Missouri Botanical Garden PETER H. RAVEN LIBRARY Pagination Note: Since many of the items lack a specific page number, the page number displayed online refers to the sequentially created number each item was given upon cataloging the materials. f / GABRIEL CONROY. “ ’Bout the dinner at St. Jo ? ” asked the person addressed — a gentleman whose fac- ulty of alimentary imagination had been at once the bliss and torment of his present social circle. “Yes.” They all gathered eagerly around Mr. McCormick; even Mr. Dumphy, who was still moving away, stopped. “ Well,” said Mr. March, “ it began with beefsteak and injins — beefsteak, you know, juicy and cut very thick, and jess squashy with gravy and injins.” There was a very perceptible watering of the mouth in the party, and Mr. March, with the genius of a true narrator, under the plausible disguise of having forgotten his story, repeated the last sentence — “jess squashy with gravy and injins. And taters — baked.” “You said fried before! — and dripping with fat ! ” — interposed Mrs. Brackett, hast- fly. “ For them as likes fried — but baked goes furder — skins and all — and sassage and coffee and — flapjacks ! ” At this magical word they laughed, not mirthfully perhaps, but eagerly and expect- antly, and said, “ Go on ! ” “And flapjacks!” “You said that afore” — said Mrs. Brackett with a burst of passion. “ Go on, d — n you ! ” The giver of this Barmacide feast, saw his dangerous position, and looked around for Dumphy. But he had disappeared. CHAPTER II. WITHIN. The hut into which Ashley descended was, like a Greenlander’s “iglook,” below the surface of the snow. Accident rather than design had given it this Arctic resem- blance. As snow upon snow had blocked np its entrance, and reared its white ladders against its walls, and as the strength of its exhausted inmates slowly declined, commu- nication with the outward world was kept up only by a single narrow passage. Ex- cluded from the air, it was close and stifling, but it had a warmth that perhaps the thin blood of its occupants craved more than light or ventilation. A smoldering fire in a wooden chimney threw a faint flicker on the walls. By its light, lying upon the floor, were discernible four figures — a young woman and a child of three or four years wrapped in a single blanket, near the fire ; nearer the door two men separately enwrapped lay apart. They might have been dead, so deep and motion- less were their slumbers. Perhaps some fear of this filled the mind of Ashley as he entered, for after a moment’s hesitation, without saying a word, he passed quickly to the side of the young woman, and, kneeling beside her, placed his hand upon her face. Slight as was the touch, it awak- ened her. I know not what subtile mag- netism was in that contact, but she caught the hand in her own, sat up, aiid before her eyes werq scarcely opened, uttered the sin- gle word : “ Philip!’* “ Grace — hush ! ” He took her hand, kissed it, and pointed warningly toward the other sleepers. “ Speak low. I have much to say to you.” The young girl seemed to be content to devour the speaker with her eyes. “ You have come back,” she whispered, with a faint smile, and a look that showed too plainly the predominance of that fact above all others in her mind. “ I dreamed of you— -Philip.” “ Dear Grace,” he kissed her hand again. “ Listen to me, darling ! I have come back, but only with the old story — no signs of succor, no indications of help from without ! My belief is, Grace,” he added, in a voice so low as to be audible only to the quick ear to which it was addressed, “ that we have blundered far south of the usual trav- eled trail. Nothing but a miracle or a mis- fortune like our own would bring another train this way. We are alone and helpless — in an unknown region that even the sav- age and brute have abandoned. The only aid we can calculate upon is from within — from ourselves. What that aid amounts to,” he continued, turning a cynical eye toward the sleepers, “ you know as well as I.” She pressed his hand, apologetically, as if accepting the reproach herself, but did not speak. “As a party we have no strength — no discipline,” he went on. “ Since your father died we have had no leader — I know what you would say, Grace, dear,” he