaUi sometimes, and the air-bubbles rise to tho surface of tho ice. And when wo have had a few warm days and then comes a cold snap, you can't think how beautiful the crystals aro when we break off great pieces of ioo and look below, for wo hardly see them at all on top. And then the mosses are green all winter, and somo little hardy evergreen ferns grow iu beauti- ful tufts all about."
Color came into the girl's cheek 38 she spoke, and it seemed that she was speaking of something which was one
56
SOMETHING TO DO.
'SlSi
fK.
r
of tlio dearest and most intimate parts of her life. To one who loved natural beauty as Alice did, this was a key to unlock the heart, and slie lioj^an at oiico to take an interest in the lonely girl.
Dr. Vraiy; came in so soon that she had not time to talk longer with her that day, but she took occasion very soon to go and see her again, and before long Bomething of acquaintance sj)rang up between them. It i)roved less, however, than Alice at first expected. It was evident, indeed, that Miss May was very lonely ; that she was a person need- ing human sympathy, and not educatinl enough to liavo many resources within herself Moreover, though there was great kindness of feeling between her- self and Miss Twigg and Hobert, it was certain that they were personally less than nothing to her, though she, with an obliging disposition and many ways of making a home jdeasant, soon became much to them. !She was (luick-witted, and had, besides, a certain way of speak- ing garcastically withoiit being bitter which made her very entertaining, and she was sometimes so bright and gay that one who had not seen her face in repose might not have believed in its pathos. One might have thought that to her Alice woidd have jiroved the needed friend, but before they had seen each other three times, she realized that, though Miss May was not a re- served person, she yet held herself sin- gularly in reserve, and that no one could approach her on any except the most cxtcnml topics. And this was less easy. Alice felt that if they could meet soul to soul, there woidd be much to say, but they had scarcely any ex- ternal interests in common. Alice's thorough education and keen mind, her taste for reading, and tlie wide range she had given herself, were a great con- trast to the ignorance of her new friend. Miss May's only education had been at a district school. She could read with feeling, spell well, write a characterless, neat hand, and had no striking faults in language, — though in this respect she deserved great credit, for her pride had taught her grammar, which was a branch totally set at naught in the conversation of her parents. She knew nothing of books, nothing of art, nothing of music,
though she sang tlio popular airs cor- rectly and prettily. She woidd have liked all these things had she been trained to do so, but they were not such inspiration and breatli to her life that she felt the want of them i)articularly.
Alice took a great interest in her and thought about her often ; but when she saw lier, she could think < f nothing to say. Celia, who was dreadfully lonesome, and found it ditKcult to live without society, wished to become acquainted with the young girl too. Of course, she could not go to see her, on account of Robert ; but Miss May went to sec tho sisters at long intervals. Oclia found even less to say to her than Alice had done, though her beautiful, sweet face touched her inexpressibly, and she found herself mentally composing a tragedy of which her new acquaintance was the heroine. Miss May went out very little, and never called exccjit by special invi- tation ; so in time her meetings with Alice became only casual, when the lat- ter went in to sec Robert, or insisted on taking the pale seamstress to walk, — for here she thought she saw an opportu- nity to do good. She took Jliss May to the gi-cen-houses and to the picture galleries. Here was common ground, and they enjoyed it heartily, though Miss May was by nature a little stray wild-flower, and her eye was trained to find more quickly some rare tiny moss under brown leaves, and her heart to love it, than the gorgeous blooms of the conservatories ; and for pictures, she liked them, she liked all pretty things, but she could not be said to appreciate many of them. Technically, of course, Alice was not a critic ; but the soul of a picture spoke to her soul, and her in- sight into its poetry was marvelloiw. And while she was looking at that which was invisible to her companion, sho loved to feel that the latter was enjoying some bouquet of wild-flowers or other Pie-Ilaphaelito sketch at the same mo- ment.
Without these walks, as the summer drew on especially, Miss May might have faded completely, for she seemed not to think of the possibility of rest or recreation ; perhaps she hardly felt the inclination for it, unless some one re- minded her that she needed it. But
"~1
SOMETIIINO TO DO.
«T
10 popular nira cor- Sho wuiild Imvo ngs hiid bIio been thuy were not such itl» to lier life that tlicm i)nrticularly. interest in her und often ; but when she think <.f nothing to dreadfully lonesome, \dt to live without become aequainted too. Of course, slio c her, on account of May went to sec tho ervuls. Celia found i her than Alice had beautiful, sweet face ;ssibly, and she found ;ompo8ing a tragedy acquaintance was the y went cut very little, xcept by special invi- her meetings with casual, when the lat- Ilobcrt, or insisted on mstrcss to walk, — for she saw an opportu- Shc took Hiss May 5C8 and to the picture was common ground, d it heartily, though r nature a little stray ler eye was trained to ' some rare tiny moss ves, and her heart to ! gorgeous blooms of i ; and for pictures, she liked all pretty things, , be said to appreciate Technically, of course, ritic ; but the soul of a her soul, and her in- oetry was marvelloiw. s looking at that which I her companion, she the latter was enjoying " wild-flowers or other Letch at the same mo- walks, as the summer lly. Miss May might )letely, for she seemed he possibility of rest or ips she hardly felt the ;, unless some one re- ; she needed it. But
Alice could not ask her very often, for two reasons. In her daily round of duties, Hessio Craig was her first pupil, ond she therefore had usually to go to all the others from that house, and by that time she found it too great a tax to rctrnce tho whole distance in order to commence a walk. Then three was an uncomfortable number for walking, 80 ('elia did not go with them, and Alice not only enjoyed walking with hnr sister most, but she felt liow se- riously C'clia was needing her now. Since the breaking up 6f the Legisla- ture the child had grown more and more restless and nervous. She worked feverishly, though bravely, for a while. The comfort of the last njoments up- held her for a time. In her secret heart she believed the farewell could not have been forever. But as time passed on, and no word came, her heart sank. She had deceived herself. If Mr. Stacy had loved her, as she thought, ho could not so hopelessly have left her. But what else could ho have meant 1 She grew weak, thin, and listless. Alice was alarmed about her, and advised that she should stop working and go into the coimtry for a few weeks. She herself would do her copying evenings, that she might not lose her situation. But, though Celia longed intensely for tho green fields and quiet woods, she did not wish to go. She dreaded to bo left alone without Alice to talk to, and she would not give up her work. But Alice insisted, until she told her, in her agony, of tliat last morning. Then, anxious as Alice was for her to try a change of scene, she realized that it would not do for her to be left with- out work, and that she needed a dif- ferent remedy ; so they nt.\ycd together through the i>ot, stifling summer, and when the first September breezes began to blow, Celia found life returning to i)or once more. She wrote her copies with a firm hand, and walked with a firm step.
" I will not be conquered, Alice," she said, one day. "The mystery of my sorrow is half its misery. But it cannot bo solved, and meantime there nmst be, I suppose, a use for mo in the world, and, though I don't see what it is, I know I never shall be of use till I can
stand strong in tho midst of my grief and show that it has n't crushed me."
" And when you do that," said Alice, " I believe the very expression of your face may bo a benediction to some who scarcely know you, and who do not know your soiTow at all."
" And yet, Alice," said Celia, with a sigh, " it is no hard, so hard to live, even, when there seems to be nothing for the future, and when you can see no use in living, though there may be some which you don't see. Ah, what a strange, sad world it is 1
' Npvpf morniiiK worn To evening but some heuit iliJ l)tt'iik.'
If I did not cling with every fibre of my being to tho belief that God gives us only just what wo need, I should die."
8
CHAPTER Xli.
PEOPLE cannot be wretched for- ever. Sometliing will happen after a while, even in the hardest lot ; and that would bo an argument from " analogy " against an eternid hell, if wo could find no other. That election day comes in November does not make it impossible for something pleasant to happen then. The day when the elec- tion returns were published in the pa- pers was a dull, gniy day, and yet two young girls, who glanced anxiously over them, felt a sudden thrill like sunshine, for there, from their respev;tive districts, were tho names of Alexander Hume and Richard Stacy. Alice's pleasure was unalloyed, for she knew she could not fail to have a repetition of those long, delightful talks which she had enjoyed so much the previous winter. Celia tried to make herself believe that she did not expect Mr. Stacy to call, and thought perhaps she did not look elated, but still there was a freshness in her voice and a vigor in her step which told that hope had not wholly died out of her heart. Two months seemed a long time to wait for the opening of the session ; but when one has hard work to do, the time does pass almost as if you were enjoying yourself. And so it came about that Christmas week was actually
''.^ti,r ' 1^
"Ijjia iHH'sj 'tiXi-Vf^r^
^
SOMETHING TO DO.
present. Oatwnrdly tlic Bisters wcro ftir inoro coriifortalily Kituiited tliimtlu'y had liceii ii year In-fore. Alice had us many jMipils nn n\\o could teach now, thou;j;li, it is true, they were all mere children, lielonj^iiig tu families not wealthy, and her carninjis were in pro- portion, while it made her labor difti cidt to p) from house to house instead of having them collected in n school ; and Celia's c<)]iyin}j; really proved (juite lucrative, as she l)eeame more dexter- ous in the use of her ])en.
So it was ))OKsible for them to piakc each other little presents, nnd the af tcrnoon before Christmas Celia sallied out in search of somcthinf.; for her sis- ter. She had been looking; at thiufjrs for several weeks, and had nearly decided what to buy, l)ut she had only on that day recoiveil her money. To these hun- gering; and thii'stin^; f,'irls a book was worth more than anything else, and a book with close ])rint and small margins nnd plain binding better than the hand- some illustrated editions of a single short poem ; so Celia reluctantly turned away from these latter, and bought in strong brown covers a copy of Alice's favorite " Aurora Leigh." She lingered, however, to examine the beautiful pic- tures and illuminated text of the others, 80 that it was almost dark when she left the shop to go home. The sun had already set, and Venus, large and lus- trous, hung in the west, where the sky ■was yet rosy. As she hurried along, she tried not to say continually, " Only another week before the Legislatui-e meets," but she could not keep the thought, and other thoughts which would come in its train, out of her mind. Walking along thus preoccupied, she met suddenly the very person of whom she was thinking, — Richard Stacy. ^ . She stopped, with a little gasp of siirprise ; yet there was no reason for surprise. Mr. Stacy rarely failed to go to the city as often as once a week, and now, at any rate, what could be more natuml than that he should come up to town a week before the session to see .the Christmas decorations]
It was only for an instant she stopped. Then her pride came to her rescue, and she huiTicd on. But he had already seen her. In the moment when she
had stood irreaoluto there had Ixson a shadow of irresolution on his face also, but as soon as she moved on it van- ished, and ho followed lier. liefore she knew what he did, he had taken her hand and drawn it within his arm. He held it there while he ^aid in a low, breathless tone, " Ah, Celia, it is a kind fate whittli brings us to- gether."
She summoned all her pride that she might answer without a <piiver in her voice : " Why do you say that t If you had wished to see us, you might have done so. You knew where wo were."
Ho held her still more closely, nnd they turned unheeding into a quiet, shaded street, where none but the stars could sec them, and then he looked into her eyes nnd said : "Ah, Celia, if 3on knew how hard it has been not to go to you, you could not speak so coldly ; for, dear, I love you."
It seemed to Celia as if the heavens suddenly opened nnd expanded, so beautiful and glorious was the world before her on that Christmas eve. Her pride seemed scattered to the winds. She could not ask him why ho had left her so long, now that he was again with her. She could not answer him in any words but those ho wished to hear, nnd they walked on slowly, passing through those few moments, so veri/ few in tho happiest life, v hen ono may
" Pross firm the lips upon the monvnl's brow, And loci, for only onco, I am all I'.nppy now."
Dick soonest remembered chat ho had something else to say.
" Did it seem cruel to you, darling, that I was so long away 1 "
" 0 yes," said Celia. " I thought I could not live."
" It is beautiful to hear you say that," said Dick, with a bright face, " though I would rather die than to cause you to suffer."
" But whi/ were you away 1 " asked Celia, sweetly.
He hesitated. Could ho tell herl
" Darling," said he, " can you trust mel"
"Wholly and forever," said she, in- stantly.
SOMETUINO TO DO.
thoro hnd Ixjon a ion oil liiH fiico tilso,
moved on it viin- lowcd her. IJoforo did, lie hud taken n it within hin mm. whilu hu >-iiid in u 10, " All, (Vhn, it ii«h hrings ua to-
a\\ her jirido that she nit II (iiiiver in her you Kuy thiitl If Hce 118, yon might ou knew where wo
1
ill more closely, and ceding into ft quiet, cro none but the Bturs id then he looked into " Ah, Celiii, if you t hns been not to go i not speak so coldly ; ou."
'clia ns if the heavens 1 and expanded, bo lorious was the world that Christmas eve. icd scattered to the Id not ask him why ho long, now that he was She could not answer Is but those he 'vishcd ley walked on slowly, , those few moments, bo liappicst life, v hen ono
is iqion the mom "nl's lirow,^ r ouce, I am all I'niipy now."
0
remembered chat he had
to say.
n cruel to you, darling,
ng away 1 "
i Celia. " I thought I
ful to licar you say that,"
a bright face, " though
dio than to cause you to
rero you away 1 " asked
. Could ho tell hcrl laid he, "can you trust
d forever," said sho, in-
Ho turned his fiico away, and again a dark shadow canio over it even in his moment of happiness ; but with scarcely u pause, he answered : " Celia, I believed lliere was an insuperable obstacle to our love. You will think mo fiiint-heartcd, and yet you would not if I could tell you all. Kven to you I cannot say all, and here is a hard test for your trust just before you. I had jiledged myself in uii enterprise in wliiuh others W(>i-e involved, and I believed I could not honorably abandon it ; but as long as I persevered, I could not say to you that 1 loved you. Afterwards the others abandoned it of their own accord, and in the delight of freedom I hurried to the city to see you. And yet so involved had I been that I felt it wrong to take oiiy steps to see you ; but, as I said at firat, a kind fate brought us together, and I knew I was no longer hampered ; so now I may bo to you all I wish to be."
Vaguo as the explanation was, it sat- isfied Celia entirely, so complete was her faith in those slio loved.
" I may change the old verso," said she, with a happy smilo : —
" I could not love tlicc, swcnt, so much, Lovud you not honor uiorn."
Again lie turned away, and tho shad- ow was deeper than before.
" A lie, a lie, a lie," seemed to echo in his brain. " She is too true to dis- cover it, but it is a lie."
" Ah ! why not tell the truth 1 " sound- ed a voice in his car.
" Yes, and lose her," said another.
" She loves you too much for that," said another ; " she will cling to you still."
" But never respect you again."
" Yet you would be more worthy of respect than you are now."
" After all, you told no lie. The words were all absolutely true."
Whatever ho thought, ho said noth- ing of his thoughts to Celia ; but they walked up and down tho street, under the starlight, talking of the blessedness which had come to them, so long that Alice, who had returned home and found Celia out, began really to be worried, as the evening advanced, lest some harm bad befallen her. But when thoy did
come in, — Celia with a face so radiant that it seemed as if no care or sorrow had ever laid its hand there, — it seemed scarcely necessary to ask for an expla- nation. Alice knew before a word was sjioken what had happened.
Ah, what a hapjiy Christmas cvo it was in that little room ! They hud an ugly little black stove, to bo sure, for economy's sake ; but, with the damper open, even that managed to throw a gleam of firelight over tho walls, say- ing dumbly but very earnestly, " 1 can't 1)0 a Yule log, but I will do my best." Alico had already laid the snow-white cloth on their little round table, but she had not cooked the supper, becauso Celia excelled in the housekeeping. So, with some merriment, the younger sis- ter tucked up her sleeves, put on a white apron (her only one, she could not iiiford white aprons to do cooking on ordinary occasions), and compounded and fried a most delicious and savory omelet. Tho table was not big enough for three, in fact, it was a hard matter to make it do for two ; but the china was beautiful and the silver solid, for Wilding and his wifo had been fastidi- ous, though not rich, and while thoy hod left little to their children, that littlo had been perfect of its kind. Alice made her work stand answer for hor own tea-table.
Then tho dishes had to bo put in order, and Dick insisted upon wiping them, and made himself as much at home as ho always did everywhere, though he had never before in this place been exactly easy.
Then thoro were all tho days since they last mot to be talked over, and all sorts of pleasant things, till Dick reluc- tantly tore himself away.
No more bitter days for Celia ! She sprang up in the early Christmas mom, her heart full of blessing on tho day in which Love was born. Sho danced about the house with a light step, found herself singing, dressed herself in her royal purple ribbons, — tho only relief she had for the dingy black dress, and felt herself a new being. ,
" I shall buy me a purple dress to- morrow," said she, " I am not going to hoard up my money any longer." Then they both laughed at the idea of her
CO
SOMETniNO TO DO.
^
Iionrdin^ money, wlicn rIio Imd not a cent (roni Iut luHt f|Uiirtcr, lunl Imcl only bciMi jiiiid the new tine tlio diiy '•eforo.
On the hroiikfiiHt-tiihIo they hiid their little jiiftH, — tho hook for Alice, and ii boautilul, l)rij;lit, wiirni worHted jacket which Ali(!e had licrseU" ktiit for her hIh tor. " I (shall he proMeiitahle, after all," Haid Ci'liii, JoyoiiHly, putting it on, "for tluH covcrH tlie waJHt of the drenH, aial my white apron coverH the worst of the Hkirt, and I don't need to ha%'0 that hateful lilack anywhere near my face."
And hIio really did look like a f;;or- geouH, filitteriii},' thinjr, ixh nIio heard the bonndin;; steps of her lover coming nj) the stairH three at a time.
He, too, had lironght IiIh ChriHtnias giftH, - for Alice, the most heantiful and ox(|nisitely illustrated of all the Itean- tifnl holiday liookH ; and for ('elia a ring with a single diiunond, pure and brilliant, at which she would have screamed with delight, but for the thou- sand-fold deeper feeling with which she received its signilicancc. Uut f'elia coiild wear diamonds, it was her right to do HO.
Ho had bro\ig]it also a magnificent bouquet to each of the girls. That for Alice was made of snowdrops and vio- lets and pale roses and fragile heaths, lighted only by vivid green mosses and j sprays of fern.
In C!clia'a it seemed as if all the wealth of tho South American forests had been gathered. The flowers glowed and sparkled and almost burned, and the leaves were thick as wax ; and tlioy shed over the whole room a burden of fra- ■ grance.
" Yon were meant to live in the trop- ics," said Dick, rapturously. " It was never intended that you should grow np prosaically in a land of Sunday schools and tho Midtiplication Table. You have missed your vocation so far ; now wo will SCO what wc can do. In the first place, pitch all that bundle of copying out of tho window."
" All my work ? " said Colia, with a slightly reproachful accent, looking straight into his face.
" Yes," stud he, " j'ou were not made for w»rk. rhu were meant to dance all night by moonlight, and sleep in a lily-bell by day. 0 well, I see I have
hurt yon, but I won't. Wo will save the papers. Ih'ing them here to me. I will tie them np in royal - piiri)le ribbons, and keep them forever aixl a day, because even meniid work that you have done is encircled with glnry." lie held her softly and firmly with (iie hand, and reached the papers with the other; then, with a voice stilled \\\i\i laughter, he ailded : " I meant to have worn them always in my vest pocket, but you see nty intciitious are frustrated l)y their bulk, (iood heavens! how industrious you nuist have been to aceinuulate such a bundle as this! It is forever the way, the work of this world is in antagonism with its sentiment ; for though your work is just as dear to me as if I did n't laugh, you coidd n't really expect me to carry such a huge pile as this contiinutlly next my heart."
" No," said Telia, laughing ; " yon know very well 1 did n't mean that. You are such a luxin-ious young man that you don't understand tho natiu'o of tho case. I must ex[)lain to you that I work for my living, and even if your pocket would contain all my papers, I could by no moans spare them."
" Nonsen.se ! " said Dick, " do yo»i snp- poso I shall let yon work any more now 1 You know I am rich, and it isn't likely I shall lot yon go on toiling and delving like a beetle."
"Yes, »ir," said Celia, shaking her head merrily ; and, lightly escaping from his arms, she stood firm, and emphasized with her foot. " I am a free and indc- jiendent young woman, and I will take care of myself."
" Not to say a free and equal one," added Dick, laughing. "Listen to reason, mn chere ; in my poor, forlorn, despised, subordinate position of cringing dejicnd- enco, how do yon think yon would feoH"
" I think I should feel as jou do," she answered, with a quick flush ; " but I also know that if we changed places I should respect you more if you perse- vered in your determination to take care of yourself."
" Pooh ! " said Dick, " I thought it was in tho bargain that I was to take caro of you. But, dear me I in these days of woman's rights we don't know what to e.\pect. But thould you object to telling mo what you meau to do about it after
I't. Wo will gnvo the licru to inu. I will
ynl - piiri)lo ril)lM)iiH, liirovor iukI h »Iay, liiiil work »lmt ^oii lied Willi Kloiy." llo liniily with (lie liaiid, ||icrH with till' othir ; ]<fille(l xvith Imifihtcr, it to hiivo worn tlii-m [liocket, hut Villi 8Co
t'rimtruli'd hy tlioir L<iiH ! how iiidiiMtrioim n to ncciiimiliite Hiich It is forovor the way, iirld is in antaiioiiisin t ; for though yo>ir r to mo as if I did n't 't really ox|!ect uie to )ilc an this continually
SOMETIIINO TO DO.
61
lia, InuRliing ; did n't mean
you timt.
iixiirious yoiiiifj; man iiderKtand the natiiru it c.\[)lain to you that ing, and even if your itain all my papers, I 8 spare them." laid Dick, " do you sup- )u work any more now 1 ich, and it isn't likely I m toiling and delving
id Celia, shaking her I, lightly C8caj)ing from d firm, and em[iliasized I am a free and indc- i'oman, and I will take
I free and equal one," ling. "Listen to reason, poor, forlorn, despised, ion of cringing depcnd- tliink you would feell" loiild feel as you do," h a quick flush ; " but I r wo changed places I oil more if you jicrse- letermination to take
[)ick, " I thought it was lat I WAS to take caro p me ! in these days of •6 don't know what to Id you object to telling lu to do about it after
you nro married 1 Of courso I hIuiII sub niit to everything, but <lo you mean to take in work or go out by tho day 1 "
Celia blushed to the tips of her ears.
"When — when — well, when that time coniOH," said she, " I don't exi)ect to do cither, though I would gludiy do it if my weak help imilil help yiiii. Hut till then - I could n't respect myself if if the knowledge of what has happened did not glorify my daily work enough to make me glad and proud to do il still."
Alice had providentially left the room, so Dick was free to express his ajjpre- ciation of this sentiment in the maniior best suited to himself
" Well," said he, " I admit that, of cour8:\ You would enjoy doing it if it were necessary, but as it isn't, I see no jjarticidar use in it."
"But why should I bo idle 1" said Celia. " 1 never felt less like it."
" Not idle," said Dick. " I expect to occupy quite a largo portion of yotu" time myself You 'vo no idea what a person I am to make calls when I once systcmatiually sot myself al)out it. Then tho opera opens next week, and that, with all thu concerts, theatres, lectures (don't make up a face at lec- tures ; we won't go to one, for they don't have them in tho tropics whence you emanate), and sleigh-rides, will make you sutiiciontly busy, I believe."
" Ah," said Colia, " but you have all your work to do besides those ; conse- quently there must bo left time for me to do mine."
" You arc incorrigible," said Dick ; " I see that you don't exactly bcliovo that you belong to mo yet."
" Yes, I do," said Celia, more earnestly than she thought. " I think an engage- ment is as sacred as a marriage ; but then it is different, and wo must still stand all alone, except the most beau- tiful part of all, that our souls arc one."
This was a little stronger definition of an engagement than Dick would have cared to call forth ; but he checked his impatience, and answered pleasantly : "Nevertheless, I really can't sec that you have proved that I have a less right to support you now than I shall have a few months henoe."
" Perhaps not," said Telia ; " but, at any rate, I feel it, and if I am wrong, why, at any rate, I need time to get a little accustomed to having soiiicthiiig h' > gniiid as your - love given tome, liel'di I can have room to receive iinytliiiig more. You know, sir," and her voice bri>ko iiitoari|>ple of laughter, " tliiit I am a Woman's Kiglits woman and prcportion- ally hard to manage. "
" !• know it well," said Dick, pretend- ing to groan. " 'I'he iliy we are mar- ried 1 take you to tho tropics, wlitjro they don't have any woman's rights, nor even a Woman's Journal."
" ' Whi-m cvory prospoot ])1<<a80s, AihI only m(i» u vile,' "
suggested Celia, with a little nmlico.
"Well, my dear," said Dick, "if you will work, so mote it bo ; but oven a female orator don't object to betterinjf heraelf if she has a chance. It don't go against her conscience. I will give you ten cents a line if you will write for mo instead of yoiir present employer, and that is a deal more than you get now. I won't give you very hard work either, only one littlo eightpago Lillet doux to me per diem."
" Bo still ! " said Celia, laughing. " I ho[)0 tho billets-iloH.v I do write yon will seem worth more than ten cents a lino to you."
" Well, seriously," said Dick, " I have a good deal of copying, law-pa|)er8, etc. which I want done, and I should like to employ so skilful an amanuensis as yourself to do it."
Celia laughed incredulously.
" Well," said Dick, pretending to bo grieved, " so, from mistrust of my mo- tives, yon will make me go prowling about the city for a copyist. You will work for others, and not for me."
" No," said Celia, proudly ; " bring your papere hero, and I will do them every day after I finish my regular work. But those who love each other should not offer each other money."
" What a glorious girl you are ! " said Dick, with admiration. " But I wish you would let me take care of you."
Celia shook her head slowly, and then, looking at him, said thoughtfully : " Is it possible that you, who belong to aa aristocratic family, foci humiliated in
J
03
SOMETIIINO TO DO.
m
tho IcAHt liy having tlio girl to whom yon \\n\ crifinned work lor her livinf^l"
'* Yes, it JH jmrc ni'lfiHliiicMB on my pint," Hiiid I)i(k, witli II wicked twinkle. Hilt when lie Kiiw her fiico full Hnddcniy, ho innnciliiitcly oluuiged hiH tone. " No, (Jcliii, yon know licttir. I love you and um |H'oiid (if yon, inure Iioi-iuiho yon d" UH yon do tlian if yon did not do it. My uriHtdiracy iiiiikes iiu! often inipiitiont of the i^normicc and want of cnltivatlon of many poor peojilo, lint I never yet failed to reMpect u man heiNumo ho wiiH poor or liefiniMe he laliorod. I mnnt own I hIioiiKI lie iiHliamed to hiivo people be- lieve that 1 did not want to hc'l]i yon, thonfth."
"They will not lielicvo that," onid Celia ; " no one who known you ean ever think HO, and I feel that I am right, ho my resolution iH fixed."
" Well," Haid Dick, " I won't bother you then, and it will only be for a little while, because tho wcdding-duy must come before next summor."
CHAPTEU XX.
THE day had dawned for Cclia, but I HujipoHo that Alice did not see tlio rosy fliiHhca of the Hunrisc tuitil a week later, when tho Legislature again convened.
" Dick tells mc he has been improving tho golden moments," said Aleck, when tho two called the very first evening.
" Yon should have come yourself and had a little Christmas lark, before the hard work began," said Dick, gayly.
" I don't believe in that for people who have any less excuse than you," said Aleck, with a Kmilc. " I had something to do elsewhere."
" Doctoring and farming 1 " asked Dick.
" And a little political economy," replied Aleck. " I don't want to go homo again this winter with the feel- ing that the country would have been as well off if I had stayed there."
" It is only a vain nature which ex- pects to move the world," said Dick, patting him on the buck.
" 1 don't expect it," said Aleck ; yet we know ho did, for he was an enthusi-
ast io young man. " But I do want to do Homo Bcrvico."
" • Thoy aim) servo who only statul and wait,'" said ('eliii, absently, thinking of Dick rather than of what Hhe waH Hiiying.
" That iH, if thev can't ' pitch in,' " said Aleck. " Hut 1 don't think I was formetl for that."
" No." Hiiid Dick ; "and if you don't get reformed, you will turn into a reform- er. Hut don't, for you will get abused."
" 1 wish I had ever dune anything worth being abiiHed for," Hiiid Aleck.
"CondiativencHH large," Haid Dick, seizing Iuh head in a phrenological man- ner. " If this individual liiul lived in the French Uevolution, ho would have asHisted in carrying all iiis dearest friends to the guillotine for tho sako of his prineijile»."
" And in the days of chivalry," said Alice, sweetly, "this individual would have been a knight-crraut."
And herewith tho quartette resolved itself into two duots.
" I hate tho way things go in tho Legislature," continued Aleck. " Such c(mfuHion and inattention, and on minor matters voting at random ! I think that is wicked, even if the question is about a cup of tea. And it is sickening and despicable to think how wo have to bribe men to gain any jwint. Not by money," ho went on, for ho saw Alice's look of horror, "but by iipjjciils to their passions and prejudices."
" I can hardly imagine your doing as much as that," said Alice.
" No," said Aleck, " it is n't in me. I believe in open fights, and so lose all my points. Tho only thing I accom- plished last year was to vote for one or two new railroads. I constantly ex- pected tho older members to push on the groat questions, but this year I shall not bo so modest. I shall talk about everything just as many minutes as I can got tho floor. I shall be called meddlesome, and perhaps gain nothing, but I shall know I have done as well as I could."
" And that is the titmost gain for our- selves, and others too," said she.
" Well, Alice," he answered, " I doubt if that would satisfy me. I doubt if it ought. That would do to think about last Bummcr when I had nothing to do
HOMETIIINO TO DO.
M
But T do want to do
who only Htand and timcntly, thinking; of what hIio wiih Haying, can't ' pitcli in,' " don't tliink I v,a»
y
1
and if you don't
II turn into a roform-
ou will jii't iiliusod."
vcr diino anything
for," Huid Aluck.
hir^o," Hiiid Dick,
a ])hrenolo^ii;a1 niun-
ividiinl IiikI lived in
ition, ho would liuvo
uff all his dearest
lotinc for the sako of
lys of chivalry," snid
luH individual would
it-crrant."
ho quartette resolved
ts.
vny things go in the
nucd Aleck. " Such
tention, and on minor
it random ! I tliink
,'cn if the qucHtion is
I. And it is sickening
think how wo have gain any point. Not vent on, for he saw rror, "hut hy niipcals md prejudices." imagine your doing as id Alice.
ck, " it is n't in me. I ights, and so lose all I only thing I accom- was to vote for one or da. I constantly ex-
mcmhers to push on ons, hut this year I modest. I shall talk
just as many minutes loor. I shall he called
perhaps gain nothing, 1 have done as well as
he utmost gain for our- i too," said she. he answered, " I doubt isfy me. 1 doubt if it luld do to think about ;u I had nothing to do
Inif frot over hint year's work ; hut when wo lie;.'in a new year, wo nnist hcliovo in (lur iroC irrw."
" 1 himlly fancy yo\i doing nothing hut hitucut the past all aunnner," said Alice, oiiiUKcd.
"(), not with my handkerc'iiof at my flyesl" said Al<'ck. "I had doctoring and farming cnnii^'h to do; hut that is a Hurt of hiind work to whiili anylxxly may ho trained. Now, when you Imvo n, cliiincH! to give your best thoughts to mould higher laws to liil the coimtrv, there is tlu'u hciul work and hciirt work. So you see tlu! fascination of IcgiMlnting in ever so small a way, pitiably as we seem to fail."
"Ah," said Alice, "you only doom to fail, because, us you approach neiirer your ideal, it becomes so much iriore glorious that you do not realize that you have already passed the sjwt where it first shone dimly."
" I know it," saiil Aleck, oameatly. "It is only with you that I seem faith- less."
" I arouso your antagonism, I sup- pose," said she, with an uncomfortable smilo.
" 0 no," said ho ; " but everybody ^clsc has loss faith than I, and I feel I must uphold them. Hut you I know I can- not injure, even if I grieve you. That is selfish."
" No," said Alice, after a moment, keeping back the tears ; " I am so glad to help anybody ever so little."
Ho looked at her as sho sat with her head a little bent forward and a faint color in her delicate face, as if ho thought
way of prnvcnting diseofio if Ihe pfnpio are not too pig headed. Tlu-n if yoii have a very great mind, and are willing to sacrifice an ntdimited muiibcr of cuts and dogs, you may disiovcr somo gd^d thing. And in Hingery you can bo absolutely suro of your alidity bd'oro you try experiments which may kill people, and the rest is all courage and lirnineHS, so you have a chance \\)r hero- ism, and when it is doue it is your own dofinito work ; while with medi- cine, since you don't like to think it is you who kill, you can't bo easy that it is you who euro."
" Surgery is grand," said .Alice ; "3'ot — forgive njo, — it must be so disagree- able."
" We Kometiinos have a fictitious standard for disgust," said Aleck, "and by coiiHtant hal)it we get accustomed to tilings. Mut to learn dissection ought to be disgusting to anybody who does not keep the cud constantly in view. Then it may bo - well — .sublime."
" ' Thero is nothliif/ common nor un- clean.' With you it must bo an ever- present thought."
" I read the other day," said Aleck, " of a man in a great city who traded in otl'al. I road how, by his arrange- ments, tho impurities taken at once, collected and sealed, so that all oft'enco was removed from that quarter of tho city, afterwards enriched miles and miles of blooming comitry. The man had utilized nuisances ; and to handle nui- sances for that end is not sickening, but heroic."
" I suppose there are manifold uses
sho could help him more than a little, j for cvcrj-thing," naid Alice ; " and when
" I am not often so chicken-hearted," . wo know them all, the earth will seem
said he. " I am only taking advantage as fresh as a rose without a stain upon
of seeing you to wheedle you out of a it anywhere."
little sympathy for here and there a (lis- ] " They are talking now," said Aleck, consolate hour scattered through tho " about preserving the flesh of the im- siimmor. I was so disappointed in my mouse herds of cattle slaughtered for attempt at legislating, which, you know, j their hides about Buenos Ayros, which per te, is nobler than doctoring or farm- now only disfigure tho earth, and so
supplymg poor people with meat. When wo nso all our resources, think what a population the world can hold."
" Yet Home time it will be more than full," said Alice ; " and though you will laugh, I confess it troubles me. I can't believe in a moral and mental millen- nium with a scarcity for the body." .■
ing, though the reality is such a farce that I may seem ironical."
"If you are thinking of ideals," said Alice, "the ideal physician stands pretty high."
" Yes," said Aleck, " it seemed about the highest thing till I was bitten with politics. One can do a good deal in the
-'■^^■w^*^*'
i
^■i.
64
SOMETHING TO DO.
m
" By thnt timo wc shall cither have ' developed ' into beings who need no food, or emigrate to other jjlunets," 8uid Aleck. " I honestly believe in eternal progi'cssion, and I don't thini< wc shall iiimliy burn up or freeze uji, notwitiiatanding the ])hilo8oi)her8, wliile there arc unac'coinj)iishcd possibilities in this world. And if Uod does do that, it will of course bo riglit, and in some way best for the universe, tliough hard for tlic few individuals on tliis i)lan- ct."
" And the ' few individuals ' arc the ones I am son-y for," said Alice. " I am constantly weighed down by the destitution of those whom the earth migiit now support, who arc yet starv- ing. Tiiej' may be few, but the suffer- ing of each is to him the full measure possible ; it is as great to him as if the whole creation suffered too."
" Not tile full measure," said Aleck. " Is n't it easier to suffer anything your- self, when you know many others are happy, .than if all were suffering like yourself r'
" 0 yes," said Alice ; " but to the masses, ])oor and uiii-eflccting, this com- fort would not come."
" True," said Aleck ; " and I too care for the individuals. But ' barlcy-fccd- ing ' is not tlic great end ; and though God miglit have distributed the popu- lation of the earth so that all shoidd live in comfort, wc should have lost the spur which has made us mental and moral brings. I never envied Adam. I can't prove much, but I believe from my heart that ' all partial evil ' is not only ' universal good,' but particular good also. A temporarj' sacrifice of an individual or a race may be needed, per- haps, to benefit a higher one (as I find it possible to kill butterflies to study them) ; but, in the end, tliis very sacri- fice must in some way work the best good to the being sacrificed. Nothing was created for anything else, though it may be used for something else, and, in helping another, help itself."
"It is my faith that every flower enjoys the life it breathes, and ' every flower that is plucked becomes immortal in the sacrifice,' " said Alice, smiling. "Aleck, you give me a great deal of comfort."
CHAPTER XXI.
" A LECK," said Alice, one evening, Jl\. " must we always be in a nmd- die ( I thought when I stniggled with the ubiquitous problem of orthodoxy and heterodo.xy, and finally felt cer- tainty, tliat 1 could nevc'vaioro bo moved, and now your scientific theories have ([uite upset me."
" Tiie old story ! " said Celia. " I had no sooner finished tlie laht example in tlio arithmetic than a new edition was published with miscellaneous ones at the end."
" Did you expect to stick dismally in flic same spot through eternity 1 " said Aleck to Alice.
" I expected the circle to expand forever," said Alice, " but that its cen- tre would not change."
" See here," said Aleck, taking up a sheet of psipcr, and drawing upon it m this wise. " Let .S' be the sun, £ E the earth's orbit, and x, x, x, x, the moon's
orbit. The moon seems to go backward sometimes and to be true only to her earthly centre, yet the epicycloid is as perfect as a simple curve and grander for its very complication. And when the whole solar system circles lound some far-off sun which wc may not even sec, we maj' think wc have wholly lost the centre. But, if we keep true to our own central sun, which we do see, that is sure to complete the vast cycle for us some day."
" Your way of enlarging the circle is better than mine of expansion from a single centre ; but in science, you know, you have just been teaching mo that tiie circles also contract, that tho'heat of the Sim is maintained by the meteors that fall into it."
SOMETHING TO DO.
n
TER XXI.
lid Alice, one cveninj?, 3 always 1)0 in a nnul- when I stnigslti'l with [iroblcni of orthodoxy and finally felt ccr- coidd novevaioro bo your scientific theories rnc."
.ry!" said Celia. "I lishcd the last example c than a new edition ith niiscclluneous ones
ect to stick dismally in lirough eternity ] " said
the circle to expand ice, " but that its ccn- ange."
aid Aleck, taking up a and drawing upon it m ; .V be the sun, Ji E the d X, X, X, X, the moon's
^fif^
m seems to go backward to be true only to her yet the epicycloid is as mple curve and grander implication. And when r system circles lound V which we may not even ink we have wholly lost tut, if we keep true to 1 sun, which we do sec, ) complete the vast cycle
of enlarging the circle is ine of expansion from a but in science, you know, ; been teaching mo that ) contract, that the heat laintaiued by the meteors t."
" Not yet proven," quoth Dick, from the corner where ho was carrying on a parenthetical conversation with Celia.
"That if) Alice's wav." said Ccl
That is Alice's way,'' said Celia. " If one theory is a bit tougher tlian the rest, she always works out that one."
" I can't help following the theoretic suggestions wliich come into my head," said Alice. " And this theory of the sun's heat is most fascinating because it seems most true ; but if it is true, by and by oiu' own woi'ld will be drawn into the vortex by the same laws and will bo absorbed in tlie sun."
" Who is afraid ] " said Aleck, cheer fully. " When that happens, myriads of ages hence, the powers of the earth I will have been developed to the utter- most, and the IJeacon Street people by i that time will be just litted to enjoy j the glorious clash of world with world. \ It is as sure as that tiie shock will come."
" Yes," said Alice ; " that is n't the puzzle. But when the whole solar sys- tem becomes a unit and falls into its central sun, and so on and on, no mat- ter how long the time is, in the end comes the aggregation of the universe, and it is limited, finite."
"You have forgotten that the end never comes to vifinity" said Aleck.
" I know," said Alice. " Since every step is beautiful and the steps are in- finite, one need not fear. Yet the con- solidation of worlds seems less grand to mo than their expansion. It is a cold theory to mo."
" Though hatched up to account for all the heat in the imiverse," interpo- lated Dick.
" And the next best theory, that the condensation of the sim produces its heat, is just as selfish, still drawing in tiiwards a centre instead of giving out from it."
" Perhaps the gravity of some yet unseen orb' may shake us up in a dif- ferent direction by and by," said Aleck, laughing. " So we need n't cry yet"
" But for the spiritual analogies ! " said Alice. "As what 1"
" The process of aggregation instead of ovohition ! " said she. " No atom of matter ia ever lost or created, no atom
9
of force, and I suppose wo mitst say, no atom of soul. The infinite must then have been completed from the foundations of eternity. And what is a complete infinity 1 This is not a new thought to jnc, but a new realiza- tion. Then there is Darwin, whom I can't helj) believing. Tiie race im- proves, but I — who am 1 1 "
" ' You are not an elephant, you are a mastodon,' " quoted Aleck, with sparkling eyes.
" We evolve and evolve endlessly, and lose our own individuality, I am afraid," said Alice, doubtfully.
" I thought you l)elievcd in the im- mortality of all animate things down to flowers,""' said Aleck ; " and began to guess at the vitality of matter."
" The correlation of forces teaches mo tliat no vitality can ever be lost," re- lilied Alice, "and cliemistry suggests how faint is the dividing lino between the animate and inanimate. It seemed strangely beautiful at first, and gave a force and vigor to the idea of immor- tality which thrilled me, but the con- clusions do not satisfy. The plant dies, and the new one in the spring may be like it, but is not the same."
" But the very leaf that falls must still exist, luider changed conditions."
"But in a lower life," said Alice; " and retrogression is worse than anni- liilation. Whatever life there is in the leaf per se, the life which made it a plant has gone, — wluthcr 1 "
" Quien sahe ? " said Aleck, lightly. " Evidently not into the new seed, for many j)lant3 and animals grow to maturity while the parent yet lives."
" Ah ! " said Alice. " A plant will grow and grow as long as you cut ofi' the flowers. But once let the seeds ripen, and it dies. That looks as if the individual life had been trans- mitted."
" How do we get whole acres of a plant from a single parent 1 " said Aleck. " That looks like evolution."
" The plant imparts to each of its children the power to absorb nourish- ment from the earth. It creates noth- ing, but transforms the earth to higher uses." " Is n't that enough 1 " said Aleck.
■*«&**««**
.1
66
SOMETHING TO DO.
Pi
,V\-
" It is still aggregation, and not evo- lution." . . .
" However, since no new spirit is created and since all lower organisms arc being transmuted to higher, we must have lived from eternity, and shall live to eternity hereafter."
" I wish I need not believe that," Baid Alice. "We have forgotten oin- pre-existcncc and ho lost our identity, and may lose it again in the same
way."
" We do not lose what the past has made uh, at any rate," said Aleck, stout- ly " And that is tiic main thing."
"0 yos," said Alice. " Still I don't want to lose mvself or my friends."
" Nor 1," said Aleck ; " but the doubt is a fancy, and I answer with a fancy. The higher we get the more we compre- hend of the lower. I can understand a child better now than I could when 1 was a dozen years old. Perhaps in the next world 1 shall see back beyond my infancy. But whether our immortality is conscious individualism or not, 1 know it does not consist in living in our children. The body and mind of the aged wane, I know, as if they had transmitted their powers gradtially ; but the fact that any possible parent, who has no child, is not exempt from death or failing powers, proves that the soul does not simply pass into another ,of the race, or ' conservation ' and ' Dar- ,win ' must fall to the ground."
" B»)t the general law is that the Boul of the child shall bo greater than that of the parent," said Alice ; " that is, the combined soid of the race is greater each year. Where does the txtra spirit come from, if not from the ■aggregation of lower forms of lifel Must I believe that by and by wo are •all to be absorbed in Deity V
"I can't answer you, Alice," said Aleck. "I-ut the infinite is infinite and must be right, so wo can never come to a finality which will deaden us.' "When I talk about my puzzles, they don't seem so hopeless, after all," Baid Alice. "You help mc a little out of the muddle."
" Which I helped you into, yon say. But 1 will not do so any more."
" Yes, you must," said Alice, with a gmilo. " I like largo thoughts if they
are hard. Since I hnow that God is good, nothing can really trouble mc, though, of course, no one can see his way clear in a moment in anything worth thinking about."
" ' Almost thou pcrsuadest me to be a Christian,' " sighed Dick. " They always have such a pat text to help them out of any muddle. If they were only half as good as their doctrines ! "
" If their doctrines were only half as good as they ! " returned Alice. " I have seen such beautiful lives lived by Chris- tians."
"Yes," said Aleck. "I sometimes find myself admiring the Pilgrim Fa- thers ; (rest their soids, though they did their little utmost to keep other peo- ple's from resting ! ) for anyl)ody to fol- low his conscience unflinchingly where it leads is grand, even if it leads him wrong."
" And that is what they really did, said Alice, musingly, " though not what they tliought they did. Tlicy would not have owned that they were Kant's disciples so far as to obey their intui- tions."
" The trouble was," said Aleck, "that they wanted everybody else to obey the Puritan intuition, and that made a mess."
" I like one thing about Christians, said Alice. "They believe in doing iibsolutely right, and that iim'y trans- gression is wrong. When they are true to their tenets, they cannot kl Uitngt
slip."
" 0 Alice," exclaimed her sister, " now von have forgotten ! I think we saw slipping enough at. school."
"Yes," said Alice, "and so far they were untrue, and owned themselves untrue, to their profession."
" More than that," said Celia. " How many times have yon heard those teach- ers say that no matter what a person did after he was a Christian, Christ had borne all his sins and he would conse- quently be perfectly safe anyway, though, of course, it was well that he should bo decently moral ! "
" I don't think the teachers often said that," said Alice ; " thongh the revival- ists did. And after all, there is a germ of truth in it, though they disfigured it so. They meant that no sin could shut
i.
^~g.^Miie!: ,mii-^^i^"^T'^'
SOMETHING TO DO.
67
blow that God is
really trouble me,
no one can sec his
onient in anything
lit."
orsuadest me to be a )ick. " Thoy always
xt to help them out they vcre only half
L'trincs ! "
les wore only half as
jnied Alice. " I have lives lived by Chris-
ck. " I sometimes ■ng the Pilf;rim Fa- ouls, though they did , to keep other peo- ! ) for anybody to fol- ! unflinchingly where even if it leads him
fhat they really did," ly, " though not what y did. They would hat they were Kant's f) to obey their intui-
as," said Aleck, " that
body else to obey the
I, and that made a
ng about Christians," iiey believe in doing and that fvery trans- Whcn they are true ,hey cannot lei thingi
aimed her sister, "how en ! I think we saw t school."
ice, "and so far they id owned themselves rofession."
at," said Celia. " How j'ou heard those teach- tnatter what a person I Christian, Christ had and ho would conse- ly safe anyway, thoiigh, well that he slionld bo
the teachers often said ; " though the rcvival- ter all, there is a germ :)ugh they disfigured it that no sin could shut
us out from God, except as we chose to shut ourselves out. It is right to nuike that the unpardonable sni, and they only failed to see that, if they make it so, there can be no sucli thing as eter- nal punishment. For wlicn the will changes, in whatever life hereafter, then the sin ceases to be unpardonable. Tliey say, I know, that the will cannot change after death, but if it really can- not, then the incapacity is from God, the creature is not responsible, and so not unpardonable."
" What a lawyer, you would make. Miss Alice ! " said Dick. " In the days of Woman's Rights, I shall have to look well to my fame, lest I be cut out entirely."
" There must be some vitality in Christian life," said Aleck, "or they could not at the same time believe in eternal torture and the goodness of (lod. It shows how deep the instinct of this must be, that any still hold it, when they believe that that very good- ness d(>mauds the eternal sacrifice of themselves and all their friends."
" A Christian life is one of renimcia- tion all through," said Alice, — " that -s, a truly Christian life, — and that is its chief glory. I suppose it is because it is founded upon a sacrifice."
" The life of Christ was so sublime," said Aleck, "that his example still kindles the lives of his followers, not- withstanding that the supremely selfish doctrine they build upon — that the suf- fering of the guiltless can clear the guilty — is enough, one would think, to quench every spark of nobleness in the soul."
CHAPTER XXII.
BLESSINGS on you ! " exclaimed Dick, with his fresh voice, dash- ing into the little sewing -room one morning about the last of May, and giv- ing a kiss to Celia while he held out liis iiand to Alice. " We must n't save all our good tinies till after we are married, Celia ; so put your hat on. I have a horse at the door, and we will scour the wildwoods to-day, if you please."
"What a tantalizing creature you are ! " said Celia. " Why do you sing
such a siren song in my ear when yoa know I can't possibly go unless I put ott'my wedding-day a week?"
" Nonsense ! " said Dick, "you will bo so nuich fresher after this that you will do two days' work in one to-morrow» And if you don't, you shall have a dress- maker."
"You had better gc," said Alice; " you will be quite worn out if you go on sewing so steadily. '
" It will only be for a week, though," said Celia, hesitating and flushing.
