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V 


r 


"^  'J^/ 


^''J^' 


■v 


■!»' 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


L__ 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


4' 


%^ 


f,' 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


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24X 


28X 


32X 


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f 
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Les  exemplalres  origlnaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
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dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  emprelnte 
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•mpreinte. 

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dernlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symboie  —^  signlfle  "A  SUIVRE  ",  le 
symbole  V  signifle  "FIN". 


ire 


ly/laps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at    > 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
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beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
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method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
fllmte  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diffArents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichA,  11  est  f  iimA  A  partir 
de  i'angle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite, 
at  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'Images  nAcessalre.  lies  diagrammes  sulvants 
illustrent  la  mAthode. 


ly  errata 
9d  to 

nt 

ne  peiure, 

igon  d 


1 

2 

3 

32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

fV 


as 


Ki  — 


t   a  w*  ?  /i? ' 


Something  to  do. 


^  S^OHl 


1  »/*n^,^  ir^V      ,  M •«  •i    C  e  \ ,  7^  V  i«fs '  ''J:  5.lr  v'm    )  3 


/ 


3 


ECni.^351 


w 


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 


' 


) 


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. 


^» 


te 


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 

in    iinuther 

.     'I'hu  niiuia- 

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 

)■ 


80 


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 


: 


, 


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 


lli&^^- ,V^''lL.".."tL-"',^rii;:,'iJi'i^r-',-'iiL«i«  niiiiiii"j..jnLiaPniL.. 


.^^*^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 


,.<!>;. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


^i- 


.^<.^^<;. 


>^ 


1.0 


I.I 


US  121    |2.5 
1^  IM    112.2 


i  -^  IIIIIM 

1.8 


=      II 

11.25  IIIIII.4   11.6 


^ 

^ 


/ 


nitavMx-M— —.- 


HiotDgraphic 

Sciences 

Coiporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)872-4503 


I   I 


^ 

*>^ 


^!<?' 


% 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


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an 

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I 

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lo 
ai 

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t 
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1( 


SOMETHING  TO  DO. 


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 


„^,|:.^;;^J.„-i.«¥^\fci^l,yT.-.fl;ai^li 


■iMnli^>iiianT>>i8ilffi«iliWilriiJlK» 


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" 


'lUfmtM  ij^nV^aiiUi 


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 


i 


X 


nmmmsm^-^em^^i^iim 


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