continued, answering the mute protest of the girl’s hand, “ but even if it were true— if /were capable of leading them, they would not take my coun- sels. Perhaps it is as well. If we kept to- gether, the greatest peril of our situation would be ever present — the peril from our- selves /” He looked intently at her as he spoke, but she evidently did not take his meaning. “Grace,” he said, desperately, “when 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Missouri Botanical cm copyright reserved garden too* Missouri Botanical Gard m George Engelmann Papers GABRIEL CONROY. starving men are thrown* together, they are capable of any sacrifice — of any crime, to keep the miserable life that they hold so dear — -just in proportion as it becomes value- less. You have read in books — Grace! good God — what is the matter ?” If she had not read his meaning in books, she might have read it at that moment in the face that was peering in the door, a face with so much of animal suggestion in its horrible wistfulness that she needed no fur- ther revelation ; a face full of inhuman fe- rocity and watchful eagerness, and yet a face familiar in its outlines — the face of Dumphy ! Even with her danger came the swifter in- stinct of feminine tact and concealment, and without betraying the real cause of her mo- mentary horror, she dropped her head upon Philip’s shoulder and whispered, “ I under- stand.” When she raised her head again the face was gone. “ Enough ! I did not mean to frighten you, Grace, but only to show you what we must avoid — what we have still strength left to avoid. There is but one chance of es- cape, you know what it is — a desperate one, but no more desperate than this passive waiting for a certain end. I ask you again — will you share it with me ? When I first spoke I was less sanguine than now. Since then I have explored the ground carefully, and studied the trend of these mountains. It is possible. I say no more.” “ But my sister and brother ? ” “ The child would be a hopeless impedi- ment, even if she could survive the fatigue and exposure. Your brother must stay with her; she will need all his remaining strength and all the hopefulness that keeps /him up. No, Grace, we must go alone. Remember, our safety means theirs. Their strength will last until we can send relief ; while they would sink in the attempt to reach it with us. I would go alone, but I cannot bear, dear Grace, to leave you here.” “ I should die if you left me,” she said simply. “ I believe you would, Grace,” he said as simply. “ But can we not wait ? Help may come at any moment — to-morrow.” “To-morrow will find us weaker. I should not trust your strength nor my own a day longer.” “ But the old man — the Doctor ? ” “ He will soon be beyond the reach of help,” said the young man sadly. “ Hush, he is moving ! ” One of the blanketed figures had rolled over. Philip walked to the fire, threw on a fresh stick and stirred the embers. The up- springing flash showed the face of an old man whose eyes were fixed with feverish in- tensity upon him. “What are you doing with the fire ?” he asked querulously, with a slight foreign ac- cent. “ Stirring it ! ” “ Leave it alone ! ” Philip listlessly turned away. “ Come here,” said the old man. Philip approached. “You need say nothing,” said the old man, after a pause, in which he examined Philip’s face keenly. “ I read your news in your face — the old story — I know it by heart.” “Well?” said Philip. “Well!” said the old man, stolidly. Philip again turned away. “You buried the case and papers?” asked the old man. “Yes.” “Through the snow — in the earth ?” “Yes.” “ Securely ? ” “ Securely.” “ How did you indicate it ? ” “ By a cairn of stones.” “ And the notices — in German and French ? ” “ I nailed them up wherever I could, near the old trail.” “ Good.” The cynical look on Philip’s face deep- ened as he once more turned away. But before he reached the door he paused, and drawing from his breast a faded flower, with a few limp leaves, handed it to the old man. “ I found a duplicate of the plant you were looking for.” The old man half rose on his elbow, breathless with excitement as he clutched and eagerly examined the plant. “ It is the same,” he said, with a sigh of relief, “ and yet — you said there was no news ! ” “ May I ask what it means ? ” said Philip, with a slight smile. “ It means that I am right, and Linnaeus, Darwin, and Eschenholtz are wrong. It means a discovery. It means that this which you call an Alpine flower is not one, but a new species.” “An important fact to starving men,” said Philip, bitterly. “ It means more,” continued the old man, without heeding Philip’s tone. “ It means 0 1 2 3 cm THE STORY OF ANNE MA TURIN lonely. It was Anne who kept things going, and kept her aunt from feeling too much the loss of her daughters ; but yet Mrs. Hart- ley, with natural feeling, snubbed her niece when she made her little brag of being the only young lady in the house. “Anne is a good girl,” she said, “ but if she thinks she can replace my own girls — ” “ Hush, mamma ! ” cried Letty, who was a kind soul. “ She did not mean to replace us; but I am sure she is a comfort.” And Mrs. Hartley admitted that she was a comfort, though not like her very own. Fortunately, however, Anne did not hear this. She missed the girls very much, and she thought it natural that their mother should miss them still more, and that dreary reflection which comes to so many minds, “Many love me, yet by none Am I enough beloved,” had never entered her young soul. She was happy and light-hearted, and contented with what was given to her. The other state of mind, with its deeper questionings, may be more picturesque and more imposing ; but to live with, commend me to the fresh heart which takes what it has and is happy, and grumbles not for more. She was twenty- two when she rose to the dignity of being the only young lady in the house ; and what with her aunt to love and care for, and her cousins’ brand-new houses to visit and ad- mire, and “ the boys ” still in the house “ for company,” Anne Maturin was as cheerful and as pleasant a young creature as eye could desire to see. She was pretty and yet not striking, with the prettiness of youth and health, and roundness and bloom and good temper, rather than with positive beauty of any description. Her nose was not worth speaking of ; her mouth, like most people’s mouths, was somewhat defective. Her eyes were bright but not brilliant ; well opened but not very large. In short, nice, warm, shining, ordinary brown eyes, such as you could find by the dozen. Her figure light and springy, her hair wavy and abundant. A nice girl, — this was what everybody said of her ; pleasant to talk to, pleasant to look at, but no more remarkable than half of the young women who make our lives pleas- ant or miserable. I doubt much if in any assemblage of such, at kirk or market, you would have noted Anne at all, or found her special advantages out. Mrs. Hartley had two sons, Francis and John — the one a barrister, the other in a public office. John, the public office man, was like most other young men in public offices, and scarce- ly claimed separate notice. The barrister was the pride of the house. He had gone through a very successful career both at school and college; had made a successful appearance at the bar very early, and bade fair to be a successful man. The successful- ness of success was already apparent in him. The further he advanced, the greater be- came his rate of progress, and the more rapidly he continued to go on. He was only about thirty, and he was already known as a rising man. The Hartleys were all proud of him, though I am not sure that his sisters, at least, were as fond of him as they were proud. Sisters judge impartially in many cases, and have many little data to go upon unknown to the outside world. Letty and Susan had an impression of his charac- ter which they would not for the world have put into words, but which they communi- cated to each other by little side remarks, saying: “It is just like him,” when any incident happened which confirmed their theory. This theory was that Francis was selfish. He liked his own way (as who does not ?), and when his way came into collision with other people’s way, never yielded or compromised matters ; so at least his sisters said. But Anne held no such doctrine. Since her earliest capabilities of use began she had been the little vassal first, and re- cently the champion and defender of Fran- cis ; and he was always good to her. That is to say, he accepted