"And then you are to rest till the end of your days ! " cried Dick raptu- rously, giving her another kiss. " IStill, ' now is the accepted time.' "
" 0, I shall go, of course ! " said Celia. " I knew I could n't resist ; but if my wedding-gown is n't done, will you agree to — "
" Marry you in a calico dress 1 Of course I will."
"You know I didn't mean that. I meant, will you agree to postpone the wedding?"
" Pooh ! " said Dick. " As if you can ever make me believe that you want it postponed. By the way, ma c/tere, where is the wedding garment 1 Please give mo a peep at it."
" Of course not," replied Celia. "That is never the way to do. You must wait till I have it on, when you are ex- pected to be dazzled and blind."
" To bo sure," said Dick ; " but I have a very particular reason for wanting to see it, for I am terribly afraid it will turn out to be a white thing of some sort, and though you are the most beau- tiful woman in (he world, C!elia, you know you can't wear white without be- ing hideous." ;
Celia bit her lip as if she would cry.
" There, I ki le w it," said Dick. " Why did n't you consult somebody who had taste, — like myself, for instance 1 I should have told you to wear purple."
" Half-mourning, Dick 1 " said Celia; sconifully and half laughing. " What would that have presaged t "
" 0, bother ! How can I be expecti- ed to know the language of color ! But royal ptirple ought to do. You will be a queen on that day, and you might dress like one. But you may wear
68
SOMETHING TO DO.
acarlet if you like, and a vrcath of car- dinal flowers."
" C'omc, Dick, acknowledge that a man has no sense of propriety," st>k\ Celia, laughing. " Blood-red would be a worse symbol than mourning."
" Nevertheless, those are your shades, Celia, and in some way ought to be typical."
"But, Dick," said Alice, "brides must wear white, you know, and Celia will look beautiful, though you don't be- lieve it."
" I do believe it, though," said Dick, proudly ; and then added, playfully, "But I do insist that the rest of the troHSseau shall be purple and scarlet."
" You know better than to expect me to have a tronsHeau at all," said Celia ; "you must make up your mind to be satisfied with a plain bride."
Nevertheless she did not look plain as she ptit on her silken hat with its golden cord and tassel, and ran down Btairs to the carriage. She was not beautiful, but a more incongruous word than " plain " could hardly have been used. The day was perfect, and Dick had a pride al)oul liorscs. The motion was luxtirj' to Celia, and when they reached the first stretch of beech and maple woods, the fresh green was like ecstasy.
" Dick, do you see those lovely wreaths of low blackberry, with their perfect white spheres of buds?" she said, in a moment. " I must have some."
So Dick gathered her some garlands of them, saying meantime, " I can't think of anything but bridal wreaths just now, and it strikes mc this will bo exactly the thing for you next week."
" If they would only keep fresh," said Celia ; " besides, they arc full of thorns."
"And 80 characteristic," laughed Dick.
" Impertinent," said Celia, half smil- ing.
" Ah, darling child, you know I could n't love you half so well without the thorns," he said, in an intense voice.
Affectionate as Celia was, she had about her a kind of reserve which pre- vented her from responding when an- other said anything affectionate ; so she only said, a few minutes later, " I seem to hear the voices of the wood-
fairies calling to mc now as they liter- ally did when I was a child."
" Literally 1 " said Dick, not under- standing.
" Yes," said Celia. " Father made all legends real to us when we were children. He tiscd to tell us a' .out the good fairy, with two hundred and forty thousand eyes, for instanco."
" O, what un imagination ! " said Dick.
" It was true, though," said Celia. " It was a dragon-fly, you know, and we actually saw her with her eyes and wings."
"Too bad !" said Dick. "You had no room left for fancies."
"0 yes. Do you suppose it shook my faith in fairies to have them appear to me in jjroptna persona ? Every co- coon which I kept till it opened became the consummation of a fairy tale to me. The oriole used to call to mc as plainly as you could, ' Celia, look here ! * I watched the ant-hills, and knew that the castles with their trains of black slaves, which were l)uilt by magic in a single night, could l>e no myth. I foimd so many of the stories come true that I was always searching the fields and woods for the end of the others."
" What a beautiful and poetical child- hood ! " said Dick, with a happy look.
" You sec how it happens that I love tho natural sciences dearly, dearly," said Celia, with enthusiasm.
" So don't I. But I shall love them if you talk to me," said Dick, gayly. " I begin to feel the divine spark al- ready communicated, and by the time we have been married three months I dare say I shall have a butterfly-net and collecting-l)ox and scour the coun- try."
At this absurd picture, more absurd for Dick than for any one else in the world, they both laughed, and they talked no more about natural sciences that day. They found another topic more absorbing to both as they drove at twilight through tho sweet woods with tho solemn stars above them. Celia was perfectly happy, and Dick — perhaps. As they emerged from the last grove, just before they entered the city, the horse suddenly shied, startled, it seemed, by the figure of a girl approach-
\ ri'iiin^T^- Tl^r-riTi'
SOMETHING TO DO.
G9
now 08 they liter- child." Dick, not under-
"Father made
us when wo were
|to tell us a'^out the
luuidred and forty
istauco."
Imagination ! " said
Ihotigh," said Cclia.
[fly, you know, and
with her eyes and
I Dick. "You had uics."
u suppose it shook ;o have them appear yersona ? Every co- ill it opened becnmo )f a fairy talc to me. ill to me as plainly as lok here ! ' I watched new that the castles ■ black slaves, which ie in a single night, I found so many of le that I was always B and woods for the
ful and poetical child- with a happy look, happens that I lovo 8 dearly, dearly," said Hsni.
tut I sfiall love them ," said Dick, gayly. ;he divine spark al- ed, and by the time ried three months I liave a butterfly-net and scour the coun-
jicture, more absurd any one else in the laughed, and they out natural sciences ibund another topic both as they drove h the sweet woods stara above them, happy, and Dick — merged from the last bey entered the city, r shied, startled, it 'e of a girl approach-
ing. It wan not too dark to see her. She looked straight into the carriage, and gave a sudden and convulsive shudder.
" Why, Dick, what 's the matter 1 " said Cclia, for she could have averred tiiat Dick too had started.
" This confounded horse is afraid of everything," said Dick, harshly, " and that woman thought she was going to be run over."
" I am almost sure I know her," said Cclia, perfectly reassured. " I think she is the young lady with the sweet, sad face who lives with Miss Twigg and Itobcrt Ilix."
Dick made no reply, but drove into the city at such a rate and with such a clatter that talking was out of the ques- tion. He kissed Cclia passionately, as he said good by, but he would not go into the house. He was still driving furiously far out in the country, long after Cclia was asleep, with her face in a warm, happy glow, remembering, even in her dream, that the gift of tlie gods hod come to her.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE morning of the wedding-day came. Though it had involved so much stir and confusion to the two sisters, who had no one to help them, it was a very simple and quiet affair. Dick, though a great stickler for eti- quette in other people, found it too much trouble to follow it very closely himac'lf, and Celia hated ordinary cere- monies. There were no wedding-guests except Dick's family and Aleck.
An hour before it was time to go to chui'ch came a box for Cclia from Dick, full of exquisite wreaths of blackberry with not a single unfolded bud. How they were preserved no one knew, but Dick was in the good graces of the flo- rist, and had coaxed him to use all the occult means at his command, so the flowers were as fresh as the dew which almost rested on them still. Celia twined them among her curls in a fan- tastic manner, which no one else could have borne, and caught them around her dress in various bizarre ways; go
when the parties met at church Dick whispered gayly in her ear that sh« looked " jicr/niti/ imperfect," "faultlessly faulty," notwithstanding her abominable white gown. The " white gown," in fact, was of as rich a silk as if she had been the daughter of an Indian prince. A poor girl like her must have had the pride of Lucifer to have been able to buy it. Hut Celia would enter no fam- ily except on equal terms. She could always wear rich things, and she was magniticent on this day.
" Ah, my drar," said Alice, proudly, "you look like the Spirit of (icnius. You arc all aglow, shot through and through with living fire."
Marriage was no weeping festival to Celia. She was perfectly hai)py. She was not like other girls hi having homo and friends to leave, though it is true that Alice alone had been more to her than home and friends together are to most people. But love was to her a divine elixir which permeated every cell of her being and left her no space for regret.
Alice, standing apart, was able to an- alyze that day, and a strange, to her au unaccountable, sadness took possession of her.
Dick was handsome and flushed with gladness. Alice knew that he loved Ce- lia wholly, and that he was a gallant and grand young gentleman ; but she thought she saw a generic difference between the two lovers, the hopeless difference be- tween genius and talent, and she be- lieved that Dick had not the power to appreciate the deepest depths in Celia. Yet she was mistaken. In actual lovo there can be no deception, and the two loved each other. Celia recognized in- tuitively the best of Dick, but it was unconsciously, and she did not yet know him. It was necessary that Alice should know the language before she read the hieroglyph.
The marriage was over, and the party left the church. As the bride and bride- groom passed out, a veiled figure camo suddenly from an angle in the porch, and brushed quickly before them. Celia did not know the figiu-e, but as it turned, for a moment the veil was thrown back, and an intense, thrilling, despairing loo?^ rested on Dick. It was
t 'f
70
SOMETHING TO DO.
ao managed that no one oI»o saw the face, nu une but the bride Haw even the figure, and it hud vaniuhed in an in- stant ; but Dick stopped and turned pale, gentleman thutigii ho wus. Ceha could not help noticing it, but hIio wuh •0 proud in heraclf and ho trusted him that Hho said nothing and asked no question. He was himself at once, and tiic incident wus not alluded to, though the wife found that in spite of her trust she could not quite forget it.
There wus not even a wedding-break- fast. Dick's family made their adieus at the church porch, and Aleck and Alice went homo with the newly married couple. Half an hour later, Colia was ready in her travelling suit for her jour- ney, and they went away at onco.
Aleck wont away too, rather abrupt- ly Alice thought, and had she believed him capable of nnkindness sho might have thought it unkind that ho should leave her so entirely alone when ho must know how she would feel about losing her sister. But sho never moped ; so she took off her white muslin dress and put on her usual black one, and quietly put away any trifles of Colia's which had been left about, and then sat down. With half-curious amazement, she un- derstood for the first time that she was wholly alone. Of course she had a holi- day, and she cotild not read or write, 80 she seemed left utterly vacant. Aleck Had said he would come in the even- ing, but ho was going homo next day, 80 sho could henceforth have no com- panion but her work. Sho sat wearily for a few miniites, almost ready to think that life held nothing for her, and then tied her hat on and went to see Robert Rix.
Aleck came in the evening, as he had promised, and told her ho was sorry for her, talked for an hour or tw^o about Bciencc and what he hojjod to do for the people at home, shook hands cheer- (Villy and went away, leaving her with a headache and a sense of desolation stronger than if he had not come at all.
As for Dick and his bride they fol- lowed their own sweet wills for some weeks. Dick had plenty of money, and nothing that he thought of the smallest conse(^ucnce to do. So they would
ride for a day in the cars, and then get a travelling-carriage fitted up, and lounge in that for a week, 8toi>ping at queer old furm-honses for the night, picnicking in tlto woods, and sometimes even camping out on the mountain-tops ut night.
After the first few weeks tltey con- cluded this was better than travelling by rail ; so Dick bought u Humi)tu<)us carriage of his own, and hired a man to do the cooking and travel in a wagon with tents, provisions, and so foith. Hut they coidd not be con- tented without still further variety ; so sometimes they left the carriage with the servant, and had a pedestrian tour for a day, or cantered away on horse- back. They would ride on indefinitely into the deep woods, trusting to luck for tt shelter. They played all manner of pranks. One night they could find no place to stay in except a farm-house where several inmates were ill ; it was raining too hard for them to camp out, and the [jooplo were so hospitable as to let them stay, inconvenient as it was. They found a boy poring over his books at every spare moment, and dis- covered that ho meant to be educated, though he said, with a ho^jolcss sort of air, that he should never have money enough to go to college. "Dick, I shoidd like to send that boy to college," said Cclia. "Let's do it," said Dick, gayly. " 0, I forgot 1 was rich enough for such things ! " said Colia, laughing ; and they agreed it should bo done. So from the next post-office they sent the lad a check largo enough to pay his way decently through college, though Dick said it was a confoundedly small sum for a fellow ; but Celia insisted on being economical, and said that no boy of spirit would want to bo indebted for luxuries. Sho was not given to quoting Scripture and had loft her Bible at home, but it was too good a joke to miss, so she scribbled on the envelope, " Bo not forgetful to entertain stran- gers ; for thereby somo have entertained angels unawares."
"Seems to me you are getting con- ceited," said Dick, with a laugh.
" Yos, it would have been more mod- est to give them the reference, but of course I don't know it, and I shall be
^■1 ,«,Hm^H»
cars, and then get fitted up, and
week, 8toi>ping at ea for the niglit, dH, and Hotnctinics
the mountain-tops
cr
weeks they con-
tlmu travelling
uglit u mimptuoim
and hired a man
and travel in a
)rovisi()n8, and bo
ould nut be con-
urthcr varietv ; so
the carriage with
a pedestrian tour
cd away on horso-
ride on indefinitely
, trnsting to luck
played all manner
;ht they could find
ixcept tt farm-house
cs were ill ; it was
them to camp out,
'c 80 hospitable as
inconvenient as it
boy poring over his
c moment, and dis-
!ant to be educated,
ith a hojiclcss sort
d never have money
college. " Dick, I
that boy to college,"
I do it," said Dick,
)t T was rich enough
laid Celia, laughing ;
should be done. So
■office they sent the
lough to pay his way
ollege, though Dick
>undedly small sum
lia insisted on being
d that no boy of
to be indebted for
not given to quoting
left her Bible at
too good a joke to
ed on the envelope,
to entertain stran-
me have entertained
ou are getting con- rith a laugh, ave been more mod- iie reference, but of fr it, and I shall be
SOMETHINO TO DO.
abundantly happy if the quotation it- self is right."
They seldom did such expensive things. But they managed to have some fun. In one village they pre- tended to bo Italians, and begged a shelter by gestures, and were convulsed with laughter ut the remarks made in their hearing about the supposed for- eigners.
One day, when their jollity was at its height, they drove up in state to a little inn, and Dick had some hand-bills struck off, ainiouncing that Professor Hippocrates, the renowned character- reader, accompanied by Madam Zuc- coni, the seventli daughter of a seventh daughter, and the best living clairvoy- ant, would deliver a free lecture that evening. And Dick read characters to his heart's content, and ('elia told for- tunes all the evening.
" It is Midsummer to-day," said Celia, one morning. " Let 's celebrate."
Of course, Dick agreed, and they con- cocted a plan to their minds. The man was sent to a neighboring village to buy groceries, and calico dresses, and candles, and all manner of odd things, and the bride and bridegroom spent the day in making evergreen bivskets of most capacious size. At nightfall Celia, dressed in white, cast her hair loosely alx)ut her, disguised herself by droop- ing garlands of green leaves, and they entered the villnjre. Dick filled her baskets with the useful things, and she carefully hung them at door after door, waiting at a little distance while the door was opened, and then vanishing like a strange ghost, so that nobody could see how she looked and only knew that a strange lady in white, with float- ing hair, had loft the gifts ; and as she left them at the poorer cottages, you may be sure they were welcome. Then they drove fast and fleetly out of the town, which they never saw before or afterwards, and left a little romance behind them for the sober Yankee peo- ple who had outgrown fancy and super- stition together.
Perhaps other people who travelled among the mountains that summer will remember the odd couple they were continually meeting in the most fantas- tic costumes and in the queerest places.
No one know who they wore, for thoj stopped at no hotels, and met no one of their old acquaintances. Their onlj link to a pi"t or future was the bul- letin which Celia sent weekly to Alice i " Alice, my child, wo are well and glorified," or, " Alice, my blessing, wo are well, and have forgotten that thoro is a world."
There coidd have been no stronger proof of the love Celia bore her sister than that she allowed even tiiis ono link with the world at largo, yet Alice would have rcmcmbeicd that a note of a line, while it shows love, does not help loneliness. Lonely as sho was, how- ever, she could not blame her wayward sister, and was only happy that the dis- cipline and restraint had been removed from a life where it chafed so sorely. Towards the last of August Dick re- marked ono day that it was drawing near election time, and that perhaps ho had better show himself among the haunts of men.
" True," said Celia, as if struck with a sudden thought. " What are we going to do for a living, Dick 1 I had actually forgotten that this summer could ever end."
" Well then," said Dick, " suppose wo begin to take a genteel journey in our best clothes, though I suppose they aro out of fashion by this time. Let 's go to Niagara and a few such places that you have n't seen, and meantime I will write a proper letter home, and you shall correct the pimctuation, and we will say we arc alive and well, so my constit- uents can do what they see fit about me." Ho laughed a little, and then added : " After all, though, I believe I won't go to the Legislature again, oven if they will send me, because, you know, you aro radical and I am conservative, and we might quarrel, which we must n't — never."
"Pooh !" said Celia, laughing; "you are you and I am myself, and wo could n't quarrel. The main tiling is to work honestly for whatever opinions, and that you do."
" Bless us ! you aro getting conserva- tive yourself, mine wife ; for what radi- cal ever before owned that anybody elso could bo right 1 "
" Ah ! " said Celia, " I don't believe
-i^
SOMETHING TO DO.
much in your opinionH, but 1 boliovo in
you."
Thereupon followed a dcmonstratjon
of no intorest to the render.
" So you want nic to go to the Legis- lature, luul leave you behind!" 8ai<l Dick, lifter a minute.
" Had boy ! " said ( 'clia. " You know I shall go with you."
"Well then," said Dick, "if I am elected, wo will have a gay winter \n Boston, and if not, in New York ; and I will buy a house somewhere, and wc will begin housekeeping in the spring."
" Agreed," said Celia ; " let '» go to the theatre every night this winter."
" And to the opera and concerts the rest," said Dick. "Of course. You can't be married but once — O yes, you can, though, but that 's no matter, - - BO be sure and make the most of it. Actually, (Jelia, I am flattered that you want me in polities. 1 w;is afraid we should have a 8(piabblc when 1 proposed it."
thing,' " interpolated Dick, without look- ing round.
" Be still ! " said Celia. " I mean that 1 know you were made to be the no- blest, but I have Bometimes thought that the world had scorched yon just a trifle." ,
She said the words in a low tone, and did not look up. She did not, tliero- fore, see the quick flush on hiH face, and never guessed that no one had ever be- fore said to him anything which had caused him half the acute pain which those few words had done.
" You know I could n't squabble," re marked Celia ; and Dick laughed in great derision, which made the girl blush as she remembered several passages at arms botwecu herself and her aunt Buckram and various other individuals.
"I mean with i/ou, of course," she added, in a moment. " You know no one is half a man who does n't do some- thing for the world he lives in, and I can sec that your forte is politics. 1 know your motives are pur", and that you see clear, clearer pcihaps as to what wo need to-day than Aleck does, and I think you and I should tend to- wards the same goal, thoijgh you per- haps bv wiser ways than I."
"O'Lud!" said Dick, with a laugh to conceal his emotion, " 1 have tamed a shrew. You recant from Woman's Rights then, and disown Darwin and the rest of your heresies 1 I tell you, mine wife, 1 thought you had n't much confidence in me."
" Why did I maiTy you then 1" asked Celia. then she took him by the ears and turned his head away from her, while she added, "It isn't precisely you in whom I h.ave confidence. It is in your angel, I think."
" 0 the ' possible beauty that under- lies the passing phase of the meanest
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE honeymoon was over ; that is, Dick and his bride had emerged from the wild woods, and done up a tour in i)roper orthodox fashion, and were on their way home about the last of October. Dick's name was already up as a can- didate for the Legislature, and they de- cided to stay in Now Ytnk till after election, when they could make their plans for the winter. But Mr. Stacy the elder at last wrote that Dick must ccimc home and make one speech if ho wanted to be elected, because nobody had seen him for six months, and they could not realize that ho was still in the
flesh. . , Ts. 1 «i T
" I don't want to go," said Dick. 1 won't go. They know my opinions now, and my character, and what more do thcv want 1 Though I suppose they think i have married a radical wife, and may have 2^>-of/ressed," ho added, with his lightest laugh.
Celia looked rather grave. She began to think she had spoiled Dick, because she knew that in previous years he had scoured the country making stump speeches and gaining popularity every- where, and, since he was sincere, what harm could there be in his "dehning his position"! She wondered if his gay summer had made him unwilling to work, and if she was to blame.
On the contrary, he was ready to work, he believed, but did not thmk a seat in the Legislature worth any exer- tion. In fact, he knew of no work just then which seemed worth much, which
^ 'jt tasa(»r>*****i
SOMETHINO TO DO.
7S
pk, without look-
" I mcnn that
to be tlio no-
|ietime8 thoti^fht
rchud you juHt a
a low tone, and did not, there- on hin ftico, nnd lone hnd ever bo- Ihing which had k-ute pain which Ino.
XXIV.
ns over ; that is, ido had emerged nd done up u tour
lion, and were on
lie lust of October, ady up ns a can- turc, and they de- K York till after could miiko their Biit Mr. Stacy te that Dick must
one speech if he [1, because nobody months, nnd thoy he was still iu the
0," said Dick. " I now my opinions ;r, and what more j;h I suppose they a radical wife, and ," hu added, with
prave. She began
ilcd Dick, because
vious years he had
y making stump
popidarity every-
was sincere, what
in his "defining
wondered if his
0 him unwilling to
to blame.
he was ready to t did not think a e worth any exer- !w of no work just rorth much, which
shows that ho was mistaken in supposing himself ready for any. There were other reasons, however, which made him unwilling to go home. Still, ho said ho would go for one night. Ocliu was to stay in Now York, and ho would re- join her in a day or two.
She found the day ho went away the loneliest of her life. She tried to road a little and gavo it up, and lay on the sofa dreaming. She was not very well disciplined at her best times, and her summer had perhaps unsettled her OS well as her husband.
About twilight a servant camo in with n letter for Mr. Stacy. Now Dick had said, " I expect some important busincs!! letters. So open them and scud mo a copy, for I may possibly be detained at home two or threo days." Therefore Celiu opened the letter at once, and as it was twilight she did not notice that it was worn and bore a very old postmark. But before sho had read three lines by the fading light, she turned hastily to look at the outside, and sho was pale as death as sho fin- ished the paper.
May — , 18—. Richard Stacy, — What do you mean 1 What are you doing 1 You are killing me. I heard to-night by chance that you are going to be married. I don't believe it. You are not so wicked as that yet, but you are a villain, and I could murder you. Why do I say that, for I love you still dearer than anybody on earth, but I am chilled through and through and desperate from neglect. You could not have believed when I broke our engagement that I wanted to do it. You know it was because I felt that you were forgetting mo ; but I might have held you to it, and I must now. You can't be so mad as not to remember that the day you marry all hope is forever cut off from me ! You stole my love, and you stole my inno- cence, and you have wrecked my life. They say your wedding-day is very near, but you must save me, you hiust do it, if you have a single spark of manhood left, even if you sacrifice every hope of your perjured life. Your sacrifice can never equal mine. Write to me at once, or see
me at No. — , Street.
10
paced steps, ly till hair ;
Celia had enough presence of mind to lock the door, and then sho aban- doned herself to her passion. Sho the floor with hitsty irregular She wrung her hands rough- they ached. She clutched her and drop by drop tho blood trickled from her lip which slie bit to keep from screaming. There was no thought in her mind. Sho only know that tho utmost horror hajJiKJued to her.
After such paroxysms it was always her impulse to throw herself down and sleep heavily ; but now she rememliercd suddenly that something nuist bo done. With that thought sho stood still, sho unclasped her hands and let them fall idly ut her side. Sho noticed tho blood, and wiped nnd poulticed her lip careful- ly. " 1 am going, I am going," she said over and over in her mind. She had sportively dressed herself in black in tho morning on account of Dick's de- parture. It was tho last dress sho had bought for herself before tho wedding trousseau. Sho took down a waterproof and put it round her. Sho would not take a bonnet, for sho had none which Dick had not given her. Tho letter sho had thrust within the folds of her dress. Sho opcucd the door, and mechanically drew out her watch to see what time it was. The hall lights flashed upon it, and the diamonds which spelled her name and Dick's sparkled in deris- ion. She wrenched it off, rudely break- ing tho delicate chain, and flung it back into tho room. She heard it break as it fell, and could almost have wept that she had ruined such perfect mechanism so ruthlessly. Then she locked the door, and went swiftly down stairs and into the street. Sho met no one ; but a waiter, lounging at the other end of the hall, espied her. It was rain- ing, and sho had drawn the hood of her waterproof over her head, so he did not wonder at her appearance.
Not until she was fairly in the street did she realize what she was doing. She now knew that she must decide at once where to go, and that it was not well for a woman who had never been in New York before, to wander about in its streets alone all night. Even in tho depths of passion a woman cannot abau-
!.■;;■ ?-',f',>'ijPiiji
SOMETIIINO TO DO.
don liernelf to it liko a mnn, hIio muHt renu'iiiltor to Iw prudent. DoulttlcHs n huntlreil women would hiivo turned buek, imd ittU'r n ni^lit'n Hieep would have reeoverud from the lilow, except to taunt their iuwhiinilH forever after, in iiny tniitriinoniul (piarrelH, with the knowl- edge tiiev held. And niiiny another would have burned the letter nnd Huf- fcred th(! matter to drop. For one instant the helplessneMS of the Mituation 8u thrilled her that xhe remenihercd the iioHsiliility of fj;oin;^ haek, hut at the same instant hIio threw the key of her door as far from her into the darkncHH as lior Htrcn<^'th would allow, and then return was impos.sihle. She drew her Belf into a niehe in the wall, and thought, doHp;'rately, with all the concentration she iM)HHeHHed. It tlaHhed across her that there was a milroad station only a block away. In the ears she woidd be safe through that night. She ran swiftly to tho station, and found a train just ready to start. She did not notice which way it was going, but entered it just as tho last bell struck. Then she Buddcniy recollected that she had no money. She trembled and knew not what to do, and in the mean time the train moved on. She looked around the car and saw no other woman. There were, in fact, only half a dozen men, most of whom had composed them- selves to sleep as well as they might, pillowed ttpon tho head-rests. She could not beg of them, and if she did what chance was there that it would be of any use ? Her thoughts always moved quickly, and to-night her brain seemed lightning, and the most impos- sible and extravagant plans rushed ^ through it, one after another. It was almost a relief that there was some- thing imperative to be decided at once, so that she might not revert just yet to the blow that had stunned her. But, with nil her thinking, she was still at an litter loss what to do or say when tho conductor entered the car. She was sitting in the remote end of it, so she had time to notice how he passed along, examining the tickets of the sleepy men, who had stuck them in their hat-bands that they might not bo dis- turbed, and she observed especially that he waked one man who had for-
gotten such a precaution. She won- dered at that in.4tant that hIid Itad uot thought of feigning slcip when thj con- ductor canti in, but now, at the samo moment, she saw it would have done no good. Hesides, she objected to de- ception. The conductor had ncit 'i bad face, but he was determined on having his dues.
He held out his hand for the ticket. Celia looked down and said nothing.
" Tick(;t, ma'ami" he said, not gruffly.
Celia looked at him with her wild eyes, and luisvvered, " I have none and no money."
He knew in a moment that no com- mon woman addressed hiu), and said rea|)ectfully, " Did you lose itl"
" No," said Celia, " I had to go on this train and 1 had no money, iiut I forgot it till I was fairly in the cars. I had something else to think of Now I mu»t go, and if I ever can, I will pay
you."
*' It is against tho rules," said tho conductor, seriously. " I 'ra sorry for you, but I can't do it. How far do you want to gol"
Poor girl ! She had no idea in what direction they were travelling, and if she told him that, what could ho think of the urgency of her joumey ?
*' I want to go through," said she, in a moment of insjiiration.
" What ! To St. Louis ] " said the conductor, in surprise and consterna- tion.
Celia was terribly annoyed. She had fancied herself perhaps in a Boston car ; but it was too lute to retreat, and she answered at once, " Yes, and I must go. If you have no right to let me go free, then I will beg, and I beg of you to give mc money for my ticket."
Her voice, always thrilling, was wild nnd passionate, though she s]ioke low lest the others should hear her.
The conductor looked thunder-struck. " What I " said he. " Do I look us if I could afford to give thirty dollars to a stranger 1 "
Celia was desperate. Her fingers worked nervously, and she felt her wed- ding-ring. Exasperated as she was, she would readily have given it away, but she thought in season of the names and dates engraved inside, and did uot offer
SOMETIIINO TO IXX
H
on. Sho won- Imt hIiii litul uot p when tlij con-
W, lit tllO HIllllO
mill liiivo (luno (•hjcL'tcd to (lo- ir liiul not -i Imd iiiiicd 1)11 Iiuviiig
1(1 fnr tlio ticket.
Huid iKilliin^.
Hiiid, not irniffly,
n with her wild
hiivu nono and
lent that no com- d him, and said h.«o it 1 " ' I had to KO on no nionev, hut I ]y in the carH. I think of. Now ;r can, I will pay
rules," said the
*' I 'm sorry for
How far do you
d no idea in what travelling', and if hat could ho think journey ]
"ough," said sho, in ion.
Louis 1 " said the 30 and coustcnia-
unnoycd. Sho hod )s in a Boston car ; .0 retreat, and she ifes, and I must go. t to let me go free,
beg of you to give ket."
thrilling, was wild gh she spoko low 1 hear her. ted thunder-struck. " Do I look as if I thirty dollars to a
■ate. Her fingerg id she felt her wed- ,ted as she was, she pfiven it away, but n of the names and e, and did not offer
it. She had no other jewel of any kind nhout hor. Rvimi her colinr wiut fuxtcnod with u lijiutk riblton instead of n pin.
" If you put nio off the train," sivid she, hoarsely and fiercely, "I will crush uiysolf under its wheels, and you shall iTiiieniher that every nioniont till you die and after."
'I'ho conductor was an ordinary man. His one virtue was honesty, and he had no vices, liut he was roused and touched by the appeal of this strange woman at last, and he answered slowly : " If 1 let you pass free, I should de- fraud the owners of the line, and I have not so much money of my own here as you need. liut I will give you a pass, and when I got homo I will refund the money from my own purse. Hut I can't afford it, you see ; so, if you ever can, you must pay mo for it, prin- cipal and interest."
I31e.isings on an honest man ! This man was so honest that ho believed it possilile that the woman too was honest, and dared to risk a great sacrifice for her. He thought, with a sigh, that his wife must go without her now dress now, and Tommy could not have the set of tools ho had wanted so long, and that ho could not bo so charitable every day, no matter how much ho was moved ; but ho knew that his wife was a foolish, unworldly woman, and would perha]>s uphold him. So ho passed on l)ofore Colia had timo to speak, his commoti- placo nature for once awakened to the intense romance in the world. Ho had never been to the theatro in his lifo. He thought it wrong.
There was, however, one in tho car who had been many times. (Jeliu had taken the seat next to tho back one, and did not know that some ono had come in behind her .aid taken tho very hut scat. Low as she had spoken, tho dia- loguo had been too passionate for him no' to hear, and he had scon hor ges- fui-es too, though not her face.
" Admirable acting ! " thought this gentleman. " I expect that tragedy is something real, or it would n't have been so well done ; she would do well on the stage, though she would n't have real affairs to act in, and she looks just ready for it." Thon he laid his head back ({uiotly and went to sleep.
(.'elia, for her part, did not nlecp that night, and this was a now experienoo for her. She had met now, for the first time, u grief which would not bo stupe- fied.
It was like a night on the ocean with its varying surges. She reiiu'inbcred in ;i iiuml) way the cause of her flight, but fought off the vision of it lut powerfully as sho was able. Sho thought her lifo was wrecked. Sho did not realixe her father's belief that no ono sorrow can destroy a lifo. With hor, it was all or nothing. Sho believed herself crushed forever, and yet she did not commit suicide. It was not reason nor religion which prevented her, hut a certain blind instinct, welling up from her vig- orous young life. The possibility did not even occur to her, excejjt at tho moment sho had spoken to tho con- ductor, when sho thought she must kill herself, as there was no f(X)thold for hor in tho wide earth. Sho did not even romombor to wish to die. Sho only know herself wholly wretched, and that sho must live, and so set herself at work to consider liow. IVit sho had never had a practical or methodical mind, and had never showed decision of character except in following her im- pulses to their utmost, and now she had no inward self-control, though pride kept back tho bodily paroxysms which would surely have come to her had she been alone. So her brain whirled from chaos to chaos, and sho formed no plan. She looked out of tho window and know it was starlight, but the stars chilled her instead of calming. Tho engine shrieked hideously, and its smoke sufftxiated her ; they tore through a pass in the grand mountains, and tho woods wore on fire. .Sho felt herself ono with tho spirit of tho flame, and longed to bo whirled up in it to tho lurid sky above. Sho felt herself in hell, and thought it furiously thrilling ; sho conceived that to one who hold lost all there might bo a fear- ful, enchanting joy of despair, a wild delight of passion, — that is, if one should purposely, wilfully sin, and suffer for it justly and irrevocably ; but her suffering was not that, — she had done no wrong, but a sin had been committed against hor, and she moaned aloud like a weak, miserable woman. She felt
MR'ifUg'Jrj '■'^gj
%-
It
SOMKTIIINO TO DO.
that hIio could Imvo torn honuilf in pivcvM tlu< next moment for timt be tru^iil (yet hIk! tli(iii;{lit no oiio lirmil it), iiml hIic Hilt crcf't and ri^id tliroiit^ii thu ri'Miuindcr (pf tlic ni^lit-
It ruined tlic next miirnin^. The- conductiir liroii^hl iicr koiui.' NundwiclicH to cut, liiif hill! Celt tiio ill and wri'tcdtcd to to\i('ii tlicni, nnd told liini hIio woidd not li(> indi'litfd for unytliinK which wiih not iilisohitcly neri'Hsary. Such a jour- ney and Huch a hIc('|i1l<hh ni^dit wouhl have iii'cn Hutticiont to wear out a Btroujj;er woman than (Vlia, oven if the mental a^nny had not hoeii added, and no one could have helieved her tlie aiunc (iirl who twenty-four hourH hefore hiul Haid piod liy to her huHhand with a tour in her eye and a Hmile on her lip. Sho looked liko an old woman in her duHty black dreHN, and with no lionnet but the hood of her waterproof. All the men in the car thouj,d»t her fifty, iit Iciuit, and the rumor amon;>; them was that a favorite child wau dyiu^' in St. lioniH and uhe wiih half crazed with (;rief. Except the ({entlemau who but behind her. lie knew that thoNo luxuriouH tnusocH of auburn hair, which he had Been when hIio puuhed buck her hood to cool her face, and the lady-like, unwrin klod though ungloved hand, belonged to one very young ; and ho knew that few perHons at fifty have not worn out the first fervor of passionate sufl'er- ing.
The condiictor gave her a pass and left the train, and at dinner-time, when she begun to bo famished with hunger, she suddenly realized that kIic was en- tirely alono with no help. She had eat- on littlo the proviouH day, being in low spirits on account of Dick's absence ; BO she began to feel real jjain from her long fasting. Sho was also excessively weary, though sho could nt)t sleep. She spread out her hands under the faucet, and let the water trickle over them. Sho bathed her face and let it dry itself Her handkerchief must bo carefully pre- served. She went back to her seat, and saw the gentleman who still sat behind her. He hod not been quiet till then. He had breakfasted at one station, prom- enaded at another, and dined nt another. He hud slept a great deal the night be- fore, and was accustomed to such jour-
neys, HO lie looked ao fresh us the |)eoplu who hud juHt entered the train ; und Cclia, who hud heard the door Inihind lur o|)en and Hhiit all the morning, did not gucHM that she had had the Humo neighlior all the way fron» New York. Indt^ed, she would nut have thought of him at all, except that in the instunt her glance rested on his face nhe noticed that there was sninething strangely fu- niiliar in his appearance.
The whirl in her bruin wuh hegimiing to subside, and she wondered in u vacant way where she had Keen that face beforo. An hour passed on, she was still won- dering ; but for the whole afternoon she did not see his face again, and sho be- gan to feel so acutely hiuigry that sho ciiuld think of nothing else. When tho train stopped for sujiper, she could al- most have stolen bread to satisfy her- self The gentleman behind her rose and walked the length of the car. His step and bearing were even more familiar to her than tho face, and sho remcndiered him instantly. He was tho manager of a theatre to which sho had often been with Dick in Boston. He had been pointetl out to her one evening, and often afterwards sho had seen him walking on the street. Here, then, wati M)mo ono sho knew, and who did not know her, and a way of escape seemed ojjcn to her.
She had often wished, over since her first day at tho theatre where she saw Antonina, that sho had been bred a bal- let-girl. There was a deeply rooted dnimatic clement in hor which craved an outlet. Lately, however, she had laughed at herself, and thought how much nicer it was to bo married to the l)ost man in tho world and go roaming about as they pleased ; and visions of a quiet homo and fireside had been much more alluring than tinsel and false thunder. Now hor lip curled scornfidly at the thought of a home, and sho felt as if some absorbing occupation would be a blessing and a relief.
The car was by this time full, but tho manager had contrived to keep a seat to himself. When he returned, Colia, almost too weak and faint to drag herself from her own seat, asked him if she might sit with him a few minutes,
80MRTIIINO TO DO.
IhIi aa tho |M.'uptu Itlio truin ; und Jlic door iMiliind lliu moniiiiK. did
II had thu wkino from Now York. Ilitivu tlioii){lit of
III llio iniituiit liur fiico mIic not iced \\ui^ (ttriini^fly fu-
V.
ill wiiH lic^'iiining ulcrod ill u viiciiut III tliut liuc liuforo. llU WIIH Htill woii- lule uftoriioon hIio piin, and mIio bu-
' liiiiiKry <l>iit «''«
; t'lso. Wlifii tho
per, hIic could al-
iiid to oatiHfy hor-
I heliind her roao
ij;th of tho car.
j; were even moro
the face, and Hho
iiiitly. He wftB tho
to which uho had
uk ill Bimtou. Ho
to her one evening,
> Hhe had Hccn him
t. Here, then, was
, and who did not
ly of CHcapo Beemed
shed, over since her atro where she saw lad been bred a bal- a8 a deeply rooted n her which craved
however, she had ', and thought how I to be married to
tho world and go they pleased ; and ; home and fireside moro alluring than indcr. Now her lip it the thought of a as if some absorbing bo a blessing and a
r this time full, but contrived to keep a When he returned, eak and faint to drag vn scat, asked him if him a few minutes,
as she wanted to oak him something, Ho asMoiitud, nut |iorhapH so iniicli ■iirpriscd us she aupiNiHud lio would be.
" Are you tho manager of tho
thuuti'u I ' nhu aski'd, thrilled at the itiMtiiiit with the poMsibility that Hhe might bu wrong.
" I was," Huid he, now a little niir priiiud, " and I still havo soino iiiteriHt in it."
Sho know enough of him by rcpiita tioii to fool Hiiro of bur ground now. " I am i)i)or," Hhe said, " and circmu- stancos liave placed mo alone in thu world. I am going to St. Louis or soiiio- whoro, 1 don't know whore, aiitl I know no one and have no place to go, nothing to do. I can earn my living, if I can find sogiothing to do, -some toat'liing, or copying, or almost anything. But I don't know how to live in the mean time. I believe I could act if you would lot mo try. I suppose you hardly think 1 could," she went on rapidly, afraid to have him speak yet, " but I am almost sure. I havo had no practice, but I know something about elocution, and I am detrrmiiieil to succeed."
But tho manager know sho could act as well as she knew it herself, and he answered kindly : " I bolievo you could act, you look liko it. I am in no need of any one now, for my company is merely travelling, and wo make up our number from tho local theatres ; but thon in a month wo shall go back to Boston again, and I may need one or two ladies for minor parts. Tho salary will bo only a trifle, but it will got you food till you find something better to do."
" Yon are kind," said Celia, fervently, though in a distressed voice ; " but what am I to do in tho month to come 1 "
" You can travel with tho company," said tho manager, "and if you can sew, you can got odd jobs enough from tho actors to pay your way."
" I can sew," said Celia, almost joy- fully, " and I thank you from my soul." Thon sho wont back to her own seat und loft him alone.
The manager was so kind a man that it is very likely ho would have given tho same aid to any one of who&o distress he was so thoroughly convinced ; yet he
hod n fooling that in this coso he was not loNiiig by his charity. He saw that there was fire in Cclia's voIiih, and |>er haps goiiiuH ; and though an early train iiig on the stagi^ iH al>Holiiti'ly luici'tMary to the higlicHt roNiiltH, yet hIio wiim young ntill, aiidgi'iiiiiM is oniiiipotent, .U any rate, ho ItelieviMl there were ten clianccH in eleven that hIio could make one of tho liM-iil Htars in a few years' time, and might probably pay her way very soon. .So he eom|H)He<l liiniself to his iiewH])apor, and she Hat clenching her teeth to keep back her hiiiigor.
He did not forget her, however, and brought her hoiiio food at the next sta- tion, which he oftered, saying ladie.s often found it inconvenient to leave the cars at the statioim, and if hIiu was to lie- long to his company, he miiHt pruvido for her. Sho was too hungry to bo proud, and ate it with an eagiiiiess which almost brought tears to the eyes of the man, who was old enough to 1)0 imired to most tragedies, actual or im- aginary.
CHAPTER XXV.
AT tho moment Celia was saying, " (circumstances havo placed mo alone in tho world," Dick sprang gayly from a carriage at the door of their hotel in New York, and rushed lightly up the stairs to surprise her if possible, though ho felt sure she was on tho look- out for him. If sho still wore her black dross, he was going to say, " Fio ! oro you in mourning for my return 1 " and if not, ho would say, "That is tho way with women ; the moment my back was fairly turned, you left off mourning for me and dressed up gorgeously ! " and so on. What a jolly evening ho meant to have !
He turned the knob lightly, thon with all his power, and then luughod to think that he had n't reflected that she might be timid withoui him and>lock the door ; so ho knocked, and shouted througll the keyhole, " It is the coal- man." But even now ho elicited no reply. Ho was annoyed as ho said to himself, "Sho know I meant to como in this train, and I wonder what she wont out for. Besides, there is nobody
i
T8
SOMETHING TO DO.
for her to sec, and she don't know the way iibout."
So ho went down to the office and asked for a duplicate key, as his wife had gone out and must have taken liers with her.
He ojiened the door. The watch lay broken on the floor. He was startled. It coidd not have come there of itself. What did it portend 1 He felt that there was a mystery to be solved, that his wife's absence was not accidental, that there must have been force, and that no moment was to be lost. Ho did not dare to think what he dreaded. He Bcarchcd their rooms carefully himself He found that Celia's waterproof and black dress wore gone, but everything else was in order. In another hour a de- tective was in search of her, with such a reward promised that he felt his fortune was made ; and it was to be trebled if he brouj^ht her back that night. Dick hated gossip, and had the inquiries at the hotel made in the most cautious man- ner. A week passed, and nothing had been elicited, except that one waiter had Been a woman in black pass out into the rain the night Dick was at home. Ho remembered nothing of her dress, but it was something to know she had gone alone. It looked as if she were insane, yet she had been well when her husband wont away. The detective privaloly guessed she had clojjcd with a lover ; his fust hint of the kind was ro- ceived with such a gesture that he dared not breathe it again ; but he gave up all idea of the reward, though he agreed, for a generous sum, to keep up his search for months if need be.
Twouty-four hours changed Dick as mucli as the same length of time had changed liis wife. If she had wished U) make him suffer as much as she did herself, she had succeeded ; but revenge . had not been in her thought.
He telegraphed to Alice a few myste- rious woids, and told her he could not leave New York, and she must come to him. Even her face culd not be calm with such horror and suspense in her heart ; yet she was not tortured as he was, for she lived in a world in which persons have an absolute value of their own, which cannot be touched by any brutality of the world, and Cclia would
always bo to -her the same, whatever ha])[)ened to her. But as days passed on, and no clew was obtained to the mystery, Alice went sadly back to her scholars, and Dick set himself to con- ceal his agony as best he might. Ho made aiTangements for the protection of his wife if she ever found her v. ay back to that hotel again, and then left New York. The police declared that she could not be in the city ; they • had Kcarched every spot, and with that half- hope he had to be contented. He cau- tiously had placards sent round the countiy, describing her as probably de- ranged, giving no names, anxious to save any publicity. But, of course, the occurrences soon were known to his cir- cle of acquaintances. He had received the first announcement of his election to the Legislature in a passive way, not realizing it. Afterwards he meant to decline, but Alice urged him not to do so.
" Because," she said, in her pathetic voice, "though we will not lose hope, we can do nothing but wait, and work is the onlj' thing that can keep us alive during such suspense."
" But why should I even live 1 " said Dick, brokcnlj'. " Every trace of sweet- ness has gone out of my life."
" For what your life may be worth to others," said Alice, in the free, control- ling tone which showed the higher powers of her nature were gaining as- cendency. " No one sorrow, though the deepest, and yours is the deepest I have yet known, can blight a whole life. Even out of it, in some strange waj', may come to you the power of blessing some one else, and saving some one from just such a sorrow. Believe me, Dick, there is a God on the earth ! "
" I don't kno^.," said Dick, wearily. But he did not resign his scat in the Legislature. He employed himself upon his law-books till it shoulil be time for the session, though with only lialf his brain. He could not forget his wife for a single moment, even in his sleep. His placards brought one bit of news. The conductor on the western railroad sent him word of the woman ho had seen who mtist go to St. Louis. But this trace was soon lost sight of, for the manager had insisted on Celia's wearing
ii»nM»|i»«M^>W*iHM><rt »l<mH'%'tiin*ii'»^'i^im. .
SOMETHING TO DO.
79
the same, whatever But as days passed {OS obtained to the it sadly back to her set himself to con- best he might. Ho I for the protection of found her v, ay back , and then left New ) declared that she the city ; they • had t, and with that half- contented. He cau- rds sent round the r her as probably dc- ) names, anxious to . But, of course, the kcrc known to his cir- cs. He had received cment of his election in a passive way, not ;rward8 he meant to 1 urged him not to do
said, in her pathetic i-o will not lose hope, g but wait, and work that can keep us alive 3nsc." nld I even live ? " said
" Every trace of sweet- ; of my life." n- life may be worth to 3C, in the free, control- X showed the higher lature were gaining as- o one sorrow, though
yoxirs is the deepest I can blight a whole life.
in some strange way, a the power of blessing ;id saving some one from •ow. Believe me, Dick, n the earth ! " ,v.," said Dick, wearily. ; resign his scat in the c employed himself upon ill it shoulVl be time for lUgh with only half his Id not forget his wife for t, even in his sleep. His it one bit of news. The he western railroad sent ;he woman he had seen to St. Louis. But this n lost sight of, for the asisted on Celia'a wearing
ft i.at during the last half of her journey, and had taken her so completely under his protection that no one thought of her as a single lady without a bonnet. Besides, she looked so old, and the plac- ards described a young lady. If this had been the only news from the plac- ards, some result might have followed ; but a dozen other people had seen young ladiea in black, all alone, looking as if they t>'.ig}it bu insane, and so between the dozju different tracks there seemed no clioico, and even the detectives gave up in despair, though, of ci urao, they worked on as long as they we. o so well paid for it.
Dick and Alice wore so troubled and anxious about Celia that they thought of nothing else, and it was not until the beginning of the session of the Legisla- ture that Aleck's absence sot them won- dering where hi was. Alice had had a feeling that when ho came she should get over the terrible despofidency which was sottling over her, and which she could not deny when she was alone, though in Dick's presence she was al- ways calm and high and hopeful, know- ing the need he had of support. Dick, too, had hoped something from the presence of his friend. So he incpiired eagerly whore he was, and learned that ho ha(l been defeated in the election. Now a seat in the Legislature is not so high an honor that the candidate from " Cranberry . Centre " need mourn very long at not receiving the appointment : but Dick and Alice looked at each other in consternation when they heard of Aleck's defeat, not only for their own dis- appointment, but because they believed he would be acutely disappointed him- self. He had tried and fai^-^d, and he was sensitive enough to foel that, though not as most would. Then he ardently desired to be in politics for the use of his high philanthropy, and he was pre- vented. Some one said that he had proved too I'adical for even his radical constituents. " If ho would have com- promised an inch," said this gentleman, " or even concealBd his most objection- able views for a little while, all would have boen well. But instead, he gave them his strongest doses of gunpowder ; he said he would have no equivocation, and should do exactly what he thought
right, and he could not actually promiso to vote for or against any measure till the time came, becfutso ho could not say wjjat new ligiit he might have on it be- fore it came to the ballot, and more to the same purpose. Ho niigiit have known, sfter that, that of course ho stood no chance, j'et he was evidently very much suri)rised to find he was n't elected. Of course he is t(M) jihicky to look crest-fallen, but goes about his doc- toring and so forth as usual."
Dick was provoked, and thought Aleck had acted hke a fool. Alice said he could not have done anything else, and she honored him, but in secret she longed for him every hour. And so, in their forlornity, tho winter shut down upon them.
CHAPTER XXVI.
WHEN Celia reached St. Louis, it was raining and smoky and dis- mal. But she was too uidia]jpy to care for that ; she felt that notliing could add t<"- her mi-,ery. Dependent as she was, she could make no remoustranco whcr she found assigned to )icr a largo room w'ith three other ladies belonging to the theatre company. She had begged the manager not to tell any ono how needy she was, so she did not re- ceive the kindness from her new com- panions that the knowledg;> of her misfortunes would have inspired. She proved so uncommunicative that she exasperated them, and when she lay down on the outside of tho bed with her dress on, for she was entirely desti- tute of a change of clothing, they openly rebelled and made son. very harsh remarks in her hearing. One of them even plucked up courage to ask the manager what ho wanted n new hand for, when they had reduced the company as much as possible in order to travel, and complained that Celia was so ill bred that no one wanted to occupy the room with her. The manager was gifted with the power of management, and though ho was kind, he would bear nothing like questioning from his troupe, so he peremptorily advised tho girl to mind her own af- fairs, and sent her bock in a mocker
h
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SOMETHING TO DO.
frame than that in which she had come to him. Still he was troubled, because ho really did not know what to do with his proteqee.
But C'f'lia had abandoned herself utterly to f(>rt\n)e, and fortune favored her. The morning after her arrival, as the actors were leaving the rehearsal, Miss Ellis, tiie star of the second mag- nitude, was thrown down and badly injured by a runaway horse. Now Miss Ellis had been advertised for the comedy at the Saturday Mudnie, and of coiirse, the first star, Madame Itene, who played tragedies, would not take her place. The other three ladies of the troupe, who shared Celia's room, had all been arranged for the minor parts, and there was really need of some one to take Miss Ellis's place. The manager did not quite feel like tnisting Celia in such a responsible position for her dclAt; but he thought that if she could possibly take the part, it would save all wonder among the rest of the troupe as to his motive for engaging her, though of course the circumstances of the engagement would be an aggravating mystery, and, if she did well, they would all be envious. Ho thought the matter over carefully, and fancied that Celia certainly had genius ; even if she failed, it was only the comedy, and excuses could be made for Miss Ellis's nonappearance. K was Thursday now, but he resolved on a bold stroke, and called C-elia to him.
" Mrs. Brown," said he (it was the name she had given him), " could you take the \n\rt of Kate in the comedy for the Saturday Alatinee. i It was Miss Ellis's part."
Celia flushed and trembled. The worst of outlawing one's self from one's ordinary course of life, and adopting one more weird, is that one cannot al- ways live high tragedy, but must do drudgery. When Celia had thought of being on the ftage, she had fancied herself censured by people, but she had thought she si oidd glory in that, and she had imagined herself a tragedy queen, doing startling and wonderful things, and producing artful effects. To play common comedy and sleep in a room with three other women hivd never entered her head. This disgusted her,
and seemed to take away her heroic spirit of daring everything against peo- ple's opinions. She recognized hereelf once more a weak, miserable woman, But necessity was her master, and she had not chosen such a life for herself, it had been thrust upon her ; and after a moment she realized that, if she suc- ceeded, she would have taken a long step towards living. So she answered, " 1 urill do it. Where is the play 1 "
The manager felt his courage rise.
She believed it would be a terrible tivsk to learn her part, because she had never learned by rote readily at school ; but she was happily mistaken, for this was no dull history to be droned out at so many pages a day, but a living drama, and by energetically applying herself she had committed her part before the others came home from the theatre in the evening.
This was very fortunate, for it took away the necessity of letting her new acquaintances know that this was her first appearance on the stage, and both herself and the manager hoped, if pos- sible, that it might be believed that she was an actress of some standing that ho had picked up on his travels. The manager knew enough of his busi- ness to suppose she would betiay her- self in some small way, no mutter how well she supcecded, but then she had impressed him powerfully with the idea that she had genius, and he had great confidence in that.
Her compagiions de chamhre stared the next morning when she went to re- hearsal with them, for they had not guessed who was to take Miss Ellis's place. She had not had a moment alone all the morning, and she had been too proud to glance at her book in the presence of the others ; but she had car- ried the whole play twice llirough in her own mind, and she had lain awake half the night planning her manner of rendering each passage. It may be supposed that she did not feel much like comedy ; in fact, it was never her choice, though she had. the power of appreciating every shade of it. But people are never so witty as when entirely wretched, and, strangely enough, in all Celia's life she had never been so capable of acting comedy as she was
rmtttttm* * . I liiJtftMti
SOMETHING TO DO.
61
iway hor heroic ing against pco- cognizcil herself isciiiblc woman, muster, and she I life for herself, n her ; and after that, if she suc- c taken a long So she answered, is the play 1 " courage rise, uld be a terrible because she had •eadily at school ; mistaken, for this to be droned out day, but a living ;,'ctically applying nniittcd her part ne home from the
unatc, for it took )f letting her new that this was her ho stage, and both ager hoped, if pos- , be believed that of somo standing up on his travels, enough of his busi- ! would betray her- vay, no mutter how but then fiho had rfully witli tlio idea i, and he had great
le chavibre stared the n she went to re- fer they hud not to take Miss Ellis's lot had a moment ig, and she luul been ! at her book in the jrs ; but slic hud car- .y twice through in ' she had luiii awake ning her manner of \8sage. It may be did not feel much ict, it was never her ) had. the power of r shade of it. But 80 witty as when md, strangely enough, he had never been so comedy as she was
now. Besides, she had not often the power of concentrating her mind very long at a time, but now her over- wlielming desire to escape from herself made it possH)lo. Tiio manager gave lier a few liints privately as to the use of her voice und her positions, so tliat she miglit not show her ignorance at once. He kept near her all the time ; and it was necessary, for she had never been buiiiiid the scenes in her life, and liad no idea wiierc to stand or what to do. But she was desperate, and knew liow much depended on what she did. Her mind was so clear, so terribly in- ten.se, tliut siie reniembered every word of iier part, every hint of the manager ; she realized just what tone of voice could bo heard in the fartliest galleries, and never once turned her bacit to tlie empty auditorium. It was a wonderful perfonnance, all things considered, and showed an amount of talent wliich Celia had never suspected in herself. There was not a break or a flaw in it, but it lacked just that divine spark which the manager had counted upon as certain, — the flavor of genius. He could do no better. The placards were already printed, stating that on account of the accident which liad befallen Miss Ellis, the part of Kate would be performed by the famous actress Mara, — a ruse fair enough perhaps in a life in which all is pretence.
Now, notwithstanding it showed great talent in Celia to do so much in so short a time, she had, after all, done no better than the rest of the peo- ple in the play who had performed it from childhood upwards; and, as the clown of the troupe was not very for- cible, the Kate had been the depend ,nce of the whole.
The manager felt that she had done vastly better for the first time than he had dared to expect, but ho felt that the hundredth time she would fall below his expectations. The compagnons de cfiambre murmured in her hearing, " Stupid ! and so old and ugly ! " Celia flushed a little, but half smiled to her- self. They repeated the play again with the same result. She evinced the same care, and made no mistake in any way, but the performance was quite passionless. The manager encouraged
11
her, however ; told hor she had done well. He had doterminod to make the best of a bad matter, and he was sorry for her.
The next morning they rehearsed I gain in the same way. Miss KIlis, who had heard from her companions that the new star was of a very low magnitude, graciously consented tiiat Celia should use her dresses and her ])aint-bruslies for the occasion, by the ' payment of a small sum.
Celia needed j)aint to cover the cficcts of her weariness and sorrow, and she used it without scruj)lo, though she hated herself for the deception. Tlien she took down her magnificent hair and wreathed it in fantastic curls, which would have been becoming to no ono else, but in which she looked as if dipped in living tire. Even then she was not beautiful, but she was a thing of passion, and though ladies might call her ugly still, no man would have dono so. When the manager saw her, ho said to himself, " After all, she will do something in the way of tragedy. It is not strange a comedy should be so dead a thing to her."
But ho had been mistaken. Celia had studiously avoided emotion during each rehearsal, because the stage was so now to her that she needed to bend every energy to making no blunders. Now that her part and her positions were comparatively familiar to her, siio determined to throw her whole nature into the play. She thought she should not be likely to make great blunders, and she cared little for minor ones if she could only play with spirit. There was little chance for passion in this drama, but there was a certain wild frolicsomeness and abandon which is perhaps most possible to a passionate nature which has thrown off restraint, and Celia plunged into it with her soul, and played it better than it had ever been played to that audience. There was a whirl of enthusiasm in the house, and that notwithstanding she for- got her stage manners half a dozen times, stood with her back to the audi- ence, spoke in a real whisper which could not bo heard for an aside, and did twenty things which sho.vcd hor a nov- ice. But she was bewitching. She
82
SOMETHING TO DO.
looked BO and acted no, and the mana- f^cr was dcli<i;hted. Ho cared nothing about lier miHtakcs, for it would bo for liis credit now to confess that she was a debutante. In fact, with her consent, ho stepped before the curtain at the ••lose of the Mittiiur, while the people were yet cheering', and wondering they had never before heard of this I'emark- nblo Mara, and explained to them this 'little ru.*e, by which he had placed a new actress on the stage. Tlicn fol- lowed renewed cheers, till she showed herself for one histant, courtesied, and tlisappearcd.
For a single moment her heart boat high with exultation. Her grace, her striking face, her beautiful proiumeia- tion, her elocutionary training, the des- perate need which had made her do her utmost, — all these could not account for her marvellous success, with such meagre preparation ; and she liad tested herself, and knew she had proved that she possessed genius. She was of the race of the gods.
Ihit after that moment a dull, sick feeling overwhelmed her, for she had loved. She had expended her whole strength of heart in that love, and it liad turned to ashes. There was noth- ing more left on earth or in heaven to wish for. Her genius was good for nothing, except to make her suffer. 0 yes, it was, — she could earn her daily bread ; and the next day she had money enough to send the railway fare to the honest conductor who had befriended .'her.
CHAPTER XXVII.
ALICE had so few acquaintances in Boston that she had not found it necessary to tell any one of the cause of her sudden journey to New York, and, as soon as she returned, she resumed lessons as usual, though she looked paler and more fragile than ever, and there was something even haggard about her face, which would have star- tled any one who comprehended her char- acter. She, the restful, was ill at ease. But one day, early in December, as she was leaving Mrs. Craig's room, Miss Twigu accosted her abruptly, and in-
formed her that R> bert was at liberty to see her. Alice blushed a little, for she had scarcely been to see him since her sister's loss, feeling too heart-sick to try to soothe him. Besides, Dora May was almost idways in the room, and for some months Alice had noticed a cer- tain hauteur and distance about he that led her to believe herself to be dis- agreeable in some wa^*. Robert had too much pride to call for her often, and she felt that she nuist not neglect him now. So she went in.
The young girl sat there sewing. She half bowed, Avithout rising. Sho looked weak and ill. Robert pointed peremptorily to the corner, and bairi- cndcd his visitor therein at once. 'J'hcn he mounted the table, and began rough- ly : " So, Miss AVilding, you have given up my acquaintance, I see. You need n't begin to put on airs and think you arc too good to speak to a poor hunchback like me. I won't be trampled upon, and you need n't try it. Just because your sister has married a rich man, — a rich rascal, I dare saj', — you are no better than you were before."
Ho knew Alice better than that, of course ; but he felt cross and he thought she would laugh at him. He saw his mistake in an instant, such a look of distress and pain came over her face. Neither of them saw the cold, dead look that came into the downcast eyes of the seamstress at the same moment.
" Mr. Rix," said Alice, gently, " I hardly think you believe my nat\ire to be like that ; and though I have not been to see you, it has not been because I have forgotten you."
" Why then ? " asked Robert, impa- tiently ; but he added in a moment, " 0, you must forgive me. I believe you have had some sorrow of your own, and you could not attend to other people's complaints."
He spoke gently, but Alice felt the reproach and answered sadly : "It is true that I have been self-absorbed. Even my selfishness ought to have taught mo that I c Id not still my own suffering except by caring for that of others."
" 0, what have I said 1 " asked Rob- ert, in a broken, despairing tone. " You must have suffered all before you have
V:
SOMETHING TO DO.
83
; was at liberty )d a littlo, for kIio c him since her licart-sick to try dcs, Dora May ic room, and for d noticed a cer- anco about he herself to be dis- llobert had too )r her often, and not neglect him
it there sewing, lout rising. She Robert pointed corner, and liarri- in at once. Then and began rongh- g, you have given I see. You need and tliink you arc 1 poor hunchback rampled upon, and Fust because your ich man, — a rich you arc no better
tter than that, of 088 and he thought him. Ho saw his it, such a look of ime over her face, the cold, dead look owncast eyes of the ne moment. Alice, gently, "I licve my nature to >ugh I have not been aot been because I
sked Robert, impa- ded in a moment, ;ivc me. I believe sorrow of your own, t attend to other
, but Alice felt the rered sadly : " It is
been self-absorbed, ess ought to have
c lid not still my pt by caring for that
: saidT' asked llob- spairing tone. " You all before you have
spoken a word, and I have felt that my ])uor suflerings, that I have Imd a wliolo life to got used to " (this as if angry with himself), " were so great that you must listen to them every moment patiently. And you call yourself selfisli, after all 1 Ah, Miss Alice, you must forgive me for l)cing so rough."
"You have not been rough, Mr. Rix," said Alice. '' I have been inconsiderate to you. I will tell you now what my sorrow is, and you will understand wliy I havo not been myself."
Slio hesitated a moment, as she thought whether any harm could be done by her revelation. She decided not, and it was hotter she should speak of it herself tlian to wait till rumor brought it to their ears. " I wish you would tell no one but Miss Twigg at present," she said, and speaking dis- tinctly cnougli for Dora May t-^ Iicar. She trusted people, and would exact no promise of secrecy. " When I went away so siuidculy for a few days, I went to New York in answer to a telegram from Mr. Stacy, my sister's husband. He had been to his own home for one night to speak prepai'atory to election, and when he returned, ho found my sister gone from the hotel where he had left her. There was nothing to guide him to her. The watch he gave her on their wedding-day lay broken on the floor, and that seemed to suggest vio- lence ; but everything else was undis- turbed, and the door was locked and the key was gone. He had left her in per- fect health. She may have become sud- denly deranged, or there may have been force. No exertions have been sufficient to bring ua any clew of her, and we live in torturing suspense." She had spoken in a low, calm, rapid voice ; but when she finished she felt as if her whole power of life had gone out from her in the effort. She was pale, and trem- bled from head to foot. Robert at- tempted no consolation in words. He brought her wine, which she refused, and then water. It was several minutes be- fore she could move. Then she went ftway without speaking, and half won- dered why she had been moved to tell the story when she might have con- cealed it.
When she had gone, Robert Rix laid
his head on the table and cried and st)l)bcd for an hour. No one noticed tiio young seamstress, who had fainted. She gradually recovered consciousness, and wont away to hor little cold cham- l)er, herself cold and rigid.
Alice lay all day on her sofa in a state of exhaustion. She had never stated the matter to herself or Dick in such plain words as she had this day spoken. They had conveyed by glances, by half sentences, what they wished to say, and she felt as if slie had fixed the fate of lier sister immutably by relating the circumstances so fully.
At twilight Alice felt cold, and put a little coal on the fire. It flashed up and lightened the room with a hopeful radiance, and some one tapped at the door.
" Come in," said Alice, faintly. The door opened, the light fell full on the figure in black, and in another moment the sisters were in each othci-'s arms. Celia spoke first, in a tone which was sharply, strangely self-possessed for her to use. " Alice, my dear, I hardly thought how much I made you suffer, but I coiiM not help n. Will you lock the door that no one may interrupt us ] "
Alice obeyed with tear and dread. "Celia, where have you been'? Dick and I have been too wretched to live."
Celia shuddered at Dick's name, and could not speak. She held out the soiled, tear-stained h'tter, and sat grim- ly while her sister read it by the flick- ering firelight.
"The direction — " began Alice, faintly.
"Yes," said Celia, in a hard tone. " You sec that — that — he knew Dora May. The letter is true. You see by the postmark it should have reached him long before. I read it by accident the night he was away."
"And left him of your own willl" said Alice.
Celia told her story briefly, in au indifferent tor e.
" Ah ! " said Alice, distressed. ' Can you gixess the agony of suspense, and leave him to suffer so % "
" I don't do it to punish hi)..," daid Celia, with a quivering voice. " I don't want revenge. It is instinct. I can never see him again."
" Could I — " said Alice.
.rii^toHTwl
:
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81
SOMETIIINO TO DO.
" Xo nnf cnn come between \\s. I nm Htill liis true wife. 1 love him, and ho loves me. You don't imdeiHtiind," she added, as Alice looked surprised, " but if it had been otherwise 1 could not have married him. And love is eternal."
" 'i'hon," said Alice, eagerly, " he coidd marry only you."
" Alice," rejjlied her sister, sternly, " for once in your life you are blind and hasty. He ^'ould not help lovin;: me, but the sin had been committed before, and he should have borne its penalty. He could not marry her, but he had no rijiht to marry me. I be lieve in but one love, and the right to that may be forfeited."
*' And yet can there bo a sin wliieh repentance camiot wash out 1 " asked Alice.
" It is r.od who has appointed the laws," replied Oelia, in a hard tone. " No one can help poor Dora May. Who then can help us 'i Alice, I think I 've lost all religion. Now I know only enough to obey those intuitions which have cast me alone, famished and cold, on a loveless world."
Alice took both her sister's icy hands in her own, and, looking at her with clear eyes, said : " By and by, Colia, you will know that God himself is enough to fill and satisfy every soul he has created ; but, 0 my darling, I could shed tears of blood for you ! "
As she spoke, Colia started spasmodi- cally, for they heard the footsteps which they knew too well, saddened us they were, ascending the stairs. Alice looked half pleadingly at her. " No, no, no," said Celia, trembling in every limb. And there came a knock at the dooi'. " Is it you, Dick ] " said Alice, sum- moning all her powers. But she had to try several times before she recovered her voice sufficiently to be heard out- Bide.
" Yes. May I come in 1 " " Not to-night," said Alice, gently. " I am not feeling very well."
" Then good night, my dear sister," he said, and went away. His voice was calm, but very grave. It touched a chord in Celia's nature, and she was able to shed tears. By and by her face softened.
" Alice, what would j/^u have donol"
*' Marriage is for eternity," said Alice, yet feeling the case could never have i)een he own.
" Buf, on earth 1 "
" The physical tic must be broken, — snapped," said Alice, in.stantly ; " hut, 0 my dear! 1 believe you are cruel to leave him in such torture of dispense. You should have told him why you left him."
" O," said Celia, in agony, " then I could never have left him at all ! Be- sides, I know him well. If he knew I went away of my own will, I believe it would infuriate him and ruin him. Now he may be nobler." Her voice was choking, and she hurried away.
She was only spending a day or two in the city. Of course she could not risk acting there ; but she had taken ad- vantage of the nmnager's coming there to make arrangements for a Southern tour to come and set Alice at rest. And then she went away, leaving no trace behiiid.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
ALICE found herself in a hard popi- tion after Celia was gone. She must sec Dick, and know his terrible suspense and anxiety, seem to sympa- thize with it and yet not relieve it. She regretted that she had not com- pelled her sister to allow her some word to him. She sometimes thought she woidd tell him that she had luul word that she was safe, though they could not see her or know more of her. But she dared not do that. She knew that if he once suspected that she knew anjthing of the matter, it would be impossible for her to conceal anything, and she felt bound in honor to Colia while she felt guilty in her pilruv.e to Dick. It was hard for her to Dcet him in a familiar, sisterly way, and betray nothing of the repugnance she felt for his sin. Celia, who had parted from him so utterly, did not think to what her silence subjected Alice. Yet to Alice this daily intercourse was far less trying, not only because she did not love him, but Iwcause she looked at his sin in a different light. It seemed ter-
I liavo done 1 " hy," Hiiid Alice, d never Imvc
1 1)0 broken , — rtiintly ; " H\t, are criul to
0 of MlSpellHO.
lim why yoii
tony, '* then 1 u at all ! r.c- If he knew I ill, 1 believe it md ruin him. ;r." Her voico irricd away, ig a day or two ) she coidd not he had taken ad- r'H coming there for a Southern ice at rest. And leaving uo trace
iXVIII. ' .
)lf in a hard po? i-
was gone. She \no\v his terrible
Beem to syinpa- t not relieve it. lie had not com-
allow her some imotimes thought hat she had l»ad afe, though they Luow more of her.
that. She knew ted that she knew ;ter, it would bo conceal anything, in honor to Celia
in her pilrn>.o to for her to oeet sisterly way, and ic repugnance she a, who had parted
did not think to jcted Alice. Yet to covirse was far lesa ;au8e she did not B she looked at his it. It seemed ter-
aOMETHINO TO DO.
80
riblo to her, perhaps as much so as to Celia, but isho could iniderstand that (iiio may do wrong thoughflcHsly and repent it bitterly, and may deserve ])ity and forgiveucs.s. Still, as Celia siiid, life had iieconio hopeless for Dora iMiiy ; why should it not be ho|)el(;ss to hini also] lie had not so nuich to bear as she. And what a stniuge retri- biitiou had met him ! — the eonseipu'uce djeetly of his very own act, though he did not know that.
The task of Alice was easier than it would liavo been had she known the truth at first, because now Dick had almost (leased to talk about hislo.ss. He strolled in, loitkiug wretchedly, glanced at her always keenly, as if he ho[)ed she might have some good news to tell, talked listlessly a few minutes, and then went restlessly away again. Her i)ity for him almost made her forget that his ])uni,shment was deserved. Several weeks went by in this way. He was doing nothing in the Legislature, he grew sterner and sadder every day. Alice saw, with pain, that ho was being ruined by grief, and she determined to make a .great ott'ort and talk to him about it.
lie came in at twilight one Sunday evening, and took a seat near Alice at the window. 'I'hey watched the great stars shine out in the heavens one by one, in the winter sky. It was like an evening hardly more than a year ago when he had overtaken Celia as she hastened homo with her Christmas presents.
" Dick," said Alice, " what arc you doing in the Legislature 1 "
" Nothing," lie answered moodily. " Now Aleck is out there is nobody to stir us up, and, for my own part, I don't think I should know if they were doing anything."
Alice looked at him intently a mo- ment, and then said, " I believe you ai'e doing wrong."
"Wrong?" said ho, uneasily. "I hardly know what that meims. I think how I aui going to endure, and have not much space for my conscience to trouble me. I^et me but be relieved from suspense (1 think I could bear to know she is dead), and I should be fit for something."
"But that cannot bo," said Alice, slowly and sadly.
'.'What!" said he, fiercely. "How can you speak like that to me? / have not lost hope yet."
How she longed to tell him what she ktiew.
" Hut even duriiif/ the suspense there nuist be some meaning in it which (iod has ])ut there for us."
" Cod I " said Dick, impatiently. " If there is a (Jod, he is cruel. How can you e.\f)ect the thought of him to help me ? You have not suH'ered as 1 have, and do not understand it."
" And yet he does know what we need," she said, after a moment.
"Do I need this!" asked Dick, mis- ing his haggard face. " 1 don't pretend to be very good, lait I have never been a bad person. My ])eccadilloes don't deserve such torture as this."
Peccadilloes ! So that was his term for blighting a life ! But a moment after she pitied him, for she saw the black clouds gather on his face as ho said, " Well, perhaps 1 deserve to sutfer. But of what use is mere retribution 1 I am only crushed."
" Do not be," said Alice, earnestly. " If there is no happiness left in the world for yon, there is at least work waiting to bo done, and it is the part of a brave man to do it."
" I am not a coward," said he, rousing himself. "And I am willing to give money in a patronizing way, and like to bow to my inferiors, but I have n't much of the true Sir Launfal in me. I don't think I could live just for the sake of others."
Nevertheless, he had told the truth when he had said ho was no coward. He was not even a moral coward. His life had been so sunshiny, so free from morbid ingredients, that with all hi.s })o\vors uf mind, his ability in study, and hih grasp of a subject, he had never learned to reflect. The blow which had fallen upon him, — to him the most hor- rible which could fall, — striking him in the most sensitive spot, had been so sudden, and had contained such sus- pense, that it had stunned him. He had kept hoping even against hope, week after week, that in sonic way the mys- tery would be cleared up, and he would find liim.self as happy as he had been before. While he felt this, nothing had
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.^^*^MW*f*&W
vMJ'
80
SOMETHING TO DO.
imiu'llcd liim to think about nny duty ] for liiinsoU". Hut tlio fow words Alico | Knid Heenied to rouse iiiui from iiis , Htiipor. 'I'liiit nIio had Hpoken ho tau<;lit liiia how narrow was thu ciianuc he HhuuKI over know more of his hwt wife than lie knew now. It whowed liim that her only Mister liad (,'iven n[) l»oj)c. [ Then how forlorn must that hope he | to wliieh ho liiinseif ehn)ff. Ho saw 1 distinctly, at a Hash, that if ho waited till his Huspcnse eease<l before ho did anyt .in;r, ho should probably wait all his life, and waste all his powers in fruitless seif-torturo.
The winter wind blew keenly on his face, the frosty stars shone clear and lighted a path for him through the snow, and ho said to himself : " I urn a man, and will bear my sorrow like A man, withoiit wincing. Instead of the hajtpiness which I longed for and lost, my life shall be spent in work, — work which may pcrhai)s bring to others the blessing I have missed for myself. So help me (Jod ! "
Unlike Alico, who began with God always, he began with his manhood and worked upward to the Divine idea.
He began at once to caiTy out his resolutions. Ho worked early and late on all sorts of legislative bu'^incss. He listened patiently to all sides of every question, and endeavored to decide con- scientiously on nil. He introduced bills and made spec lies. His days and nights were crowded with labor. In his two previous winters in the Legisla- ture he had made no impression except as a promising young lawyer. Now he began to be talked of as a man of great political abilit}', and, moreover, as a con- scientious man. The combination of the two might have led people to consider him a lusus natura; had not his wealth, his patrician manners, and his aristocratic connections made it im- possible for any one to laugh at him, even good-naturedlj'. Ho never gave anybody a loophole to call him eccen- tric. His somewhat conservative ideas stood him in good stead too. If ho advocated the justice of a measure, it was a measure which seemed just to cverylxidy, which nobody dared openly disapprove. But there are many things which everybody acknowledges, which
still no one seems disposed to advocate ; so there was ample space for him to do good. He had not an atom of the Rad- ical about him, so he shocked nobody's prejudices, though ho often fought against their practical living, and so made himself a few enemies. He was one of those men who are born with a silver spoon in the month. lie had all tho gifts and all the graces. He was chivalrous, brave, and truthful ; but it cost him less to be truthful than if ho had had a deeper insight or oH-siglit, and had been stirred by the visions of tho future to attempt realizing them in tho present. He took "short views," and saved himself from morbidness and his constituents from luieasiness. Yet for all his gifts, for all his " silver K]ioon," this man had missed the perfect round- ing of his life, the happiness which ono would have said was his birthright, and all through one sin, thougii he was unconscious of cause and seciuence ! I'er- haps, when ho was left alone so cruelly, he sometimes thought how he had left another, and recognized that (t'o(/ had meant his punishment to come in a similar way, though he could not guess how directly.
Work will comfort when everything else has failed, and in the fervor of his own work, the success which attended him, and the surety that through his means many were made hapj)ier, ho began to recover the tone of his nature, though its elasticity was gone. Ho no longer bounded up the stairs, and played merry jokes, and laujrhed and teased. Tho boyish grace was gone, as, indeed, was right in a man giown. He had left society entirely, and given up all amusements. His friends feared lost his health should give way unless ho took some relaxation ; but he was better than when he only brooded without working, and any scene of pleasure would have awakened such painful feel- ings that it would have been weariness instead of rest. But a young man who has lived to l)e seven or eight and twen- ty without much care to make him pre- maturely old, who has a vigorous con- stitution, developed by all sorts of athletic exercises, who has known no illness and has never overworked, has such u stock of health on hand that it
I
»mim
10(1 to ndvocato ;
0 for liiiii to do
foni of tlic llml-
loc'kcd iioI)()(1_v'm
often foiifrlit
living.', and no eiiiicN. Ho WHS lire l)oni with a itli. lie hud nil jjracos. Ho was trntlifid ; hut it tlifid than if ho
lit or o»-Hit{ht, ly the viMJons of ronli/.in;,' them in
"short vicwH,"
niorhidiiess and iineasinosH. Yet s " silvor spoon," 10 jjorfeot roiiiid- jiinoss whieh ono
his l)irthri<:ht, II, thoii^'h ho was d so(jncnoo I J'or- nlone so cnioUy, how he had loft cd that (iod had t to conio in a J cotdd not guess
■when everything the fervor of his \ whieh attended that through his ladc hap|)ior, ho one of his nature, •as gone. Ho no stairs, and played [rhed and teased.
gone, as, indeed, gi'own. He had iind given up all lends feared lost ,'0 way xinlosa ho but he was better brooded without ceno of pleasure such painful feel- re been weariness X j'omig man who ir eight and twen- to make him prc- 3 a vigorous con- by all sorts of lO has known no
overworked, has 1 on hand that it
SOMETHING TO DO.
vt
must take a heavy blow indeed to pros- trate him, and ho does not commonly (Mo in a minute.
So all the siitlbring and work which had now coino to Dick did not make a very approcial»lo dilforcnco in his Btrongth. Only thoso who knew him best detected that ho was a shade paler and tliinncr than in the old days.
Ho did not caro to go homo much. His mother and sisters looked at him in such pity that ho was exasperated, knowing that they believed tho worst, niul tho worst to them meant exactly what it did to him. This om'iigod him, because ho thought it tho depth of uu- charitabloness fi»r any oiio else not to overlook what ho know in his heart he could never overlook himself. Alice was the only porso'. who sconu'd to look at things except through lenses. To her every person was just what ho himself was now, without reforonco to his past nnd without reforonco to what tho cruelty, neglect, or force of another might have made him. So, if Dick found himself longing to talk to any ono, ho soon learned that it was <mly with her that ho could find any comfort. (She was thus forced to live in some measure a double life, being tho conti- danto of both her sister and her sister's husband. She wished to write to Cclia and tell her she could not bear it, but Bho did not know how to address a let- tor. Colia believed that a correspond- ence, even imder a feigned name, might load to her discovery ; and, besides, she had never cared to write letters, and felt that it would now bo intolerable.
As if to make her position as hard as possible, Alice was thown in close contact with Dora May, tho third actor in tho tragedy ; but, as has been said. Miss May had avoided her ever since her sister's marriage. It was, at first, a relief to her. She felt guilty as she thought she knew the reason for the pa- thos in the face of tho young sowing-girl. It was by accident, — an accident so cruel that it had shattered the lives of those dearest to her, — and yet she almost felt as if she were in some way to blame. Then she wondered why this strange sorrow had been allowed to befall her, and she saw it was meant that she should bo a friend to Dora May; and
'.-^V-t ^H.Xyv^'j>riftn.rw^
she tried so earnestly to Iw bo, that, in spito of tho reluctance on butli sides, she finally won tho young girl to hor again. She thought she coidd imt help her much except by drawing her out of her tnorbid loiielinesH, and yet some- times tho conversation would take u turn which made it possible for hor to say words of real comfort as if by cjianco. It was impossible for any ono to l)o long with Alico witliout fooling how sincerely with her tho past was actually past, and that she took jjcrsons at their pres- ent intrinsic valuation.
Doiu began to lose tho depressed, shrinking look sho had worn, — she coidd not lose tho sadness, — sho began to develop ui'W energies and to find now interests. For a long time sho had felt that all she could h)ok forward to in tho world was simply to earn enough to keep her alivo ; now she began to ques- tion whether it might not bo right and well and happy for hor to try to im- prove herself in all ways, ('von if there was no ono to notice hor improvement, or to caro. So she began to read, and found herself gradually becoming moro and moro interested in many subjects of which sho had known nothing before. Tho world broadened before her. Yet who shall say it was not hard \
"If I be (lofxr to some ono nlsn, '
Tlipn I should bo to myself moro dear. Shall I not take rare uf all that I think, Yua, cvon of wretched meat and drink,
If I bu dear. If I be dear, to .some one else ? "
But to bo dear to no ono ! Besides the sadness of it, how it paralyzes I Poor Dora ! She needed all tho strength and encouragoniont which tho friendship of a girl like Alico could givo her.
And Alice, she was poor and alone. The teaching which gained hor daily bread brought scarcely anything more, since it would have been hardly possible for her to teach anywhere and gain less influence than in her present position, and influence was her grand aspiration. She was doing in such incidental ways more to bless her fellow-creatures than sho dreamed. If we could calculate in- fluences as we can a logarithm, wo might find comfort when we have utterly failed in what wo undertook with pure mo- tives.
I ■
«**.
I n>iijtaKi<ttdi-^Vnff
•
88
Hf»Mi;TIIIN'a TO DO.
At liisf, liowovcr, Diik, with IiIh iimuiI ki)iilii('s><, t'ciiintl II |>l;i('o l<ii- liiT iti II lar^'c |iiiviifo hcIhxiI, wlicro hIu' coulil tfiicli iiKiro iKiLvirdiiiu' to livr \A<••^■^, iiiid wlicro licr saliirv was Miilli.'it'iit tor nil licr iiKxlost wIhIu'M. Shu roiild iiulul;:!' <|uictly ill siimll ('hiiritit'M, wliii'h inadt her nluiDst as hii|i|i_v as thu liir;:i) oru's in which ("clia had rcvi'llcd uii h<r wcddini: tdiir. Sho could hear as imich imiMic niid sec as iimiiy |)ictiiri's as slio |)lt'as<'d. And shu could Hpi'iid ii month anion;.' the niouiitaiiis in the sunimcr. Sho was certainly the most hcantit'ui of teaciicrs, and t'oiind in her work the ins[iiriition which II poet tinds in poetry or a niu- Kician in music. Siie had all she needed to make her iiai)py. Slio was happy, and tried to ho entirely ho ; but to a )j;irl of twenty-two ii lionio all ulone does not seem ii ri<'h and bounteous existcuce, liowjvur good nud high it may l)e.
CHAPTER XXIX.
ALECK'S disftppointracnt in politics WHS not the only one ho laid to endure. This in itself was sutticiently keen to a young man who enjoyed j»o- litical life, and who had courage to l)0- lieve that tiie world coidd not do with- out him. Ho was angr;.', too, that his honesty had proved a Btumbling-block ; and, had his nature not been so large and genial, ho might have bccomo bit- terly cynical at this jieriod of his life. But, determined to make the best of the position, he went on with his farm work and his physician's work without stopping to lament over what was ir- remediable, when lo, he began to discover by degrees that he was ra[)idly losing his practice. This was not because he was a less skilftil physician than he had always been ; indeed, with his constant study and experience, he was becoming very sure and reliable in his profession. Ho was forced to admit to himself re- luctantly, bocanso ho believed in man- kind, that his patrons were deserting him solely becanso he held such radical views. This was a harder test for him than the defeat upon election daj'. Ho could believe that persons might con- Bcieutiously differ from his opinions, and
think it dangerous f> give him the power of niakiiiu laws for them, but that any one should be so bigoted as to make hatred of lieliefs a ground for liii- Ired of himself struck him as :iiiia/.iug. ho not believe that ho was n Vtrdaut (Jreeu, but ho was a man of deei and wido liiith.
lie was nneoncpuralile. Tie might have been idle fairly, for he hud almost finished his farm work for the winter, so confident had ho been of being in the ( ify. There was no wnrk which ho »iust do, so he was olilii^ed to seek for fiome ncsides, he needeil to use econ- omy. So he proposed to discharge his hired man, and do all his work himself. Ihit Aaron, knowing of no other place which ho wanted, agreeil lo slay and do 'chores' for his board, if Aleck would teach him something about chemistry and agriculture. His entei'prising V'ankoe sjiirit had caught lire from his employer's, and he meant to " know sometjiing." Aleck liked tla? jilan, for then he could conscientiously take more time to study himself.
" l>y the way, Aleck," said Aaron, in the rural republican style, '■ 1 think you might chirk up. Nobody's been very sick yet ; but when they are, 1 '11 bet they 'd a mighty sight rather have you than go all the way to the West Village for that old fogy."
" 1 thought HO too at first," said Aleck ; " but I heard to-day that half a dozen of the leading men in town, head- ed by Squire Jameson, have proposed to a new physician. Dr. Armstrong, to settle hero, and have pledged themselves to see that ho is su])ported for a certain time if he isn't sufficiently ])atronized,"
Aaron whistled in amazement. " How plaguy mad they must be at you ! I guess they ain't going to forgive you right away."
" They can't forgive mo," retunicd Aleck, looking proud ; " for I won't bo forgiven, since I don't deserve it."
" Well," said Aaron, with a beaming smile, " I '11 bet on you."
Aleck smiled too. " Perhaps I shall make a fortune off my farm, now that I 'vc nothing else to do," said he. " And then I can go whore I please, and work my way up again."
" You will, if anybody," said Aaron j
POMHTIirXf! TO DO.
tfivo luirt tin- for tluiii, lint «• lii^'dtt'il us to I ijrroiiiMl f«>r lift- liiii us ;iiiia/.in^. was 11 Vi rduiit 111 ol' (Uu? and
)1(\ Tlo iiiiglit
r ho li;iil almost
r tlic winter, so
>t' lifin^' in tlio
work wliiti* ho
_('(l to seek for
It'll to use cron-
to (liKi.'harj,'i' hin
is work hinisolF.
■ no otli(!r |ihu'o
(1 lo slay and «lo
if Aloc'k wouhl
aliont chcnjistry
is i-ntiTprisinf,'
^'ht lire from liis
iL'aiit to " i<no\v
led the jihui, for
tiously take more
,," said Aaron, in style, "I think is'ohody's lioen icn they are, 1 '11 si>j;ht rather huvo wav to the West
0 at first," said to-day that half a nen in town, hcad- , have yirojMised to ir. Armstrong, to )lcd<rcd themselves lorted for a eertnin iently patronized." mazement. " How ist be at you ! I ug to forgive you
ivc mo," rctnnicd ; " for I won't bo t deserve it." n, with a beaming
ou."
" Perhaps I shall ny farm, now that o," said he. " And
1 please, and work
body," said Aaron ;
"hut I think it's phijriiy mean that a smart honest chap like you is down so far now. I s'poM' you ci"/'/ /*'/ nee any new IiJh'IiI on the woman (piestion and so on, -coidil you now I "
AliM'k laiijrhed. " I iloii't HOC any now lijiht, at any rale."
'•O well," said .Vaion. "I s' poser! yoM d done what you thouu'ht was rij.'lit, and that nothing; could alter you ; Imt if you only eouhl rluniKe in some few things, or. at any rate, make up your mind to keep mum aliout them when it ain't ^.'oing to do any (.'ood to ly any- thing, if WKuM make a siyht uC differ- ence in mattiis and things, Kvery- hody knows yo;i are smart, and when they first eleited you t(j the Legislature the whoji' fown was as proud as a pea- c()i;k of you. (Jracious I don't yoii re- member how they cheered!"
y\leck winced. He did r(>momber. At that time he had been rather unso- phisticated, ami, tlaaigh he was not a vain fellow, the applause wiiieh had followed his speeches and the announce- ment of his i'lection hail made his heart bound with jileasMre. His whole life had str'^tched before him and the game to wm. Now, in only two years, his wliole life seemed to stretch l>eforc him and the game was apparently lost,
" Everybody can't bo a knight-er- rant," said he, cheerfully, "so let .iny- budy who is faint -hearted keep his opinions to himself and get on peaceably ; but, for my part, I shall never want ny favor which is to be had by sacrificing my right to say what I ])loaso when 1 please and where I please."
And that was the end of the matter, for that time at least. The old house- keeper, Aleck, and Aaron were left to themselves in the plain farm-housiO for the winter. The men studied, and the housekeeper bewed and n-ad by herself and with Aleck, who had a mania for making everybody about him interested m what interested him. He had not entirely lost his friends, to be sure. There wore some men in the town who agreed with him in many ways, and still others who respected him while they differed from him ; but the money, weight, influence, and education of the town were all against him.
Ho smiled a little and with less bit- 12
tcniosH thnii he might have done wlien his poor patients also desci-tcd him. Hefoni the new doctor cam(> tiny were all stanch friciMls of IN-. Hume, not- withstanding his unpopularity among the leading |towerM. Ihit when Dr. .Vrmstroiiv; arrived, and pi. v,.l liiinself a good, skilful phyi^ician, ami iiiiuilling to take fees from the poor thoii^ii lui wuM in Hiieh ill maiid among the rich, thoy siiildeiily discov»'red that, since it would cost them iiothiMg to desert Aleck, it was right that they too sJioiiM Ik' ware how they encouraged such daii- ijerouK political opinions.
Terhaps Aleck thoiiglit rather rue- fully someliiiit off he cosey little chats ol' the previous winters ami the happy i(iiartetfe who had assemhled in Alice's littlci sitting room. I'erha^is lie some- times envied tlio tri", whom he fancicrl liiip|)y without him ; fur such care had been observed that tie; news of Cidia's disappearance had not found its way into the jiapirs, uinl .Meek in ver cor- responded with (uiybody. Wo do not invariably know v 't wo are envying.
In the spring ho ent to work upon the farm with a will. He made great cliani,'es in it. believing that if ho de- voted himselt to the raising of early and choice vegetables and fruits, ho might soon be well-to-do in the world. Ihit troiihlcs do not come alone. A terrible drought, lasting nearly all sum- mer, (lestri>yeil, ono after another, all his plants, and ho found his piirso far more slender in August than it was in April, though it had not been plethoric then.
" A bad look," said Aaron, glancing at the parched field, in which their last hopes had withered, ono evening. " I should like to have some rain, but I guess it 's too lato for it to do iis any good."
" Yes," said Aleck, composedly ; " but wo have tho satisfiiction of knowing wo have managed well, and wo arc not to blame."
" I must say yon take things cool," said Aaron. " I have n't seen you cross once."
"It wouldn't do any good to be," said Aleck, with a smile. " Besides, I don't want to be. I am willing to own that I don't know what is best for mo,
--'J>i>j'.»('j-«.>.rji-'.".^' /"If*-"
.iP^ljlrfl'idlMf.tl-; I
r
00
s<iM!;tiiin(} to ijo.
mill i -hii' n't Trnt about wimt tliu Lord |
.
Ki'rulf."
Ntvi'rtlu'k'MH. wlu'ii Anion liml nmu' 'ti> ru' iiriil Alt' k Htnoil uloiu' looking at
llin ih'MlllltU ticlllH, llj« llllMltll Hcttlcil
into 11 fiiiil, ^ruve rx|iri'HMiiii\, Ho wiilkod fureriilly iilmiit, Moun'liinii lor iiii_> little HliuofM wiiitli wiTf not yot quitu with- tTi'd. lie I'ouiul vorv lew, luiw uh lie ciinif liiick to the H|iot Id! Htitrtcl IVoni, lio Hiiiifr Hot'tly tu hinmclf, with u uunti- cal h'\: —
" Ycnrii i.,i\-i> iHixscd on and I hove n't *avoJ a
•lo'.i >i Evclliiu Htiil 5ivp» {;: thiipci'n, grmiMy holler ; 1 ^Imll Imvi' h;()ii V ir, mil to iiiiirrvlicr ih'vit. Ho 1 blioiild n't bc8ui) ' ^K'dil' 1 luvcd Lcilor-
ever."
CHAPTKU XXX.
IT wiiH a Idilliiint nijilit in oiio of tlu; Soiitlicrn c.'tios. Tl»e briUiiincy with which wo Imvo to ii<i, Jiowcvcr, wt^ i ..' that of the Hturs, hut within tho then ;i in which Colia hud iiu cnpijionifii!. She had beun wiiniin;^ more and more a])}>laii.su in each of tho neighboring cities, HO that tho houHo was crowded to see her l)lay, 'I'ho jilay was a trn^edy, and she entered into it with her whole soul. Tho api>lauHO was prolonged and deep, and her coiu'iijio rose. She forf,'(it herself entirely and became tho haplesH queen whom sho repiesented in very deed. Sho was called before tho cur- tain again and again, and bouquets of tho richest flowers fell at her feet. She had had success before ; now it seemed that she was creating a furor. Night after night this went on. Kvery night tho house was more and more crowded. She had no time to think of anything else, for she was constantly occupied in learning new roles, — not an easy thing for a beginner like her. Luckily, she had tho genius to imiiroviso when she forgot her part. People were all asking, "Who is shel" "Mrs. Brown" did not prove a very satisfactory answer, but it was all they could obtain. On tho night in question, as she gathered up lier bouquets she caught a glimpse of sometliing glittering in one of them ; she looked at it again, and found it to bo a bracelet of gold and jewels. With
Muddiii linger, she diiMhrd it upon tho
<tiigr, in till' Hi;'ii' of tht' whole nHKCIii- lily. However tlie giver may have lilt lit Miii-h trctitMiciit of his gilt, the reHt of the aiidieuce iippiiiiided, giUH^iing at the reiiNon ; but Celia had diHiippeiii'cil liejiiiid the t'lirtiiiii, and no aniount of applauH(> could l>*'ing her buck iigiiiii. She had lieeii in th,> city a week, and, us we liiivo said, ' !• imd been too thor- oughly busy I'M' moment to have time to think. lUii now, us she turned into lierdreHsiiig room, every thing riislied to hei lind at once. She locked her door, au'I paced tiie room with a bla/ing fac".
*' A\n\ has it conie to this 1 " hIio said, with CMiUng lij). " Have I so far for- gotten myself, even in a |ilace like tho theatre, that a struiiger dares to treat me so 1 — 1, tlii ., ifo of Kichiird Stacy ! " She absolutely I'.ithed at the thought. .She had belies 1 that any woman of purity and spirit could always so act that no man .'ailing hinihelf a gentle- man wovdd daro to make advances to •v.T. It wns a little thing, to bo sure, iuul she might have thought of it as only a gift from one carried away by her acting. Sho always received tho flowers in that spirit. But that any ono should think she would wear jewelry given her by a stranger ! Meautimo the yoimg man who had thrown tho l)ou(iuet was just as angry as she, with less eimse. His eagerness to see her was heightened by tho repulse. He had the nature of a hunter. So ho curbed the rising passion, and sauntered leisure- ly behind tho curtain, where ho was already well known.
" That ' Mara ' of yours is a eon- founded good player," said he to tho manager. " Can't you introduce me t " " Of course not," replied the mannger, with some scorn. " 1 never introduce actresses to young gentlemen," — u slight stress on the last word.
"0," laughed the young man, "you need n't bo so niffled ! Of course 1 shall SCO her, so it is a mere question of time. You can help me or not, aa you plea, o." :'
" See here, young man," replied the manager, sharply ; " I won't have you going on in this wiy. If those whom F engage choose to make friends for thenj^^j:
I
w^
U' «('■'
lod it n]i(iii tlio
U- wlioll) IIMM-Ill- IT lllll.V liiivo I'tlt iJH niit, tlio ri'Ht (Ifd, ^'(U'MHiiijr lit liud «liHH|i|it'iir(Ml
ll IK) lllllllllllt lit'
liiT liiii'k iipiiii. y n week, niul, uh I bi'i'ii t(n> tliin- KUlll'llt to li:ivo i\V, UK mIu) tlUlll'll
jvc>r)thiiiM;iiiH?ii'(l
Shi) liicktil hur
oui witiv u l)liizing
n tliiHl" clio Hnid, Itivo I HO fur t'or-
ft jilivco like tho ;i'r <liirc'H to tritit i' lliuhiinl Stucy ! " (1 lit the thoujfht. lit any woiimii of iltl always ho act hiniholfa nontlo- tnako lulviiuccH to th'mjr, to 1)0 Hure,
tlioiight of it m a caJTied away hy iviiys received tho
But that any ono onld wear jewelry anger ! Meantiuio 10 had thrown tho anirry an she, with ;erneHS to sec her 10 repulno. lie had tor. So ho embed id Bauntored lelBure- iiin, where ho was
of yours is a con- T," said ho to tho ^•ou introduce me 1 " replied the manager, " 1 never introduce ,g };entlcmen," — a 3 last word. ■ young man, "you aflcd ! Of courso 1 is a mere question help me or not, as
g man," replied the
"I won't have you
,y. If those whom t
lake friends for thciu-
I
Ik
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23 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580
(716)872-4503
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91
solves, that is none of my affair ; but if anybody attempts to annoy them or intrude on tliem, I shall protect them. < Mara' is wholly inider my care."
» Thcn'Mrs.'j3nnvn ' is only a myth, I suppose," said the young man, with a furtive glance.
"That is nothing to you," said the manager, shortly.
" oho ! then I see how things are, ' said the young man, with a light laugh. " / only wante<l to bo acquainted in a friendly sort of way with a woman of genius, and you bristle up at once. I think 1 understand."