her services with much kindness, and spoke to her pleasantly, and sometimes even would applaud her gentle qualities, especially in points where she dif- fered from his sisters. I do not know if he had ever in his life exercised himself to pro- cure a pleasure, or done anything else in Anne’s behalf which cost him trouble. But he was always “nice” o his cousin, and she thought immensely f this easy kindness. She was ready to fetch him whatever he wanted — to study his looks, to talk or be silent, according as the humor pleased him. And she could divine his humors much more quickly than even his mother could; for, indeed, Mrs. Hartley was not one of the mothers who sacrifice or annihilate them- selves for their children. She was a very good mother — very careful of them and very anxious for their welfare; but withal she retained her own personality and inde- pendence. She was very good and indul- gent to Francis, but she did not search his looks, and follow tremulously every shade ■ Botanical cm copyright reserved garden 5 2 .Missouri Botantcai^ TjffiWbJtf*W^$J$£ B jifA TURIN. of meaning on his face, neither did she make everything in the house subservient to her sons. She was the mistress, and such she intended to be as long as she lived. It was therefore with some solemnity and a little excitement, but with nothing of the intense and painful feeling which often attends such a revelation, that she made a certain disclosure to Anne one wintry spring afternoon, which changed the current of the poor girl’s life, though nobody knew of it. “ I am going to tell you some news, Anne,” she said ; “of a very important kind. I don’t quite know whether I am pleased or not; but, at all events, it is something very important and rather unexpected.” “ What kind of a thing, aunt ? ” said Anne, looking up from her knitting. Her fingers went on with her work, while her eyes, brightening with expectation and interest, looked up at the speaker. She was full of lively, animated curiosity, but nothing more. No fear of evil tidings, no alarm for what might be coming, was in her peace- ful soul. “What would you say to a marriage in the family ? ” said Mrs. Hartley. “A marriage! But, dear aunt, there is nobody to marry— unless,” said Anne, with a pleasant ring of laughter, “ without my knowing anything about it, it should be me.” “ Nobody to marry ? Do you think the boys are nobody ? ” said Mrs. Hartley, with a little snort of partial offense. “ The boys ! Oh, did you mean the boys ? ” said Anne, bewildered. She made a little momentary pause, as if confused, and then said, rather foolishly : “ The boys’ weddings will be weddings in other families, not here.” “ That is true enough if you think of nothing but the wedding; but I suppose you take more interest in your cousins than that,” said Mrs. Hartley. “ Francis came in quite unexpectedly when you were out.” “ Francis ? Is it Francis ? ” said Anne, in a hurried low tone of dismay. “ Why not ? ” said Mrs. Hartley. Why not, indeed ? There could be nothing more natural. He was a full-grown man. But the surprise (surely it was only surprise made Anne quite giddy for the moment. Her head swam, the light seemed to change somehow, and darken round her. She felt physically as if she had received a violent and sudden blow. “ To be sure,” she said, mechanically, feel- ing that her voice sounded strange, and did not seem to belong td her — “ Why not ? I suppose it is the most natural thing in the world, only it never came into my head.” “ That is nonsense,” said’ her aunt, some- what sharply. “ Indeed the wonder is that Francis has not married before. He is over thirty, and making a good income, and when I die he will have the most part of what I have. Indeed it is in a sort of a way his duty to marry. I do not see how any one could be surprised.” Anne was silent, feeling with a confused thankfulness that no reply was necessary, and after a pause Mrs. Hartley resumed in a softened tone : “ I confess, however, that for the moment I did not expect anything of the kind. I generally have a feeling when something is going to happen; but I had not the least warning this morning. It came upon me all at once. , Anne, I do think, after living with us all your life, you might show a little more interest. You have