"And I think you are a fool," said the manager, "and I won't have you about. I can tell you one thing, if you are the puppy who flung the bracelet, you need never expect to advance one whit farther in Mrs. Brown's good gra- ces than you are now. She is n't a bal- lot-girl ; she has a temper like wildfire and a will like iron."
" What language do you use to me 1 " stammered the young man, red with rage.
" Better than you deserve," said the manager, coolly ; " and if you do not go at once, I shall take measures to put you out."
The young man deemed it prudent to get out of the building as fast as possible, but saw nothing to prevent his lounging in the shadow outside as long as lie liked.
The manager knocked at Celia's door. He heard a rustling within, but no answer. Ho knocked again, and this time he spoke, lleassured by his voice, she opened the door and stood there looking haughty and angry.
"Mrs. Brown," said the manager, "the fellow who annoyed you so has been to mo just now."'
"With au apology]" asked she, proudly.
" No," said the manager, " he wishes to see you. I took the liberty of refus- ing for you."
" We'll 1 " said Celia, wondering why ho did not go.
; " Ho is an obstinate sort of fellow, 'who does not like to be balked," added the manager ; " and I suspect that though I have ordered him out of the building he ia still lurking outside,
waiting for you. I warn you to bo on your guard."
" You think I shall not be safe alone in my carriage 1" said Celia, her eyes glittering dangerously.
" I think the fellow will try to speak to you," said tho manager. " I cannot go home witli you now myself, and I therefor© spoke to Siedhof, and he will accompany you, if you wish."
" Thank you," said Celia, " yon arc very kind " ; and in a voice as low as a breath, she added, "Do such things often happen to actresses who do not encourage them ] "
" 0, you need not be frightened ! " said tho manager, good-humoredly. " There are plenty of silly fellows who can't be made to understand at first that their attentions can be unaccepta- ble to any one. You will probably bo annoyed more or less by such, it is the penalty you pay for acting well ; but no harm will bo done."
Celia shut her teeth together that she might not blaze out. She was learning to keep a watch upon liersCif. "Tell Mr. Siedhof I am ready," sho said in a moment.
Mr. Siedhof was an old, bald-headed musician to whom Celia had been drawn at once by his devotion to musio and his beautiful politeness. Sho was glad the manager had chosen him for her escort. As she went out, leaning on his arm, a figure drew back baffled into tho shade, and they seated them- selves in the carriage unmolested.
"Young lady," said Mr. Siedhof, with the slightest possible German manner and accent, " you played well to-night. I found myself glad to use my violin ia your service."
Celia sighed wearily. She meant to say nothing, but her heart was very full. She had never learned much self-con- trol, and she had an instinctive feeling that Siedhof was to bo tnisted ; so, al- most before she knew it, she found her- self speaking.
" I wish, Mr. Siedhof, that I had not played well. I have believed, that, tho more genius one displayed, the safer one must be. I have proved the contrary. I never played so well as to-night, and never met with such humiliation." " Ah ! you mean tho bracelet," said
92
SOMETHING TO DO.
Mr. Sicdhof, quietly. " My dear youuf,' liulv, you nuist uot lay that to heart. You lire not to blame for what Homc cue else does."
" I feci to MniTio," cried Cclia. " That a ninu wlio does not know mo should dure to {,'ive lue a present. What must 1 have done 1 How must I have acted ] " " You have acted right, young lady," said Mr. Siodhof, who never could call her Mrs. Brown, perhaps because he could not believe it her true name ; "your mistake was in believing that genius can be comprehended by those who have not its germs."
"It is no genius then," said Celia, quicklv. " That which is really large, and not one-sided, must comprehend the smaller in it. And then 1 have, made an impression and the wrong one. 1 despise myself."
" Do not so," answered the German. " Never despise yourself for what an- other does to harm you. You played well and truly. I heard j-tu and 1 know. Because a man was present whose soul was so small that he saw only the brilliancy, and not the depth, of the play, you should not blame your-
"You arc kind to tell mo that," said Celia. " I believe you must be right, and am glad to feel that perhaps I need not scorn mvself, though I truly think that the best genius ought to reach the roughest natures."
" The roughest \ Yes," said the Ger- man, with a flashing eye ; " but not a mean and polished nature, in which there is no nature, but only art."
"Tell me the truth, Mr. Sicdhof, said Celia, earnestly, "have I miy- thing more to fear from this man ? "
"i do not know him," replied he, " but I fear he will not be contented to fail so entirely in attracting your atten- tion. You need not be afntid of him, but you may bo amioyed for a little
while." .^ ^ ,.
"So tho manager said," said Celia. « What shall I do % Shall I give up my engagement and go away and find some- thing else to do 1 "
" Not so," replied Siedhof, quickly, to check her impulsiveness. " You are meeting only a type of evil, not an indi- vidual. Something of this might assail
you cverj'wherc. You will show your- self a brave woman in being above being troubled by it. Overlook it, but do not seem angry."
" That may do for calm natures," an- swered Celia, " but how can it do for one like me ] O Mr. Siediiof, al' my impulses lead me always towards flight ! " "It is braver to stay," quoth Sied- hof.
" I will stay, said Celia, after a mo- ment of hesitation, " and you must help mo to bear what 1 must."
"Very well," said Mr. Siedhof. "I thought you had courage."
But they had reached Cclia's hotel, and the conversation was brought to a close.
Celia's room was a good, large, airy one ; but ns she was to stay in it only a few weeks it contained no little home- like ornaments, simply the hotel furni- tviro and two immense tnmks for her wardrobe. The room and furniture were sufficiently handsome, for Celia's success had been such as to enable her to live in comfort ; but the whole eficct was dreary and lonely in the extreme. Poor girl ! she had never yet really had a home since her father died, and now she had given up the hope of ever hav- ing one ; so she was contented to sleep all she could, and to spend her days in committing to memory her roles, and at present, at any rate, she found herself so busy that she had not much time to think how lonely she was ; and with her, as with Dick, intense work kept her vigorous when she must have died without it.
She undressed immediately and went to bed with a fierce determination to think no more of the occurrences of the evening ; but she found herself unablo to sleep, and tossed and turned all night, listening to tho sounds of gayety in the adjoining rooms which were kept up for hours.
These rooms were also occupied by actress who was playing in a rival
an
theatre, and whose reputation was of much longer standing than Cclia s. Though she too was only staying at the hotel for a few weeks, her rooms had nothing of a forlorn or uninhabited appearance. Her parlor was adorned with every little kuick-kuack which
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SOMETHING TO DO.
93
will show your- peiiig above being ook it, but do not
[aim natures," an- 3\v can it do for Siedliof, al' my Is towards fliglit !" piy," qioth Siud-
^c'lia, after a mo- ind you must help Ist."
Mr. Siedhof. "I ago."
lied Celia's hotel, was brought to a
I pood, largo, airy to stay in it only a ed no little home- ly the hotel furni- ise tnmks for her and furniture idsomo, for Celia's eh as to enable her ut the whole effect (ly in the extreme, ever yet really had ;her died, and now ) hope of ever hav- contented to sleep to spend her days memory her roles, ny rate, she found she had not much juely she was ; and )ick, intense work •hen she must have
jiediately and went ) determination to occurrences of the iind herself unable nd turned all night, ds of gayety in the ih were kept up for
! also occupied by playing in a rival reputation was of ling than Celia's. IB only staying at weeks, her rooms om or iminhabited irlor was adorned kuick-knack which
taste could devise or money could buy. Her flowers were grouped effeetively, so that the whole room seemed to blossou) with them. Cclia always threw hers careles.sly into a bowl of water, in a lieiip.
'I'iie other actress was not alone ; she was Murromidod by a group of half adozen young men, who were partaking with her of a very elegant little supjier. They were all well dressed, yoimg, and hand- some, and full of wit. The young lady was worn, but she had skilfully re- paired the ravages of dissipation by paint, and looked very brilliant, and said the gayest things, constantly, in the pertest way. The young men ad- dressed her variously, each having a different pet name for her. " Net- ty," and "Tony," "Antoine," "Nina," "Annie," were the various changes which they rang upon her Christian name of Antoinetta, while one addressed her brusquely always as " Hiinten."
She was still dressed as at the theatre, in a costume between a gypsy and a ballet-girl, and she laughed, danced, and sung, with the utmost freedom. She was an arrant coquette, and found noth- ing easier than to make all tho six young men hatu each other and love her at once, and each to think that she loved him and regarded all tho rest as bores.
Celia, tossing in anger on her bed, be- came still more angry as she now and then heard snatches of tho flippant con- versation. It was actresses such as An- toinetta Hiinten who brought about such annoyances to actresses like Celia. It is to be feared that the latter did not excuse her even on the plea that she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying her- self and entertaining other people, while Celia was gloomy and solitary. There ought to bo a little allowance made for that.
Tho six young men wished each to outstay the other, but Miss Hiinten managed very adroitly and sent them all off at once. When they were gone, she locked and bolted her doors, walked up to the pier-glass and looked at her- self intently for a long time. She turned away with a weary and sad face, drank eagerly a glass of wine, and went to bed.
A^„
CHAPTER XXXT.
might bo supposed, Celia's an- noynnces did not end in a single evening. For a week she was perse- cuted with notes in evcsry sliape and conveyed to her in all ways, — by post, loft at her hotel, handed her by some of the supernumeraries about tho thcatra who had been bribed to see that they reached her, concealed in Iwucpiots, till she dared not receive any flowers at all. She could not help reading some of these, for tho handwriting was dis- guised in various ways, and she could not be quite sure, without opening them, what was their origin. Tho young man declared his passion in sufficiently strong terms, and she was infinitely dis- gusted and would certainly have taken refuge in flight but for Siedhofs ad- vice.
" Do not lower yourself by letting him see that he troubles you," said he.
At tho end of a week the young man gave over the pursuit, finding that he received no sign in reply, and endeav- ored to take his revenge by hissing Celia off the stage. Ho was unsuccess- ful, however, here also, for, though a few of his companions joined him, the city in general were too much pleased with tho new actress to allow such a thing to go on ; so the young man was, in the end, obliged to betake himself to tho rival theatre and find what consola- tion ho might in the society of the sirens of the ballet, being, however, first held up to scorn and well shaken by the sar- casms of Antoinetta Hiinten, whom he had graciously intended to allow the va- cant place in his heart, but who had heard rumors of his unreciprocated af- fection and treated him accordingly.
Celia was left in peace so long as sho remained in that city, and doubtless her conduct in this affair saved her from many disagreeable things ; but as she went from city to city, winning ap- plause among those who knew nothing of her character, it was some time before she was entirely free from importunities. It gradually became known, however, that it was useless for any stranger to attempt to see her, for she would repeive no one, and, her character once established, sho found herself by degrees let alone. To-
04
SOMETHING TO DO.
wards spring the troupe resumed its journey northward, mukinfr a stay of some weeks in Baltimore. She n(iticed, tlio very first night she plajed, a small man sitting near the stage, wlio seemed quite carried alvay by iho play. He ■* liad a good j)lea8ant face, of much
strength and also real sweetness. She felt at once that it was a face ^he could trust ; and as her powers always in- creased when she saw her audience en- thusiastic, she naturally found herself playing almost at him. Ho was in the same ])lacc the next night and the next, still intent and earnest. She began to find real comfort in seeing him. Ho ^^ did iK)t look like an habitue of the theatre,
and yet he was always there. On the fourth night she saw that ho held a bouquet in his hand, and when, at the close of the fourth act, several bouquets were thrown to her, she marked well which came from him. It was the sweetest and most delicate of all, of white spring flowers and petals just tinted and veined with pink and blue, mignonette and pansies and violets.
She looked at it with a curious ex- pression. "He is a pure, good man," said she to herself, " and ho has chosen his flowers to suit his own taste ; but he does n't understand me if he thinks such an offering emblematical of the fiery volcano in my heart. Poh ! ho does n't think of emblems at all. He looks like a practical man, though the theatre just now seems to be shaking him a little out of his nature."
A week passed away. The little man was still in his place, and at last ho plucked up courage to go behind the Bcencs and inquire for the manager. " Sir," said he, blushing, "would it be possible for me to be introduced to 'MaraT'
" No," said the manager, " it is quite out of the question ; she sees no gentle- men whatever."
" But of course she must ware some acq«iaiutances," persisted the little man.
"None," said the manager, shortly, '■-. " and she wishes for none."
" I am so sorry," said the little man,
V in evident distress. " I like her playing
so much, and I wish I could know her.
But, of course, I would n't intrude for
the world. Will you show me how to
get out of the theatre ? I have never been bciiind the scones before, and um turned round."
The manager looked at him again more carcfidly, scarcely repi-essing a smile, for ho saw tiiiit the little man was really as innocent as ho appeared. As he showed him the way, the iittlo man spoke again.
" Would it annoy her if I 'lent her a note t "
"I don't know," said the manager. " I am afraid it would."
" I know what 1 will do," said the little man. " I will send her my card, and perhaps she will consent to sec me. Will you give it to her for me 1 "
" Yes," said the manager, more gi'a- ciously than usual.
" I will wait," said tho little man.
So the manager knocked at Celia's door again. "There is a gentleman," said he, "who wishes to know if you will see him."
" AVhy did you bring me such a mes- sage 1 " said Celia, angrily. " You knew very well what I should say."
" Because the person who sent it is a gentleman," replied the manager, "and evidently knows so little of tho world that I was ashamed to let him see that I suspected he could have any but the best of motives. Ho has been at the theatre ever}' night you have played, and I think you must have noticed him."
Celia hesitated, and then took the card which the manager held out. " Mr. John Home, 1214 Street."
"Where did he sit to-night?" she asked.
"Ho has had the same seat every night we have been here," replied the manager, and then proceeded to de- scribe its situation.
Celia did not reply at once, but at last she laid the card on the- table, and said, "Tell him I thank him for his interest in me, but that I never see gentlemen and will make no exception in his favor."
So Mr. Home was turned away more hopelessly and deeply in love than he had l)een before. He still appeared every night at the theatre, and some- times threw the most delicate bouquets, but he made no further attempt to be introduced.
SOMETUINO TO DO.
M
1 I have never H before, and urn
cl nt him again ly reprcssijig a
t tlio little man as ho a])pearc(l.
10 way, tlio iittlo
or if I 'lent her a lid the manager.
ill do," said the lid her my card,
onBcnt to sec me.
r for me 1 "
anager, more gi"a-
the Iittlo man. noeked at Celia's is a gentleman," 8 to know if you
ng me such a mea- grily. " You knew uld say." son who sent it is
the manager, "and little of the world to let him see that I have any but the [o has been at the
you have played, t have noticed him." ind then took the ger held out. " Mr. — Street." sit to-night 1" she
e same seat every
. here," replied the
proceeded to de-
)ly at once, but at d on the. table, and thank him for his ; that I never see make no exception
I turned away more ily in love than he He still appeared theatre, and some- it delicate bouquets, ther attempt to be
Cclia was now much less busy than she had been the first of the soiiHon. She was appearing in tlio same jiicccH she had lieen playing all winter and had nothing new to learn, so that her days wore in danger of becoming tedious. The gnawing distpiiet at her heart fontcd her to d) Hoiiicthing. She had often read that girls who have lost all hojie of a hapjjy life sometimes find peufe and escape from reflection by going among tlio poor, and, little as this was to her taste, she determined to do it. Service undertaken from such a motive might cosily have proved disagreeable to the recipients ; but Celia had in deed and truth so warm a heart, was so easily touched by suffering, and so ready to help when she had once conquered her re[mgnance to entering close, dirty rooms, that she avoided this danger, and thougli her residence in the city was necessarily so short, she had already found quite a little circle of poor peo- ple who welcomed her.
One day she went to visit a little sick boy, the son of a respectable kind of woman who supported herself by taking in washing. Oelia carried a bas- ket of grapes and oranges, and also a bouquet which some of her admirers had sent her the evening before, little guessing what its destination would be.
" 0, how beautiful ! " said the little boy, "and how kind you are, Miu Brown ! " She was called " Mrs. Brown " among the poor, and they never dreamed that the kind lady in black was really a popular actress.
" I hope you won't care," said the little boy again ; " but, if you don't, I wish you would let me give these flowers away."
" Of course, Charley," replied Celia. " I shall bo glad to have you do just what you like with them. To whom do you want to give them 1 "
" Mrs. Pritchard is sick," said the boy ; " she 's been sick ever so long, and now I expect she 's in consumption. She was raised in the country, and I expect maybe flowers would look good to her. She lives in the next house."
" Yes," said Celia, " I have no doubt she would like some flowers ; but I have a great many at home, more than
'I can find a place for, so you can keep those, and I will bring her some more. If she has lived in the country, pcrluqis the wild-flowers will please lior best, and 1 have a whole basket full of mosses and little wpnng-flowers. Do you think she would be willing to have me call, or shall 1 send the things'!"
Notwithstanding her missionary work among the poor, Celia still retained certain heathen ideas a« to the imjno- priety that a person, for charity's sake alone, should force herself upon them.
" If she 's anything like me, I expect she 'd rather you 'd come yourself," said the boy.
Celia was glad of it. It would help to wear away the tedium of the day. So she wont out and purchased another basket of fniit, and, returning to the hotel, took also the basket of flowers.
She found Mrs. Pritchard quite alone. She lived with her daughter, who sup- ported them both by working in a mil- ■ linery establishment and hud to be away all day. Of course the invalid was very lonely. She did not absolutely want care, because the children of an- other family living in the house looked in, from time to time, to see what slu needed.
" And then," added she, " there is a good, kind yoimg man who goes about among the poor, who comes here to see the children, and, when I am able to sit up, he comes in and reads to me such sweet books."
She was delighted with the fruit and flowers, especially the flowers, liecause they were such as she had found when a girl. Celia was touched by her lone- liness and stayed some time, talking with her, and promised to visit her again the next day.
Now it so chanced that Celia had scarcely gone before the young man spoken of came in, and the first thing on which his eyes rested was the basket of flowers, at which he gazed in a some- what bewildered way, as well he might, for his name was Mr. John Home and he had himself arranged every leaf and petal the evening before, and had seen to it that they were conveyed intact to the actress with whom he was so vio- lently in love.
"0," said Mn. Pritchard, "you did
96
SOMKTTTINa TO DO.
n't expect to see sncli beautiful flowem iiiid coul( lieiv, - -ditl you I "
'• Why, ikV' Bivi'l Mr. IFomc, still in ii nmzo. " Where did they loine IVoiii I " Then, of eourse, I'oUowud the stin'y of the iii(iinin^,'"« visit. Mm. I'ritehiird siiid she knew imthin;; iilxiut the liuly e.\ce|)t tlmt her name wiw Miss ISruwn, iind that she visited the jxxir a iiwtit deal. She dressed in mourning, and laid suid tlmt she was only staying,' in the city a little while. Mr. Hume was more unsojjhistieated than the young man who had aslied if Mrs. Brown was a myth. He had never heard the ae- tress called by any name but " ibira." By that name slie appeared ujjon all the play-bills, and lie never had tlioujiht of falling into conversation with any of the othi'r members of the troujie in re- gard to her. U he had thought of it, he would have iit once scouted the idea as dishonorable. So the name " lirown " ■with Mrs. I'ritehard's niisi)ronunciation of the ])reiix, conveyed no idea to him ; but he was too sure of the flowers to doubt that cither directly or indirectly they had conic from " Mara, ' and he was quite on the (pii vive with excite- ment. It is to be feared that he read the S(uiday-school book that ho had brought for Mrs. Pritchard without due appreciation of its excellent moral. IJut he read it nevertheless, for he was a conscientious young man, and would let nothing interfere with doing a kindness to another. He managed to find out, before he went away, that Miss Brown was expected the next morning again, tho\igh he could not leani the hour.
Accordingly ho made his appearance very bright and cai'ly, hypocritically alleging as a reason that lie had more leisure than usual, and would be glad to finish the book he began the day before, thus allowing himself a long time to stay. Mrs. Pritchard was, of course, delighted, and everything went on smoothly.
About eleven o'clock he found him- Bclf upon the last page of the book, and was dismayed at the idea that all his manoeuvring had been in vain, when a light step came up the stair and a gen- tle hand knocked at the half-opened door.
Poor Mr. Home 1 He blushed violently,
hardly sit still as Mrs. Pritch- ard said "('diuo in," and the stately figure in black a|>proached. (,'elia Wore a heavy crape veil, and she diil not see that a stranger was present imtil she had taken a seat. The instant she saw him she rccogni/ed him, and knew that he recognized her, but it was too late to retreat.
" Miss Brown," said Mrs. Pritchard, "this is Mr. Home, the young gentle- man as I told you aliout as is so good to me."
Celia bowed very distantly, and Mr. Home dared not show that he knew her. His courage sank so many de- grees in an instant that ho would have gone away immediately if he had not been head over ears in love ; so ho could do nothing but stare at her.
Celia inquired composedly after Mrs. Pritchard's health, gave her sonic more fruit, and then said she was too bu.sy to stay longer, but would try to come in soon again, i)urposely making her promise indefinite. Then she went away.
I'oor Mr. Home 1 He was in a des- perate state, and yet he dared not follow her. But then it came home to him idmost with agony that this meeting had been a most extraordinary coinci- dence, and that it was not j)robablo that fortune would ever so favor him again, and ho screwed his courage up, and, bidding an abrupt adieu to Mi-s. Piitchard, followed the lady of his love as fast as he could go.
" Miss Brown," he said, as ho reached her side, " I beg your pardon, but I must speak to you."
Celia turned. She could not find it in her heart to look haughtily at him, bccauso she felt how pure and simj)!© he was.
" Well ] " said she, pausing. " I don't know what you will think," said he, with an agonized blush ; " but if you knew how much I have wanted to speak to you, you would forgive me. I know you would not sec nic when I asked the manager to take my card to you, but, now you have seen me, it is different. I have tried to make up my mind not to annoy you, but now it seems as if wo had met almost provi- dentially."
L
8till as Mra. Priti'li- " ami till) stati.'ly at'hed. Colia Wore lul mIio dill not nee present until BJio 'he instant slie saw lini, and knew that )ut it was too late
lid Mrs. I'litehard,
the yonn^ gentle- ilioiit as is HO good
distantly, and Mr. low tiiat he knew sank HO many dc- Jiat hn would havo tely if he had not rs in love ; so ho nt stare at her. uposedly after Mrs. ;ave her sonic more I she was too husy would try to eonic posely making her Then she went
He was in a dcs- t lie dared not follow came home to him
that this meeting xtraordiuary eoinei- , was not j)rol)ablo
ever so favor him ved his courage up, )ruj)t adieu to Mi-a. the lady of his lovo
ro.
ho said, as ho ' I beg your pardon, ) you."
he could not find it k haughtily at him, )w pure and simple
e, pausing.
hat you will think,"
^onized blush ; " but
nuch I have wanted
)u woidd forgive mc.
not sec mc when I
to take my card to
have seen me, it is
tried to make up my
ny you, but now it
d met almost provi-
SOMETIIIXO TO DO.
1)7
"Well," said Colia, ns coolly as she could, fur she felt that she trembled, "since wo iiave chanced to be intro- duced, if yoii havo anytiiing of impor- tance to say to me, I don't know that 1 havo any objection."
iMr. Home stopp('d short. It was not easy to say what ho had to say after H\ich a l)usincss-likc beginning; but he knew it was his only chance, and so ho said it.
"Miss Hrown, don't think I expect you to understand mo, or feel the same, and I know I sjwak very abruptly, but I have seen you jday, and — and — and
— why, I /live yon. Don't speak (piito yet," added lie, as sho drew herself up with a look of scorn. " 1 know it is dreadful for me to say it hero when yo)i have never scon me before, though I have seen you so many times, but don't think 1 mean to trouble you. I had to say this, because you won't give me any chanoo to sec you, and I thought
— perhaps if — you knew how I felt, you might bo willing to lot mo see you sometimes, and so get acquainted. 1 don't suppose you woidd care anything about me ever, but you see you don't know mo at all now, and so you can't be sure."
If Celia's troubles had been less real, she would h.avo laughed aloud at this. As it was, she was iiiexprossibly touched, though angry.
"Mr. Homo," said she, looking full in his face, " I am in the habit of reading character, and I know yours now as well as I should in a year's acquaint- ance. Those traits which I cannot coijiprehend now I never could, if 1 should know you a lifetime. Wo part here."
" 0, do not say that ! " cried Mr. Home, plucking \ip a spirit. " How can you know mo ? You do not know half how I love you."
" Mr. Home," said Celia, her eyes fnll of trouble, " I will tell you what I think about you. You havo not yet seen enough of life " (it was true, though ho was a year her senior, and she had seen life) " to know precisely what your own aims and intents are. You are dazzled by the first glitter. Ycu believe you lovo me madly now ; but n few years henco I should not satisfy you, in your
is
I quiet homo, with your good father and mother and your iieaceful brotiiers lunl sisteiH," (she spoke very slowly, and slio saw by his quick breath that ho understood what slio meant,) " any more than yon would satisfy nie."
It was strange what an intluenco those fow strong words had on him. It was like a cool hand on a feverish brow. They seemed to liring him buck to him- self, for it was a fact that he had never l)een to the theatre till the night ho first heard Cclia play, and that all which had followed had boon as utdike him- self as possible. But a love like that, however abnormal, could not bo checked in one moment, an<l ho said entreat- iugly : " You may bo right, I don't know. Your eyes seem to pierce through my soul and soo everything. But (), do not say you will not let me soo you, that you will not give me even a chance ! "
" Mr. Home," said Celia, again look- ing straight into his eyes, and making a revelation which she would havo spared herself had it not been impera- tive, " I am married."
"O God, what havo I done?" said he, starting back ; and, to do him justice, it was not the fooling that ho had whol- ly lost her which made him so distressed, but the thought that ho had unwittingly committed a sin.
" Forgive me, if you over can," said he. " I thought they called you Mist Brown. I never thought of this. Can you forgive mc 1 "
"Y'es," said Celia, "heartily. And when the time comes, 'lt it surely will, and soon, that you -.idci-stand that your feeling to-day ■wat only a fever- heat, I hope, if you can, you will see me and tell me so. I do not want to think that I havo spoiled, or oven n^aimcd, your life."
" You are very noble," said ho ; " and I will not even go to tho theatre again to see you play, or to Mrs. Pritchard's while you stay in town."
"We go next week," said Celia, half srtiiling upon him. " Good by, my friend."
"Good by," faltered he, and thera they parted.
Celia said fiercely to herself, "Why do I never touch happiness in myself or others 1 "
f
SOMKTIIINQ TO DO.
CHAPTER XXXII.
ONK (lay in Bprinn Alico snw an aiiiioiiiicemciit in tiic piipciH to the oHoct tliivt ono of tho thcatrcM had mado an ciifiancinont for tho cloHing weeks of tho seaHon witli " Mara," the new traf;o(iii!nnt', and with tlio Qnceii of tho ltalli!t, tho well-known Antoinct- ta." 'I'iio annonnccnu'nt pnuhiced a stran^ro cft'eet upon iicr. Sho was ghid that Hhe tnii^ht liave a chance to aee her .sinter again. Sho feared that thongh tho Lcgishituro had adjourned, some- thing migiit occur to bring Dick to town at the wrong time, and ahc found herself wondering wliat influence " An- toinetta," tho idol of Celia's early dreams, had )iad njjon her when brought into actual contact.
On tlie morning of the very night when they wore to appear, she received a little note in a disgiUHcd handwriting, saying that tho players had arrived in the city only tho evening before, and that, owing to tho pressure of tho re- hearsals, site could not seo Celia till after tho play. But a ticket was sent to her, and Celia promised to see her taken care of at tho close of tho enter- tainment. As the twilights were getting long, Alice felt that sho would bo quite safe in going to tho theatre, and with considerable agitation sho found her- self anticipating seeing her sister act. Tho play was called "Elva," and this afforded no clow to its nature. She wondered what it could bo which should introduce two such incongruous charac- ters.
The curtain rose, and from that mo- ment till tho end of tho play everybody was bewitched. It was a play not at all according to Gunter ; it was not a tragedy, though it ended with the sui- cide of Leonora, who was represented by Celia, and it had too much pathos for a comedy, yet it was full of wit and sparkle, and the ballet was very fine. To Alice it possessed the intensest inter- est. With all her belief in Celia, she had never guessed half her dramatic power. Sho had a hard and bitter part to play. Alice heard some ono afterwards say that tho drama had been written with special reference to Antoinetta, who took the part of Elva. Leonora was a
passionato, revengeful nature, full of intrigue and plotting. Had aH thi; char- acter was, Alice felt a gleam of satisfac- tion in Hcoing how perfectly licr sister carried it out ; and <'clia had genius enougii to tiirow ■ 'ladings of tone and expression into the whoh> in such a way that while she was in sight she carried tho sympathy of her auilicnee with her, notwithstanding tho tierceiiLijH and hor- ror of her deeds. Elva was a daneing- girl, Leonora's rival. There was oppor- tunity for many graceful ballet-Hcenes, and Antoinetta was a ])erfect dancer. Also, she had been educated on tho stago and had real native genius, so that it was natural she should outshine Celia, who had had only a few months' practice. Alice looked at her with a great deal of curiosity to see how well she fulfilled her early idea of her. Sho found that she was as absolutely fasci- nating as sho had seemed to childish eyes, and yet she was dee[)ly disajijjoint- cd in her. She had always kept her in memory as one true to her art, and who would be incapable of swerving from it. In one way this was correct, for every- thing she did was done in tho most natural way, and she did not rant. Per- haps it was required by the exigencies of her part, for sho appeared in some scenes disguised as a boy ; but she had a kind of swaggering air at times, pretty and taking, to be sure, yet somewhat opposed to Alice's ideas of high art. Alice almost blamed herself for feeling so, and thought it was tho result of tho mixed nature of the play, (^elia and Antoinetta were brought into too sharp contrast; if it had been a complete comedy, Antoinetta's air would not so have annoyed her. It seemed as if Celia felt so too, and was actually play- ing against her with the same rancor that she assumed. The discord made itself felt among the audience, though perhaps few realized just where tho trouble lay. Antoinetta was the favorite, and her part a beautiful ono and too well interpreted not to call forth great applause ; yet, on the other hand, Celia, unknown, and supporting a hateful char- acter, still delighted them, and she gained so much symipathy that at the denouement half the relish of Elva's triumph was lost in pity for Leonora,
.. r. —-.-y— .. Ji.,;,.Y-j.. , J',v.t-i.-,. .■^•■.Jl.->Jal|^;,-J,. -..-■ ^.^gf
1 nature, full of iiiid us till' cimr- f^lt'iim «)f Huti«fiic- ort'iM'tly licr Hi«tcr Ci'liii liml K*^!niii8 (lin^rH of tmm iiiul lolc in Muh 11 way Kit;lit, hIio .arriod uuiit'uco with licr, crcuiiLSH and lior- \a was a daneing- Thcre was oppor- cfnl l)allet-Hct'U08, a jjorfcct dniiccr. educated on tho native jionius, ho ho Kliould outshino only a few months' kcd at her with a ty to Kco how well y idea of her. Sho as fthsolntely fasci- Heonicd to childish 8 deeply dis»]i])oint- always kept her in to her art, and who of swerving; from it. B correct, for every- donc in the most c did not rant. Pcr- jd hy tho exigencies 0 appeared in Bomo a hoy ; hut sho had g air at times, pretty sure, yet somewhat ideas of high art. id herself for feeling ivas the result of tho le play, ('clia and jught into too sharp d been a complpto I's air would not so It seemed as if d was actually play- ith the same rancor The discord made he audience, though ;ed just where tho etta was the favorite, sautiful one and too )t to call forth great ho other hand, Cclia, orting a hateful char- ted them, and she rmpathy that at the he relish of Elva's in pity for Leonora,
SO'CTiriNG TO DO.
9i)
and tho climax of tho play was ilcHtroycd. However, hoth tho actres«e« had done HO well that tho drama was au ovur- whelmiiig huccosm.
if Alice eotdd cxcuho Antoinetta'n manner as hoing neceHHary to her ren- dering of Klvii, hIio found it harder to escape the iiaprossion of her face. It wuH exi|uisitely chiselled and Hparklin^' | and liriliiant in its beauty ; but it was painfully apjiarent how highly it was rouged, ami there was a mocking ex- pression on tlio lip which almost hid its intense pathos.
At tho close of tho fifth act one of thoHO peculiar attendants at tho theatre called Supes ap|)eared at Alice's side and told her that Mrs. Brown was rea<ly to BOO her. She started at tho name, she liad forgotten that Celia had as- Humcd it ; but sho rose and followed liim behind the scenes. Her sister, with her hair dishevelled as in the last suicide scone, drew her into her dressing-room.
After the first greeting was over Celia said, "Now, Alice, what about my acting 1 "
"It was grand," replied Alice, "yet it makes mo shudder to think of it."
"Because it was too intense]" said Celia, half Hmiling. " I tell you, Alice, you can't guess how I have learned what it is to bo happy. From the moment I began to act in tragedies I have known a fierce delight which supplies the place of what I have lost — no, no, no, but it is glorious ! "
" That was not tho trouble," said Alijo. "You did not seem happy to me to-night, you seemed vindictive. I felt as if your hatred for Elva was a real thing."
" It is," replied Celia, proudly. " Elva is the incarnation of Antoinetta herself. The play was written expressly for her, and it is exactly like her."
" But why," said Alice, in astonish- ment, " do you hate her so much ] Is she so very different from your early dreams ] "
"Alice," said Celia, "first tell me this. You know tho object of the play is that Elva shall carry the house by storm by showing her actual purity under very suspicious circumstances. Now did tho play to-night fulfil this object 1"
" No," said Alice, " yo)ir genius frus- trated it, for everybody felt yoin- own Irul/i, bad as you were, and to mo, at least, there seenie<l a snjjpressed under- current of feeling that, notwithstanding thu triumphant explanation of every- thing which had Heenied against Klvu during the whole affair, she was somo- how wrong , and yet she played truth- fully too, but I had an uneasy fueling litat she was, after all, Htanding on a lower level than yourself, incapable of the Hunie heights. But I am your sis- ter, and may have misjudged."
" 1 don't think you have," said Celia, coolly, " for you were prejudiced in favor of Antoinetta, and I must have accom- plished my aim or you would not havo guessed it. iler genius is too great for mo to overcome her wholly, and, more than that, she in true in her acting, and especially true to herself, for she does not stand on a very high plane ; and in show- ing myself instead of playing tho part given mo, I have only put her just whuro Mho belongs."
" I don't understand you," said Alice, in a grieved tone. " Your life in thea- tres must havo changed you very much if you find pleasure in injuring a rival."
" A rival ! " said Celia, with an angry flush. " Alice, yo»i ought to know mo bettor than to believe mo so mean as that. It is not with tho hope of eclips- ing her that I play as I do, but because I bolicvo her character false and rotten as tho character of the Elva sho rep- resents, and I will do tho little that lies in me to stem the current of cor- rupt taste which can applaud that."
"But why do you feel sol" asked Alice again. " May it not bo that your instinctive feeling al)Out her is a wrong one, and that you are injuring one who needs your pity 1 "
" My feeling would be as strong if I had depended only on my intuitions," replied Celia, " though I might be mis- taken ; but then I have not depended upon those alone in this case. Antoi- netta has the reputation, not only among actors, but in the world at large, of be- ing in every sense of tho word a ballet- dancer. Just at present she is the mistress of an idle, artistic sort of a young fellow who wrote the play of Elva."
■.f>4^*^;MMiM9«teMHW^M^^
100
SOMKTIIING TO DO.
" lliiw toiTil)K'!" Haid Alicf, Hliofkid. "SHII.wi' ()ii;,'lit not to JihIki' IiiiimIiIv, Cfliu, 'I'lii'V iiiiiy iiiiiM( ifhtionHly liu- lii'vc timt II civil tic lias iiotliiii;; to do vitli II ti'iic iimri'iii;,'!'."
"O Alice, liiiw uiiHdpIiiMticiiti'tl }(iii nro ! " Miiitl Ccliii, c.\iiH|)('i'atoil. " Do you think oven tliiit would nut lio \vron>^("
" I think it would ho very, very wronu'," rc|ilicd Alice, earnoHtly, "for it ^'onld ho an error in jud^'nient that it' liclicvod in to liny j^roiit extent would Hood the world with Hiii ; and the very jiinity of thoMo who Hot tho oximiitlo would make tho exaniplo Htron^'or.'
"So it would really ho more wronji tlnin for worHo people to do tho Hiune tiling' ?"
" No, for every action Hhoidd he jud},'(Ml liy its motive, and not hy itn cfVectH. And nctual purity wi/l nmke itHolf felt, no matter how much it may ut first ho niisundei'stood."
"Well, Haid Celia, impatiently, •'there in no umo in tidkinj,' iihout that, for it hnH nothiui; to tlo witli the ques tioii. Autoinettii iu nut Himply une inan'H niintresH, hut slio has had lovers ever Hince hIio was a child."
"0 Colin," said Alice, "that is too sad to Hay ! "
" It is more than sad," said Celia. " I am 80 enraf^ed every time I have to net ■with her that my only comfort is that I linvc a part iu which I can show how I despise lier. If I wore not actually de- pendent on myself I would not do it. iiut tho manager is determined to have Autoiuotta, and even if I were well enough known to command another sit- uation, after all his kindness to mo I can't leave him."
Alice was silent ; so, after n moment, Celia inquired, " What makes you look BO shocked 1 In my place you would feel as I do."
" No," said Alice, slowly ; " bad as she is, I could not Jeifpise her."
"Because she is so beautiful," said Celia. " Her pretty face takes every- body in, but I should have expected you to distinguish between right and wrong better than that, and anybody can see at a glance that she is bold as brass. I can have nil charity for one who has boon misled, but not for one who is Biialending others."
"It is n<it the beauty of tho fiico which touchoH mo," said Alice, "though it in oxipiiititu ; hut it iH the di pth of NiiduesN ill it."
"Siidui'Hrtl" said Celiiv, Hcorufiilly. " That is tlio ctl'ect of having a I'uImo face, — nobody will believe anything iigiiiiiHt you ! I tell you, Alice, 1 know her and you don't, and hlie is as gay anil Hhallow a ]iainted doll iin lives,"
" HeeiiUHo hIio is gay, it docH not prove her shallow," Haid Alice; "and no one with such genius shuidd be called a tlnlir
" That is tho most charitable con- struction of iior, though," Haid ("din; " and UH for her genius, 1 admit nhe has art, but I don t think hopping up and hitting licr heels together u do/eu times l)eforo alighting, and singing com- ic songs in a killing way, is any jiruof of genius."
"Celia," said Alice, looking closely at her sister, " I have sotuotimos thought that you are too high to be broad ; hav- ing been on the mountain-tojis, yu\i see no beauty in tlic valleys. You believe that ])()wcr consists only in doing a great thing well, but it is just as truly shown in doing a small thing perfectly, and sometimes even more, for we feel to the heart the reserved force, and that is what 1 feel in Antoinctta. I doubt if you could ])lay the jmrts she does " (" I would n't," interjiolated Celia), " at any rate there was no proof that you could in your playing to-night; but I felt all the time Antoinctta was jilaying, that, had (she choKon to take your part, she coulil have done it just as well, though perhaps she would n't have been so vindictive."
" Sure enough," answered Celia, "and there is a reason for that, for, though she might hate me as much, I suppose she is incapable of hating my character as much. But, Alice, what do you meani 'Why are you forsaking your poor little desolate sister, wilful and wrong as she may be, for a stranger 1 "
" I am not doing that," said Alice, "though I don't like to see you so harsh, and perhaps you aro not, after all. What you have told me of Antoi- nctta is so terrible that I cannot blamo you much, though I think her sins may not be without palliation."
I .■-.■> -.. ., i .i.-.!..- .--i;,!..-.j-v;y.ti.,:::..., -., ,f-jff.]j'
mty of tin' fiico
il Alice, "llioii^'h
JM the ill jitli of
Ci'liiv, Hi'onifiilly. if liuvini^' II fulM(! Iic'IIl'Vo iinvtiiiiii; oil, Alici', I kiii'w mil hill' is iiH ^>\y (Idll an livrn." piy, it (liirH nut Hiiiil Alii'f ; " mill geiiiufi hIiuuIiI Itu
Hi clmritiil)lo con- i^'li," Miiiil ("I'liii; iiiuH, I miiiiit hIiu think h(i|iiilnK up 1 tojfi'thcr II ilu/.c'ii ,', nnil Hinginj; vnm- \uy, Ih uny proof of
}, looking cliiHily at
Kiiniet(nit!» thought
to l>i; hroail ; luvv-
intiiiu-to|w, yon sco
lloyH. You bdicvo
i only hi tilling u
t it in just ns truly
lull thing perfectly,
more, for wo feel to
eil force, nnd that is
oincttii. I doubt if
ic jiarts she docs "
rpolftted Celia), " at
i no proof that you
ing to-night; hut I
toincttiv was jiluying,
n to take your part,
no it just ns well,
would n't have been
answered Celia, "and for that, for, though as much, I suppose hating my character \lice, what do you you forsaking your 3 sister, wilful and le, for a stranger 1 " g that," said Alice, like to see you so i you are not, after re told me of Antoi- that I cannot blame I think her sins may liatioD."
HoMllTUIXa TO DO.
101
" Xot hliitnc me 7nifi'fi f " ititcrniiitcii Ccliii. " Why do you liluiiu' inr at all ( Wdiild you hiive lu'oti pU'imcd tu tiiid mo ii/iiiiii/ t(i Antoiiirttii I"
"I diiu't know," Hiiid Alice. "Cor- tainly I shmild imt winh you to choom' Huch iViciids, yet thi'i'o is Hduiithing aliout lior which intcnHoly intoicstH nic, and I foci an tlioimh she lm« great ]i<m- hiliilities ill iicr, if mIio only liiul n friend. I>i(l you over tell her aliout the llouorrt wo Kent her ho long ago?"
"Of coiirso not," said Colin. " How alisurd you are, Alice ! it in my necos- sity to koo|) my disguise, and that would have liotrayo<l my iiamo and liiilf my circuniHtaiioes lit onco ; and, huil 1 heoii over HO froo, I do not wish to fraternize with Antoiiiolta."
"Hut I do," Kiiid Alice, half musing. "1 find myself HO irrosistilily drawn to- ward her that I want to Hpuak to her. Will you introduce mel"
Celia sank down in ii chair, vexed nnd despairing. " I will do what ymi like, Alice, of course; hut this Hoom« to nio a curious gr(!oting for a sister."
" Colin, my darling," said Alice, em- hr.acing her, " I am sorry if I have scorned unkind or uuinterciited to you. Noth- ing in tho world is of such value to mo as your affection."
" Nothing ? " said Celia, curiously, and Alice, the quiet Alice, looked ilown and colored. "Come, Alice," said Celia, seizing her sister's hand, " I shall not 1)0 in so good a mood again very likely, HO make tho most of this opportunity." She drew her into a large antcohamher whore tho actors were talking in groups. Antoinetta, apparently just ready to go home, for she wore a cloak, stood jest- ing with several young fellows. Colia api)ronchcd her, and with groat dignity, notwithstanding her deshabille, said, " Miss HUnton, if you are not too much engaged, a friend of mine wishes an introduction."
Antoinetta stared, b»it answered good- humoredly enough : " Well, young gen- tlemen, I believe I am not ougngod to any of you, so good night," and she fol- lowed Celia to the part of tho room where Alice stood.
"Miss Wilding, Jliss Hiinten," said Celia, and, turning abruptly, she entered her own dressing-room.
^,ZiWm''}Jwmm
^•mrr
Alice hluHliod deeply with the ellort of speaking to a stranger, inif, Hiimiiion- iiig all her courage, she said in her own Hwoot way: ".Miss llilnttii, I saw you play when you nnd I were both ehil- droll, and I have niways wIsIumI to tli:ink you for tho enjoyment you gave nn-, but i huvo never soon you again till now. iSo I begged my frioml Mrs. jtrown to introduce mo."
" How long did you have to beg my lYfi/ ;fiioif friend, .Mrs, Itrowiil" askod Antoinetta, lifting hor oyubniWH Hnr- casticnlly.
Alice did not notice tho rpu'stion, though it nnnoyod her, but she went on, anxiously remembering that nIio must not iiotrny her sister.
"My litflo MiHtor an<l myself hoard you at a .Snturilay afternoon Motinii; and wo lolt so sorry that wo had no flowers to give you that tho next day we gnthored nn nrinful of cnrdinnls and gontiaiiH and sent them in a box of mossoH to you."
Antoinetta started. " Wlint ! " said she, "Alii'oiind Colia Wilding ! I linvo tho little note you scut still " ; and then, as if afraid of seeming Horioiis a siimij moiuoiit, she added, " It vas siicii an unsopliisticatod little piece of ooinjiosi- tion that even at that early day I saw tho joke, and kept it."
Alice's eyoH tilled with tears. "Wo hoped tho flowers would please yon, buf, as you say, wo were uiiHophisti- cateil. At any rate, you gave ns ti great deal of pleasure and wo thanked you."
"O, they did ploan'" me," said An- toinetta, carelessly. " Jtlnse people aro always most pleased with inisophisti- cated things. Don't you think it must bo an odd feeling to bo Uane/ "
" A very sad fooling, I should think," said Alice, oaniestly. " If you really feel so, I wish you would come and soo me and take as nuich comfort from my unsophistication as you can. i live aiono
in No. 7 X Street. I teach soino
hours every day, but I am almost always at home after nightfall."
"Heigh-ho ! " said Antoinetta ; "you are a ni/vt ain's. Perhaps I slmll come, so good night to you." She turned negligently awny, and Alice was obliged to seek her sister alone.
,l>V*i.ui>>jyill^illl^
"^;*TT
102
SOMETHING TO DO.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
" A LADY to see you, miss," said _l\. the nmid-of-all-work in the lodg- iug-iiouse to Alice. " She did n't send hti' name, but she is dressed in black." " Ask her to conio to my room," said Alice, thinking it must bo her sister, but wondering why she had not come directly up sti Jrs.
The lady entered and bowed pro- fomidly, but did not miso her veil till the door had been closed behind her. Although in black, she was dressed very differently from Celia, who, always per- fectly neat, cared nothing for any dress except a gorgeous one, and for that, now, only on tho stage. The visitor's dress was plain, yet it had a very im- posing air, for her train was of enormous length and she managed it with the utmost grace. Her vuil was of crape, and so thick as wholly to conceal her countenance, while in length it almost matched her train. Every article she wore was of great elegance, and though she was not tall, her figure and bear- ing were very striking. Slie raised her veil and showed a pi-oud, clear, beautiful, pallid face. The contour of the features was exquisite, and seemed strangely familiar, yet Alice could not tell where she had seen it before.
" Don't you know me. Miss Wilding t " said the young lady. " Well, I am not painted to-day." Her delicate lip curled with scorn.
"Antoinina!" said Alice, quickly, holding out her hand.
" Antonia Hiiuten, — yes," said the young lady, without taking the oft'ered hand. Then, glancing around the room, she added, "Do you really live all alone in this sweet, quiet, pure little roomV'
"Yes," said Alice, "alone unless I can find a visitor, and I am very happy to see you. Sit here in the easy-chair, will you not ] "
"No, I will not sit," said Antonia, pirouetting on one toe, "at least not in a chair. Heavens ! do you think I could talk to anybody seated in a Christian way like other people ] " She perched herself on a little table, with her cmling lip and her mocking smile.
Alice was at a loss what to do, and said nothing.
" Won't you talk to me 1 " continued Antoinina. " It is impolite to make mo talk for myself. I can address the parquet, but I am not accustomed to a tete-il-tefe."
Alice was looking at her, and in an instant she half colored and said in a vexed tone, " At least, I have had few enough ie(e-d.-tctes with women. I see you aie like the rest of them. Perliaps you are sorry you invited me here."
"No, indeed," said Alice, earnestly. " I should not liave asked you to como if I had not really wished it. If I don't talk to you, believe it is owing to my awkwardness, and not from want of interest in you."
" Want of interest ! By no means," said Antonia, sarcastically, and with an expression of wormwood on her face. " The saintly benevolence with which yoimg ladies who are immaculate look at ballet-girls should not be called want of interest, /«r from it." She drawled the last three words in her most stage-struck manner. " Most people don't approve of ballet - girls, though they stare themselves blind looking at them."
" That is wrong," said Alice ; " every one should be judged for himself, and not for his occupation."
"Good sentiment!" said Antonia. "A very proper thing to say, but con- fess that you think yourself a good deal purer than I."
Alice was in despair. It seemed as if she was not going to be able to say anything, Antonia was on such dan- gerous ground.
" Oho ! " laughed Antonia at her si- lence, and then, with her bitterest look, she added : " I suppose, on the whole, you are judging me for myself by what you have heard from other people. This is a beautiful and just world ! "
Alice felt so condemned that she spoke at once. " Forgive me. No one has a right to let herself be prejudiced, and perhaps I have."
"Quite as much as 'perhaps,' I should think," remarked Antonia. " Miss Wilding, you think you are perfect, of course, though perhapfe you call yourself a ' miserable sinner,' but you
jiLBifiVT-j- ■ ri-"Tt"'"i' I I ■■'■'•■*—'—"« ■' iiftni»«
.VV«»n'H^iW<iftri'-
SOMETHING TO DO.
103
tvhat to do, and said
to inc 1 " continued
inij)olite to nmko
I can address the
not accustomed to a
cj at her, and in an lorcd and said in a ast, I have had few vith women. I seo it of them. Perhaps nvitcd me here." aid Alice, earnestly. B nskcd you to como vished it. If I don't 3 it is owing to my not from want of
38t ! By no means," stically, and with an nwood on her face, evolencc with which are immaculato look Id not be called want m it." She drawled iords in her most ler. " Most people ballot - girls, though Ives blind looking at
" said Alice ; " every
ged for himself, and
ion."
lit ! " said Antonia.
ling to say, but con-
: yourself a good deal
spair. It seemed as ng to be able to say k was on such dan-
d Antonia at her si- ith her bitterest look, ippose, on the whole,
me for myself by u'd from other people.
and just world ! " condemned that she Forgive me. No one herself be prejudiced, e."
ich as 'perhaps,' I arked Antonia. "Miss ink you are perfect, h perhapfe you call able sinner,' but you
are mijust, hard, and cniel. Do you suppose a ballet-girl ever lived of whom the worst and most shameful things were not said, whether they were true or not 1 You ought to know enough, to liavo charity enough, to guess that in a hundred cases the tales are wrong."
She. spoke with such vehemence that Alice felt that she had in truth been very unjust, notwithstanding all she had heard.
"The reason you invited me here," said Antonia, " was because you Avished to do mo good. That shows a despica- ble, contemptible nature. You wished me to be humbled, to bo made to feel your superiority, and to have yourself the pleasure of feeling how much better you are than I. I have come purposely to tell you what a Pharisee you are. You would be very kind, I have no doubt. I suppose you never thought what un- kindness it is to trample down one's pride."
" You wrong me," said Alice, looking very much disturbed. " And I believe, as you do, that one can hardly do much good to anybody if drawn to the work by no other motive than to do good."
" Ah ! " said Antonia, lifting her eye- brows, " that is not what most persons think. It is all the more meritori- ous to work for those they despise, and I guess you believe so too ; you look like one of the ' universal brotherhood ' kind of people."
" I can hardly explain just how I do feel," said Alice. " I would help any one whom I had power to help. But then I feel this too, — no one has power to help every one, and we should re- spect the reserve of any nature not in sympathy with our own, and not force ourselves upon it in the mistaken hope of doing it good."
Antonia's face softened for a moment. " You are a little better than the rest. I suppose that is the reason I took the trouble to tell you your faults. Yet," and she grew hard again, " that does n't affect the fact that you meant to do me good whether you meant to be rude enough to gain ray confidence or not. And I tell you, you are a Pharisee. A few people in the world have arrogated to themselves the business of settling what is the unpardonable sin. Let one
make the least slip in that direction, though pure as an angel in every other, let one yield to a temptation which might make the sun stand still, and the doom is annoimccd forever. Tliey are the off'scouring of the earth. Then ' we pious, cruel, mean people will du good to them. We will let our dainty feet walk through the mud to them, wo will flash our white robes through their grimy dwellings, and be glad to do it for the satisfaction of feeling that they are mud and that wo tread on them.' "
With color in her checks, Alice spoke. "Because we know that the mud is of clay and sand and soot and water, and clay crystallizes as a sapphire, and sand as an opal, and soot as a. dia- mond, and water as a star of snow, and we know we may walk in white in tho city whose 'foundations are garnished with all manner of precious stones.' " *
Antonia looked thunderstruck for a moment. Then she chassed across tho room, then she stopped, and, tossing her dress over her arm so as to show her exquisite arch*. ' foot, she began a most difficult pas, which was so irresistibly funny that even Alice laughed till she cried. Antonia, however, preserved per- fect gravity till she had finished. Then she stopped short in front of Alice with her hands on her hips, and remarked : " How much do you get a line for your poetry, Miss Wilding? They ought to pay you well, for it is really very charming. I am deeply interested in your fascinating conversation. Pray, go on."
" How can I go on," said Alice, " if you believe me insincere 1 "
" That sounds well," said Antonia, bowing in a patronizing way. " Do go on."
Alice was silent, really vexed that she was so wilfully misinterpreted. An- tonia folded her arms. "Miss Wild- ing," said she, ''your pretty little illustration was calculated to throw mo off tho track, but I have n't yet forgot- ten what I came to say, and I am going to say it till I make it plain enough for you to understand. I wish you to
• This idea of the mud is from Ruskin, but of course Alice could not j^uote him by name in such a conversation.
1!K«fei^iN?f!«T"
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faftwA«-<^iirar;lii,i^>iH'ii'i"' iiri-'i>*>''fflW
104
SOMETHING TO DO.
iigrocd to call right, rijlht. It is iirbitruvy
know that one sin is as much a sin as another, and that yon arc no better than I am, than 1 should lie if the stories about mc were true. You sin according to your temptations, and some one else arcordinp; to hers. IJccauso you live a life which Pharisees like yourself have
think you arc You arc as bad actually in the sight of Heaven as any girl of the town. That is what I am determined you shall understand."
" Yes," said Alice, with a half-smile. " But what if 1 had not yielded to my temptations as others have to theirs 1 What then 'i "
" Ah ! now you begin to show your nature," said Antonia, scornfully. " 1 thought you would not cudurc that without asserting yourself."
" Remember," said Alice, with pride, "that 1 have not yet said that I have not yielded ; but i/on know nothing about it cither way, and have no right to say that I have. 1 should be a hypocrite if I said I believed myself the greatest sinner on earth, but " (she now spoke gently again) " I am true when I say that I know enough evil of myself to make me think that perhaps in the eyes of God I may be the greatest sin- ner of all."
Antonia looked at her scarchingly. " I almost believe you arc sincere. What did you mean by saying you thought little good could be done ex- cept to those in sympathy with one, or something of that kind 1 I suppose you don't fancy yourself in sympathy with me, — do you ■? "
" I thought I could understand you perhaps," said Alice. " I don't mean that I tliought myself able to read you, or learn any outward act of yours which you do not choose to tell ; simply that I could comprehend much in your nature."
" Af — m," said Antonia. " Doii't you think, on the whole, that it was rather presuming to take it for gi-antcd that you were to do me good instead of my doing you good 1 "
" I think all good done is mutual," said Alice.
" Pooh ! " said Antonia. " Whatever might have been the result, the motive is the main thing. I hardly think your
motive was the good I was to do you ; if so, it was a mighty selfish one."
Alice could hardly help being iunuscd. " What motive may I have then," asked she, with a smile, " if I may neither wish to bestow or to receive good ] "
" You may nuvke no attempt to know any one from any motive at all, except that you arc attracted. Get over the everlasting desire to pry into other peo- ple's affairs."
" I suppose I must have been wrong," said Alice, perplexed ; " I must have been, for I fancied 1 might understand yon, and I am totally at fault."
" Perhaps I might give you a clew, though," broke in Antonia. But as she lulded no more, Alice said, sadly, " I hope you will forgive me if, by want of tact, I have wounded you, and believe that it ^/as not wilful uukindncss on my part."
Antonia began whistling thoughtfully. Then she stuck her bonnet on one side of her head and began a gay little prom- enade, singing mctuitimc a comic song for which slic had gained gi'cat applause. As before, she stoppecl before Alice with her arms akimbo, and with the same mocking look she had worn in playing the part of Mcphistopheles in the burlcscpie drama of Faust, she said : " On the whole. Miss Wilding, I don't mind giving you the clew. 0, you are a jolly green 'un ! " There w as such absolute perfection and delicacy in her emmciation that she was able to uso any slang phrase without in the least approaching coarseness.
" A babe could take you in, mum," continued Antonia, bowing in an exag- gerated manner. " You lack ordinary understanding. I dare say you would read character admirably except fur the fatal fact that you don't suppose it pos- sible for anybody to tell a lie. I guess you might have managed to understand even mc, if those unfortimato tales about me had been true ; and to make the matter clear to your one-sided com- prehension, I don't know but I may as well state that they are true, and worse ones, I dare say."
She looked at Alice and laughed to sec her distress. " What if they are "i " she continued. " Just as wrong things
are true of yoUj
though
not the same
iitijylMliillWiWitfl im-"'f '■■'■-"«"■''-■-""'•>- ' • i«- :Mi.i^<tm«i>itmu>i>^.iMmtmi!K«K>mfi4^^
•m I umii itmrtmrn"^''
SOMETHING TO DO.
106
i I wns to do you ; >' Belfisli one." help being iiuiuscd. 1 liave thou," tisked " if I nmy neither receive good ] " no attempt to know otivc lit nil, except ted. Get over tho pry into other peo-
it have liccn wrong," id ; "I must have . might understand !y at fault." it give you a clew, ntonia. But as sho lice said, sadly, " I 0 me if, by want of ed you, and believe Iful uukiudness on
istling thoughtfully, bonnet on one side ivn a gay little prom- iitimc a comic song lined gi-cat applause. 3pped before Alice aibo, and with the i she had worn iu r Mephistophelcs iu ii of Faust, sho said : iss Wilding, I don't e clew. 0, you arc ' There was such and delicacy iu her lie was able to uso fithout in the least
ICSS.
take you in, mum,"
bowing in an exag-
" You lack ordinary
[laro say you would
irably except fur tlip
don't suppose it pos-
) tell a lie. I guess
nagcd to understand
0 unfortiuiato tales
true ; and to make
your one-sided com-
know but I may as
r are true, and worse
ilico and laughed to ' What if they are "i " Fust as wrong things hough not the same
things probably. What do you make of thai 1 "
" I believe it may be so," said Alice, " because I have no right to judge you. And yet I should bo untruthful if I did not say that I think you are doing very wrong. If I do wrong too, that cannot make you right, and I have certainly listened patiently enougii while , you have beiated me to claim that you j will let me speak so to you." |
" Yes, you have," said Antonia. " I will forgive you on that account. Tt is only fair ; you have earned tho right to lecture mo on the hcinousucss of my sins, thougii it is supremely foolish, be- cause you know nothing about them. Suppt)se I do fulfil tho popular notion of a ballet-girl, just where is tho harm?"
She spoko carelessly enough, yet Alice thought she detected an under- current of eai'uestness.
" In degrading the lioliness of love."
" M — m," said Antonia. " That may bo an open question. As for tho koli- 7i€ms of lore, what do half tho people who are married care about that ? Yet they are ]iure as snow, of course, an<l have a rigiit to turn up their lofty noses at lis, |x)or creatures."
" Then they degrade it too," said Alice ; " but that does not prove you right."
" What a queer chick you are ! " said Antonia, pretending to be lost in con- templating Alice. " What a funny world this would bo if everybody were as logical as you and acted up to his own convictions ! I really begin to think that you don't believe that custom and tradition have the power to make one thing right and another wrong arbitra- rily."
" I certainly don't believe that," said Alice ; " yet " (and her voice became full of earnestness) " my whole nature cries out to mo that you aro doing very, very wrong, and I beg you, I entreat you, by all the nobleness in you, that you will be true to yourself."
A quick, impatient flush crossed An- tonia's features and then faded again. "True to myself!" she echoed, with a withering look, " I «»» true to myself. You had better urge me, as the Method- ists do, to change niy nature, if you hope to do me any good. Nothing leas
14
•"«p^flR«,*^*
than a complete metamorphosis of soul and body would answer."
" 0," said Alice, " I believe that there aro possibilities in your nature which you hardly suspect. Only bo true to the highest in you."
" Miss Wilding," said Antonia, bend- ing forward in her earnestness, " if yoii had judged me harshly 1 should have told you that you were unjust and cruel, yet / know — O Miss Wilding, I would gladly lay down my life this moment if i believed myself v.orthy to touch your hand ! " She turned suddenly, and left the room and the house before Alice could speak to her.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
CELIA stayed only a very short time iu the city. Sho had not dared to make a long engagement, as she could not be certain of Dick's movements, and she had an excessive repugnance to jilay- ing with Antoinetta. Tho latter, how- ever, was engaged for some weeks, and so it happened that one day, walking on tho Common, Alice met her face to face. She wore the same black suit she wore when sho had made her memorable visit, and was effectually disguised so far as most of her friends were con- cerned, but, of course, Alice knew her at once. They had nearly passed each other when Antoinetta stopped. " You did not mean to recognize mo ? " sho said in a proud, mocking tone.
" I thought if you wished to speak to me, you would," said Alice, stopping too.
"0 yes," said Antoinetta. "I did not wish to speak to you. I meant never to speak to you again. But Fate has made us meet, and makes mo speak, I suppose."
Alice was silent. She was always entirely at a loss what to say to this strange girl, except in answer to a di- rect question. It vexed Antonia to see this, and yet she would have been in- censed by any casual remai-k, or by any question which might show a curiosity about her affairs.
" You will not speak," said sho. " Ah well ! but I must say several things to
IOC
SOMETHING TO DO.
you. Would you mind walking with mol"
Alice hesitated. She hated herself for it. She wanted to be true in act to her belief that nothing external can in- jure us, and yet it was hard to bo asked to walk in open day with such a woman as this. True, it was not probable tluit her companion would be recognized by any one. Still Alice thought it would be insincere to agi'ee to do anything bIic should bo ashamed to have known. And with Antonia Bincerity was her oul} hope.
" I will walk with you," said she, " but you know that it could not be pleasant for mo to have my friends know it. Will you go homo with mo and talk with me there 1 "
A spasm of pain passed from head to foot of the ballet - girl ; but she an- swered, " You tell the truth, and that is some comfort. Yes, I will go with you."
They said nothing more till they were in Alice's room. Then Antoinctta threw back her veil and began.
" You ask mo to bo good, that is, good according to your ideas. And yet you show me how the past must always drag mo down by being unwilling to walk with me."
" Tho past or the present 1 " said Alice.
" What do you know of my present, — or my past cither, for that matter," said Antonia, impatiently. "Suppose, for the sake of the argument, that I had determined, just after our last talk, to change my way of living entirely, and had kept my resolution till now, it woidd have modo no difference with you when I asked you to walk with me."
" Because I can see such a little way," replied Alice. " I can't read your heart, or know your motives. It would be natural that you should feel that I am unjust and that you have been hurt ; but I think the comfort of knowing the reality would have sustained you."
" Ah, I wonder if it would ! " said Antonia, musingly. "Perhaps so, be- cause I am proud. Listen to me," she added. " I am going to tell j'ou some- thing about my lii'e. You are tinjust, but less so than other people, and so I
have a fancy to toll you that which would make some people pity mo."
"And you are determined that I shall not pity, but justify you," said Alice, quickly.
" Perhaps. Listen, at any rate. My mother was a ballet-dancer, a good dancer, but not a good wonuui, nor yet a very bad one, — as good to mo as mothers in general, I suppose, bringing mo up in her own code, which is all that any mother does. As a child, I loved her. I have not always loved her since, when I have reflected what a ditt'erenco it would have made to me if she liad been a different woman. But I know now that she was n't so very much to blame. Her mother had been a ballet-dancer, and so back through generations. We have a proud pedigree, though obscure in name, since we trace it entirely through the female side of the house, — hoitse, by the way, we have had none."
There was supreme bitterness on her lips and in her voice, and she could not resist the impulse to tuck her dress into her belt and begin a swift, whirling dance, snapping her fingers above her head to imitate castanets. She stopped in a moment, however, and said, " Is it best to go on 1 "
" I wish you would," said Alice, "but you must do as you like."
"0 well, in a word, wo have all lioen illegitimate children, with tho usual characteristics of such. It would be mean and cruel in me to blame my mother for having been like me because sho was trained as I have been. Sho was excessively pretty and a gi'eat flirt, that is, she would have been a great flirt if she had been a rich man's daughter ; but, as it was, she was worse, — what people call worse, but I suppose her motives were about the same, love of admiration and power. I inherit tho same traits, I find it verj' jolly to flirt."
The haggard look which came into her eyes as she spoke did not make it seem as if her words were true.
" I was familiar when a child with many things which I shall not venture to shock you by repeating. They seemed natural enough, and not hideous as they would to a child who looked at them only after learning something bet- ter. If there had been any purity in
I
hM>
/
18
you that which )plo pity mo." otenniucd that I justify you," sniJ
at any rate. My -dancer, a good :kI woman, nor yet good to me as suppose, bringing e, which is all that 8 a child, } loved ays loved her since, d what a difference me if she had been But I know now ery much to blimio. sen a ballet-dancer, 1 generations. We ree, though obscure trace it entirely lide of the house, — c have had none." nc bitterness on her e, and she could not :> tuck her dress into n a swift, whirling r fingers above her ;anet8. She stopped !ver, and said, " la it
lid," said Alice, "but I like."
word, we have all children, with the ;s of such. It would in me to blame my been like me because 8 1 have been. She itty and a gi-eat flirt, have been a great flirt rich man's daughter ;
0 was worse, — what but 1 suppose her
it the same, love of ower. I inherit the it veiy jolly to flirt." )ok which came into loke did not make it da were true, r when a child with
1 1 shall not venture ly repeating. They ough, and not hideous a child who looked at arning something bet- 1 been any purity in
SOMETIIINO TO DO,
107
my nature, I should have turned from them instinctively, of course."
0 the bitter, bitter smile !
"However, I did not turn away, possildy because I never saw anything to contrast with my life. I learned mu- sic and dancing and writing, but as for rciuling I had no great taste for that except in a dramatic point of view, and we never had any books. The plays 1 took part in wore scenic entirely, and 1 never heanl a single tragedy, not even a comedy with a moral, till I was fifteen. There were plenty of such plays at the theatres, of course ; but 1 liked admira- tion, and unless I was going to j)lay my- self 1 thought it would be stupid to go to the theatre, which 1 knew only in its dismal look behind tiie scenes. I had a great many gay things in my life, but 1 never had one element of what you would call purity till I was fifteen. 1 was (jnick and bright, but it was n't in me to think much, so while I seemed to have seen a great deal of the world, I was in absolute ignorance of any mode of life except my own till I was fif- teen."
She stopped here, as if astonished at having said so much in a sober manner, and whistled the Mocking Bird with the most exquisite and comical varia- tions.
" And when you were fifteen? " asked Alice anxious!}', when she paused.
" Ah ! " said Antoinetta, lifting her eyebrows, " you expect the love-story is coming in here. That is the part that interests all sentimental young ladies so ; and then they pity us, 0, so, — and then marry our lovers. But, for my part, I did n't fiiU in love at fifteen, and I guess I never did. I don't know as 1 can tell you what happened to mo when I was fifteen."
Alice dared not ask. " On tlio whole, / unit tell you what happened when I was fifteen."
She paused again, and Alice almost believed she had gone to sleep, for she had leaned back in her chair and closed her cye.s for so long a time. Suddenly, however, she resumed, but without opening her eyes.
" I sprained my ankle one night, not badly, but enough to make it impossible to duuce for several days. I had never
been ill a day in my life, and it was very irksome to stay by myself. Somebody asked me to go to the theatre with him to while away the time. He said he would bring a carriage for mo, and as I could walk with a little help, it was easy enough to go. It was stmnge that I had never been before to see any play in which I had not a part ; and 1 was so ignorant that 1 did not know that the young gentleman would not have ven- tured to take mo if he had not been a total stranger in the city. I thought I should enjoy going.
" 0 well, the play was a third-rate sort of a thing, and the acting not very gooil ; but the story seemed to me abso- lutely new. It was of a girl who kept herself pure through all temptation, and married the only man she had loved at the close. Original, was n't it ] "
She opened her eyes and laughed a bitter laugh.
" And what did you think 1 " asked Alice, almost breathlessly.
" What did I think 1 Oh ! " There could be no mistake. A blush, a real rosy blush, spread over Antoinetta's face. There must have been reserve in her nature to make it so hard for her to tell that which had affected her so much. " I thought that if I could staii; pure then, I could do as the heroine did. I knew I had will and pride enough for that, and then — I knew the past was irrevocable."
Her voice suddenly quivered. She seemed to try, almost with agony, to prevent herself from faltering in her pride, but she gfive way entirely, and with her face bowed in her hands she cried aloud, still struggling to control herself, but sobbing in temble, half- repressed waves.
Alice felt her whole soul overflow with sympathy, and she could not resist the impulse to throw her arms about the convulsed figure ; but Antoinetta pushed her awav, and through her sobs articulated " Wait."
It was many minutes before she be- came quiet, but at last she was able to speak.
" I would have died before I would have spoken to you, if I had known that I should show you this," said she; " but now that I have spoken, I must
1
108
SOMETHING TO DO.
any tlio rest I hnvc to say, and you must not 8iiy niiything.
" I was not i},'iionint in every way, but I liiid never known before the price tlie world ])uts on whiit it eidls virtue. After this, my senses were slinrpened, and I soon learned tiie whole. 1 knew that 1 might go on as 1 hud done for a Inm- dred years, and that in the eyes of other ]ieoj)le I should he no worse than I was then. I had done wrong, and that was the end for me."
"The world is severe," said Aliec, " hut not so hard as that. All are ready to forgive one sin, — at least, all charitable people."
" Possibly," said Antoinotta, with darkening eyes ; " but mine had not been one sin. I had loved no one. No one can forgive that kind of sin 1 "
She raised her voice as if to ask a question while she made the assertion. Alice found it harder and harder to say anything of comfort to her. Slie was forced to rejjly : " It is riglit that the distinction should be made between love and that which debases it. It is, it ought to be, easier to excuse that which me:ely trespasses npon a legal right than that which is in itself wrong. There may bo a true marriage when the tie has not been sanctioned by a clergyman, though I believe it is not often so, bnt — "
" You need not say what," said An- toinetta. " I know very well what yon mean. That is what makes mo so hor- rible to myself If I had sinned from love alone, do j'ou siipposc I should count myself impure 1 "
Alice thonght sadly of Dora, and knew that the remorse would have been as bitter, though the sin wonld have hovu so much less. Is it when we have done a deeper wrong that a lesser one seems nothing?
" I have that in me," continued An- toinettii, " which would make mo able to stand up gayly against the whole woi-ld if I felt myself right. If I had sinned for love, even if I coxmted it sin, I should hold my head up high — high ; but I am ashamed to have done a — low thing."
Her voice sank, her head drooped, she looked hopeless in her sad beau-
" It is not the niii, you see, which weighs upon mo," she continued, "nor the shame before the world, but the shame to myself."
" If that is it," said Alice, suddenly, " yoH need not lose liopo. Bo what you wish you were."
A strange look crossed Antoinctta's face. The spirit of caprice again pos- sessed her, and silently, in a musing way, she danced about the I'oom for three or four minutes. Then she said : " I did n't finish my story. I told you that I thought all these tlKUights at that time and concluded that 1 was completely f/one. If I had been pure then, I think I shoidd have stayed so ; but I saw no particular reason for changing my way of life, since nothing could change the past. 1 liked the gayety of it too. But suico I am telling the truth for once " (the bitter laugh again) " I will confess that from that moment to this I have never found myself thoroughly enjoying it. I have liked the glitter and excitement, have purposely involved myself deeper and deeper to keep from thinking, but I have n't enjoyed it."
" And now you are sorry," said Alice, simply.
" I don't know," said Antoinotta, with an impatient gesture. " I don't believe I want to change. No other kind of life could suit me so well, miserable as this is. I was born for a dancer. See hci'C ! " She raised her long black dress above the ankle. It was an ex- cjuisite ankle, and her foot was beautiful, slender, and arched.
" You see I was meant to dance. It is in every fibre of my being, mental and physical. You are beautiful. Miss Wilding, that is, your fiice is beautiful, but what Qan a person with a flat chest and an ankle with a bone in it like yours" (she glanced at the foot of Alice, who wore a short dress and stout loose boots) '' know about the thrill / feel when the bewitching music begins and I find myself flying through space with an ecstasy as if I had wings, and see dimly the thousands of eyes which glow ' as I float, and feel the soft rain of roses about me 1 " She had spoken with great excitement, and the color came quickl\'. Then she stopped as suddenly as she
a
sin, you 8CC, v.liicli
ihc continued, " war
tlio worlil, but tlic
siiid Alice, suddenly, hope. Bo what you
crossed Antoinettii's
f ca])ricc nguin pos-
cntly, in ii musing
fibout the room for
tcs. Then she snid :
my story. I told
it nil these thoughts
oncluded that 1 was
If I had been })uro
3uld have stayed so ;
)articular reason for
of life, since nothiuff
past. I liked the
But since I am telling
!e " (the bitter laugh
mfcss that from tliat
I have never found
■ enjoying it. I have
and excitement, have
;d myself deeper and
from thinking, but I
it."
are sorry," said Alice,
" said Antoinetta, with ;ure. " I don't believe e. No other kind of ! so well, miserable as 3rn for a dancer. See iiised her long black ankle. It was an cx- . her foot was beautiful, ed. is meant to dance. It
of my being, mental 'ou are l)eautiful, Miss your face is beautiful, crson with a fl.at chest ith a bone in it like meed at the foot of \ short dress and stout )w about the thrill / feel ling music begins and ng through space with
I had wings, and see nds of eyes which glow ' A the soft rain of roses ! liad spoken with great the color came quickh'. cd as suddenly as she
SOMETHING TO DO.
100
had begun, and seemed ashamed to hiive said so nnich of her feelings. But she tossed Iier head and went on : " I suppose you tliink I am ridicidous, but 1 have genius, thougli of a kind you can't appreciate, and it is j)resump- tion in you to ask mc to give up my
" I shoidd not daro ask it," said Alice. " You are mistaken in thinking 1 ever have. Every one who has genius fulfils liis duty only when ho is carrj-- ing out that genius. You ouf/ht to dance. Do you feel dancing and the rest of your life to bo inseparable 1 "
" How can they bo separated ] " said Antoinetta, with energy. " Tlio same traits which make mo a good dancer act to make me a thousand other things. I might bo converted, or something, but all my old friends would give mo up, and of course no church body would patronize mo while I dance."
" You would n't wish it," said Alice, smiling.
" No, I should n't," said Antoinetta ; " b»it you see I shoiild lose all compan- ions, and that would kill me. I am social in my nature. I could have been tho greatest belle in the country if I had only been brought up difl'erontly. I can't bo alone. I hate to read, and I won't think."
" We can never do a great right with- out being willing to suffer for it," said Alice, earnestly ; " and though you don't think it, you would find compensation, a fiill compensation, in knowing your- self pure in your own soul."
" Ah, yes ! " said Antoinetta, with a qiiivoring voice. " Do you suppose I ever could feel that if I lived pure for a hvmdred years 1 "
"Yes, I know you would," replied Alice ; " you would learn that God has made it imj)ossiblo for any past to crush us."
" Miss Wilding," said Antoinetta, in a thrilling tone, "I never believed that such hopo and faith could come into my heart as you bring to it, but 0, you do not guess what you ask of me ! It is that I shall put away all pleasant dreams out of my life. I was born to love, and I can never marry."
"O, you cannot tell," began Alice, but Antoinetta stopped her sternly.
" I am' not speaking at random. You won t luiderstand, because I nnist seem so different to ymi ; but I could never marry a man wlio did not irx/inl me. Even in the wild life 1 have lived I have been so proud that I have forced people to re8|)ect me. I suppose you think there might bo some hirge-soiiled man who would pity mo perhaps enough to many me. I tliink there are no such, and, if there wore, I would die before I would marry a man who did not set mo like a star al)ovo him. You seo that could never be."
"Perhaps not," said Alice. " I think I was wrong. You must not look for happiness, though I am sure it will come to you when you look for it least, or something higher. Just think what it would be to bo really as high as a star, thougli no one called you one. And how much higher is tho star which rises from the earth than tho one which has always shono in tho heavens ! "
" I fancy tho mould would always cling to it," said Antoinetta, curling her lip. " Moreover, to change the subject, I have a lover at this present moment. I suspect I might have loved him if ho had been tho first. So you see my way would not bo an easy ouo. Good night."
She rose so swiftly that Alice had barely time to seize her hand and de- tain her while she said : " I do not ask your confidence, I do not ask a prom- ise ; but 0, I beg you to be true to tho nobler life awakening in you, and I promise you that I will always and everywhere be a friend to you, that I will love you, and respect you, and help you if I can."
" You fiave helped mo ; but wo walk different ways. I do not want you for a friend. It would be ridiculous for me to make a promise which I should break to-morrow. By-by," She laughed and waved her hand coquettishly as she broke away from Alice's grasp and ran lightly down stairs.
Nevertheless, when her lover next came to her he received the unprece- dented message that she was engaged, and would ho have the goodness not to repeat his call. As tho worst construc- tion is often put on the best deeds, he believed she had proved faithless to him.
.a
pf
110
SOMETHING TO DO.
CHAPTER XXXV.-
ROBERT," said Misa Twifrjr, " that, Nickcrson Ims juHt Mcnt hiw boy rouiul tu Hay lio Iihh huiiiu new paintings to hIiow you, and ho wants you to go down to his studio this afternoon."
" iJon't want to seo 'cm," growled Robert, fiercely.
" Ye.s, you do," said Miss Twigg. " You shall go in a close carriage, and I will take care that nobody sees you."
Now Robert did particularly wish to go. Ho had no other place of ainuso- nicnt to which he could go, for ho would never show himself in public, and he had no friends to visit. Moreover, ho was passionately fond of pictures, and Nick- erson painted well. Then Nickcraon was always polite to him.
'• Did he say nobody else would be there 1 " asked ho, still ungraciously.
" Of course no one else 'will be there. He never admits any one when you go."
"Afraid they could n't appreciate the pictures for looking at me, I suppose," said Robert with a grim smile, though he knew full well that Nickersou's mo- tive was wholly a kind one.
However, he went ; Miss Twigg stand- ing guard for a quarter of an jiour be- fore he started to seo that no prying ej'cs should obtain a sight of the mis- shapen being. When they reached the studio, she helped Robert up the stairs into the anteroom, and then left him,- taking that time to do some errands. Robert knocked. Usually Nickerson's voice answered instantly, but to-day Robert heard a hasty scuffling sound, and his lieart sank in terror lest some one else should be present. In a mo- ment, however, Nickerson opened the door and held out his hand with even more than his usual cordiality, but it was evident he was somewhat excited and disturbed. Robert looked about suspiciously, but saw no one.
" Perhaps you don't want to see me," said he, in his grating voice, " but you should n't send for me then."
" 0, I did," said Nickerson, uneasily. " I want to show you this new little sketch of mine, worked up from one of my summer studies." He spoke hastily, and drew Robert's attention to the other side of the room. But in bis
haste his arm brushed against a pile of papers, and one of them fell to the lloor, carrjing with it a tiny woman's glove. Robert looked at it sharply and paused.
"Ralph Nickerison," said he, "you are jilaying mo a trick. There is some- body hero, sonic one who will see me, though you know how I fee! about it. Tell mo the truth. To please a silly woman's fancy, you have promised to give her a sight of the hideous dwarf ! " His voice rose fairly into fury as ho went on.
" Good Heavens ! " said Nickerson, " you must think me a monster to con- ceive such a thing. You shall know the tnith, rather than believe that. There is a lady in the next room who came to me very unexpectedly to-day, and she wishes not to bo seen as nnich as you do. She also wishes to leave this house at once. If j'ou will promise not to look at her while she passes through this room, as she must, she will promise not to look at j'ou."
" And how shall / know whether she keeps her promise t " asked Robert, suspiciously.
Nickerson was about to reply angrily, but the sight of the dwarf's piteous face touched him, and ho said, " Conceal yourself behind that drapery, and that will answer the purpose."
Robert did as ho was requested, and Nickerson went into tho inner room, and spoke earnestly for several minutes with some one within. Then Robert heard footsteps in the room, and then — alas, for human nature ! but Robert was morbidly sensitive — he peeped t'lrough a little hole in the curtain, and just caught one glimpse of the retreat- ing figure, — a lady, richly and stylishly dressed, but her face was averted and covered with one of those lace veils which scarcely conceal the face at all. This veil, however, must have been particu- larly selected, for though it looked like others, it ' had a certain thickness of pattern which served completely to hide the coimtenance of the wearer.
In a moment Nickerson lifted the curtain, and said in a weary tone, "Well, Robert, she is gone."
Robert looked reproachfully into his face. There w^as sometimes a wonder- ful power in the eyes of this misshapen
10(1 ngninRt a pile of
thorn lull to tho lloor,
tiny woman's glovo.
Hlmri»ly and |mnsc(l.
son," Raid ho, "y«)u
iok. Thcro iu sonic-
110 who will 800 mo,
how I fco! about it.
To ploaso a silly
II havo promised to
tho hidoouB dwarf ! "
irly into fury as ho
! " said Nickerson, mo a monstor to con- You shall know
than hcliovc that.
11 tho next room who
unexpcctodly to-<lay,
. to bo seen as much
also wishes to leave
If you will promise
icr while she passes
n, as sho must, she
a look at you."
1 / know whether she
80 1 " asked Robert,
xbout to reply angrily, 10 dwarfs piteous face d ho said, "Conceal hat drapery, and that arpose."
10 was requested, and iito tho inner room, ly for several minutes nthin. Then Robert tho room, and then —
nature ! but Robert jnsitivc — he peeped dIo in the curtain, and impso of tho retrcat- ly, richly and stylishly face was averted and f those laco veils which ho face at all. This 3t have been particu- though it looked like
certain thickness of 'od completely to hide f tho wearer. Nickerson lifted the a a weary tone, "Well, e."
reproachfully into his sometimes a wonder- yes of this misshapen
SOMETHLVO TO DO.
Ill
creature, though he had not a single beauty to componsato for his deform- ity.
" Well, well,'' said Nickerson, after a niomcut, ' what is tho matter with your-
Ilobert looked over from head to foot tlio handsome, graceful figure of tho young num. " You call yourself a man," said iio, in his roughest tone.
" Exactly," replied tho young gentle- man. " I am apparently not a woman, and I don't pretend to belong to u su- l)erior race."
" I hate you," growled Robert.
" Come, come," rejoined Nickcnion, impatiently. " I can't be insulted, oven by you."
" Even by you." Robert winced. Nick- erson had never said anything so un- kind to him before. The dwarf's head dropped on his breast, and the tears filled his eyes. Nickerson saw it, and with his usual careless kind-hoartcdncss said : " Ah well, Robert, you must n't bo vexed. You don't know tho world, you will allow. I am a man of the world, and you can't expect me to be good according to your standard. I am pretty much like tho rest of mankind. I just told you that I don't pretend to belong to a superior race."
Robert stood for a moment with an air of dejection, and then said slowly and sadly, " I havo often wondered why you did n't marry, Nickerson."
" Bother ! " said Nickerson. " Why should I marry 1 I am not rich enough, cither. I havo enough money to live in an exceedingly cosey style as a bach- elor, but not enough to live in such good stylo with a wife and a parcel of chil- dren. My painting will never bring in enough for that, and I don't think 1 am fitted for blacksmithing or anything else that would provide pennies. Be- sides, Robert, being a bachelor is an extremely comfortable way to live. I have a cook who knows every pecu- liarity of my taste, and I suppose, if I had a wife, tho poor thing might want half hei dishes cooked in another way, so there would be a complication to begin with. And so on and on, there would be some new asperity coming up every day, and I am so good-natured I should yield, of course, all the time, and
bo wretched and miserable accordingly. 1 like my freedom rather too well."
"How is it 1" asked Uoltert, in a nervous, timid way. " Did n't you ever fall in love 1 "
" Bless your heart, I fall in love with every pretty woman I seo ! 1 havo lost my heart to thousands of girls ; but it lias a remarkable faculty, like some of those lioirid crawling things you read about in natural liistoricH, of being no sooner fairly gone than it sprouts out anew in as go<xl condition as ever, all ready to be conquered by the next charmer."
" But you know what I mean," said Kobci't, beginning to lose his temper again.
" I am not at all sure that I do," said Nickerson, with composure. " I sup- pose you havo some ridiculous idea of love gained from novels. I havo never experienced it, so, of course, my evidence is only negative ; but I guess 1 am jus- tified in calling it bosh, because I have a peculiarly susceptible temperament, — artistic, you know, — so I guess, if any- body ever could go through such ridic- ulous performances, I should bo the one."
A great tear gathered and rolled slowly down Robert's cheek. Ho dashed it angrily back, ashamed that his weak- ness and deformity liad taken from him oven that sign of manhood, tearlessness.
" What is the matter I " said Nick- erson, now in genuine astonishment.
Robert forced himself to be calm, and then answered mournfully : " The power of love has been taken away from me. I long for it in a sick, wishful way, but to mo it can never come. A woman may be tender to me, may pity me, but she con never love mo. Nor can I love. I suppose that absolutely to love there must at least bo the pos- sibility that it shall bo returned ; that there must be a moment of hope, no matter how quickly the light of that mo- ment is quenched. It is a mercy to me that the power of loving is dcfiied, since tho power of being loved is so cruelly withdrawn. But, 0 Ralph Nickerson, that a man fresh, young, strong, hand- some, on whom every eye would rest with joy, whom a woman might love at first sight, whose form is so beautiful
:
-ajiminmni imitii'w ■»< >"ii J Minm-t^iii^MM
112
SOMLTIIIXa TO DO,
tlmt op.p cnnmit lielicvc his houI Iosh mo, |
0 ltal[jli, tlmt Hiii'ii 11 limn nIidiiIiI ho Jmvi; (Ii'IiiisimI liis «oiil tlmt Am |iowc'r of lovinu is also lost, tlmt. |>t>wer for oiio (iriiiii if" wliicli I would clu't'iriilly lay down half my life, is enough to umku the vory stones wfi'ji I "
Uul|>li paced ini|iatii;iit]y ii]) and down the stiulio. " Well, Kohert," said lie, in n low minutes, " 1 don't mind conlidin^ in you " (still that n'pulsivo c>m|)liaNis on you), "tli(>n;,'h i am jn-ond enou).'h in jrciu'ial. I atn vexed to the core to-day. The youn;,' la<ly who was just here eamo on a far more moral errand tluut you think. She han Iieeu lecturini; me too, and between the two you nuty Hui)i)oae
1 am hef^inniufj; to reuli/e my sins, or, at any rate, my Butl'erinjrs." lie Bmilcd amly, and rather lanj^'uidly.
" Nevertheless, Mr. Rix, yon liavo liit the nail quite on the head. 1 have been in love bo many times that 1 have no power of loving. 1 shoidd be cnnuyed to death by any woman in a week. The only reason that any flirtation of mine lusts lonj';er is that 1 know the character of my inamorata so well that there is piquancy in seeing; how long I can keep her from turning traitor to me. A vronian I was sure of, — bah ! how in- sipid sho would be ! I should have no call to exert myself to please licr, and should therefore miss that healthful activity which all natures require."
" And to gratify this evil passion you will not only debase yoin-self, but mislead those you pretend to love ! " said Robert, indignantly.
"Not so fast, my dear sir," said Ralph. "That is just tho way with all you saintly creatures, because a man has done one wrong thing, you straight- way Bui)posc liim to have done all. 1 won't plead guilty to more than my actual share of sins. I have debased myself enough, I allow, bnt as for mis- leading any of the actresses and ballet- dancers, and so forth, that I have known, I have a higher opinion of their shrewd- ness than to think I have revealed any new depths of iniquity to them."
" You own you do wrong, and yet keep on," said Robert, wonderingly.
" Why, yes, most people do, though some palaver and persuade themselves that they don't do wrong. To tell you
tho truth, though, I was just gohig to reflect on my ways as you tiunie in, having had, us I told you, alremly one lecture on mv i vil courses to iluv. iitit, after all, nii Initio /"
"Why noti" said Robert, with ea- gerness,
"() bother!" said Halph, "for the reason 1 just mentioned. I have lost tho jiower of actually loving anylxxly, and therefore marriage wt)nld lie too irksome an experiment to try, and you can't expect sui'h a wretch us I to reform under any other conditions."
" Hut jierhaps you would feel differ- ently in a little while," urged Robert. " I'erhaps, if your mind were turned in a different direction from what it is now, you would find among the many pure women you know some one whom you would love."
Ralph laughed with a little bitterness. " My dear Robert," said he, " / see no women. Tho world is still a little askew in this nineteenth century. If you are as rich as ('ra>sus, as handsome as Apollo, and as talented us Webster, you may Btund a chance of getting into society, such as it is ; but what is that 1 A dance at midnight, and a call with kid gloves on in a drawing-room ;iext day. Intcnseh' stupid ; yet there have been some saints who have jicr- severed (I was taught in my childhood about the perseverance of tho saints) till they have pierced through tho social strata and come to a rational acquaintance in tho end. But gen- erally even such perseverance is not rewarded by finding anything very at- tractive, and there is too much drud- gery in the process for mo, even if I were sure of being well ])aid. A per- son but of society might as well be out of the world so far as any opportu- nity of becoming acquainted with mod- est "young girls is concerned. I sco plenty of faces which look attractive, but though I have a moderate share of bn^s and small-talk at hand, never a one do I get acquainted with. Of course not ; men and women are not thrown together in any rational way. However, that is n't the rub with mo, for ,though I have demonstrated tho impossibility of knowing anybody in a decent way, I suppose I should believe
-Mi
wns jtist (Ti>iiiff to UN you ciiiiii' ill, 1(1 yi'H, aheuily mu' wrtivH tdilay. JJnt,
(I Itolifit, with cii-
(I Halpli, '-for tlio
idiu'd. I liuvo liJHt
lly loving aiiyliixly,
iu}ru would l>o too
uiit to try, iiml you
11 wretch us I to
lor coiiditioim."
11 would fctl difJ'cr-
ilo," ur^'L'd Itoliort.
iiiiiid wore turned in
III from whiit it is
id ainoii); tliu nimiy
[luw Honic one whom
itli (V little hitterncss. Hiiid he, " / Hee no
rid i.H Ktili u littlo
tecnth century. If Cra'HUH, UH ImndKoiuo tnlented us Webster, hnnee of netting into it is ; liut whut is
midnifjflit, nnd u cnll n in a dniwiiifr-rooni eh' stupid ; yet tiicre saints who liavo jicr- if^iit in my childhood •ranee of the saints) iierccd throu{.ch the
come to a rational the cud. Hut gcn-
perscveranco is uot ng anything very at- 0 is too nnicli dnul- ss for nic, even if I ig well ])aid. A pcr-
might as well be out
far as any opportu- acquaintcd with mod- is concerned. 1 sco Inch look attractive, vo a moderate share 11-talk at hand, never icquaintcd with. Of
and women arc not in any rational way. n't the rub with mc, ivo demonstrated the nowing anybody in a )poBe I should believe
80METIIINO TO DO.
lit
it possiblo, howoTcr contrary to reason, if that were the only obstacle."
He piiiisud witit a shadow on his handsome ctuintunance, and Kobert waited an.Yioiisly.
" Suppose I inuko a clean breiint of it to you," said ho in a moment, lightly lau;ihiiig. " 1 /I'liv known one girl of whom 1 did not tire. Shu was now and uri;;inal every moment, and fresh and beautiful and charming and witty and atfcctionute and lifty more thing.i."
" And did not she lovo you 1 " asked Uobert, in a voice full of symputliy.
"O you KJiiipluton ! " said lialph, kindly. " Well, yes, perhaps she loved
— loves me. I have no proof to the con- trary. I should n't in the least wonder if she would marry me. On the whole, I think she would, though I am .not sure of it."
•'What thenl" asked Uobert, won- dering.
" O well, I would n't marry her. I would marry any old maid — .Miss Twigg, for instance — quicker. Itobort, my inuoceiit, this girl, the only girl 1 never tired of, is, in common with a dozen more whom I have tired of,
— smut."
" Well," said Robert, boldly, " so arc you, if you come to that. I believe, from what you sny, you must have been as bad as she."
Ralph flushed in an instant, but did not look angry. " V^ery true, Robert, and there the matter lies in a nutshell. If I were a reformer, or a philanthropist, or a milkso{>, I suppose I might say we were 8:]uurc, and let it go ut that. But, unfortunately, I am of the earth earthy, and though my reason teaches mo, as it does everybody clsj, that u man sins equally with a woman, I have no mind to make myself a laughing-stock for the world, who decided ages ago to heap insult and degradation on the woman and call the man a clever dog. Abstractly I admit that an impure man has no right to marry a pure woman, but practically I have found a life of p]e:i8uro exceedingly agreeable, and yet, if I ever marry, it must be the most immaculate of her sex."
" Just for the world's opinion I " said Robert, raoumfully.
15
" Well, no, not just for the world'» opinion ; because it would be uoay enough, I dare say, to make a change of residence obviate the necessity of tho worhl's knowing anything. Italy, for instance, is a pleasant place, cspeciallj for an artist, and [ might go thero; but — well, tho woman 1 could marrj must be my goddiss. 1 must respect her beyond everything ; and, dear crea- tures ! oven if they domaiul the sumo thing, it is easy enough to make them resjMJct any man, no mutter how bad he has been, — I suppose b(;cnuse thoj will take one for what he now is, and not for what he hait brrn. And then uiost of them will bow down niid wor- ship without in(|uiring about the re- spect at all. The poor things in gen- eral have such a deathly stupid life that tliey are glad of any change ; and then they like to siicriHco themselvoa, and, besides, children are a compenso* tion. So u man may set his standard us high as ho pleases, and ho need not fear that the ideal she will object to him because he don't come up to her standard. J fancy there is something intrinsically in tho nature of tho case which makes it more wrong for a wo- man to do wrong than for a man; at any rate, so the world thinks, and I am satisHcid."
" Uut you d(m't seem satisfied," said Kobert, doubtfully.
" True," answered Ralph, with a flit- ting smile. " Such is the contradiction of human nature. ' Virtue is its own reward ' used to bo in tho copy-booksi 1 don't know how true that is, having never tried it ; but 1 know its contrary, that I don't need the world to punish mo for my sins, said sins having brought their own punishment. 1 can look forward to a pleasant animal life, eating, drinking, smoking, and so on, hut 1 have incapacitated myself from any very high enjoyment. Some men get to my pass and are saved by mar- riage, but marriage is not for me. I have an indctinitc remembrance of a pre-existent state in which I understood what marriage might be, and that pro- vents me from undertaking any sham. So here I am, and you see my pitiable condition, Robert." He smiled slightly, and with a tinge of bitterness.
m MHl*ilitM<l****M
114
80METIIIN0 TO DO.
" Can nothing help you t " ankod Ilob- ert, eumoRtly.
" No," Huid Ualph, with compomire. " I havu th(>U){ht the niuttur over, und I timl it cun't ho (h>nc. I hnvu n't enur^y and will und ^cKKlneM vnoiigh to hd|i niVHolf ii|i ; luid thu only punton who could hulp niu — iih 1 Htiid l)uton<, ■ho uiin't hulp niu. So I HhiUl drift along, und gut uh niiiuh fun out of lifo UH I cun without too much uxer- tion. (!oniu, Koltvrt, look ut my pic- turuM, or thut o^^roHH Twigg will hu back for you hcforu you liuvu Hoon thcni."
" 1 don't caro nhout thorn," nnid Robert, Hlowly. " Tlioy are only lund- ■on|M)H, and thuy don't nieun much."
" YoH," Mid Uulph, inooilily. " Of oourHu I Hhould n't attempt to paint faccH with Huuh a houI uh 1 have. And 1 fiup]K)He my landHcupoH luck Homothing, that I have n't perception to discover the heart of a 8cene. Well, well, well, look ut them, at all eventH, ho that TwigK may not think you have been idle, and worm out of you what I have been Haying."
RoV»ort looked at the pictures without speaking till the carriage returned, lialph, meantime, sat coolly smoking a cigar of tho choicest brand.
" I said I was cursed beyond every- body," said Robert, as ho turned to go; "but I would rather bo myself, monster as I am, tlmn live for one day like Tou."
" Vice versa" remarked Ralph in an undertone as tho door closed. But his fiico was very grave, he looked weary, and he painted no more that day.
^» CHAPTER XXXVI.
ONE chilly evening in tho fall, Aleck sat by his open fire studying as usual, when Aaron came in with tho announcement that one of Squire Jame- son's children was sick, and that the Squire had sent for Aleck to go there at once. He could hardly suppress a chuckle as be said so, for it had been many a month since Aleck had been summoned into any family who were able to pay for hia M..vioea.
"Tell him I can't go," said Alock quietly, hardly taking his eyes flrom bis
lMN>k.
Auron was thunderHtruck, and inainu- uted something alnuit the child's dan- ger, knowing his employer too well to use other arguments.
"Their regulur physician is a good one," said Aleck. Hut an hour later thu messenger returned unil insisted on seeing Dr. Hume himself. The child waa very sick, and L>r. Armstrong had declared he dared do nothing more with- out a consultation. Had the .Spiiro been a ]>oor uninfluontial man, though twice his enemy, Aleck would not have hesitated un instant. Now all his pride was roused. And yet this strange young man cared so nuich more about doing right than for what tho world thought, that he answered in a mo- ment, " I will drive back with you."