never even asked who the lady is.” “ It was very stupid of me,” said Anne, forcing herself to speak. “Do we know her ? Do you like her ? I cannot think of any one.” “ No, indeed, I suppose not,” said Mrs. Hartley. “ She is not one of our set. It will be a capital marriage for Francis — though, indeed, a man of his abilities may aspire to any one. It is Miss Parker, the daughter of the Attorney- General, Anne ; a man just as sure to be Lord Chancellor as I am to eat my dinner. She will be the Honorable Mrs. Francis Hartley one day — of course the Honorable is not much of itself. If it had been some poor Irish or Scotch girl, for instance, who happened to be a Lord’s daughter ; but the Lord Chan- cellor is very different. Fancy the interest it will give him, not to say that it will be of the greatest importance to him in his pro- fession; the Lord Chancellor’s son-in-law; nobody can have a greater idea than I have of my son’s abilities,” continued the old lady; “but such a connection as this is never to be disregarded. I am to call upon Lady Parker to-morrow, and make ac- quaintance with my future daughter. Per- haps as the girls have both got their own engagements, and Letty would not like me to take Susan without asking her, perhaps I had best take you with me, Anne.” “ Oh, thanks, aunt,” said Anne, tremu- lously. “ Did you hear anything about the young lady herself?” o 1 cm 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 copyright reserved 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 m.ssour. Botanical cm copyright reserved garden £>0lO Misr ! 30TAHU ;*L GARDE * 1 as PftPEaa 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 cm copyright reserved ’nF S ^?W 6^Jf~ ' 'j^/V/// n./=t? "7 ' Co it A Sfiy* jf ?DFH 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 m.ssour. Botanical copyright reserved garden cm i2: -f^3^-^^-*r ^ -'. ^ f*r..£ r ^~-*-'^A >? t * °ljh ->vi4^ .fiX. $La&l^L/)~i 4 *JtJA f aMu_ - /■>H CSL \&^.Q/f^j (@jJ\r>Zcr^t i ^ Cu^A ^ia^. <3. ^£w<>vvo 'Vm# ^v; Q Is/ &C* £ t^C 4 ^^T)S<+ (X iJ-^aJL. ^ v-e.'i'*^, pAfiX A<). ^ -Xtj i % A ~\ t)j t &+ X a ^*. o -, ( X\y c t £ jJ i f \ p ( Y /^ xax . L -* JXa a^jj a < V SO ^ jj / &yL t* g £^ uaj 4 & m 7 8 9 10 Missouri Botanical copyright reserved garden Missouri Botanic George. Engelmai Qis^- JtA \ y fi£~~$ / U/ ^7 ^ Jtjy — 0^\ c tfe^ (£^ ^L^jQ^d ftat ^Ctr^ Jl4( 1 7ju*s Tlrth^ Ju '^fryjL- &^®C ^J^d^CAJL^ QjT \s/ ytn*/$* &wH***y -tve*#*- a HyJ, -yy Casisk *VuJli/tsi/^^ m t^* l£/ Os^f O, &^Lst st/^ C^'l^ Q^Vty~ Q St u it. fou* nna\O^J # OlAhryxsn (/IMAJL 0^1 (f^^ /t^x. (&) [aal££ 0u? fflC O^r-lAC^ ts^* h%if *0^*— Am^L* - ^Arvi/d^xJ ~^ 0 ^ ^ /j&Qz/tXys OL CV’V'H. -*?C\ ^ y^-u^ &f^rX£xZ^ V Xd C KQjh^ <^o ou. £H, <*V ^!u LOJtC^kl. /L&l <+ sf -- ^ jLl_ vTA^th^j V(XAax/(aX C'Vr-N.'— GJHjU- ^ «^A«-> &^t7t^ 2- / &*-*-! i&Vt^ C^4— \s^ ^-C Ou-o^j ^ ^-^->. y-t-*--' — - y^‘ ^ $ >*£ ,7 . Got h jiT 9 , Q /V yy^kz cl^^. jl y^y^y s*+ yj,\ ^ Jt / j ^^ y ^ ( T ^ br ^ 6 '/%- yy^-^y^ , t %. *? j^.****^ ocf Mz*ft C~<2-4i | Ast^JA y*~t- ' l^O-^Z .yLecA-^ ~br y^ ry-^yyl t ^ yy*. . 4$yy~ y yy^yy yy^~^ ty ^ t ^ ' / v*yy>f x^a^y ^ cK - of^y &- z ^ LAZ ^^ y ^ <>-^/ ( L + y ~~ obo ^ jL ^ yyy — t->,'' yyy^ . • yb^^*y^ . ■ c~^ jdyy ^ y\~jLjyijL^ yy (^Qy/ij Uv * ,^L,' 0-<*Az. U /1 siaaJ~ ‘ i/^> ' j 1 jl ^> y~ .cjtd^r ^U-l/ , ^fcz: A — ^ £^/ / * 2 *. /Vtaa-A^ ^j2^jo Cc J^ccfc^L *-x. ^’fc.L^c/' 'i / uA*-d\ ^ . jz^-(ALt^-*-*JLe^ ' vfysLj-^/ /izr~ cx~sb<^Jh~ / tj ^_£+A~ t^. ( /lA-t_ (A y%. *~~~ ck/^ o^. C^A-AL c_> -^S, ^Jw. J^-cJhdL. a^XaUL y aJALl cJt w 7 8 9 10 Missouri Botanical copyright reserved garden sARDETC Papers €ot<% Jbr- oku~>^^^ \ btyuLA-<- a^Z ^ d *r- Z) y^-jUJ^a Jx. OsaJ^ / ^ Wi/ ^<- C^yt ^4Az43a^_ ^bz^o CpkjuUo ^K-C ' e ^f zi/k*_ ky^JL^ /yk}x^,' ^ 4s**XljhA~ O^fy^yiikbz^y c^/XA^^JkcA ^ ' ^fc: ! &^kj^ c/^ '^k^zzz Ck y^- ^ gyj^~- -J? j /l*s*JL(jkk^ /{fiy y yy\_ ^ o-V ^kkcz^ jfi/o^uJy //Kv^ /fcfc^ ^ A ^ A jt y'uZCf. - Ami - ZZjAc- cm A y sb \ < hA ^<^ ■ u &* 6 -&»- ** AP ^ r ~ A A^yy (21 w / /Vvi a/ .X 508 Leffingwell Avenue, i /'?"» -^Z-pU-' ’ <■ , ^v' /fcr -2 £ *-7 ^ * cm 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 copyright reserved fij. - c < 4 ; V. c A £o~ ^Xa^O . A /L^ ^M=> C 4 /O f ^yn^s^. ^ X^> , *~''^ A -^ v . <^ f 14^-^ca) . V <4 ^/^v. cX^7 ^~ &X*=tr~