The child was really in a critical state, and tho only jiossible remedy was so dangerous a one that Dr. Armstrong had not dared to risk it on his own resiMHisibility.
" It must Ih) risked, ' said Aleck, de- cidedly.
Tho other brightened at this confir- mation of his own view.
" We must not let tho Squire know," said he.
" We must," said Alock. And when tho other shook his head ho added, " I will take all the rosiKinsibility."
"No, no,"Baid Dr. Armstrong, ashamed. And Aleck could not but be grateful to him.
Tho child recovered. Tho danger was past that night, and Aleck did not go to the house again. He had not spoken to tho Squire while there, though the latter had evidently wished to come to an understanding. But the illness of the child had made it easy to silence conversation.
At lost, one evening, tho Squire, find- ing that Dr. Hume did not call, or send his bill, felt compelled to go to him and thank him for his services and offer payment.
" I should prefer to be paid nothing," said Aleck, proudly.
" What ! " said the Squire, looking angry.
"You know that no money could
t't go," Mid Alock g hi> oyo» iVom bia
nitnick, niid inainu- lit tliv cliild'N dan- ipldjxT too well to
>liyiu;inn in a ffood Kilt an hour Inter lied iitid iiiMlHtcd on liiimolf. Tho child Ur. AniiNtrotitc lind miiliiiiK more with- Hnd tliu H<|iiiro icntiul innii, tlinii^h uck would not linvo Now all liU prido 1 yot tliiri Htrun^o 10 iiiiich nioro about for wliiit tlio world lumwerod in n mo- ) Imck with you." really in n critical |K)Hitil>lo remedy was that Dr. Armstrong riiik it on hia own
ked, ' aaid Aleck, de-
itoned at this oonfir-
viow.
let tho Squire know,"
id Aleck. And when
is head ho added, " I
c8|H)U8ibility."
r. Armstrong, ashamed.
lot but be grateful to
ivored. Tho danger ht, and Aleck did not again. He had not iro while there, though dcutly wished to come ug. But the illneaa of ado it easy to ailenco
ening, tho Squire, find- le did not call, or send lollod to go to him and his servicea and offer
or to be paid nothing"
I the Squire, looking
bhat no money oould
BOMETIIING TO DO.
119
have tomntod me to enter your house," aaiil Aleck.
Tho H<iiiiro grew purpio in fho fucp " I will pay voii. It in lawful. I won't Im) under auch obligatJotia to you."
"I HupiMmed not," said A'vk «« I don't force tho matter, of coiirwe
So hu made out his bill as imiial.
" Hut that in n't onou;;h," anid tho Squire. " I tuld you, when I sent for you, that I would make it anything you said. Of coumu it was ilitferent for you to eomo than for any oiio oIho."
"Yes," Hai<l Aleck, "but the diffcr- onco wiM not a money dittbronco. I shall not take another cent."
"Suppose," said tho S(|uiro, fidgeting uneasily, — " suppose — ahem ! — well — what if I make you an apology ! "
" I d(m't want an a|)ology," said Alock. " I suppose you did what you thought right."
" O, confound it I " said the Squiro, more and more disoom]Kisod. " You arc so ovorlnstiiigly radical. I alwaya liked you well otiough."
Aleck amilod in a queer way. " No doubt. But I confess I have yot to see what diffbronce my radical opinions can make in my value as a physician."
" Confound it I " said tho Squire again, in whom the leaven of gratitude hod been working for days, and who was by this timo fairly ashamed of himself. " Let bygones be bygones. I wish I hod n't done it now. But thero is enough business in town to keep you both busy. If you would only give up two or three things that are of no prac- tical importance, I would see that you wont to Congress next year, — by Oeorgo, I would ! "
" I should have no wish to go to Con- gress except for those very two or three things," said Aleck. " And I would novor accept any appointment duo to your influence. I never will bind my- self to any views, and I do not wish you to sacrifice your conscienco on my be- half."
" By George ! I believe you muld be trusted. I can't vote for you, especially •8 you don't want me to, when you have such horrid opinions. But I can say, and say it heartily too, that you are a man to be respected and that you are the
V
licst doctor in the worUl. There, won't you give mo your hand on that 1 "
Aleek hnlfsmiK-daiiiihi'ldout his hand. M«> did not believe that dignity ever con- sisti'd in I 'fusing to forgive aimtlier.
Fnmi tlirtt day his atfitirs pn>H|M(n'd. Htr>i«<ift>, is it f»<if 1 that a wholly up- r\nUt >\itA honoralile man can yet rio in- jureil or heljf, I »» miith by a man of /iieuiier mould ! Tliiif is* that thero may t>«t h<»po for tho moan int'lij y<m see. Tho Si|uire'H pocnl won! brought a troop of Aleck's old putients bnek to him, and, as far as money »iih concerned, hu found himself in a tlourlHhing condition. Ho knew, however, that he should havo to live a noble life for many years be- fore that district would trust a man of his opinions to represent them in poli- tics, and ho felt how siindy tho vision of his youth had {Hissed away to return no more.
" Ah well, • The worker dies, but the work goes on,' " ho said to himself, and comforted himself thereby.
Dick Stacy, meantime, was elected to r'ongrcHS, — a man of massive intellect, honorablo nature, and broad but not dangerous views. Ho still believed that woman was made out of a rib of man.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE actor of high comedy connected with tho troupe with which ('elia performed fell ill. It was a question who should take his place.
" Mrs. Brown," soid the manager, "tho Minstrels are having a little vaoar tion now, and I might get one of them till their building is repaired. Wonld you object to that very much 1 "
As Celia believed in high tragedy, she could not avoid an oxpression of disgust. Tho manager had suspeoted bow it would lie ; but her services were so valu- able that he did not want to engage any obnoxious person to act in a play with her without saying something to her about it.
" I really don't see what I can do," continued ho ; " there is a perfect dearth of comic actors just now, and there is one fellow, Catherty by name, in that troupe who i» irreaisttbly funny."
Miflhiaiffi r'»iWmiM.ii I — ..
116
SOMETHING TO DO.
" It takes something more than being fanny to act a witty part," said Cchii, with supreme scorn.
" Weil, I believe this fellow Ims more in him. But, if you don't like my plan, Buggest another." Ine manager was a little provoked,
"Do as you like," said Celia. "It does n't matter much to me. I don't suppose it will do me any harm to ex- change a few sentences on the stage even with a man I can't respect."
The manager laughed a little, as he went away, at the curious ideas people have of what makes a man worth re- Bpeeting or not.
The time came for rehearsal. Celia Bat in an arm-chair, soliloquizing in a tragic stylo, when her lackey, the ob- noxious minstrel, ap])eared to deliver a message. Celia started up to receive him, but suddenly stopped short, trans- fixed. All the metamorphosis of dress could not deceive her. In the coal- black eyes and hair of the pretended Catherty she recognitnd the eyes and hair of her dismal cousin, Frank Buck- ram. He recognized her at the same moment, and consternation entered his soul. He had been away from the paternal roof for many years, but the wholesome maternal discipline had been 80 effectual that he shnuik with terror even now at any reminder of it.
Celia recovered in an instant. She was not sure Frank knew her, and she boped he would not. So she advanced and said the words of her part without any further token of recognition ; but Frank, with trembling knees, whispered to her, while she was speaking, " Don't tell of me, — will you, Celia 1 "
She almost laughed outright to see him so ridiculously timid that he forgot that she had any interest in keeping quiet as well as himself. " Don't be a goose, Frank," said she, between her Bentences. " Don't let anybody see we know each other. I will talk to you by and by."
Frank ivas irresistibly funny, notwith- Btanding his perturbation. Even Celia, in the most tragic scenes, could hardly keep a straight face. She had not thought her lugubrious cousin ever had half the wit in him.
" What do you think of Catherty t "
asked the manager, in an oif-hand man- ner, be^.ween the acts.
" Ho does better than I expected," said Celia, carelessly ; " but I want to talk with him a little about the posi- tions ho takes in some of the seen s and the rendering of some passages."
So, after the rehearsal, she sent for him. But when tliey were alone, in- stead of speaking about his rendciiiig of passages, she began : " You need not be afraid that I shall mention that I have seen you to your mother, for I never see her. Please to be just as care- ful not to let any ono know who I am. I pass under the name of Mrs. Brown."
" St. Peter ! " said Frank. « I forgot all about that. What under the can- opy arc you here for t The last I knew of you, you were at school."
Celia breathed easier. It showed how entirely ^'rank's connection with his relatives must have ceased that he had heard nothing of her marriage or disap- pearance.
" You know I always liked acting," said Celia, with a smile ; " even when we were children we used to talk about it. But I w^aut to keep it a secret as well as you."
"What fori" said Frank, have n't got any mother, and suppose Alice would care, — she 1 "
" No," said Celia ; " she knows it. But I don't want other people to know it. So don't say anything about it. If you do, I will tell your mother where you are."
This ridiculous childish threat dis- turbed Frank, as she meant it should, and ho hastened to asseverate in a pe- puliarly strong manner that ho would keep her secret to the death.
" I will tell you what, Celia," said he, when his peace of mind was rcstoi'cd, " is n't this a good deal jollier than being at home ? Though I don't know, I should n't think there would be much fun in playing such doleful things as you do, and dressing nil the time in long black dresses and thick veils."
" Fun 1 " said Celia, with her loftiest scorn. " What' do you suppose would tempt me to play anything just for
"You
I don't
would
■ r !4
' <tfJi^titfmm^k^mA *lfl ir^ai til
, in an off-hand mnn-
cts.
iv than I expected," ily ; " but I want to jttlo about the posi- Miio of the seen s and )me passages." ihearsal, she sent for tlicy were iilono, in- ivbout his rendciii'g of an : " You need not shall mention that I ) your mother, for I jiise to be just as care- iiy one know who I er the name of Mrs.
aid Frank. " I forgot What under the can- forl The last 1 knew at school."
easier. It showed how
connection with his
ave ceased that he had
her marriage or disap-
always liked acting,"
smile
■ even
when
we used to talk about to keep it a secret as
• said Frank. "You
y mother, and I don't
would care, — would
lia; "she knows it. But her people to know it. rthing about it. If you ,'our mother where you
us childish threat dis- is she meant it should, i to asseverate in a pe-
inanner that ho would to the death. fou what, Celia," said he, 3 of mind was restored,
good deal jollier than 1 Though I don't know, ink there would bo much : such doleful things as Iressing all the time in ises and thick veils." id Celia, with her loftiest ,t' do you suppose would
play anything juat for
SOMETHING TO DO.
Ul
Frank looked abashed. " I did think I had one friend," said he, in an in- jured tone. " I am sure you used to like jolly things, and now you look disgusted because I am a comic act- or"
- Well, I must say I am," said Celia. "I think the Minstrels arc decidedly
low."
" I don't believe you ever went to hear tliem," said Frank, plucking up
spirit. _ J. , „
" I am thankful to say I never did,
replied Celia.
" Then you don't know anything about them," said Frank. " I tell you it is the jolliest place in the world. 1 never had a single good tiitic m my life till I ran away and got into that com- pany ; and uow--Jimini! — </o«'« we get off jokes, though 1 and all the peo- ple laugh. 0, I tell you what, it is fun ! I suppose you would call it coarse, though," added he, in a moment of
candor. ^ x- j
" I should think you would get tired to death of it," said Celia. " How can you keep saying over the same jokes night after night 1"
" Just the same as you pretend you crv every night," retorted Frank ; " on y it is a great deal better fun to laugh. But then the rest of them do got tired of it ; b<it I never do. I suppose it is because I Iiad such an awful dull tune when I was little that I can never get enough of the other kind."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Celia, re- lenting'. " 1 don't blame you much when I think of your childhood. But I think from the way you played to-day you mio'ht do something better than low comcdv. I think you might play comic parts siill, but those which have pathos in them too."
" St. Peter ! " said Frank, " you don t suppose I want to take to snivelling a«rain, just after I have wiped ray weeping eyes of all the tears I shed when I was a small boy! No, you don't, sir ! Not if the court knows herself, and she think she do. I tell you, Celia," (he dropped his voije, mysteriously,) " it is no great fun to me to think about sober things, for I suppose the horrid things they used to say when I was little are aJl true, though I don't believe a word ot
them. I suppose the old fellow will be after me some day, sure, but then I don't know as I can help it. Before 1 ran awav I tried tremendously to be converted, and I found I could n't. So then I concluded that since I had got to swing for it anyway, I might as well en- joy myself the little time I could, and! ran away. I suppose it is my own lault that I ain't elected, but, you see, I can t help it, so what is the use of thinking about itl" „
" Shall you ever go home agam i asked Celia, with some curiosity.
"I don't believe I shall," said Frank. "I have pangs once in a while and think I will ; but then, you know, I couldn't stand mother's tongue. Yet she is an awful good mother. My con- science pricks sometimes when I thmk how good she is, and how hard she tried to bring me up straight, and how dis- appointed she must be. I sometimes think I will go and see her ; but, you know if I did, there would be the end of mo. I should have to be converted and be a Sunday-school teacher the rest of my life. Well, I know it is a good thing to be a Sunday-school teacher and have a through ticket to Paradise, but, you know, that ain't my style. It would n't do to run away again, but I know I should have to if I once showed my face at home. So 1 guess I shall let 'em slide."
Celia had always felt some interest in Frank, because he was the only wicked one in her aunt Buckram's fam- ilv and she trusted now that her influ-
eiice might be sufficient to turn him from his evil ways, i. e. to act high in- stead of low comedy. But the mischief of his education proved ineradicable. Having had everything good and high alwavs presented to him in nauseating doses, he was forced to believe that ho liked low things best ; so at the end of a week, when the building of the Min- strels had been repaired, he returned to its congenial shades, and turned somer^ saults, went " on the flying trapeze, danced a hornpipe in a hoop-skirt and sang " Captain Jinks," and enjoyed him- self. ... Celia was disgusted, but kept a little warm comer in her heart for him on no- count of the old days.
118
SOMETHING TO DO.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
WEARILY Alice turned the cor- ner of the little H(|imre on which waH her ludging. It seemed oa if her vitality hud been drained to the dregH, that she hud imparted to others with- out receiving for so long that her life- p<iwer was wholly spent.
A quick healthy step rang liehind her. . She did not look up. A hand was laid lightly but finnly on her shoulder, and a voice which always spoke eheorfully and heartily said, " Alice, I love you."
Alice started us by an electric shock. She turned and saw Aleck standing close beside her. Though it was almost dark, the dee|)cning moonlight showed her fully his grand, courageous face, and she noticed his sudden half-withdrawal from her the moment he had spoken ; and he added, half with the air of a naughty child who has been caught in mischief, " O well, Alice, I did n't mean to begin so, but I vow I could n't help it ; and now, ])erhaps, to pay for it, yon won't let me in, though I came to town purposely to see yoi."
"I coidd n't be so inhospitable, then, as to lock you out," said Alice, shyly and sweetly. " Come in." But she held herself away from him, and ran up stairs so quickly that ho could not reach her.
The little room was neat, beautiful, and pure in its arrangements, as it al- ways was ; but there was something al- most severe about it, perhaps because the night was chilly and there hud been no fire in it since Alice went away in the morning. But everything was laid in order near the grate, and in a minute a light blazed up from the hearth, and Alice turned round to see Aleck looking at her with a pleased face and his hat in his hand.
" I ftieant to tell you my secret in my very best words," said he, redden- ing a little, "but Nature would have her way ; so here I am, and you must Bay something to me before I can say anything more."
"You have told it in the very best way," said Alice, a little hy identically it must be confessed. " It is very pleasant to find 1 have a friend, for I Lave been very lonely." .
"A friend!" echoed Aleck, raising his eyebrows. " Alice, you know better than that. When I say ' I love you,' it means more than friendship."
Alice hung her head and blushed violently.
"Won't you speak to mel" said Aleck, in an amused and yet anxious tone.
"What sliull I say]" .-iaid Alice, with a sudden little dimple in each cheek, — an unwonted sight, so long hod those checks been thin and pale.
" Say the same words I said to you," said Aleck, joyously.
Alice only grow more scarlet. "That is expecting mo to meet you half-way," said she at Inst, in confusion.
" And that is rl^/U," said Aleck, proudly. " And if you do love mo you will not find it so very hard to say ; and if you don't, why, then — "
He stood erect, and Alice looked up at him. The firelight fell upon him, and the moonlight streamed through the window over her. The color re- ceded from her face, and she was calm and pure as always. " Well, then, Aleck," said she, and the little dimples played once more about her mouth, " I do love you."
That is enough to know about that evening.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE spring came, and with it Alice's wedding-day. It was early in June, nearly as Celia's had been, and even simpler thun that. They had no guests whatever, and Alice wore a plain, fine white muslin, and a delicate laco veil. Her pupils had sent her many little tokens made by their own hands, with which she might adorn her new home ; but she had no costly gifts, nor did she need them. The best gifts bad come to her.
They had decided to take no wedding- tour. Aleck was not yet rich enough to do things simply because he wished it, and Alice was worn out with the city and teaching, and could imagine nothing pleasanter than to be quiet in the beautiful country town where she had passed her childhood. So iit»j
ed Aleck, raising e, you know better Bay ' I lovo you,' it tndBhip." Iicud and blushed
to meV snid and yet anxious
ay 1 " said Alice, le dimple in each id siglit, so long hod jin and pale, prds I said to you,"
re scarlet. "That is cet you half-way," uufusioii.
•ig/U,'' said Aleck, you do love mo so very hard to say ; y, then — " nd Alice looked up ght fell upon him,
streamed through »er. The color ro-
and she was calm lys. "Well, then, id the little dimples ibout her mouth, " I
to know about that
R XXXIX.
c, and with it Alice's
It was early in
elia's had been, and
that. They had no d Alice wore a plain,
and a delicate laco had sent her many by their own hands, ight adorn her new 1 no costly gifts, nor The best gifts had
I to take no wedding-
lot yet rich enough
y because he wished
worn out with the
and could imagine
than to be quiet in
try town where she
shildhood. So thej
SOMSTHINO TO DO.
119
went home that very day, after the wedding.
How well Alice remembered the last days she had spent in that place ! She seemed to feel her father's spirit near her, blessing her on her marriage day. Aaron, dressed in his best suit, was wait- ing with a carriage, and in the beauti- ful twilight they drove along the little street.
"Whore are you taking mel" said Alice, suddenly. " Wo just passed your house. Oh, oh, oh 1 " and she seized his arm to still her emotion, for they were driving up the carriage-way of the stone cottage, every room of which she loved so well.
Aleck smiled. The carriage stopped. He alighted, and held out his arms to her. "This is our home, Alice," said ho, with a happy face, — " my bridal gift to you,"
" O Aleck, how thoughtful you are ! " said Alice, as he drew her gently into the house.
What dews of peace descended upon that cottage ! Since her father died, Alice had always cared for others, but though she had received large measures of love always, as such beautiful natures must do, she had never known what it was to he taken care of till now. Aleck peremptorily forbade her, under- scoring his commands because he was a doctor, from doing anything that could weary her, and so by degrees vitality came back to her slight and overtasked frame. She busied herself in arranging her rooms in the prettiest and freshest ways, in contriving the most beautiful adornments nf flowers, in practising once more the pieces she loved of the grand old masters, from whom she had l)een exiled almost during her busy life of the last few years, and in taking long rides with Aleck through the June woods.
" But remember, Aleck," said she, one day, " this is not going to last, or I would n't do it at all. It is very nice and blessed, I know, and as long as I can pretend I do it for my health I don't have many pangs of conscience. But with so much work to bo done in the world, no one has a right to be idle, and some day you shall see me a notable farmer's wife."
" Never," said Aleck, drawing her close
to him. " If that had been right for you, I should not have lived here alone two or three dreary years. At least, I should have asked you to come with mc. Of course, I don't know what you would have stiid."
Alice laughed happily. "I think you might have asked me then, when I might have helped you, instead of waiting till you could ;/ive everything."
" ' For you this work was not the best,' " said Aleck.
"Quote the rest, if you dare, sir," said Alice, stroking his hand softly. " I will quote it, properly changed : —
" ' Your love www the best. And nble to coiiimviul the kind of work For love's sake merely.'
So, if the world had n't prospered with you, you would have defrauded me. I thought you were too broad to believe in needless self-sacritice."
" It was u't needless," said Aleck. " I could n't have boi-ne to see your life crushed."
"As if it could do anything but expand and blossom and grow and be life with you ! " remonstrated Alice.
No man, conservative or radical, tran- scendental or evangelical, could resist that. So Aleck kissed her before he went on.
"But now, you see, when you are quite well, you will feel free to do whatever you like in the heavens above or the earth beneath, only don't choose the first, or the angels would lay claim to you."
" You know well what I want to do," said Alice. " I Want to make my home beautiful, in the Krst place, and I would gladly, gladly do the actual work if it were necessary ; but as it is n't I shall have time to teach a little too, some- thing like literature or Iratany to ;he young girls in town, two or three times a week."
And so it was. The blessing Alice proved to those half-cultivated young girls cannot bo estimated. The world must have been always better for the sweet influences which flowed out of that quiet cottage.
Quiet, and yet there were old and new friends constantly coming there ; and life was a hearty, healthy, happy thing in that same little cottage.
ISO
SOMETHING TO DO.
No life worth living is without its moments of pain. Aleck's great hoix; of influence in the world Hcemed to be dashed to the ground forever, and Alice had her sister to mourn over. But the greatness and peace of a tnie lovo ovei-ishadowed them, and they trusted always in Cod.
CHArTER XL.
RICHARD STACY walked with a firm step through the streets one winter night. He turned from the broader tiioroughfares, and found the narrow one in which Robert Ri.x lived. He counted the houses till he reached No. IT), and then he paused for a moment.
" It is not too late yet," ho said to himself, with a look of pain, "but 1 owe it to her, and I will do it."
So he rang the bcli. Miss Twigg opened the door and glared at him as if she had a pistol in her pocket ready for any emergency.
" Does Miss May — Miss Dora May — live here 1 " asked Dick.
"Yes, she does," said Miss Twigg, suddenly appeased ; and most inconsis- tently forgetting her usual cautiousness ■he added, "I suppose you are the brother she expected. Right up fom- flights of stairs, and her door is directly in front of you."
It was fortunate for Dick that Dora was expecting her brother, othen^isc tortures would not have induced Miss Twigg to let him see her without wit- nesses. As it was, he wont up stairs as directed, almost to the top of the hoiise. The door was ajar, and he looked in a moment before knocking. Dora was very poor, and it gave him a pang to romcnibcr the luxui'y in which ho him- self lived. The room was uncarpeted and almost destitute of furniture ; a bed, a work-table, and a few chairs were all. She sat by the work-table, before the stove (she could not afford the extravagance of an open fire), with her back to the door. In spite of its poverty, there was an air of taste and comfort and happiness about the room which surprised Dick. Dora had taste,
but he remembered that she had never cared to exercise it except when she was happy, and he expected to find her forlorn. The eft'ect of the roon), aside from its perfect neatness, was dependent entirely on the flowers in it. Ivies and other vines covered the bare walls from floor to ceiling. Hanging jilanls, so luxuriant that they hid completely the rude boxes in which they grew, hung in the windows and from hooks in the wall above, and roses and heliotropes and violets bloomed all about the room and loaded the air with crushing sweet- ness.
He knocked, and Dora said, "Come in," rising as she did so. Her face surprised him as much as her room. He had guessed she would be thin and pule, and so she was, and his conscience reproached him bitterly as he saw it. From what he knew of her he had guessed she would bo careless in dress ; but the simple and rather riisty black alpaca fitted her wasted form with scrupulous neatness, and she wore a white apron and delicate blue ribbons which relieved the wanness of her countenance. It was the face itself which surprised him. It was ])ale and furrowed, and showed that, though still young, she must have seen very bitter sorrow and care ; but it was very sweet and peaceful, with a certain indwelling happiness which seemed as if it could never be disturbed. That was the first impression only, for the moment she recognized her visitor the face changed, it hardened visibly, the comers of tho eyelids were drawn down with pain, the pathetic mouth grew bitter and proud, and all the peace was gone. Her work fell from her hands, and she stood still without speaking.
" Dora," said Dick, in his sad, grand voice, " I have come to ask you to for- give me."
" I have forgiven you," she said, in a dead way, without looking at him.
"I have thought sometimes," re- sumed Dick, " and lately I have thought so very often, that, although you broke our engagement yourself, it was not done willingly, but because I had first neglected you, though I had held to the bond."
" You know that," said Dora, bitterly.
. I ',' '.[!>' ;.-jJ4.t";'a!aa*j.i;v!.m-SOTJUg*<'.i.*"
at alio had noTor xcept when she ccted tu find her the room, aside S8, wuH dependent in it. Ivies and
0 bare walls from nging ]ilniils, so id conijjletely the
they giX'w, hung
rom hooks in the
and heliotropes
1 about the ruum :h crushing swcct-
)ora said, "Come
id so. Her face iich as her room, vould be thin and and his conscience !rly as lie saw it. of her he had
careless in dress ; rather rusty black wasted form with
and she wore a icate blue ribbons
wanness of her ts the face itself It was pale and i that, though still vo seen very bitter t it was very sweet , certain indwelling med as if it could
That was the first ' the moment she r the face changed, the comers of the I down with pain, 1 grew bitter and J peace was gone, her hands, and she peaking.
I, in his sad, grand I to ask you to for-
you," she said, in a joking at him. it sometimes," re- id lately I have ten, that, although igement yourself, it igly, but because I you, though I had
' said Dora, bitterly.
SOMETHING TO DO.
m
" I told you so in the letter I wrote you before you were married."
Dick's astonishment was genuine. "What ! " said ho ; " I received no letter."
Dora raised her eyes and looked at him closely for a minute, and then said, " Ah 1 well, then, I ouqht to forgive you."
"What was itl" said Dick, anx- iously. " It can't bo that you renewed the engagement. Though it had been my wedding-day, I believe I should have heeded that ! "
"/ believed you would," said Dora, wearily, " and you robbed mo of all faith when you did not send me a word in answer. But you were not to blame, and it is butter as it is. I forgive you. 0, di> go away ! "
The last was said with sudden cncrgj', as if she could not breathe another moment in his presence, all the old agonies were welling up so fiercely in her heart, yet possibly she was glad ho lingered.
" Dora," said he, in his most persua- sive tones, which were nearly irresisti- ble, "you must first hear what I came to say. I want to prove to you that 1 wish to be forgiven. You know that 1 have no wife 1 "
Dora bowed her head.
" Dora, bo my wife," said ho, " as you should have been years ago." He attempted to seize her hands, but she suddenly drew herself back, her face scarlet and her eyes sparkling with in- dignation.
"Richard Stacy," said she, "I did not believe you would insult mc. I have forgiven you very grievous wrongs, but this is something I can never for- give."
Richard was thunderstruck. He had imagined that he might receive reproach- es; but he had not thought his great sacrifice could be so misunderstood. He saw at once that he had been in error, though he could not tell exactly where the fault lay. " Believe me, Dora," said ho, sadly, " I do not under- stand what I have said to insult you. I mean from the bottom of my soul to be perfectly true and honorable with you."
Dora was silent for a moment. She had had long practice in keeping silence,
16
till her nature seemed quite changed. She thought that the fewer words which could be Kpoken, the better. But now she was terribly shaken, and found the inward pressure too great, and spoke, the words coming so hot through her lips that she felt as if they would stifle her.
" You have no wife," — you are no free man ! You have lost what you love, and want the best substitute ! No free wo- man would marry a man that is not free. But Dora May is bound to you hand and fo<H, you think. She has nothing to lose, and u little petting will make all up to her ! "
If Dora had ever understood him, she could not have imputed such mean- ness to him, for he was really incapable of it. Sho had once believed him saint-, ly, infallible, but that was not under- standing him.
There was bitter strife in his heart. He was angry at the taunt, yet ho knew he had no right to be, and he understood how a proud and sensitive girl, like Dora, must feel.
" Dora, you aro wrong," said he. " I am virtually free, and can bo actually so at any time. It is seven years since — since my wife disappeared. Tho law provides that after seven years one may be free." Ho repressed a half-sigh as he said theso words. It was a hard thing to acknowledge himself freo and let the hope of seeing Celia forever pass away.
Dora noted the sigh, and a new and strange expression passed into her face. She bent forward slightly and said in a compressed, unnatural tone, " Richard, do you love your wife 1 "
Alas for Richard ! He had meant to keep that question out of sight. He wanted Dora to believe that he loved her. But he was truthful and answered, " I do love my wife."
" Better 'than everything else in the world 1 " asked Dora, eagerly and rest- lessly.
" Yes," said Dick, inwardly impatient, but realizing more and more every mo- ment what wrong he had done too much to speak impatiently.
Dora grew pale and turned partly away, as she said, " If you had been a villain, you would not have waited seven years before you came to me, and if you
ll"''-"'!"^'"^'''"'-*-
122
SOMETHING TO DO.
are not a villain, — yon — must — be — making — a — Bocritico."
She turned tuwurda liim again and loolied at him Hteadily. He cuuld say nothing, she had divined the truth so perfectly.
" Mr. Stacy," said she, " I will never marry you, and so yuu can tell me the truth. Tell me why you came here now when you did not come years ago."
She K]x>ko imperatively and ho was obliged to obey.
" I have realized the wrong I did you. and 1 believed that all which I could offer l)elonged of right to you. I believed, in short, that our old engagement was binding."
" But you did n't always believe that 1 " said Dora, quickly. " Why notf '
There was a painful pause before he answered.
*' Though you broke the engagement yourself, I know it was really 1 who did it, though I would never have broken its letter. The truth was that I saw my wife and loved her."
" More than that," said Dora, slowly ; *' you did not love me. Before you saw Celia Wilding, I knew that, though 1 tried not to believe it. But I think you were honorable and would have married me if you had not seen her. Yet — you did not love me, and you don't love me now."
" There are different kinds of — " began Dick.
" Yes," said Dora, breaking in, with some harshness, " and that has nothing to do with it. You pity mo, and your conscience will not let you rest. If you had never loved your wife, you might at this moment love me, for you love every woman while you are with her. But you have known a real love, and that makes every other one impossible."
Dick was astonished to hear Dora speak. Certainly, in all his knowledge of her, ho had never guessed at the depths of her nature, — or had sorrow developed what would always have been only a germ had her life flowed smoothly ] She showed a power of thought, of per- ception, of analysis, of which he had not dreamed. She showed strength and self-control too, quite unlike the Dora whom, for her pettish and impulsive ^»yB, he had nioknamed " ApriL"
" Oh I " continued Dora, " I am very sorry you came, for I was calm before. But now that you are here, I must tell you what these years have taught me. You ouffhl to know."
She stood still a moment to collect herself She bowed her head, and per- haps she prayed. When she spoke again, her face and voice were calm.
" I think one can really love but once. I think you must have been con- scious all the time, that, though you were in love with me, I was not all you needed. With me it was different. 1 loved you." (A faint color rose to her cheeks.) " Perhaps if I had never seen you 1 might have loved some one else. It was right that our engagement was broken ; but if you had autf con- sciousness that I was not what you needed, the wrong was there, in leading me to love you. If you did it blindly, then there are such things as fatal mis- takes, in which people do not sin, but have to bear the consequences of sin."
Here she paused and looked up sud- denly.
" You can tell me which is true. Were you conscious or not 1 "
" I was determined not to be," said Dick in a broken voice.
" I thought so," said Dora, cold and pale. " One need not sin in the matter of love. Ah, well ! you wo'jld have done wrong to marry me »;rter you knew. Perhaps you were wrong to marry any one else. But all this is not the lesson these years with all their remorse and shame have taught me. 1 know now that the wrong I did was not in itself a sin, because I loved you. With you there was sin.
" But I thought I was doing wrong, and that made it wrong. Besides, we ought to keep the laws which are neces- sary for society.
" I still feel the shame, hidden as it is from the worlc. I know that the lower nature once conquered the high- er in me, and that can v^ver be changed. Yet it is the very thing from which I take courage. C-'u birching which is past affect us forwvcr'i We are worth to God just what wo are at this moment. We might at this moment, perhaps, have I stood higher, but the spot where wo I now stand is certainly our own. No
Dora, " I am rery I wuB calm before. ■0 here, I must tell '8 have taught me.
moment to collect
her head, and per- When she spoke roice were calm, m really love but uust have been con- that, though you me, I was not all
me it was different.
aint color rose to laps if I had never ive loved some ono ;hat our engagement
you had any con- wns not what you KtiH there, in leading
you did it blindly,
things as fatal mis-
)plc do not sin, but
nsoquences of sin."
and looked up sud-
me which ia true. 1 or not?"
ned not to bo," said oice.
said Dora, cold and not sin in the matter II ! you would have larry me Mler you jrou were wrong to se. But all this is e years with all their ae have taught me. the wrong I did was in, because I loved lere was sin.
I was doing wrong, wrong. Besides, we laws which are neces-
shame, hidden as it I know that the
conquered the high- can n^ver be changed.
thing from which I 'u .iL.-'ching which is >cv'i We are worth e are at this moment, loment, perhaps, have
the spot where wo ■Mu\j our own. No
"1
SOMETUINa TO DO.
123
one sorrow, no one sin, can blight a life- time."
Dick seemed almost to hear Alice spouking.
" I know myself to bo pure now," said Dora, " I must suffer, for I did wrong, but I will not be crushed, I will not lose my self-respect ; and though I find it hard to understand why God wald lot mo have this weight to boar, I try to help and pity others so muuh that I may somu timo bo thankful oven for the sin in my life."
Through Dick's brain floated the lines : —
" Standing on what so lonij we bore With shoulih-rs bent aiKldowncast eyes, We may disoem, unseen before, The pnth to higlier destinies. Kor deem the irrevocable [last As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If, rising on its wrecks, at last To something nobler we attain."
" And so, Mr. Stacy," said Dora, with more sweetness in her tones than be- fofo, " wore you actually free, you could not help mo. I can be satisfied only by what I am myself, not by any outward form. Even if you knew your wife to be dead, that you do not love mc would make it a sin in you to marry me. And as for me, I would not resign the life I now lead. I loved you, I hated you, — I do not care for your frktuiship now. I do not love you or hate you ; you are as the dead to me. I can only be pure now by leading this lonely life. There are those to whom I am of use, and those who are of use to me, but love I have forfeited. Yet I am happy."
" Dora," said Dick, reverentially, " I shall always bless you for what you have said to-night. My sin is a thou- sand-fold greater than yours, yet for me, too, it is truo that all depends on what I am now. I am willing to bear what it stsema may have been sent in judg- ment. And, Dora, though it is no pal- liation of my offence, I may still receive the comfort of knowing that it was not allowed to orosh you, but has made you so high and pure that I am unworthy to touch your hand. If I can ever serve you, be sure and let me know it. Noth- ing could be too hard. God will keep you, as he has. Grood by."
So he went away, and Doiu — she had dono her duty and was happy in it, she would not have altered her duuision, but still she had beeu mistaken in say- ing that she neither loved nor hated Dick, and that ho was to hor as the dead.
CHAPTER XLI.
FROM time to time Celia consented to act in New England, for though hor proforonce was usually so strong for the South and West, when Mr. Stacy was iu Washington for the winter she felt safer at the North. It was now more than seven years sinco sho had first appeared on the stage, and her genius' had been so thoroughly trained and developed that she stood very high among trogiu actresses. The necessity which there was in her to go out of her- self made it possible for her to throw her- self vehemently into her role, and helped her to gain a more intense power.
She was now once more in Boston. Sho had taken the opportunity to meet Alice, whom she still scarcely ever saw, and only in circumstances of the great- est secrecy. Alice bad gone home again, and Celia resumed her customary reserve, and only showed the fiery heart within when she was acting.
She was one evening playing Mario An- toinette, — a play she particularly liked because it dealt with strong passions and little with the passion of love. As she came upon the stage, and waited a moment for the applause to cease before she spoke, she glanced rapidly round the theatre, and with a thrill of fear and delight at once, she saw, seated in the centre of the house, looking directly at her, no other than Richard Stacy.
Once sho would have fainted or had hysterics at such sudden emotion. But she had served a seven years' appren- ticeship in self-control, and did not even shrink or start. It was strange that amid all the thousands of specta- tors that one white, grand face alone should have blazed right out at her. She had often mused and wondered if Dick had not chanced some time to see her act, careful as she had been to avoid him. She knew how impossible it waa
124
SOMETHING TO DO.
for }icr to distingiiiBh faces in tho sea of them which was turned townrdti her every niglit ; but she folt Hiiro at this mnniunt timt tho miignotisin between them wiiH too Htronj,' for her not to have reiilized liis prcHonco if they had really met before. Me mitd see lier, lie had come for that very |)ur|)oH0, and he could not fail to know her. It \vn» ttgony, it was bliss. The monicnt of respite was past, an<l she began to speak. She had never in all her life played with such power. Tho whole house was electrified. She was in such a frenzy that she hiu'dly knew what she did. Among all the faces she saw but one, — a white, severe face, . She could uot look at it, but it seemed to grow and grow till it filled the whole audito- rium, and all the rest were only there 08 a framework to it. She dreaded tho end of the first act ; but there was no confusion, and when she came again on the stage, the same face was in its place, immovable. Dick, too, had learned self-control in seven years. She began to feel a strange mesmeric influ- ence stealing over her under the in- fluence of that rigid gaze. She grew cold, and thought she should fall. Once tho necessity for being quiet would have made no difference with her ; she would have found it impossible to be so. But now, by a mighty effort, she shook off the spell, and acted with redoubled encrg}'. Act after act slipped on. They seemed interminable, and yet the end had come before she had had an instant to think what she should do next. But when tho curtain fell she knew not a moment was to be lost. She had worn a plain black dress in tho last scene, and, hastily snatching a thick veil and throwing a heavy cloak about her, she left every- thing behind her, fled through a side door, and found herself in the night air alone.
She hastened on as fast as she could without attracting notice till she reached the nearest railroad station. She had before learned that one is safe at night in the cars, and she had never failed to have money about her, ready for any emergency, for the last seven years.
" Where do you go 1 " said the con- ductor.
She remembered the station. She
hod a confused idea of having heard
that a town named L was on that
road, how or whore she had hoard it she could not tell, and she mentioned it, and paid her fare. Then she idly wondered where she had heard tho name. She felt that her cloak was damp and her face cut, and i.iic me- chanically remcmliercd that she had come to the station in a driving, sleety storm. She began to feel weak and dizzy after the excitement and expos- ure of the evening. The bell sounded a long way off, but the whistle seemed to shriek and screech in her car all tho time.
In tho cold gray dawning tho train stopped an instant, and tho conductor
told her that this was L . She had
quite forgotten till then that she was to stop there. She dragged herself wearily out of the car and looked around. It was a dull morning, but the storm had ceased, if indeed it had ever extended to this remote villngc. Few jxjople seemed to be stirring, and the station was not yet open, as this was an express train which did not often stop and had done so only to ac- commodate Celia. She saw an old tavern standing not far away, and began to walk towards it. Then she grew suddenly too dizzy to see, and fell pros- trate.
Just as Celia found herself alono with the midnight, Richard Stacj', with com- pressed lips, walked behind the curtain and asked tho manager to say to tho actress that Mr. Stacy wished to see her. There was something in tho stern- ness with which he said it that made tlie manager feel that he had a right to see her, yet he answered, as he always did, " Mrs. Brown never sees gentle- men."
"Strangers!" said Mr. Stacy. "I should suppose not. I think she will see mo when you give my name to her."
The manager went away, and returned in a moment to say that he could not find her, but she must be in the build- ing, because all her dresses for the evening were scattered about in her dressing-room. So Dick waited. He was pale as death. He hardly knew what he felt. He was as sure that he had seen his wife as if it had been only
of having heard won on that
Hho had hoard it nd Hho mentioned Then she idly liad heard tho it lier cloak was
cut, and i>iic me- ed that hIio had in a driviuj^, «lefty to feci weak and tcnicnt and expos-
The Itcll sounded le whistle seemed 1 in her ear all tho
dawning tho train and tho conductor
iH L . She had
then that she was
10 dragged herself
car and looked
dull morning, but
led, if indeed it had
this remote village.
to be stirring, and
»t yet open, as this
'nin which did not
I done so only to ac-
Sho saw an old
t far away, and began
it. Then she grew
to see, and fell pros-
nd herself alone with ard Stacy, with com- i behind the curtain nager to say to tho Stacy wished to seo mcthing in the stem- 10 said it that made iiat he had a right to iswered, as he always I never sees gcntlo-
said Mr. Stacy. "I •t. I think she will five my name to her." it away, and returned \y that he could not lust be in the build- her dresses for the ttercd about in her 5 Dick waited. He h. He hardly knew I was OS sure that he is if it had been only
SOMETHING TO DO.
126
yesterday that they had parted ; but be dared not guess what tliis strange meeting meant. It flashed across him that she muHt have left him of her own accord, or she could not have failed to come buck tlio moment she was free. But this ho could not believe ; for he know that shu was true, and tho love ahu had shown him couUl not have been feigned. Then he shuddered us he thought of tiie only other explanation possible, that she had been so harmed that she wum too proud to return to him. He waited an hour in this terri- ble suspense, concentrating in that hour the accumulating suspense of seven years. Thou the manager said that she must have gone home without seeing any one, though it was strange, but
1)erhup8 she did not feel well, and so wd hastened away. He gave Dick her address ; but at the hotel she had not been heard from. Her star was sud- denly quenched. Tho next day the playbills announced that a severe indis- position would prevent " Mura " from appearing, that evening ; but when a week had passed on and still there was no trace of her, tho " mysterious disiip- pearanco," with all Dick's etforts, could no longer be kept out of tho papers.
CHAPTER XLII.
WHEN Celia again opened her eyes, she found herself in a bed, — a soft white bod in a neat, airy room. Surely there is kindness in tho world, so many a wanderer who falls ill in the street wakes in a comfortable home ; but alas for those who wako whore they fell!
There was a cheerfid wood fire in the room, and in front of the firo a cushioned arm-chair in which a girl was sitting with her back turned to the bed. There wore several windows in tho room, and, looking through ono, Celia saw a gray sky with idly drifting snow-flakes. It seemed to be growing dusk, but the fire- light played over the white draperies of the chaml)er with inexpressible cheer. A vase of dark-green holly with red berries stood on a little table near the girl, and by it ^y a hook, which she
hod evidently been reading until tho darkness began to fall. Now she was looking at the fire, and iiv a moment she half turned, so that Culia was able to see her profile. It was a strik- ing, almost a startling face. It looked like tho face of the dead, and yet con- tained suggestions of nncon(|uerublo vitality. The skin was of unflushcd whiteness, tho eyes large and pule. One might have called them lifeless, yet there was intensity in them. The brown hair was pushed carelessly back, and showed the perfect brow of a wo- man who hud a soul, and the largo mouth had a pathetic curve. The face was fur from handsome, but such that, once seen, it could never be forgotten, ('eliu, whose penetration was quick, watched it with interest, though she was too weak and confused to think much. Naturally she would have luiked " Where am II" but she could not bring herself to disturb tho deep gaze into the fire. And then as her consciousness came back to her, and she remembered what had happened, the old proud shamo returned, and she thought, "Why should I askl What does it matter where I am, — I who have no business among tho living 1"
So neither spoke, and the moments passed on, Celia looking at the girl and the girl looking at the fire. At last she rose suddenly and began to walk the floor, with her hands tightly clasped, and Celia heard her say below her breath, " 0 God, I cannot, cannot bear it ! It is killing me by inches. Father, take home thy weary child."
Celia began to feel that she was doing something dishonornMe in lying there nnd hearing it, but she could not let tho girl know that she had heard her, so she closed her eyes, that no ono might suspect her of having been awake.
The girl paced up and down, up and down, up and down, till the door opened softly and some one said in a low voice, "Is she still asleep, Clara 1 Mother says you aro to come down now and let me stay awhile."
" I don't want any tea," said Clara, impatiently, "and I like sitting here by the fire."
But tho other voice insisted, and Clara went down. Celia heard the
W 'BWUl i,!-i Lfiii,
'f
126
SOMETHING TO DO.
t
f
Hcrnping of a mntch, and a gleam acrosii her cliwod oyelitln told hor that the iu>w-<'(miur did not euro bo much fur twilijjlit riiiiHinpH rh the otiier, iiiid iint- urftlly ulio oiieiu'd lirr eyes, without rcnienil)eriiig h\w had inciuit to counter- feit Hleep. Her new nurse Htood direct- ly in front of her. She was a plain, lively-l<N)i<in(; Kiel, with a neatly fitting drcRH, a very homelike-looking Ixnly.
"(> dear !" Huid kIio, nn hIio Haw with surpriHO that Oelia wan awake, "did 1 wake you 1 How thoughtless in mo ! How do you feel 1 "
" I don't know," said Cclia slowly, trj'ing to answer.
"Of courao not," said tho girl; "an- other foolish thing in mo to ask. I will ]mi tho light where it won't trouble
you."
" It docs n't trouhlo me," said Cclia, who had now regained tho use of her tongue. " Nothing is tho matter with my eyes."
"(), I forgot that yon haven't heen sick a long time," said the girl. " You must excuse mc, for I have never had the care of sick people at all, and of course I make blunders all the time."
" IIow long have I been sickl" asked Celia.
"Why, I suppose only since yester- day," 8»»id tho girl. " At any rate, we knew nothing about it till yesterday. I suppose yon know how you felt be- fore. But yesterday you got out of the cars here, and were attempting to walk somewhere, — to the hotel, I piess, — - and you fainted away, I suppose, and father Imppenetl to bo there, and he said you could n't have any care at the hotel and so he had you brought home. Tho doctor said you hurt your head when you fell, for you were delirious last night, and — "
" What ! " said Celia, in alarm. "What did I do and sayl"
"O, nothing bad," said her nurse, with a reassiiring smilo. "You quoted Shakespeare all night, that is all."
" You are pure I said nothing else t " said Celia in excitement, her pulses Ijoginning to throb and a terrible thun- dering to come rushing through her brain.
The other saw in a moment that she had been inexcusably oarelesi^ but she
had tact enough to answer sweetly, " Nothing at all, and all you said was so disjoi'ited that if tho quotations had not l)eeu familiar wo should not have guessed what you were talking about. Hut tho doctor said I was not to talk to yo>i when you woke, so p«mitively not another wonll" ami she i;iayfully laid her fingers on her tightly com- pressed lips.
C'elia would have been glad now to ask more. She wondered what she had said from Shakespeare.
She inwardly fretted and chafed, but she put a powerful restraint on her feel- ings, for she remembered that another attack of delirium would expose her to new dangers. Her nurse took out a piece of elaborate cmbrf)idery, and began to work, with a thoughtful happy light in her eyes, till her sister came back.
" She is awake," sum' she, as Clara entered. Tho latter sturted, and Celia pitied her ; but iii a n^omcnt the other sister, who was sewinf; too busily to notice tho start, iimocently relieved her by adding, " I lighted a lamp, and that woke her."
" I was glad to Ikj waked," said Celia, feebly, " and I don't care to go to sleep again."
" Tl' '*, doctor said you must n't talk," said t>u. seamstress, with authority. " But, Clara, I am ashamed of myself. I did begin to talk right away, forget- ting all aliout it."
" I am not surprised," said Clara, smiling. " My sister Sue is an invete- rate talker."
" No matter," said Cclia. " I can hear talking, if I can't talk myself. And it will be better to tell me where I am than for me to tiro my brain with guess-
ing."
" Yes," said Sue, " that is sensilHe. I told you father had you brought here. Father is tho clcrg}'man of this village, and his name is Fuller."
Before she had time to say more the door again opened, and a dignified wo- man, a thorough lady, camo in. " The doctor has come," she said. " You had better go down, Sue ; and, Clara, if you really insist on watching in my place to-night, I suppose you must stay and hear his directions ; but I can't bear to have you do it"
answer sweetly,
all you snid wu
tho tpiotationH had
Hhoiild not have
cro titlking about.
I was not to talk
oko, BO pmitivcly
and slio rinyf\illy
licr tightly oom-
bocn plad now to
crcd what sho had re.
ihI and chafed, hut [!Htraint «>n hor feel- hcred that another vould expose her to
nunio took out a iliroidery, and began ughtfid hnppy light sister enme back.
8a'<I she, as Clara r stiiHcd, and Celia I moment tho other winf; too busily to loccntly relieved her :cd a lamp, and that
c waked," said Celia, 't care to go to sleep
d you must n't talk," ess, with aiithority. I ashamed of myself, k right away, forget-
rprised," said Clara, ter Sue is an inveto-
id Celia. " I can hear talk myself. And it tell me where I am ) my brain with guess-
I, " that is sensiHe. I id you brought here, ij'man of this village, ullcr."
time to say more tho i, and a dignified wo- ady, came in. " The she said. " You had lie ; and, Clnra, if you vatching in my place le you must stay and iB ; but I can't bear to
BOMETniNO TO DO.
Vflf
" Hush I " whispered Sue. " She is awake."
Clara had turned away from hor mother with tho Hntt words shu had spokun, but hor face wom exactly in the lino of C'Uliii'H vision. She saw that every tinge of color woh gonu even from tho lips and noHtrils, but that she contn^lled herself with a great effort to answer quietly : " I am detennined to sit up, but I can just us well take tho directions from you."
" No," said her mother, " it is best to have them at first hand."
So Mrs. Kullor and Sue went down, and it was a minute before the former rcturui (1 with the doctor. In that min- ute Celiii saw (Jlara go to the fireplace and stautl ti;;litly clutching tho mantel while she lilt her lip to keep herself from l)etriiying emotion. }Ior face was turned nearly away from tho Iwd, yet the attitiido of passion was too familiar to Colia for her not to guess with the clow she [mssessed that a mighty con- vulsion was going ou in the girl's soul.
Tlio doctor entered, — a grave, hand- Bonio man, |)*3rhaim thirty-five years old. With her first glance at his luce, Celia felt tho blood shrinking from every part of her iKxly and gathering round her heart. It was yours since she hud seen tho face, and it had never been familiar to her, but she knew even before Mrs. Fuller pronounced tho name that bhe could not be mistaken.
" Dr. Cruig ! " She forgot to notice that Clara's grasp was tightening on the shelf, and that she exchanged no salu- tation with the physician, so intent was she on tho terrible question, " Does ho know me 1 "
Tho Doctor gave no sign of recog- nition. He looked at hor, felt her pulse, and then said gravely, " Some one has been talking to her since she woko."
Was it you, Clara 1" asked her mother.
" No," said Clara, in a cold voice. " Sue said something to her, I believe."
" It did no harm," said Celia, trying to speak coolly. " I only wuutod to know how I came here."
" But it has agitated you too violent- ly," said the Doctor. " You must not ask even the simplest questions till I give you leave, if you wish to get well."
" Humph I " said Celia, formi 'mg hor ac(|uirod caution. " 1 don't miicli euro alH>ut getting well."
Clara Itent eagerly t)rward and l<M)ked at her. Mrs. Kidler liMiked as if she thought the delirium hud returned, and the Doctor's fuco grew still graver.
"At present you are uiy patient," said he, "and you must ol)ey ine." ('elia reeognixed in him a muir of power, ami shut her eyes and her mouth reso- lutely. Why should she take tho trouble to ()p|)oso him when she did not euro either way 1 If he chose t<> niako her well, why, she would submit. Ho began to write some directions for tho night, and Mrs. Fuller was nieunwhilo culled nway. Ho finished his writing, gave a few directions to Clara, who still clung to tho shelf, and then said, in a tone which to almost any one would have seemed very conunonplaec, " Miss Fuller, I wish to see you soon. Say to- morrow evening at Mrs. Kllery's." It might bo that tlio Doctor and Clara were ou some parish committee together.
" I think I cannot Ih) there," said Clara, in a low, nervous tone. " I shall feel tired ufter watching."
The physician looked fixedly at hor, and then, us ho heard her mother's re- turning footsteps, ho added simply, " You will not be too tired for that. I shall expect you."
Clara made no reply. Sho stood quietly till her mother and the physi- cian were both gone, and then ('elia saw her sink, trcmi.ling in every fibre, into the chair by tho fire. Her evident agony made Celia forget her own. Sho said to herself, " I must help hor, yet she must not know that I suspect anything." She waited till Clara grow quiet again, and sho had to wait many minutes for that. Then sho called " Miss Fuller." Clarti came quickly to the l)edside.
" I am afraid of tho physician," said Celia ; " tell your mother that he must not como hero again."
Clara started back. "O, I can't," said she, hastily. " You need not fear him. He is a good man."
"Yet you four — and dislike — him too," said Celia, putting in tho wo>-d "dislike" that Clara might not know her secret was guessed. "You wish he would not come here."
itijUiHif
■■<,p«i!i1jl
r
11!8
flOMKTIIINO TO DO.
,
Clarn, nt t\m, re;;ainc(l her Helffim- trol. " It iM trill'," Kiiiil hIic, " Imt my prvjiidicu itt witlioiit rixiiiilution, and it woiiM liu iiyiiHti^u to act upon it. 1 ■lioiiM l)u Hiirry to hurt \m ruclingN."
" But Hiiiiit'tliin^ iiiiffht t)u iloiiu," Haiti t'ulia, va^LM'ly. " Amriln! it nil to till! whim of a nick peiHiiii. " And thou hIiu caught liur breath Hiiddoiily, fur hIio ri'inemliurud that in hor anxiety to help Clara hIiu wan really taking the nieaiiH tu contirm any HiiMpiuiiinH which Dr. Craig might havu about her identity.
" What ruaitdn can i/du have to fear him 1 " Hiiid ('lara, in a HiirpriMud tone, and uncunHciouMly cmpluMiising you.
" I'rojiidice, like you," wiid t'cliii, adroitly, and Clara knew not what to Buy. I'rujiidico Hie hera was hardly poBHible, and hIio could concoivu of no other. Hut hIio could not betray hor- Bolf, and HO kept Hiluiicc. Neither dared urge her upecial reaHon for wishing that Dr. Craig would not come again, and bo it drifted on, and tho next morning he camo. Clara avoided being in tho room, and Cclia thought tho Doctor too much occupied with hiu own thonghtu to pay much iinprofe.sHional attention to her.
In tho afternoon a little dispute oc- curred in the sick-room between Clara and her mother about going to Mrs. Ellery's. iMrs. Fuller casually said that Clara ought to lie down to Ih) ready for tho evening, and Clara said she was not going. Her mother was thus surprised into urging the matter, though she would not premeditatedly have dis- cusHcd the Rubject in the sick-room, and sho spoke in a low, mild voice. Clara mentioned her fatigue from watching. "But YOU slept all the morning," said her mother. "It is not sleep you need 80 much 08 change."
Colia giiosscd what Clara would not say, that she had not slept at all. Mrs. Fuller went on : " You have been no- where for sovcml weeks, and some of the people think you hold yourself aloof from them in a manner unbecoming in a minister's daughter. And this is a so- ciety iiffair, and I very much wish you would make the effort for my sake."
"Would not any one accept my fa- tigue AS an excuse]" asked Clara, faintly.
" If it were tho first time on excuse
had been noeesMiry, it might lio no," aiiHWored her mother. " I certainly would not reipiest you to go if I did not really think it will do you good. You get nervous and pule and inorliid by staying in the house so miuli, You may bo tired, but it will bo a limlthy fatigue, and you will bo rested tho sooner for it."
" Perhaps so," said (-'larn, in a strange tone. " I will do us you wish, mother." So sho went away to lie down,
Itiit she came back for a few mo- ments, while Sue was dri'SHiiig. She was herself dressed in a Kt range bliio- silk dress, whose |)attern wuh tiill of ripples and bam. There was actual color in her dead-white cheeks, and her palo eyes looked almost black with light. She came to tho bedside and lnokiul at Colia. Sho looked (ixciUy for a long time, and then said, " 1 can triiHt you. Will you always rciririinber, wliatovor hup])ons to mo, that > did not go to Mrs. Ellery's of my own accord 1 "
('elia seized hor hand and replied im- pulsively, as usual, " I shall believe only tho best of you olways."
CHAPTER XLIII.
THE minister and his two daughters entered Mrs. Ellery's parlor after most of the guci^s had gathered. Clara saw, like u flash of light, blinding her to everything else, that Dr. Craig stood leaning on tlio piano and that his eyes were fixed on her. Mrs. (^Vaig, who was a fine pianist, was sitting on the piano-stool, though it was too early for music. Like Clara, she wore blue silk ; perhaps both had remembered it was tho Doctor's favorite color. But ono would have scarcely thought there was any similarity in dress, for Mrs. Craig's was perfectly plain, and tlie softest, most delicate sky-blue. Her form was round and bcnntifnl as always, her cheeks full of dimples when sho smiled (but uh ! wlien she smiled, you saw the false mouth), tho complexion white and rosy, and the luxuriant hair simply nnd modestly coiled. A sweet, fresh crea- ture sho looked, artless as a child. A pang thrilled through Clara, as she re-
BOMKTIIINO TO DO.
130
it might 1)0 no," ur. " 1 certainly )ii tu go if I <li<l not id you kixkI. Yon ill) luid nioilinl l)y HO Hu mmli. You t will 1)0 u luulthy ill 1)0 rested tho
A Cliira, ill u titmngo jo\i wiMli, mother."
) liu (loWU. )ueli for a few mo-
wu« ilrt-MHiuji. Sh«
I in n Ktnuino hhio-
mttorn *uh full of 'hero WHH uctiuil color
licckti, uu<l her pnlo lit hhvck with h'^hi.
dBido and loolied ot 1 (ixeiUy for a Unxg il, " 1 can trust yon.
rcnirnnher, wlmtovor hat S did not go to y own accord I "
hand and replied im- " I shall bolicvo only ways."
PER XLIII.
and his two dnuRhteTS 1. EUory's parlor alter ts had gathered. Clara of light, blinding her 0, that Dr. Craig stood ano and that hia eyes her. Mrs. Craig, who st, was sitting on tho gh it was too early for ira, sho wore blue silk ; id remembered it was k'orito color. But one rcely thought Ihero was 1 dress, for Mrs. Craig's in, and tho softest, most !. Her form was round I always, her cheeks full n sho smiled (btit uh ! sd, you saw the false iplexion white and rosy, •iant hair simply and . A sweet, fresh crea- , artless as a thihl. A tirough Clara, as she re-
moinborud hot \mi glnnoo nt her mirror, tlu) HharpucMM if her outline, and hur luslruU'HM eyuH, amd tiien a worsu thrill as she thouizlit li'>w wrong it was for her to fit i s... Sho oiii//it to wish beyond evei'\ thing that Mrs, Craig sliould form the most dcciiled, most beautiful eo;itr.i9t to hiiseif, Yot, though siie uiv,, .:lentioUNly tried, she could nut hil[i u feeling ot° repugnuuee us tho hulv e<iuie direetly toward her, and with her sweetest, most childlike smile, took Iter hand, and said : " Ah, g(KHl evening, (JIura. I am so glad to see you fur unco dining my visit. You don't roiueiabor, ( <hiro say, but I do, that I have ii't seen you except at church since I have been in town. Sue said you had a bad cold and could not oall wit!) her, and you were away when I calleil at your house. It is very naughty in you not to niako mure of an effort to see your old friends. You are looking well."
" I am very well," said ('lara, feeling aa if she should die every minient. " I havo been very bu.sy ; you know we havo some one ill at home."
" O yes, within a day or two, I know. I sha' n't tell you all tho pretty things tho Doctor says about your nursing, I don't want to make you vain."
Clara grew cold. The idea of Dr. Craig saying " pretty things " about her, — and to that woman !
" Ho says you make quite a martyr of yourself," continued Mr.s. Craig, in- nocently. " Ho said ho advised you to come hero to-night, for ho really thought you needed tho change."
What ! thought (Jlara, could this man bo so wilfully a, deceiver as to repre- sent to his own wife so falsely why ho had asked Clara to tho Ellory'sl Or was sho mistaken 1 had her own blind, boating heart so far misled her 1 Which was worse, that sho should be humiliated herself or that sho must lose respect for liim 1 0, tho last was infinitely worse ! Yet sho must boliovo what she had her- self heard, and what the cruel, smiling woman before her was saying. Mrs. Craig forgot to tell how she had with many ' questions made her reserved husband say all those things.
" It was supei^uoua care for me," she said, in a bitter tone. " It is only
17
j sinco day befciro yesterday that I hare , U'eii in the siek-rooui, and I supposu 1 I cannot yet bu in any great need of I change."
I " Yes, you were," said Huo, " for you I had been moping for some timo before." " And tiio Doctor is no thoughtful," said .\ln. ''iiiig, with a very wide smile, I for thu express lieiietlt of her dim|)lea. Clara felt lis if she could havo shot her. With a desperate effort, sho controlled herself enough to ask a few very eonnnon- place questions and then, watching her oj)p(irtuuity, crossed the room to a group of «)ld ladies who were glad enough to see thu minister's daughter, and who madu room for her and encircled her so that she felt herself sufu at last, and cer- tain that sho need not stir from that spot till her father was ready to tako her home. Sue, in tho mean time, was whisking about from onu room to an- other, chatting with everybody, nuiking everybody laugh, and in u little whilo detailed, with two or three other gay girls, to arrange tho " entertainntcnt,'* lis tho simple caku and fruit pruvidod by the hostess was called.
" I declare, Sue, you ought to ^avo learned to dance," said Mrs. Ellory, — a comfortable sort of a person, who had never experienced religion, — as sho watched tho graceful movements of tho young girl.
Sue was, of course, pleased with the compliment, and then she saw an oppor- tunity to do good, and such opportuni- ties she never neglected. " I used to wish to danco beyond everything," said sho. " I really believe I would have done it if father and mother would havo consented, though I knew it was wicked. But since I havo been a member of the church, I find there are so many pleas- antcr things to l>o done that I don't think of it at all."
" Especially since you were engaged^ i guess," said Mrs. Ellery, laughing,
Sue blushed, but smiled good-hu- moredly. " Perhaps so, I used to think there was no chance for any one ever to be engaged who did not go to dances."
What is the mysterious force which compels people to approach each other 1 Clara had refused to go to Mrs. Ellery'8 solely because she wished to avoid Dr.- Craig. Once there, she had seated hoc-
:t'
■^^mmmmK!mMi^''!^i^ jjvma^j'^vi
r
180
SOMETHING TO DO.
I.
self nmong the old ladies, not mainly because uho wished to escape Mrs. Craig, but because she was determined that she would not see Dr. Craig through the evening. He could not speak to her without leaning across several of the old ladies, and she felt absolutely safe. But after the first moment of re- lief, perversely came a fear, *' Will the evening go by without my speaking to him 1 " The apprehension that it would was more terrible for the moment than the alternative had seemed a moment before. She was vexed at her own stu- pidity. If she had behaved like any- body else, and the meeting had come about incidentally on her part, she would have been blameless. But now she had intrenched herself so deliberately, — she was, of course, at liberty to leave her seat any moment and go about tiie house ; it would, in fact, bo her most natural course, but then, if she moved now, with her eyes wide open to the probability of the meeting, she could never again bear what her own con- science would say to her. She would not move, but every moment came to her bitterly the hopelessness of her position. If the meeting would only come about without any volition on her part ! She .loathed herself for such a thought. Then with the practical part of her mind she said she was very foolish. The Doctor had advised her to bo present for the flake of her health. His grave way of saying it was the result of a mind pre- occupied with other cares. If she did not speak to him, iiow rude and odd she would seem to him, «nd he might suspect her motives, — tbere her cheeks tingled. How it would look to every- body if she kept still in her comer all the evening ! Her mother thought she iheld 'herself too much aloof from people, >8he had come to please her mother; was she not obeying only in letter by moping in the comer while she might be flying about like Sue, and taking an interest in everybody ? besides, she might be no more likely to come upon Dr. Craig in that way than if she sat stilL She found herself blushing again at th'at, for she knew what she thought. But then — Mrs. Craig would prattle to the Doctor about her, and would think it ■0 strange he had not spoken to her.
No, no, no, she would stay where she was, come what might.
Calm with conscious strength, she raised her eyes, and from the other side of the room Dr. Craig's eyes looked steadfastly into hers.
Is the initial resolve good for any- thing 1 If one fights a battle, conceiv- ing to the utmost the power of tempta- tion, and conquers, is it not a grand and glorious thing 1 If one tlien yields, is it not from a power outside one's self] Is there not an odyllic force which is iiTesistible 1 What is fate, what is free- will 1 Why does conscience reproach us most bitterly for yielding where we had determined not to yield 1 Is then the resolution itself worse than noth- ing]
Clara trembled. She braced herself in her chair. Nothing should stir her. Still the pitiless eyes looked at her, and she knew that she should talk to Dr. Craig some time that night. Then ho turned away. She saw him talking to everybody, moving from room to room, yet her system felt a subtle magnetism, and she knew that the moment was coming swiftly, surely.
The time came for the entertainment. Dr. Craig, as one of the impromptu waiters, brought a tray of eatables to the corner where the old ladies sat, — "so thoughtful of the aged," his wife said ; and, speaking in his ordinary tone, he said, " Miss Clara, your ser- vices would be acceptable in the other room."
What would have been said if she had refused an invitation so worded 1 Yet, when she rose to accept it, she was conscious that she was deliberately and with premeditation doing wrong as much as if she had left home with that express determination. The phy- sician conducted her through a long entry which opened on one side mto the dining-room, and on the other directly into the open air. The door leading to the dining-room was open, but no one was in the entry. A shawl hung there. He took it down, opened the outside door, and drew her out into the moonlight. He wrapped the shawl round her, returned to the dining-room with his tray, nnd in another moment rejoined her. Here, too, was au instant
uld stay where she [ht.
ciouB strength, she , from the other side Craig's eyes looked rs.
solve good for any- its a battle, conceiv- ho power of tempta- is it not a grand and F one tlien yields, is sr outside one's self? lyllic force which is t is fate, what is free- conscience reproach )r yielding where we t to yield 1 Is then ilf worse than noth-
She braced herself hing should stir her. ■es looked at her, and 3 should talk to Dr. hat night. Then he
0 saw him talking to ; from room to room, t a subtle magnetism, at the moment was rely.
tor the cntertamment. e of the impromptu a tray of eatables to the old ladies sat, — f the aged," his wife ting in his ordinary ^iss Clara, your scr- ceptable in the other
ave been said if she invitation so worded 1 •080 to accept it, she it she was deliberately ditation doing wrong le had left home with jrmination. The phy-
her through a long ned ou one side mto , and on the other
open air. The door lining-room was open,
1 the entry. A shawl took it down, opened and drew her out into
He wrapped the shawl icd to the dining-room id in another moment ere, too, was au iustaiit
SOMETHING TO DO.
131
of time in which she might have es^ caped, and the torture of her soul con- Histed in this, that, tempest-tossed as she was, she still clearly knew, moment by moment, how she miffht withstand tlic pressure of temptation for that iiiomeut. She was clear-eyed ; her na- ture was full of genius and poetry, and she had been taught the faultless Cul- vinistic logic. There is something sub- lime in that. She could not deceive herself. They stood in a little side yard. On the other side of the fence, and very near, was a little uncurtained cottage, a poor though clean abode. An old lady with her back against the win- dow partly intercepted the view, but they could sec, in the farther part of the room, a child lying on the bed, and an indistinct figure bending over it.
Clara mechanically remembered that the child was a foundling which had been left at old Mrs. Dayton's door several years before, and she vaguely wondered who was caressing it, for Mrs. Dayton lived alone and had few visit- ors. The Doctor and herself stood in shadow, and could not be seen.
He laid his hands firmly, untrem- blingly, on her shoulders. He was a strong man.
"Clara," said he, with unfaltering voice, " I have determined at last to do what you may call wrong. I will not live a lie any longer ; I cannot see you day after day and lot j'ou guess only by a look or a tone that I love you — love you — love you — "
He drew her close to himself, and kissed her in sudden emotion. She was horror - stricken, paralyzed ; lier tongue refused to speak ; yet, alas ! she could not urge her powerlessness to herself in extenuation, for she knew that she was destitute of the will to speak. She felt a wild gleam of rapture in the midst of her distress and humiliation.
But the Doctor was a strong man, and he held her only a moment. Then he spoke again : " I knew when I mar- ried my wife that she did not satisfy my ideal of love. But she bewitched me ; I knew she loved me, and I had lost faith in the possibility of a true marriage. That was sin, a thousand- fold the sin I am committing now. Having sinned, I am willing to bear
the punishment, I am willing to pro- tect her and care for her, but I want to ask you a question, Can it bo right for me to live with her as her husband when I do not love herl Is not that cementing the old sin with new sin 1 The more kind and tender I am, the more false, — and then, if I love you, and if you too love me (I do not ask you to tell mo whether you do or not), is there any power on earth or in heaven which ought to separate us 1 "
" Yes, yes, yes," exclaimed Clara, in a whisper, bringing her whole energy to bear that she might now speak, and shrinking away from him.
He looked grave and sad, and said slowly, " Putting aside what the world thinks, I mean. If you love mc, and if you were sure you were not doing wrong, would you be willing to face alt the world might say or do?"
" All," replied Clara, faint and white. " But it is wrong." '
" I thought you would feel so," said he. " I should possibly have loved you less had you answered differently. But by giving you up I am paying the pen- alty of my sin. I am willing to do that, but can it bo still right for mo to live with my wife 1 Does not truth, does not purity, compel me to leave her?"
" 0, have pity on her ! " moaned Clara. "She is sinless."
" Yes," said he, gloomily ; " her na- tiire was too shallow to have done so great a wrong consciously. But ah I here a man has a worse fate than a woman. She need, in her perplexity, only receive passively the affection be- stowed, he must be the bestower, he ' must actively, systematically, deceive. Can it be right 1"
" It must be," said Clara. " I feel it, though my reason is paralyzed."
" "Then my fate is decided," said ho, grinding his heel into the sod. " I love you, and I had a right to tell you that, for we are both strong enough to bear it. But I swear to you by that love, and I can say nothing stronger, that from this day forth I will be the kindest, tenderest husband who lives, that I will cherish my wife as if I loved her. You have known my heart, and though we are silent forever, this hour has proved us
,iBfeBj»»l^iWflli<»'gifrt'JM»Wlf-)^^^
132
SOMETHING TO DO.
and may go with us into eternity as an esscntinl part of ourselves."
As he npokc, the door of the cottage opened and a figure in black left the house. The old ludy held the lamp so that its light shone full on the feuturos of her visitor, antl the two who stood in the shadow saw distinctly an excced- iugly beautiful, wilful, sad face. The door dosed and the Kgurc moved swiftly away toward the railway station.
When the sound of her footsteps had died away, Dr. Craig once more drew Clara to himself and held her close, close for minutes. There was exultation, joy, consecration, in the embrace, — the con- sciousness of mutual love, the certainty that each was too pure to yield to its force, and that so the object loved was a worthy one ! Then the Doctor put her softly from him, and she moved to the house, the moonlight blessing her high, pathetic, still features.
So few minutes had passed since she left the house, yet she was wholly a new creature ! Life, death, and heaven had assumed new meanings to her hence- forth, and she could nevermore know wretchedness. She helped to pour the coffee, — she had been away so little time that there were still many unserved, — and she moved calmly through the rooms, though her soul was far away.
CHAPTER XLIV.
CELTA was deceived by the calm of Clara's face next day. Even when Dr. Craig came she seemed quiet and self-possessed, and her patient fancied that Sue had been right in saying that Clara had stayed in th6 house and moped till she had become morbid, and that an evening out had done her a great deal of good. Still she could not think that all the agony she had seen had risen only from a diseased fancy.
The Doctor said it was necessary that he should return to the city immedi- ately, but that Celia would probably require no more medical attendance, if care was taken of her.
She was in good hands. Mrs. Fuller was a sympathetic lady, who found it a delight to minister to the sick, and Sue
was like her, though she had no experi- ence. Clara seemed particularly drawn toward Celia, and loved to do every- thing for her.
Yet the shock to Celia's nervous sys- tem had been so great that she lay in a low fever for weeks. Assured that her secret was safe for the present, she did not tr}' to think, but let herself drill on in a semi-conscious state, and found herself almost enjoying it. Such a glimpse of pleasant home life was a new thing to her. Beautiful as her childhood had been, she could not re- member it all, and her father had been too silent and studious to attend much to the details of daily life, so she and Alice had been left to themselves a great deal of the time. At Mr. Buck- ram's, setting aside the hatred she had entertained for the whole family, there had been such a bitter pressure of pov- erty that it had prevented them, even among themselves, from being what they might be as a family. Next had come the boarding-school, and then the one room with Alice, and an interval of happy, happy time, both before and after her marriage, but not a day of actual home-life, and for the last seven years the theatre ! It thrilled her with an inexpressible feeling to see the thousand innocent pleasures and surprises which the father and mother prepared for their children, and the children for each other and their parents. The thousand little household plans which the girls talked over in her room, when she was strong enough to bear their conversa- tion, the bits of fancy-work to adorn the home, and the quiet books of Miss Mu- lock and Miss Yonge which they read aloud to each other, all seemed very charming, and though the commonest experiences of life, they were to the sick girl the most strange. Clara, too, was passionately fond of poetry, and in the evening twilight, while the fire danced on the walls, she would repeat, in a soft, strange tone, many and many a sad, sweet poem, and even sometimes would add a stanza or two of her own, which taught her listener that depths lay under the very quiet exte- rior which might perhaps, if she did not fade too early, make her one of the world's sweet singers.
-.in.»,,.. ,-, ,...^f- ■^■-Ti-'fnimniii-iriji,
she had no experi- particulurly drawn ovcd to do ovory-
Iflia's nervouB sys- iit that she lay in iks. Assured that or the present, she ik, but let herself jonscions state, and enjoy '.ng it. Such nt home life was a Beautiful as her she could not ro- ller father had been ous to attend much lily life, so she and ift to themselves a ime. At Mr. Bnck- tho hatred she had ! whole family, there tter pressure of pov- irevented them, even from being what they ily. Next had como »1, and then the one and an interval of , both before and after not a day of actual the last seven years thrilled her with an ig to sec the thousand s and surprises which mother prepared for i the children for each xrents. The thousand plans which the girls ir room, when slie was ) bear their conversa- incy-work to adorn the liet books of Miss Mu- ongc which they read ther, all seemed very hough the commonest ;, they were to the sick ■ango. Clara, too, was of poetry, and in the while the fire danced le would repeat, in a le, many and many a and even sometimes itanza or two of her ght her listener that r the very quiet cxte- it perhaps, if she did y, make her one of the igera.
WBi»iiili»<in»1>i iitniiii^i^ii ,
SOMETHING TO DO.
m
To Colia, who had passed her life principally in boarding-houses and res- taurants, the fresh, carefully cooked food, arranged on the most delicate china with the whitest linen, and the little wreaths of evergreens and scarlet berries which the tasteful fingers of the young ladies prepared each day, were a delicious change. At last she was well enough to lie on tho sofa in the sitting- room part of the day, and she found herself becoming fairly interested in the parish affairs, which all tlio family dis- cussed very vigorously iiud with great good-luimor, thougli Clara and Sue could not always refrain from a sting- ing epithet at the meanness or hyiwc- risy of one and another. Had Celia been an actor in the scenes around her, they would have boon intolerably tedious to her ; but being only a spectator, she found them amusing and healthful.
Mr. Fuller was growing old, his hair was already gi'ay, and he had never quite regained tho elasticity of his spir- its since the loss of his only son u few years before. He was a true pastor, a shepherd who gave his life for the sheep. Every hous6hold in the town welcomed him as a father. He was a man to whom every one could speak of joy or sorrow and be sure of sympathy. His prayers were so simple and earnest that even Celia, with all her heresies, did not find them tiresome.
The family of a quiet country mhiis- ter ! There was something L-.c heaven in its calm.
As Celia grew stronger she began to speculate as to her future. To return to tho stage, even if it were possible, would involve an explanation which she was very unwilling to make. Then, too, even this little illness had forced to a culmination all tho ills brought on by her sorrowful and irregular life for the last seven years, and she found herself so shattered, so overcome with lassitude, that it seemed impossible to undertake again anything in which nerve-power was required ; and still further, after her last shock, she felt a repulsion for the theatre, and determined to play no more if it could be avoided. Yet she realized that something must be done soon. Her habit of carrying quite a Bum of money always with her in a
secret pocket had served her in good stead now, and she had ample means to repay what had already been done for her. But her stock was dwindling, and she felt that it must bo replenished. All the family had been too delicate to inquire in any way her history, or hint at what she should do, yet she felt that they were eagerly curious on the matter, as most people would bo in such cir- cumstances, and especially people in a small village where such an event as Cclia's introduction was almost the only living romance they had ever seen. So she broached the subject herself tho first moment she felt able to bear it. Sho had previously given her name as Mrs. Brown, and now she added a few particulars. She was from Boston, had been in the habit of supporting herself in a printing-office, had no friends ex- cept a sister to whom sho had already written (this was true, for the first day she was able to walk she had found tho post-office, which was only a few rods away, and sent a line to Alice, without showing tho direction to any one), had been going on a journey when sho felt ill and stopped in the village, where she had fainted before she reached tho hotel ; did not now care to continue her journey, but would like to find some means of an honest livelihood where she was.
They looked as if they wished to ask her some questions, but a certain repel- lant medium seemed to diffuse itself around as a shield, and they found it impossible ; so, instead of that, they set themselves ut work to find something for her to do. Could she sew t 0 yes, and sho would be glad to embroider. But this would be rather an uncertain means of support, 'because most of the ladies of the village did their own sewing. Could she teach 1 That seemed the only other alternative in an unprogres- sivo country town. She said faintly that she had never taught, and Sue declared instantly, "She can't teach, mother. She is n't half strong enough. I used to get so tired myself, last sum- mer, in that horrid hot room with those dull children all day, that I was fit for nothing afterwards."
"Yet you liked it," said her moth- er.
|>m'j'»Jt!llfeMl^■iH^^'j^'^»''^l!^'^Ar^^u■g^!'jMi^;ftg;^wa.^^^^^^^^
134
SOMETHING TO DO.
" Yes," said Sue, " because I do love children in nil forms and at all times ; gtill^it was too much for my strength, and of course it would bo for Mrs.
Brown's." , . . ,
" Stay," said Mrs. Fuller. " I thmk I have a plan. As you have been edu- cated in the city " (though Cclia had not said so), " perhaps you have learned some of the accomplishments. Do you
draw ] "
"Yes," replied Celia, eagerly. "I both draw and paint, and I have been taught elocution too."
" That is fortunate," said Mrs. Fuller, with satisfaction. "Some years ago a little girl was left at the door of a Mrs. Dayton, who took her in and has cared for her ever since. A note which came with the child stated that the person who received her should bo amply repaid for her education, and money 1 is regularly sent, and directions too, it seems. The child must be eleven or twelve years old now, and the last in- structions were to take her away from the district school, where she is a great favorite, as she is a vciy bright child and has great talent in mimicry and singing, and find a private teacher, not a goveraess, but some one who resides in town, who will give her the educa- tion of a lady. It is especially desued that she should be taught drawnig and painting, for which she already shows great capacity. I thought one of my girls might teach her, but Sue is too busy thinking of other things just now, and Clara has promised to take the vil- lage school next term, so she would soon be interrupted. Besides, neither of them has leanied to draw or paint, 80 it seems you have found precisely your niche, if you like to fill it. ^
" It seems a very good opportunity, said Celia. " I think I could teach one
will be satisfied with me, I will take the situation."
And so arrangements were made. It was agreed that Celiu should still be an inmate of Mr. Fuller's household by the payment of a moderate sum for board, and she found herself once more earn- ing her own support in a manner vastly different from what she had done hither- to. The work was very easy ; the child came to her for three hours every day, was quick and bright, even brilliant, and, though very little disposed to bo controlled, was exceedingly winning. Ce- lia had not much idea of the proper way to teach, and was not by nature fitted for a teacher ; so when her young charge de- clared that she was passionately fond of painting, and wished to do nothing else, Celia agreed, finding it easy and pleas- ant to spend the greater number of the school-hours in tiiat way. Mathematics, aside from the most imperative prob- lems in arithmetic, were wholly discard- ed, and the time was occupied in reading poetry and the more fascinating histor- ical and scientific works. Celia, too, during her years at the theatre, had Vjo- como a fine Italian scholar. • She had met many native Italians, and had become familiar with all the operas ; so, thoiigh she knew but little of the piano, and had no special talent or cultivation as a singer, she was able to teach both the language and the music in a very off- hand, inexact manner to the child, who had great talent in that direction and was charmed to learn. And so it came about that the little girl fell violently in love with her strange teacher, over whom hung the romance of a mystery, and was ready to do anything for her ; at least she thought so, but she had no test, for Celia always let her have her own way. Celia had too little idea of what a teacher should do to guess that
s;^?£.:;r-?^^^^^
take a school. But would the corapen eation be sufficient to pay my board 1"
"Elf must be the child of wealthy people," said Mrs. Fuller; "and Mrs. Dayton tells me, that, if some one can be found to teach her all that is de- sired, she will be paid whatever she de- mands."
"Well," said Celia, "it seems the right thing for me to do, and, if they
in the'^end no harm was done,— harm, at any rate, than would have been done by rigid, unsympathetic discipline. Moreover, the education was just what had been requested for the child, and the parties who were responsible sigiu- fied, through Mrs. Dayton, that they were satisfied.
Village gossips always will talk, ana they had never quite recovered the mys-
KUnMmim II"
no, I will take tho
ts wero mado. It should still bo an household by tho ato sum for board, f onco moro cam- in a mnnncr vastly 10 had done hither- ory easy ; tho ihild hours every day, ht, even brilliant, tie disposed to bo diugly winning. Co- of the proper way by nature fitted for er young chnrgo de- jassionately fond of to do nothing else, it easy and pleas- jatcr number of tho way. Mathematics, st imperative prob- ivcro wholly discard- occupied in reading ) fascinating histor- works. Celia, too, the theatre, had bo- :holar. • She had met us, and had become B operas ; so, though of the piano, and had or cultivation as a lo to teach both the music in a very off- icr to tho child, who in that direction and am. And so it came tie girl fell violently itrange teacher, over imance of a mystery, do anything for her ; it so, but she had no ays let her have her ad too little idea of luld do to guess that J wrong, and perhaps rm was done, — less than would have been ympathetic discipline, cation was just what }d for the child, and ere responsible signi- 8. Dayton, that they
always will talk, and lite recovered the mys-
i^lii I -"nil I liii I '^iny'^irtl'"!'"""* f"'
SOMETHING TO DO.
130
tery of tho fo\mdling. Celia's mystery proving still more unintelligible, one, a very ingenious one, suggested a connec- tion betwoi'u tho two ; luid though tho good minister Kpecdily and somewhat sternly hushed the report, there wero not wanting those who believed it. In some way it came to Celia's cars. She was very angry, but in a moment she became calm and smiled, saying that it was of no consequence. And, in truth, she cared very little what was said so long as no one guessed right.
The time glided tranquilly on. Celia lay down some hours every day, and that, with her lessons, her sewing, and a daily ride, kept her constantly em- ployed, and she found a dull, monoto- nous country life sufficiently pleasant for an invalid and one to whom so little remained to hope for in the world. She felt so little energy that she fancied she should not live very long, and it seemed as if tho circle of her earthly life was complete (for she was in the habit of looking at things from a dramatic point of view) and that it was time she began to tread the circle of a new sphere. She believed that nothing but death could renew her exhausted life, and sho hoped she might fade away without any return of strength which should stir in her a yearning for other than tho passive life she now led.
Ah, poor weary one ! sho was yet to bo startled into consciousness onco more. Sue came in one morning with such a glow that her usually plain face was fairly beautiful in its radiauce.
"I have a letter from John," said she. " And he promises to bo here to-night. He can spend a week in town."
" 0, what a pity that we have com- pany invited for to-night !" said Clara.-
" I don't care," said Sue. " He will enjoy seeing his old friends, and I shall enjoy whatever ho does. We are not exclusive kind of people, and I can't see, for my part, why people who are engaged should want to shut themselves away from the rest of the world. Loving John only makes me love everybody else all the moro." And thereupon she gave her sister a hearty hug, and went flying about tho house for the rest of the day vith a sparkle in her eyes.
" I '11 toll you what I call Suo's oyes to-day," said Clara, pleasantly. "Thoj are usually not pretty, and to-day they shine so that I call them ' love-lightod watch-fires.' "
The ])oople camo to tea, and Celia, out of regard for the family, overcame her repugnance and entered the piarlor. It was the first timo she had been in- troduced to any of the towno-peoplo ex- cept Mrs. Dayton and her pupil.
Notwithstanding tho current gossip, they all treated the stranger with re- spect, and appeared, in fact, rather over- awed by her superior air and elegant and somewhat haughty (though slio tried to bo afl'able) manners. Sue's lover could not arrive till after tea, and Celia saw Sue peering eagerly out into the night when she heard tho whistle of the approaching train. A quick step camo up tho walk. Sue ran out to meet him, and it was astonishing how many min- utes passed before sho opened the door and ushered him into the parlors. Celia did not at first see him, and as all his old friends greeted him as John, and sho had never heard tho family call him anything else, sho was not at all pre- pared to escape her confusion when Sue, in a voice with a triumphant qiiivcr, in- troduced Mrs. Brown to Mr. Homo. Looking up, sho saw tho well-known faco, and sho felt tho blood rising in a tor- rent to her own. Mr. Homo was hardly less embarrassed. Celia perceived this, and, remembering that he could hardly wish to bo recognized by her himself, and that ho must naturally think she had already made known their acquaint- ance, determined to undeceive him be- fore ho betrayed anything. So she bowed distantly and said, as to a per- fect stranger, " I am happy to meet you, Mr. Home." He looked relieved, though ho was evidently puzzled and surprised.
" What is the matter, John ] " said tho lively Sue. " You look quite dis- concerted."
" Ahem ! " said John. " Mrs. — Brown, did you sayl — reminded me so strikingly at first sight of a former acquaintance that I was quite — "
" Nonplussed, of course," said Sue ; and then it seemed as if a thought suddenly struck hei', and she looked hastily from one to the other, and said,
'»ajKM!MJ ■'•■ .' ''iKJlVfi»sj»A^'^!^,t^l!^'illr&M■■' .'.'iUiA' '."')iu'-.»''-'-"J'>awi'»-'"!'"'i..''!>iiS)i''t'«'-
136
SOMETHING TO DO.
in a distressed, vexed tone, "Why,
John!"
" 0, it is nothing," said John, turning ■oarlet. "Sue, mayn't I have some supper 1 I am fonrfiilly hungry."
Cclia was beside licrsclf witli npprc- hcnsion. Sue's last rcmmk led her to bcUeve that Mr. Homo l»ad already spoken of her, and that Sue guessed who she was. The more she thought of it, the more was she convinced of this ; for she remembered the truthful, manly nature of Mr. Home, and she thought ho might deem it duo to his betrothed to give a complete account of his past life. She was vexed with herself for not having had foresight enough to adopt a new how de illume ; but she had thought Brown so incon- spicuous and common, and indeed it could not have suggested anything had not Mr. Home and herself both looked Bo confused. Then, too, the mystery
attending her would convince Sue, if she oi\ce had a clew to the matter, and it seemed that she now had a clew. In truth, she was at this moment teasing her loTCr, who had hoped his hunger might excuse his talking, in this wise : " Now, John, does this Mrs. Brown re- mind you of the real Mrs. Brown 1 1 am terribly curious, for there is a great mystery about her, of which I will shortly tell you."
" What is it 1 " asked poor John, try- ing to evade.
" But, sir, you must answer my ques- tion first," said Sue. "You must own that I have a little right to be jealous in this matter."
Alas for John ! What could he, the soul of truth, urged by one whom he loved, do 1 Yet it was evident to him that Celia was incognito, and wished to remain so, and he knew that if he told her secret a perfect wave of horror would run through that orthodox com- munity, and that he might do her great harm. Besides, she had once been his goddess. No, he resolved that his duty to Sue did not oblige him to tell other people's secrets.
" The name, you know. Sue," said he, with all the ease he could assume, which was not a great deal, "naturally
with a similar air, though her complex- ion is quite different, and her form too, in fact."
This he could say tnithfully, for Colia's illness had altered her a good
deal.
Sue was not satisfied, but she had something of a maiden's pride, anc' she saw her lover did not choose to tell her anything ; so she asked no more ques- tions, though she coidd hardly help showing herself hurt, by a little uncom- mon reserve through the evening, which she struggled against as best she could. " The secret is out," said Celia to her- self wearily, as she watched the lovers, " and I suppose this haven of rest can be a haven for me no longer" She determined she would speak to Sue her- self, and let matters take their own course. She could not see her that night, however, for John stayed pur- posely to see his fianc'ee after the others went away, and Celia thought it kinder for her to retire and leave the family to their own happiness. But next morning she found the opportunity she wished.
" Perhaps," said slie, " Mr. Home has already told you that he has mot me before." , .,
» No," said Sue, blushing ; " he said you looked like some one ho once knew." " It is not strange he should not be certain who I was," said Celia ; " for I m»ist have changed since then, and I did not give any sign of having met him before."
" Except by blushing," said Sue. 1 guessed at once that you were the Mrs. Brown of whom he had before told me.' Celia caught her breath. " And what had he told you 1 " said she.
" I don't care to tell you," said Sue, in an irritated tone. " I would like to have you tell me what you intended, and what vou owe it to me to tell, with- out reference to what 1 already know." Celia was very angry. She felt, what was indeed true, that Sue's suspicions were aroused, and that she wished to see how the two stories corresponded. It would have been like Celia to have closed her lips forever and gone away without any explanation. But she remeralwred in time that it really
SlrnSg^f^cnrd^boU .S ™ a™ to Sue that she .bould b. .old Si »me hSfht, I Bho»ld think, .ndlimd .he »id : "A. I expeot to teU the
SOMETHING TO DO.
187
^h her complex- id her form too,
tnjthfully, for red her a good
>d, but she had 1*8 pride, anc' she hooso to tell her d no more qucs- idd hardly help y a little nncom- 10 evening, which 18 best she could.
said Celia to her- tched the lovers, laven of rest can 10 longer." She speak to Sue her-
takc their own lot sec her that ohn stayed pur- ?e after the others thought it kinder :ave the family to But next morning inity she wished. 3, "Mr. Home has t he has mot me
ushing; "he said )nc he once knew." he should not be said Cclia; "for I since then, and I rn of having met
ng," said Sue. " I
you were the Mrs. ad before told nie." reath. " And what aid she.
ell you," said Sue,
" I would like to
hat you intended,
to me to tell, with- ,t T already know." rry. She felt, what lat Sue's suspicions that she wished to x)ries corresponded.
like Celia to have ver and gone away ination. But she me that it really ; she should bo told,
I expect to tell the
truth your precautions arc useless ; but I will tell you. I was an actress. I played well, and Mr. Home in those days used to go to the theatre occa- sionally. I hope you will not bo too much shocked by that, for I believe he may have given up the practice now. At any rate, ho liked my playing ; and when he afterwards met me at the house of a poor sick woman whom we had both chanced to befriend, he recog- nized mo, and so we became aciiuaintcd."
" And you think he did not recognize you last night 1" asked Sue, in the same suspicious tone.
" I am sure I don't know," answered Celia, impatiently. " I thought he did at first, but I am not surprised that he concluded himself to bo mistaken. Still he may have felt that for my sake he would not speak of it. This I can tell you. Miss Sue, and you ought to know it sooner than any ono else, or you are not fit to marry him, that he never did, and never could do, an untrue or unmanly thing."
Sue looked ashamed. She realized that she ought, indeed, to have had a deeper faith in the ono she loved. She said in a persuasive tone : " But, after all, Mrs. Brown, you cannot blame mc for feeling so, because I do love him so dearly, and it is such an awful thing to — "
" To say that one has been acquaint- ed with an actress ] " said Celia, coolly. " I suppose it does seem so to the rural populace, and, in fact, there is some oc- casion for it ; but you know Mr. Home well enough, putting aside the fact that you also know me, not to be disturbed by that."
" Oh ! " said Sue, horrified, " I am not so base as to feel so. You know me very little if you think it possible for me to suspect John of ever doing any- thing wrong. But he told me," and here her voice faltered, " that he once loved yon aid asked you to marry him ; and how can I feel sure that when he sees you again he may not find that he loves you still 1 "
" You need not fear that," svid Celia. " His love for me was a very diiferent thing from his love for you. It was only a temporary fascination, and I am sure Jt was entirely past before he told
18
you of it. Besides, I suppose it has now become necessary for mo to go away from here, and so you need not bo disturbed by mo."
" 0 no," said Sue, hastily, " I am not so mean as to wish you to go away. Indeed," and she sighed, "if it were possible that John should ever love you better than mo, I would rather know it now. 0 no, you must not go away on my account."
"But I suppose your father and mother will nut consent to keep an actress in their house," said Celia.
" 0," said Sue, eagerly, " if you are truly sorry for your past life, they would be the first to encourage you in a new one."
"But I am not sorry," said Celia, with supremo sconi. " I think it a grand and noble thing to have been on the stage as I have been, and it seems to mo the most petty narrowness to consider life in the theatre a sin to bo repented of."
" You should n't talk so," said Sue, reddening. " It is insulting to us."
"Not more insulting than your re- mark to me," said Celia ; " but it ia a principle with tho Orthodox to insult other people. To say 'I am con- verted, I wish you wore,' is only an- other form of ' I am better than thou.' But yet," and she stopped in her wrath, "it is true that I ought not to speak so to those who have been so kind, so truly Christian, in their treatment of me. I am sorry for what I have said, but I perceive I must go."
"No," said Sue, after a pause, in which she struggled with her vexation ; " if you were to go, there would have to be a reason why."
" It seems to me there is a reason why now."
" But father and mother don't know it, and if you tell them — "
" I supposed you would tell them."
"I can't do it without also telling them about John's knowing you, and that I could not bring myself to do, even if he had not first seen you at a theatre. But what would they think of him if they knew that 1 "
In spite of her anger, Celia could hardly refrain from laughing; and it amused her too, bitter as it was, to
»
■ ■■^^^e^^i j!<pi,auwJ!fcJ.JJjMMaxat4i/<'^ '*"*"
iip>>i*>
138
SOMETHING TO DO.
SCO how constantly Sue's thouglits turned over cverytliing with rcforenco to what would ho host for John, a))piir- cntly tliiiikiiig iind eurinj^ nothing about what hiiiipened to Colin.
"The iivcnigc feniide," thought Cclia, turning up her nose; "yet, after all, Hho in fur nioro generoun to mo than most women would bo under similar circumstances."
So it was finally doeidcd that Mrs. Brown should stay whore she was for the present ; and when Mr. Homo came tlint day, Suo related all the circum- stances to him, and ho convinced her that his pa!4sion for I'olia had been u mero litful flamo which had blazed up before ho was converted, and before he was old enough to realize that he really wished for a I/ome goddess and not a tragedy q>icen. They laughed a great deal over the pun, and had so fine a time that they concluded to forgive Cclia cntirel}' for disturbing for a few hours the current of their happiness.
CHAPTER XLV.
A BEAUTIFUL summer sunset. The doors and blinds of the little stone cottage were all flung wide open that the sweet air might ])enetratc every nook of the dear rooms. The piano stood open in the parlor. Alice had been playing, and would play again when Aleck came homo. Now che sat by a window, drinking in the fmgrance of the honeysuckles, and sewing mean- time. It was plain common work on which she sewed, for they were not rich enough to have expensive clothing, but the stitches were beautifully set, and perhaps something of the serenity of the face which bent over them found its way to the garments, as if the needle with which she sewed were mag- netic ; for they always fitted magically, and there was always peace in the heaits of those who wore them.
Though Alice had enough to do to keep her very busy, she was not hur- ried ; and she paused from time to time to look out through the gleaming trees at the rosy billows of the western clouds ; and as she looked she saw a carriage
stop at tho gateway. A lady, very plainly and inconspicuously dressed in deep mourning, descended, and, after giving some direction to tho driver, walked in a firm, queenly way up tho path.
Tho window by which Alice sat opened down to the groi'.nd, p>id she formed a full-length picturo among tho creepers. As tho lady ptnceivcd her, she turned to the driver and waved her hand, at which he drove away. Then she came to tho window, and said calmly, without any preparation, " Alice Wilding, do you remember that you onco promised to be always my friend 1 "
Alice started with surprise at tho voice. She could not fail to recognize it, though years had passed since sho heard it.
" Antonia Hdntcn ! " sho exclaimed.
" Yes," said the lady, lifting her veil. There were tho same clear, beautiful features, the same pale complexion, but an expression far different from that of tho old days. Tho face was thin and worn, there were deep lines of care in it, but there was also an expression of rest.
Alice dropped her work and held out both hands. "I am glad to see you. Come in."
Antonia stepped gracefully through the window. She did not sit down. Sho was still her old self in many, many ways.
"I wondered," said she, in a calm tone, " if you would remember me. If you had not, I should never have trusted mortal more."
" How could I help remembering 1 " said Alice, in a voice full of emotion. " I did not make my promise lightly, and I have kept it in my heart though you told mo you did not want my friendship."
" Did II" said Antonia, with a sur- prised look. " 0, well." she added, sweetly, " I have forgotten what I said the last time we met, but I think it was true that I did not want your friendship then. I did not want any- body who knew the intolerable burden I was liearing to talk it over with n^e. I wanted nothing to make me think. My nature is not often morbid, and it is easier to act and be dumb inwardly
t*atii'iimi«> ■
SOMETHING TO DO.
139
J. A lady, very luously drcascd in icndcd, nnd, after )ii to the driver, icciily way up the
which Alice sat I j^rov.nd, i^'id she pictiiro among the ady porecivcd her, iver and waved her Irovc away. Then
window, nnd said prci)iirution, " Alice ^member that you always my friend 1" th Burpriso at the ot fail to recognize ,d passed since she
I ! " she exclaimed, ady, lifting her veil, imo clear, beautiful pale complexion, but ffcrcnt from that of 3 face was thin and eep lines of care in Iso an expression of
ir work and held out im glad to see you.
[ gracefully through
did not sit down.
: old self in many,
said she, in a calm Id remember me. If should never have ore."
help remembering 1 " voice full of emotion. 5 my promise lightly, it in my heart though u did not want my
I Antonia, with a sur- ►, well." she added,
forgotten what I said ) met, but I think it [ did not want yoiur
I did not want any- the intolerable burden
talk it over with n^e. ig to make me think. t often morbid, and it and be diunb inwardly
OS well as outwardly. I did not want to bo bound by any promises, or do anything for the sake of anybody's opinion. Still I have kept myself pure since tlien."
" I believed you would," sai 1 Alice, with a beaming face. " And yet I could not understand you. Will you toll me about yourself during these years 1 "
" Yes," said Antonia, " I have como on purpose to tell you. I said to my- self that day that I woidd make no vow, since I might break it, but I would see what a life I could lead. I began. I re- fused to sec him who was my lover. I did not sec him once till I was ready to leave the city. Then I wont to him. Ho had been angry with mo because ho believed me capricious, hut ho had a noble nature and understood mo when I told him that I was turning over a new leaf. I laughed when I said it, and told him it probably would n't last. I was determined not to make a serious matter of it, but I know ho believed me, for he said not a word to detain me.
Alice flushed angrily, and said under her breath, " Ah, that was not noble in him ! "
" It was," said Antonia, angry in turn. " If you were a man, you woidd not raf.rry a woman like me, you would not give such a mother to your children."
" The mother and father were alike," said Alice, still indignant. " Ho was as guilty as you."
" 0 yes," said Antonia, " but a proud man cannot stoop so, and I am too proud to bear to be the wife of one who did not respect mo. Yet I had cared for him more than for the rest, and if ho had detained me I might have listened to him. He showed himself to be very noble. I suppose ho cared for mo too," she added, in a musing way, *' for he has never married. Neither of us has broken our heart for the other. We did not moet till our hearts were in ashes, but I rather think if we had met sooner and I had not been a ballet-dancer, that we might have died for each other." She spoke with the utmost calmness, as if it were a matter of very little consequence.
" And what did you do then 1 " asked Alice. " I have looked carefully for
traooa of you in tho newspapers, but I have never seen your name after that engugement you wore fultilling when we last mot."
" No," said Antonia ; " I knew, if I appeared in my own name, it must also be in my own character. I could n't sot up for a saint without being talked about. I liad a chance to go to Europe then, and 1 told the manager that I would go only on condition that no one but liim- sclf should know my name. Ho was angry at the freak, for of course it seemed like that to him, nnd told mo that my name would bo worth more to him than my dancing. I agreed to take half' what ho liad ofTored at first, and ho lot me have my own way. I did my very best after that, and tho new name has been worth moro to mo than tho old one. I have been in Eu- rope almost all tho time since. I havo thought it better to broak from old associations. I havo como hero to tho United States somo time in every year, but only to look about me, novor to play."
" And you havo been steadily heroic," said Alice, with shining eyes. " Q, I believed that yoii had that power ia you ! "
Antonia pirouetted round the room much in her old way. Sho novor liked to admit sho was touched. But she said in a moment : " Yes, it takes hero- ism to live the life I havo lived, — a lonely life for one who loves society, a sober life for one who loves gayety, a reflective life for one who hates to think and whoso thoughts have in them only remorse and shame. There haa not been much to regret the loss of in my past, but it is hard to live without excitement."
" You have had your art," said Alice.
" Yes," said Antonia ; " I like dancing while it lasts, and I like acting too, and that takes more time, for I don't havo to practise much for the ballet now, and I do have to rehearse and leani my parts in any play. But my talents are for burlesque acting, and I find I don't feel like that very often."
" You could do other things, I know," said Alice. "Perhaps you could not once."
" I could, do other things," said An-
i
ii
M.i'.ujjiBiiiii(i(riiiiiii'» III! ' f iwT^i" "i" "ff-'"-
140
80METTTTNO TO DO.
i'\
tonin, " if I were willing^to work myHcIf lip into tragic fccIingH, but my whole Btudy tH to (irown feeling."
" It iH butter to look an emotion Hteudily in the face till it becomcH cnlin," Huid Alice.
"Very likely," said Antonia, "but not easy at firHt, nor even after ho many vearH. At any rate, a ballet girl I was born and a ballet-girl I muitt be to the end of the clmi)ter. It is an intcrcHt- ing ])U2!/.le to me to see what it iu poHHi- ble to make of one so born and ho l)red. I like to watch myself aH I would an- other person,"
" And you have found the possibili- ties great," said Alice.
" I HuppoHc I should not have come hero if I had not," replied Antonia. " 1 have foiuid out two or three things, at any rate ; one is, it is of no particular consequence whether I am happy or not."
" But you are happy when you feel that most."
" Yes, in a sort of way. I should n't think of willing myself happy at such times, but I am, I suppose. Then I have found that the present may be
furo though the past was impure, and have found too " (a long pause here) " that sin is not wholly evil."
Alice seemed almost startled. The idea was familiar to her in some forms, but Bhe could hardly believe that it had come to Antonia fully worked out in these, and, if not, it seemed a dreadful thing to say. She waited for the ex- planation.
" I don't want to excuse myself," re- sumed Antonia, " though I often have . to muster all possible excuses to keep me from killing myself; but I hove wondered many times whether there was any God who was a Father over us, and thought there could n't be' or he surely would n't let us do such wrong things ; so I have worked away at that problem. I dare say, if I had been edu- cated, I might have had a taste for metaphysics."
"And you have decided — " asked Alice.
" As I said, that sin is not wholly evil. I know it is at the time, and every wrong act makes it harder to turn back. You have to suffer more and more be- cause, I suppose, God means for every-
body to turn bock some time ; and when you do turn, the sin you have done yoiir- Holf and Huffcred for makes it possiblo for you to help others. That is the only thing that makes the past 8upi)ort- ablc."
She spoke vehemently and her eyes flashed. " I futvf helped others ; if I were as proud as 1 used to be I suppose I should not tell you, but I wint you to know. I have been at the head of a bal- let-troupe and have known himdrcds of ballet-girls and have helped them. I have saved them from dancing those things which are only immodest, and not beautiful ; I have taught them how to drcHB purely ; I have shown them how a ballet-girl can live by herself, and I have fared the little ones. I know well how early the poison is inserted, and how hopeless it seems to try to rise when one has fallen. I have seen only a few who seemed to have courage and will enough to do it ; to them 1 have told my whole storj', and they have be- lieved it and learned what was possible to them."
She spoke proudly and almost gayly, as if she had found a compensation for her long sorrow ; but in an instant her iicad drooped and tears gathered in her eyes.
Alice was speaking joyfully, saying how grand and beautiful it was that the very discordance of her life should have been the means of making so many oth- ers' harmonious, because she had learned the secret of bringing music out of the jangling; but Antonia interrupted her sadly.
" It is grand, it is a compensation, the only one, the only thing which makes life at all tolerable ; but, after all, you who have lived as pure as an angel all your life could move mo as much as I have moved those like me. I know I should be grateful for the compensation, for the curse, but you have had the compensation without the curse. You see every lingering, support for my pride is battered down."
" It is not true," said Alice, full of sympathy, " that I could do all you have done, even if my power were as great. The very fact that my life has been so shielded has shut mo out from the opportunity. I hare helpe^ one, you
iiil,>rti|-iWiir,t(rjiB;i
X
time ; nnd when I have d(ino your- nakcs it puHHiblo TH. That ia the the past supiHjrt-
tly and her cycn
pcd others ; if I
to be I suppose I
it I w-xnt you to
the head of a hal-
lown hinidrcds of
helped tlicin. I
)m «lttiicing those
immodest, nnd
taught them how
have shown them
live by herself, and
tie ones. I know
loison is inserted,
iccms to try to rise
I have seen only
) have courage and
,; to them 1 have
and they have be-
what was possible
' and almost gayly, a compensation for t in an instant her cars gathered in her
ing joyfully, saying itiful it v/as that the her life should have naking so many oth- iausc she had learned ing music out of the )nia interrupted her
( a compensation, the thing which makes ; but, after all, you pure as an angel all »vo mo as much as I like mc. I know I for the compensation, ; you have had the out the curse. You support for my pride
!," said Alice, full of I could do all you if my power were as 'act that my life has las shut mo out from [ have helpai one, you
80METIIINO TO DO.
Ul
have helped hundreds. But oven if wo had done tiio same work, the work is the important thing, and not tlio way in which wo have been led to it ; if it wore really necosMtiry to sin in order to save another, we might beliuvu sin the best thing, which it uannot be ; but that our sin 7)1(11/ suvu another is the blessing that proves that any life, wandering in over HO crooked paths, is tending towards the fullest and best life in thu end, and that the Father's hand is clasped in ours ovcu when wu tread the by-ways. 13ut when I speak of sin between us, it is of only one phase of it. As I have thought about you all those years, I luivo re- pented that I used to bo arrogant. I be- lieve now, what you used to say, that, according to the blessings and helps I have luid, my life has been a worso one than yours, which struggled in such dark ways."
" / don't believe it," said Antonia, " and I never did, though I chose to say
80."
" What are you doing now 1 " asked Alice, after a little pause.
" I am taking a vacation," said An- toinctto. " I imve an engagement in Paris for the fall, but I wanted to come to this coinitry to see you and — "
She stopped suddenly. Alice could never question her, but she added in a minute, of her own accord, " I have a child in this country."
Alice was surprised, for Antonia had never alluded to this before.
"You are married," said Antonia, abruptly. " To a Dr. Hume, some one told mo. Have you any children 1 "
" Yes," said Alice, with a happy look. " I have a little boy who has gone with his father this aflemoon to visit a siuk person two or three miles away."
" So I can't see him 1 " said Antonia, archly, for Alice showed in her face that she felt what a loss it was to her visitor. " Well," she added, very gravely, " since you have a child you know how a moth- er loves a child, and you will not wou- der that I come across the ocean every year to see my little girl.'
" 0," said Alice, with feeling, " you ought to have her always with you ! "
" With me ! " said Antonia, starting back. "I never was bad enough to dream of that The child is twelve
yearn old now, though I am not tliirty, and 1 havu hardly seen her a dozen times in her life. She does n't even know who I um, though I am afraid she guesses. I call myseir the fairy, and she has Iwcn brought up to believe fai- ries are real. I have foMtured the be- lief in every way. I always go dressed in blai'k ; but 1 have often managed to wear a complete ballet eostiune, with tinsel, inidorneath, and have metamor- phosed myself as suddenly as wo do in theatres, and I have carried her toys which would spring open when I tcniched them with a wund, nnd shower iMJiibons all aroinul her. She likes mo, she tiwea me," Antonia said, with gleaming eyes an<l joyful voice. " She has a wild na- ture, and the romance delights her. But she likes mo as nfairij. I could n't bo her ideal of a mother. And oven if I could make her happy, do you suppose that I would do by lier as my mother (who loved mo too) did by mo 1 "
"No," said Alice, "you would not do the same. I can understand that at first, when you led your old life, you had no right to keep her with you. But now, when you havo proved your- self, it seems to mo you do wrong to put oway this blessing from you."
" Dou't tempt me," said Antonia, with a tortured expression. " I suppose I might leave the stage, and make a home for her, and I love her well enough to do that, though my tastes are not domestic ; but' in that case I must tell her the truth about myself, though I have never hesitated to deceive her in every way before this."
Alice nodded. " I see what you mean, but I think you mistake. You believe in your present self, and you know well that no shadow from the past will over fall on her. Why distress her by speak- ing of it 1 The only one in the wide world to whom one can ever owe that is the man one marries."
" Perhaps so," said Antonia, thought- fully ; " but, disguised as I am, I can never bo sure that I shall not bo recog- nized. I have been in public so much that thousands of people must know my face well, though they are strangers to me. And suppose she should know after a tirael" Antonia covered her face with her hands.
i
-ijnimuiiwi.iat-t'ii-
■<|()fai>A«Mttt>jaju»'ttMt)»,#lM<iil»''''.'rt"'^^
w'TlC HVl»iill[illWMWilM*^»4«W4rfiniiTiiil1li
14t
SOMKTIIINO TO DO.
" I Rcc," Rni(t Alice, in a moment. " Itiit (Id iu)t dccido tuo ImHtily not to hftvu luT with joii. Ah yon yoiimclf know, tl)L< niihiuHt part of your lifu hiiH fjrown from thin vcTy Horrow which yon wo\il(l conccul. Why not cdnciito yonr cliilii to know that it in really noblul AVhy not let her know that the difltinc- tion niiulu Ity Hociety in tiot tliu highest nnd trucHt distinction 1"
" lUicimMe I know what uin Ih," cried Antonia, |)iiHRionately, "and while I will nHC every cxcuho for it to niyHelf and to otherH, I would not palliate it one jot to my child if my sonl were at Htuko. I want her to hutu and ahhor it, and I want her to love mo."
" Wc may hato the sin and lovo the einner," said Alice, finding; nothing bet- ter at hand than tho hackneyc<l phrase.
*' I won't bo pitied" said Antonia, fiercely ; " least of all, by niy own child."
" I do not believe she would pity you," said Alice, " nt least not in tho way you mean, only ns one pities terrible calamity while respecting tho sufferer. If she were older, and had been taught tho code of tho world, it might bo so. Bnt if she goes to you now, she will SCO that you aro worthy of respect and will judge you by no false standaixl, — that is, if she has tho noble nature which I know sho inherited, and which you would cultivate in her."
A faint color came into Antonia's palo chocks. It was a triumph that one who know tho worst about her uhonld speak of her in such terms. But sho answered : "You are kind, but you will sec in a moment that 1 can never educate her as you say ; for, however deeply I might feel, as I do feel sometimes, that I had risen above the post and forced it to bo a help to u better life, I could never tell her that. That, from my lips, would be boasting of my sin."
" You need not tell her," said Alice. " It is not by words that wo influence others very much. You will tell her the past, the palliations which existed in your case, — yes, you will," — for Antonia was about to object, — " it is only fair that you should. You will tell her your sorrow for it, because there was real wrong in it notwithstanding the palliations ; you will tell her of the
present, and you will draw no conclu- sioiiH. Your life day by day will tcaeh her to respect you.'
"Ay, ;/ she lives with me," said An- tonia ; " but will she ever go with mo when sho knows tho truth 1 "
" You mean, then, to tell her before- hand I " asked Alice.
" Yes," said Antonia, vchomontly. " Sho would go to the end of the world with mo now, bnt I will never entice her away under false pretences. If sho goes, sho shall go with her eyes open. But, 0 dear ! " (Antonia had never used so weak a word before,) " have I any right to tell a little child such fearful things ] "
" I bohcvo you are right in wanting her to know all before she goes with yon," replied Alice, thoughtfully ; " and there may be reasons why it is better to tell her whilo she is a child, hard as it is. A child twelve years old may understand enough to dccido about such a matter, and yet sho would not bo overwhelmed with the revelation as sho woidd bo if it camo a few years later. Then she is unprejudiced now, and would decide according to the real right and wrong. If sho is ever to know it, sho ought to know it before sho is older. If she is a child of po- etic nature, as I judge sho is fi'om what you have said, I think sho will go with you, feeling tho sorrow of your life, and loving yon all the moro for it in a chivalrous sort of way."
" Never," said Antonia, loudly, " I never will have any such compensation as that from my own child. Her sense of right shall not bo blunted for my sake."
" It will not be," said Alice, quietly ; "and when you think about it, you will see that I am right." • " Well," said Antonia, wearily, " I believe I will go to see her again, and tell her the truth. Sho will decide rightly, for, as you tell me, she is un- prejudiced, and, moreover, her soid is innocent, and wrong will seem wrong to her, and I need not fear too gentle a judgment. If she decides against me, why, then, — well, it will be the direct consequence of my own sin, and I should not be truly sorry if I were unwilling to bear it."
I
BOMETIIINO TO DO.
143
ill draw no conclu- ftv by day will teach
* with mc," said An- 10 ever go with ino ) truth 1" 1, to tell hor boforo-
0.
itonia, vchcmontlv. the end of the world will never ciitieo her pretences. If sho with her eyes open. toiiia had never used leforc,) "have I any tlo child Hueh fearful
arc right in wanting
lieforo she goes with
!, thoughtfully ; " and
sons why it is better
she is a child, hard
ild twelve years old
nough to decide about
id yet she would not
\ith the revelation as
it came a few years
is unprejudiced now,
according to the real
^. If she is ever to
;ht to know it before
' she is a child of po-
judge sho is from what
think she will go with
lorrow of your life, and
the more for it in a
of way."
1 Antonia, loudly. "I any such compensation own child. Her sense lot bo blunted for my
)e," said Alice, quietly ; I think about it, you m right."
Antonia, wearily, "I > to see her again, and •uth. Sho will decide you tell me, sho is nn- , moreover, her soid is vrong will seem wrong eed not fear too gentle [f she decides against — well, it will be the nee of my own sin, and e truly Borry if I were ffit."
TIjero was a high huik on Antoniu's fiicu UH mIio said tliis. Sho mso, after u few tnornents of HJloncc, and said, " I have told you what 1 came to toll, ami you huvo ntot inu in the goiicrous, no- ble way I know you wouhl. 1 be- lieve 1 shall want to see you often. Now good by."
" Do not go," Httid Alice. " You arc to be in this retfion for some time. Stay hero with us."
Antonia looked astonished. "Whiit will your husliund suy to thati" saiil she.
" Ho will say what ho says to all my friends aud guests," said Alice, proudly, — " that he is glad to see you."
" I am surprised," said Aiitouia. " Men are more lenient than women in their judgment of us, but they don't like to have their wives associato with us."
" Dr. Humo looks at the souls of people, and not af any external circum- stances," said Alice, still with pride ; " and, if it were otherwise, ho trusts me, and believes that I shall do what is right."
" You are very good," said Antonia, softly. " I camiot stay, because, much as I love you and high as you lift mc, I cannot bear such intense feeling long at a time. In your presence there would always be this strain \i\>on my nature, because all we have ever had in common has been connected with the deepest meaning of my life. But I thauk you from my very heart that you have believed in mo enough to ask me to stay, — and you must have mar- ried a great and noble man. You are happy, and you should be. I, least of all, ought to envy you." She bent down and kissed the white hand of Alice, and was gone in a moment.
Alico sat thinking as the shadows gathered, and the sky grew rosy and then violet, and the stars began to shine in it. She heard carriage-wheels, and in another moment Aleck's hearty voice, telling little Harry to scamper in and tell his mother what a good time they had had, and that they were as hupgry as bears. She ran to meet the little fellow, who was almost tottering under the weight of a huge bunch of azaleas which made him look like " great Birnam-wood" coming to Macbeth.
As she kissed him, sho could not boar to think that any mother hu<l lived apart from her (diild fur twelve years.
" Wo are hiuigary as bears," said the small boy.
"(), well, I have soinetliiiig beautiful for you to oat just the minute you get your bauds wiuihed."
In tive minutes they were seated at the little round table. It was iilenti- I'uliy spread with simple bread and iiKMit and delicious, fragrant raspberries, cdvered with green loaves. Tlio linen was line and white ; there was no silver except for ti'a-spoons, but the glass was clear ami sparkling, and a vaso of tho sweet a/aleas stood iu the centre. Alieo always meant her table to bo beautiful, having a fancy that, " whether we eat it drink," we should givo our highest na- ture full action.
Aftorwiuds tho stftttll boy was put, all fresh and rosy, into his littlo nest, and his mother sang to him till tho large, heavy eyelids closed. Then sho came back to tho parlor. Aleck stood in tho moonlight by the window, breath- ing tho breath of tho roses. Sho went to him and told him her story. Ho folded his arms about her, and said, " When everything is so beautiful, and wo aro so happy, we must believe that tho ages through toil and pain are work- ing out blessedness for every soul."
CHAPTER XLVI.
MRS. CRAIO was in the country for the summer, and spent con- siderable timo at the minister's house. She was an inveterate gossip, but said everything with so sweet a face that .Mrs. Fuller and Sue, neither of whom had particular intuitive power to read character, found her quite entertaining, and if they often mourned that they had spent a whole afternoon in specu- lating about their neighbors, they be- lieved that they themselves, and not their visitor, must bo blamed.
Clara, of course, could not speak of her repugnance to tho lady, and at- tempted to treat her with an extra amount of cordiality, which no one but Celia was bright enough to see through.
jmi*r. ^•11,'fji*
1"
144
SOMETHING TO DO.
I
Cclia, too, foU unable to say anything against one who seemed agreeable to her kind entertainers. She hated Mrs. Craig heartily, and, in truth, dreaded her, thougli she reasoned with herself against that, for she had never seen Mrs. Craig before, nor been seeti by her, so far as she knew, and, with all tiio inquisitive- ness in that lady's character, she believed there was no danger of her discovering the truth about Mrs. Brown.
One evening Mrs. Craig appeared in a state of great excitement. " You will wonder at seeing mc so late," said she, " and if my dear husband were here I need not have come. But in an affair of such importance I nutst speak to some one, and it seems to mo that mj' minister is the fittest person."
" Dimples ! " said Celia, in a scornful whisper to Clara, taking care that no one else should hear.
" I have made a discovery," pursued Mrs. Craig, with gi'cat satisfaction. " I have unravelled a mystery. Mrs. Brown, I have discovered who is the mother of your little Elf."
"Ah ! " said Celia, indifferently.
"I felt it was due that you should know it first of all," said Mrs. Craig, persuasively, and pausing with an affectionate glance at Celia, who, how- ever, deigned no reply, thougli she thought, " 0, well, now I know who originated the scandal about me."
"That child has always impressed me singularly," said Mrs. Craig. " I have always noticed a resemblance in her to some one, but who it was I have never been able to rememlier. I am al- ways noticing such resemblances. There is such an one in Mrs. Brown herself. Now we have milk fi'om Mrs. Dayton's, and to-night I thought it was so pleas- ant an evening that I would go for it myself. It was just about the time the train came in, and just before I reached the house I saw a lady in black coming from the direction of the sta- tion. She did not sec mc, and turned directly in at Mrs. Dayton's gate. I was surprised, for Mrs. Dayton never has any visitors, and somehow, I can't tell how, it suddenly occurred to me that this might have something to do with the child ; of course, however, 1 walked on as if nothing had happened.
The curtains were not drawn, and I could not avoid seeing the interior of the room." (She neglected to state how many minutes she had stood watch- ing outside before knocking.) " Well, in the first place, the lady went in with- out knocking, which you will acknowl- edge was in itself suspicious. Then the child sprang to meet her as if she were an old friend. She raised her veil and I saw her features. In an instant I recognized them."
Supposing her auditors wrought up to a suflicient state of curiosity, Mrs. Craig paused to take breath. Clara sat trembling like a leaf, remembering when she too had seen the lady in black. Celia was too indignant and Mr. Fuller too calm to speak, but Mrs. Fuller and Sue instantly entreated to be told the denouement.
" I shall have to expose some of my own sins," said Mrs. Craig, laughing, " in order to explain ; but you must make allowances for us city puoplo who do not have the simple pleasures of the country to make us liapj>3'. To tell the truth, the Doctor and 1 have hunetimes been to the theatre, that is, wc used to go occasionally yeare ago. 'Well, wo used to sec on the stage at tiiat time a girl called Antoinctta" (Celia gave a convulsive start, and though she imme- diately regained her sclf-cont'-ol Mrs. Craig had seen the start), " who had been educated for the ballet, but who also played a great deal besides. This woman at Mrs. Dayton's I knew at once to bo the very same, though she looked much older and thinner; and then, directly after, it occurred to mo tliat, the last time she played, tiie char- acter she took was called Elva, the very name of this child. So there is proof positive for you. She played ' Elva ' against an actress who went by the name of ' Mara.' They hated each oth- er, and it was rare fun to see them play."
Celia moved uneasily, and the lynx eye of Mrs. Craig observed her. Celia was conscious of the observation, and became more and more embarrassed. A sudden flash of recognition shone in Mrs. Craig's eyes. Celia raised her lumd, pretending to shield her eyes from the light, Mrs. Craig watched every movement, but continued to talk.
0 not drawn, and I ceing the interior of B neglected to stiito i slie had stood wntch- 3 knocking.) " Well, the lady went in with- ich yon will acknowl- suspicions. Then tho eet her ns if she were he raised her veil and cs. In an instant I
auditors wrought up ito of curiosity, Mrs. vkc breath. Clara sat !af, remembering when n the lady in Idack. lignant and Mr. Fuller , but Mrs. Fuller and reated to be told the
to expose some of my Mrs. Craig, laughing, )lain ; but you must for us city people who imple pleasures of tho lis liappy. To tell the and 1 have hunetimes re, that is, w£ used to ycara ago. Well, wo c stage at tiiat time a uetta" (Celia gave a and though she imme-
her self-control Mrs. ;hc start), " who had •r the ballet, but who at deal besides. This
Dayton's I knew at eery same, though she ler and thinner ; and tor, it occurred to mo e she played, the char- is called Elva, tho very Id. So there is proof . She played 'Elva' !S8 who went by the
They hated each oth- j fun to sec them play." ineasily, and tho lynx 2; observed her. Celia ■ tho observation, and id raoro embarrassed, f recognition shone in cs. Celia raised her to shield her eyes from
Craig watched every ontinued to talk.
SOMETHING TO DO.
" Well, I knocked at tho door, and it was several minutes before Mrs. Dayton opened it, and then tho woman had disappc'lvrcd. Elf stood there, as bra- zen-faced us usual ; you would never have guessed from her manner that anything had happtnied. I only stayed a minute, and then came straight to you. Now what shall we do about it 1 "
All looked at tho minister, who an- swered quietly : " I do not see, Mrs. Craig, that we have anything to do with tho matter whatever. Even if this actress is tho mother of the child, as seems probable, that surely only gives her a claim to see the child as often as she chooses, and we cannot interfere. My advice would bo that wo should keep the discovery a secret, and not give the scandal-mongers anything to talk about."
" But for tho child's sake," remon- strated Mrs. Fuller. "She ought not to be contaminated by intercourse with such a woman."
" Probably she is not," said Mr. Ful- ler. " The fact that tho mother chose so good a woman as Mrs. Dayton to care for her child would show that she wishes Elva to grow \ip in the right way ; and as she probably does not see her very often, she can easily show her only the best side of her character. At any rate, we could not interfere if we wished it ; wo can only take caro that all tho influences we ourselves throw around her arc of tho best."
Mrs. Craig professed herself delighted to find such perfect agreement between her own ideas and those of tho minister, and took her leave less chagrined than she might have been ; for she thought she had made discovery number two, and possibly number three, that even- ing.
Tho next morning Celia was nnable to rise. She had been very weak be- fore, and it had only been by the strongest effort of her will that she had been able to perform her daily duties ; and the agitation of the preceding even- ing, tho certainty of being recognized by one who would be pitiless, had so wrought upon her that her vitality seemed all gone. She was not in pain, but it seemed as if her life was ebbing fast In the afternoon Mrs. Craig was
19
145
I won't sec her," said
announced. Celia, feebly.
" But, my dear," said Mrs. Fuller, " she says she has something of impor- tance to say to yon ; and you know she is a doctor's wife, so she will under- stand what is best to do for you."
" Well, let her come," said Celia, in a tired way. It may as well come first as last, she thought.
"Good morning, Mrs. Brown," said Mrs. ('raig, dimpling. " I am so sorry you are not well."
Celia made no reply. Tho lady tried again with some commonplace remark, but, getting no answer, she determined to plunge boldly into tho matter.
" My powers of observation are very good," said she, with a sidelong glance at her victim. " I seldom forget a face I have onco seen." Still no reply. " Mrs. Brown, in you I recognize the ' Mara ' who acted in Elva with ' Antoinetta.' "
She paused. Celia played nervously with a curious blue-enamelled ring on her finger, but said nothing.
" Well, Mrs. Brown, do you deny it 1 " asked Mrs. Craig, with some vexation.
" No," said Colia, " of course not. It is true."
Mrs. Craig was nonplussed. " Then I suppose the Fullers know it," said she.
" No," said Celia ; " but you can tell them, if you like."
"But I have something else to tell 1/ou first," said Mrs. Craig, bending for- ward, with the expression of a serpent. " You arc not only ' Mara,' you are the wife of Dick Stacy, tho Congressman, — the wife who disappeared so mysteri- ously seven years ago, — the wife who was so mourned for, and who, it seems now, must have run away of her own accord."
Celia was now really surprised and alarmed ; but she knew that to show it would only place her more fully in tho power of her perseoitor.
" How did you learn that 1 " said she, outwardly calm.
" You wonder," said Mrs. Craig, " be- cause you think I never saw you before. It is true I did not recognize you when I saw you on tho stage ; but you know you often used to come to our door with your sister, and I have seen you froija my window. And I don't mind telling
146
SOMETHING TO DO.
you how I know yon. Tho ring you wear on your first finger belonged to your sister Alice, and I have seen it , every day for years. |
" This ring," replied Celia, " was my mother's dying gift to me, and I have never taken it off my finger ; though, when I first had it, my finger was so tiny that it actually had to be tied on.
"Then she also gave one like it to Alice Wilding," said Mrs. Craig, fearing she should lose her prey.
"Very well," said Celia, who was completely exhausted with the conver- sation. "That is true. What next r " Would you like mo to tell the Ful- lers that bit of scandal too 1 " said Mrs. Craig, with a sinister look.
" What scandal 1 " asked Celia. " That you ran away from your hus- band and joined a theatrical company.'^ " For whatever I did I had reasons, Baid Celia, proudly, — " reasons which I will explain to those to whom an explanation may be due."
Mrs. Craig hesitated. Much as she had Celia in her power, she had yet produced apparently so littlo effect that her plans were completely baffled. She had littlo to gain by any expose, and her ill-success in relating Antoiuetta's secret did not inspire her to go on. She was only impelled by an inordinate curiosity and love of mischief, with no set pur- pose of evil before her. And she thought she had an opportunity to do still more mischief.
"Will you please go now? said Celia, feebly.
" Not just yet," said Mrs. Craig. It I can't interest you in yourself, I believe I have one item which may interest you. How would you like to hear something about your husband 1"
Celia felt a sudden thrill, but, con- trolling herself with a powerful effort, she answered indifferently, "Tell me yrhat you know. ' . . ,
« Well, then," said Mrs. Craig, with a
gleam of satisfaction, " for some years
a young lady by the name of Dora May
has been living in the house with iis."
Celia grew faint, but she did not
move.
"She always seemed very sweet ana sad," continued Mrs. Craig, "and was perfectly unexceptionable in her con-
duct in every way. Last winter, how- ever, I happened, by the merest chance, to catch sight of a man's figure entering her room, her sleeping -room. This man I had before seen, for he is a prominent public man, no less a person than the Hon. Richard Stacy." _
Celia being still quiet, Mrs. -.raig do you say to that 1 " had but one room, 1 all the visitors I chose would bo nobody else's
asked, " What "That if I should receive there, and it
affair" ,» r, •
" You take it coolly," said Mrs. Craig,
chagrined. " But I have still more to tell you. I distinctly heard him offer her nmrriage, ho called it, saying his wife had been so long away that ho was lawfully free." .
Celia turned suddenly away with her face to tho wall. At last Mrs. Craig had touched her. She forbore to say the bitter thing of listeners she had been ready to say, but asked, "And what did she say 1 "
"I could not quite make out the whole," said Mrs. Craig, " but she was angrj', because it seems they ought to have been married years ago, even be- fore your wedding, Mrs. Brown, and she thought he meant to take advantage of that now, because he wanted some one to live with him, and while the chances were that his wife lived no respectable woman would take him. But ho soft- soaped her till she thought ho was all honorable and fair, but she would nt marry him, after all, so I^ suppose she did n't actually trust him." , . ,
Mrs. Craig believed that at last she had roused all the fury of Celia's nature and made her wretched. She was glad of it too, for she had been disappointed that her first revelations had produced so little effect. It had been merely idle curiosity which had first induced her to spy out all the facts. If they had been received less coldly, she would eagerly have assisted Celia in concealing them, and have been her bosom-friend and confidante, and never have wished her ill for a moment, though her inordi- nate fondness for gossip would probably have prevented her from keeping the secret ; but now she felt that she owed a duty to society in unmasking tho in- I triguea of an actreas who had eurrepti-
_jj.i — .jiii ,"
SOMETHING TO DO.
in
ist winter, how- 3 merest chance, 8 figure entering oom. Thia man e is a prominent person than the
liet, Mrs. Oraig say to that 1 " nt one room, 1 visitors I chose bo nobody else's
" said Mrs. Craig, ive still more to hoard him offer jd it, saying hia away that he was
ly away with her last Mrs. Craig lO forbore to say isteuers she had lut asked, "And
,c make out the ig, "but she was ms they ought to jars ago, even be- rs. Broum, and she take advantage of wanted some one
while the chances red no respectable dm. But he soft- hought ho was all but she wouldn't , so I suppose she him."
Ithatatlastshehad r Celia's nature and
She was glad of it I disappointed that
had produced so d been merely idle first induced her to . If they had been
she would eagerly n concealing them, • bosom-friend and er have wished her though her inordi- issip would probably p from keeping the 5 felt that she owed I unmasking the in- 8 who had surrepti-
tiously introduced herself into a peace- 1 ful village and might contaminate them j all before they know it. Also, she i thought the wife, bad as she probably was, ought to know about her liusband, ] and thus she disguised to herself her \ motive in all her uni)loa.saut disclosures. : Thinking Celia sulficicntly wrought up, ! she now took her leave, and spout the remainder of the day in amplifying her | details in the shocked cars of Mrs. Fuller. | Sue trembled as she tliought of her own j deception ; Mr. Fuller was too charita- j bio to say anything, deeply soiry as he was for what he lieard ; and Clara's po- etical nature, her antipathy to ilra. Craig, and her sympathy with Celia, all combined to prevent her from being at all horrified at the talc. So all three con- spired against Mrs. Fuller's first exclama- tion of indignation, and that lady was herself so kind-hearted that she said of course Celia should stay where she was till she was perfectly well, and that tliey ought to take care that her circum- stances should not be made known, ex- cept in cases of absolute necessity, — for iuFl •■ '0, to those who might be will- ing tt' t '> ir to board.
CHAPTER XLVII.
THERE came an eventful day in the quiet life of Alice. Antonia came to see her, bringing with her the beauti- ful little Elva. The latter having been sent into the garden with Harry, Alice spoke.
" She has decided as I knew she would."
"Yes," said Antonia, with light in her eyes, but a sigh in her voice. " I don't know as I have done right to lay such a heavy burden on such slender shoulders. It has made her ten years graver, yet she did n't seem shocked. I told everything as lightly as I could, not, I know, for my own sake, but I would not stain her soul. She real- ly wanted to go with me. But she wishes to be an actress. What shall I dol"
" Why should she not be ? " said Alice. " It is inborn."
" I should prefer not to cultivate her
hereditary tendencies," said Antonia, in a harsh voice.
" If they are wrong," said Alio© ; " but genius has its rights."
" Ah," said Antonia, " she would be like me, and choose dancing and bur- lesque and fuiry things. Now I hava iiad a passion tliat my r/iiU should be free from roproacli even in the eyes of the world. As if she ever could be while I am her motlier ! " Her tone was as bitter as in the old days. " I thouglit we would live in Italy, whore no one knows us, ami she might seem to all tlie real higli-brcd lady which she would bo and wliicli I might onco have been."
" If you would like that best," said Alice, " her fancy is probably not so strong that it need interfere."
" But I should liatc it," said Antonia. " Only I would do anything for her sake. We should both enjoy acting so much more, but I can't Ijcar the idea of seeing P^lva grow up a ballet-dancer."
" Do you fear the influence of the life on her ? " asked Alice.
" 0 no," said Antonia. " I know what I might have been with a pure child- hood and a mother who would guard me."
"What then]" asked Alice.
" I don't mind myself much," replied Antonia ; " nevertheless, the people who know me now will be surprised at mj having a child, and I shall wince, though I used to bear my old reputation with a sneer ; but there might come a time when she would wish the world did not know all about her. She might be in love."
" Well," said Alice, " she would bo too proud to marry a man who did not love her just as much when he knew the truth."
"Yes," said Antonia, with her haugh- tiest look. " / sli'.ild feel so ; but El- va's father was an aristocrat. Still she would have tcjo much self-respect to believe that my sin stains her. I know right well that her best life and happi- ness nuist come in living out her genius, and yet — since I have wholly lost the game for myself — I have longed for my child to be in the eyes of tlie world tho kind of woman her father would have married." Autonia's face grew crim-
i»MIM]i»llilll
T
148
SOMETHING TO DO.
Bon, but sho hurried on. "My pride torments mc and drags mo hither and thither. At one moment it makes mo writhe that whatever I am and whatever 1 appear, if tho world knew the whole, I should bo such a blot be- fore its eyes forever. 1 would sacri- fice cvei-j-thing, not to l>e better, not to bo tkoxr/ht better, but to be what the world til inks better. And I would do the same for my (.hild. Next moment I say, ' I know what 1 am now, and the past can't alter it. The ballet is beau- tiful, and I v'ill dance. I won't leave tho stage and concede that tho world has a right to its judgments. I won't own that iw repentance can wash out my sins.' You sec how I am tossed about. One who has sinned as I have is dis- eased and cannot decide justly. Decide
for me." ,
«' I can't," said Alice, slowly. " Let
Elva decide it."
" 0, she has decided," said Antonia, "but she may repent by and by. I suppose we shall go on the stage. But,
sides, 1 think it better, as it seems ho did, that all connection between father and child should be severed. If ho ever traces her out — but I hope ho will not. If I were dead — but even then, I don't want to seem all wrong to her while he is all right. Besides, he would never acknowledge her as his child. 0, I tell you, Alice Wilding," continued she, with a weary look and tone, " Ood must be very good to make life ever look bright and hopeful to ono so crushed by the past as I am. Yet he does. ' I see glimmerings of light m the distance, and I half believe that in tlic life beyond the weight may be lifted, and T may be able to breathe long breaths oipiire air."
She called Elva to her, and they went away. This was the morning after Mrs. Craig had espied Antonia embmcing her
child.
That evening Alice had put Hairy to bed, and sat sewing by her little table. Aleck had gone away again to visit a patient. She heard tho front door
zz rx ™:"=i. i. 5i *----,- ;s,^
if I ...^ --, . .. . u
must n't be in the theatres without her mother till she is of age. Will yoii. sec to that? I will leave money invested in such a way that you can have the control of it. And I should then want her to be educated in some quiet fam- ily."
" Yes," said Alice, earnestly. " I shall love to help her in any way I can, if it should be necessary, as I hope it may never be. One thing, — I do not wish to be impertinent, — does her father know anything about her, and do you wish he should V , , ,
Antoiiia's face flushed red, and her chcelcs were white. She was silent for some minutes, but at last she answered in a low voice : " Ho used to go and see her when she was very little. Ho knew the woman who brought her up. The . woman was his old nurse. He cared for me enough to see that I was com- fortable, and the woman took caro of mo. Since I parted from him, seven years ago, he has not seen the child, though he was fond of her. He sends her mon- ey still, enough to support her. I have asked the nurse not to tell him that I have taken Elva with me unless he goes there. It would annoy him, and, be-
moment the door of the sitting-room. She glanced round, supposing it to bo the domestic, when she uttered a cry of amazement, for there, on the thresh- old of the very room which they had left together with such sad hearts six- teen years before, stood her sister Celia, a mere skeleton of her former self, with white, pale face and hollow, sunk^ eyes. " 0 my darling ! " cried Alice, throw- ing her arms about her sister's neck. " How came you here 1 "
Celia sank down exhausted, for she was still weak and ill ; but there was a peaceful look in her face.
" I have something very pleasant to tell you," said she. And when she grow stronger she told her story from the time when she had seen Dick at the
theatre. ,, , ,» j v.
" And now % " said Alice, half doubt- fully and half hopefully,' when she con- cluded. , ,„
" Now," said Celia, raising herself on the sofa where she was lying, "I shall see Dick. He has been noble, he has done all in his power — little enough, 1 know — to repair tho old wrong. And Dora May cannot and will not bo helped by the sacrifice of others. He has
1
SOMETHING TO DO.
149
ter, as it seems ho ,ion between father le severed. If ho — but I hope ho c (lead — but even ) seem all wrong to right. Besides, he wlcd}j;e her as his )u, Alice Wilding,"
a weary look and I very good to make and hopeful to ono past as I am. Yet imerings of light in half believe that in he weight may be
able to breathe long >
0 her, and they went le morning after Mrs. atonia embracing her
ice had put HaiTy to g by her little table, nay again to visit a ;ard the front door ling, and in another of the sitting-room. 1, supposing it to be (n she uttered a cry there, on the thresh- oom which they had such sad hearts six- stood her sister Celia, ■ her former self, with d hollow, sunkdh eyes. ! " cried Alice, throw- mt her sister's neck. berel"
,n exhausted, for she d ill ; but there was a ,er face.
hing very pleasant to !. And when she grew
1 her story from the lad seen Dick at the
said Alice, half doubt- pefully,- when she con-
lelia, raising herself on he was lying, " I shall las been noble, he has 3wer — little enough, I r the old wrong. And t and will not be helped I of others. He has
I had
it im-
Per-
expiated, and I will send for him to come here."
Alice kissed her thoughtfully, but was silent.
" I know what you think," said Celia, in soino cxcitomcut. " You think ho has something to forgive as well as I. You never thuuglit I did right to make him suU'cr so ; but remember I did not do it because I wanted him to suft'er, but because I could n't help it. that in my nature which made possible for me to do otherwise haps it was wrong. I know, at any rate, that it was very, very hard for him and for me."
When Aleck came home, Alice pre- pared a telegram for Dick. " Come at once. I have news for you."
"It must go to his father's," said Aleck. And tlicn AUco remembered, what she had forgotten in her agitation, that Dick's father was lying very sick, and that Dick was at home.
The reply came at once. " I will bo with you to-morrow morning."
Celia was in a state of gi-eat nervous- ness and excitement. She could neither sleep nor eat. Her great eyes glittered in terrible contrast to her pale face. She was too weak to sit up, so she lay on the sofa.
They heard the whistle of the hurry- ing train, and Celia's eyes grew brighter and deeper. They heard the gate un- latch and a quick sharp step on the walk. Alice opened the door herself. "What is itl" said Dick hastilj', with a white face. "I can bear any- thing, if you will tell me quick."
Alice could hardly find voice to ar- ticulate "She is here," and motioned to the sitting-room door.
He paused from the intensity of his feeling. But it was only for an instant. Then he strode forward and opened the door. Celia sprang from the sofa with outstretched arms, and once iiioro, after such long years, ho held her in his own. He saw how weak she was, and laid her gently down, and knelt beside her. He could find no voice to ask her a ques- tion. There had been ono intense mo- ment of happiness when he had first seen her, but now the throng of fears that came up in his mind could not be stilled. Celia scarcely understood these
1
at all. With all her experience of the world, she was too miworldly to realize them. If it had been possible for her, perhaps she would not n ive inflicted such years of torture upon her husband. She knew, however, that she nmst speak first.
" Dick, I went away from yoii of my own free will. You know I have been an actress, because you saw mo on the stage. But through all 1 have loved you."
" I don't understand," said Dick, in a strained, far-otf voice.
Celia hesitated, and then drew from her bosom a yellow paper, written with faded ink.
"Tlie day you went away, Dick," said she, "just at dusk, this letter was brouglit to mo, and by mistake I opened it. Read it. You sec it was written with tears."
Dick took it with a feeling of horror. He knew the handwriting at once, and knew well what letter from that writer had failed to reach him.
There was deadly silence in the room while he read the ' irds mechanically.
"You were just, he said, with pale lips, and letting fall the hand which he held in his.
But Celia seized his hand, and spoke quickly, " I do not know, Dick. I was beside myself, I think ; I did everything from impulse. I thought I could never bear to see you again, for you had caused wilfully such suftering."
"Not wUfidbj" said Dick, "it was thoughtlessly. I had fancied myself in love, and even when I found out my mistake I meant to bo tnio to her, be- cause I knew I owed her faith. Even after I saw you, you remember, you must remember, how I restrained my- self, how I let you suffer when I longed to save you, how I tore myself from yon when I loved you better than all the world. She saw that I h?.d ceased to love iier and released me from my en- gagement, or I swear to you I would have fulfilled it. This letter did not reach me. Perhaps, if it had, I should not have heeded it then."
"You justify yourself!" said Celia, withdrawing her hand.
" No," said Dick, sadly ; " T tell you only the simple truth. lu my years of
a.Vjr.:"'" '^ -^^:"^~ ' ' v-^-^"<^^a'a..ia^a*-..-'
n
150
SOMETHING TO DO.
lonely life, I haye had plenty of time to ] think over things. I hegin to judge the magnitude of the sin according to the magnitude of its consequences. I know now what the consoqutnccs have been to nie, though I did not understand be- fore that my punislunent was the direct result of my deed. But all these years I have thouglit only of the consequences to Dora, and when I have thought of those I have not tried to justify myself to myself, and I shall not attempt it to you."
Celia again took his hand, " I was harsh," said she. "I know what you have felt, I know how you have ex- piated too. I begin almost to think I was wrong at first."
" No," said Dick, " I cannot be sorry for the BuflFering, though it has been hard. They say that it is only when a man is willing to suffer for his sin that ho has really repented of it."
Celia threw her arms about him and kissed him. " Ah, Dick, you are noble!" ,^ ,.
«'But scorched by the world a ht- tle," ho said, quoting her old words, and trying to smile. ^^
•'Not scorched, —fKn;^f(^ by fire, said Celia, energetically, in her quick, poetic way.
They talked together long. It was a sorrowful story which each had to tell of the long years that had succeeded that brief, bright honeymoon, and they had met only to part again. Dick's fa- ther was j«8t at the point of death, and the son had promised to return by the afternoon train, little dreaming that ho was to find Celia. She urged him to go. She could wait tranquilly and happdy for his return.
"Aleck," said Dick, "do you tell the people who will tell everybody as briefly as you can that there was tiouble be- tween my wife and me ; that she could not endiu-e it, and went away suddenly without an explanation, but that we arc reconciled now. I will tell my family the truth, I will see that Mrs. Craig is
hushed. Say, too, that she told hor sister where she was soon after she went awiiy. It will prevent gossip,"
CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE elder Mr. Stacy was dead. Dick stayed for the last sad rites, and then telegraphed that he would be at the cottage in the evening.
The hour for the train approached. Celia was quiet, because she was happy, but she grew excited, and her cheeks glowed and her eyes glittered.
Then the hour'passcd and no whistle was heard, then the clock slowly and severely ticked away minute after min- ute, and Celia became restless. Five minutes passed, then ten, fifteen. Aleck took up his hat and went to the station. Quite a crowd had collected there, but there was no news of the missing train- Two hours before, a young man with a grave, handsome face had stood eager- ly on the platform of the car, and had said to himself, with the gladdest feeling he had ever known in his life, " The past is wholly blotted out, the sin is expiated, the expiation is received, a new life be- gins from this moment, and our love is bevond earth."
A shriek, an tmearthly yell,— a yawn- ing gulf of fire which receives him into its midst, — a dash of ice-cold water on his handsome, happy face,— and then—
The magnetic links which bind heart to heart may be invisible, but are no less certain for all that. The seven yeai-8 of voluntary separation were over, sold had met soul ; there could be no more parting. And Celia lay stdl and cold in the little parlor, with no trace, except in the yet fierce glitter of her hair, to tell of the tempestuous electric {life wnich had throbbed through her veins. She had proved that love » something beyond earth.
I : ■, 4
TBS END.
Cambridge : Eleclrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, ft Cfc
_i
, that fiho told her soon after sho weut cut gossip."
[I XLVIII.
tacy was dead. Dick c last sad rites, and hat he would be at ;vcnin}^.
ic train approached, jause she was happy, ted, and her cheeks ■s glittered, asscd and no whistle he clock slowly and ly minute after min- canie restless. Five
then ten, fifteen.
hat and went to the crowd had collected was no news of the
•e, a young man with ! face had stood eager- 1 of the car, and had th the gladdest feeling .inhishfe, "The past ut, the sin is expiated, eceivcd, a new life be- iment, and our love is
sarthlyyell,— ayawn- Wch receives him into sh of ice-cold water on ipyface, — and then —
inks which bind heart
invisible, but are no
nil that. The seven
y separation were over,
nl ; there could be no
,nd Celia lay still and
parlor, with no trace,
St fierce glitter of her
ic tempestuous electric
throbbed through her
proved that lovo is
d earth.
r, &Ca
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