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KFii

HARVARD COLLEGE
LIBRARY

.J7v:^\\ ltli.iiiiii.t

mL>

BOUGHT FROM THE

Amey Richmond Sheldon
Fund

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LIKE UNTO LIKE

% Nooel

/ /•■ '"■?

*>'^

By SHERWOOD BONNER (-.^.^j

NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS

FRANKLIN SQUARE
1878

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KF ]Io^

NAIfVARD COLLEGE LiaitAW
SHELDON ¥\iHU
JULY 10. r

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1878, by

HARPER & BROTHERS,

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

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HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

poet, master in melodious art,

O man, whom many love and all revere,

Take thou, with kindly hand, the gift which here

1 tender from a loving, reverent heart

For much received from thee I little give,
Yet gladly proffer less, from lesser store;
Knowing that I shall please thee still the more

By thus consenting in thy debt to live.

y--\.

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CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. PAo.
Between Sundown and Dark 9

CHAPTER II.
"Yes, We*bb a Good Breed in Yariba". 15

CHAPTER III.
Mr. Tolliver's Grasfing Greed 20

CHAPTER IV.
Bltthe Hears a Voice 25

CHAPTER V.
Mrs. Oglethorpe feels it Her Duty to Reconcile 32

CHAPTER VI.
A Southern Olive-branch 39

CHAPTER VII.
A Serious Word from Van 50

CITAPTER VIII.
An Eccentric Fellow..... 55

CHAPTER IX.
Roger Ellis 59

CHAPTER X.
Moonlight on Mount Sano 64

CHAPTER XL
Three Visits 71

CHAPTER XII.
Ah Dio! Morir si Giovane! 79

CHAPTER XIII.
I will Make Much of Your Voices 83

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viii CONTENTS.

CHAPTER XIV. PXG«

DfiCORATION.DAT 90

CHAPTER XV.
So Long as Bltthb is Willing 9G

CHAPTER XVI.
The Grandmother's Last Stake 103

CHAPTER XVII.
Miss Page's Strategy 108

CHAPTER XVIIL
An Elegant Idea.^ Ill

CHAPTER XIX.
Mr. Elus as the Good Sabiaritan 116

CHAPTER XX.
The First Faint Swertino of the Heart 129

CHAPTER XXI.
A Bunch of Violets 127

CHAPTER XXir.
The French Market 132

CHAPTER XXIII.
By the Tomb of the Faithful Slave 136

CHAPTER XXIV.
The Quadroon Ball , 14^

CHAPTER XXV.
Five Sides of a Question 146

CHAPTER XXVI.
The Carnival 156

CHAPTER XXVIL
Be Happy and Forget Me 160

CHAPTER XXVIIL
Gods and Men, We are all Deluded thus! 166

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CHAPTER L

BETWEEN SUNDOWN AND DARK,

Theee girls were standing on a rus-
tic bridge, looking down into the stream
it spanned. Neither running water
nor any other mirror ever gave back
the glances of brighter eyes or reflect-
ed fairer faces ; for these were Yariba
girls, and Yariba was famed for its
pretty girls even in this Southern land,
where any out-of-the-way or in-the-
way town held beauty enough for the
servant of a wandering Titian to write
Esty JSst, Est above its gates.

At a little distance, higher than the
level of the bridge, the town nestled,
so shadowed by trees as to seem noth-
ing but spires and chimneys. The
stream flowed out from bubbling
springs among rocks; over their jag-
ged edges the water fell in light spray,
through which rainbows shone on
sunny days; along its borders were
stretches of woodland reaching to low
ranges of mountains that rolled away
to the south in graceful sweep and
outline, and were crowned now with
lingering splendors of red and gold.

Lounging on a bridge within sight
of mountains and sound of running
water is perhaps as pleasant a way as
there is of getting through a drowsy
afternoon in spring; and these young
idlers look much at their ease as they
stand there, in the free, lazy atti-
tudes natural to a people who live
much out-of-doors and have a genius
for repose. They have been talking
in a desultory sort of way, not hav-
ing come to any subject to set their
tongues going in earnest ; as riders let
their horses wander slowly through
country lanes, before reaching a long
stretch of roa<d and striking spurs for
a gallop. Their names were Betty
Page, Mary Barton, and BIythe Hern-
don. This last young lady, it may be
remarked, had been christened Emma
BIythe; but the first name had been
dropped, after a common Southern fash-
ion, and she herself, except in moments
of extreme dignity, scarcely remember-
ed her right to a double signature.

"It is perfectly fascinating to watch

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that moss," said Miss Page, resting
her hands on the twisted railing of the
bridge, and peering into the water.
"Doesn't it look as if the wind were
blowing it behind plates of glass ?"

"I can't look at it long without a
shudder," said Mary Barton. "I al-
ways fancy that snakes are winding in
and out through those waving stems."

"Your fancy doesn't go as far as
mine," said Blythe, dreamily. " What
are they but awakening serpents —
these lithe darting tendrils all quivering
with life, tipped with palest green, like
little venomous mouths ?"

"How absurd, Blythe !" cried Betty.
"I'm glad I haven't a poetic turn of
mind — particularly as I want some of
the moss to take home."

" It's very ugly out of waiter."

"I don't think so. It would look
lovely hanging from those tall vases
by the parlor fireplace — ugly cracked
things ! they ought to be covered over
with something. But how shall I get
the moss ? Mary, do look about you
and*9ee if there are any little darkies
playing around here."

Mary gave the use of her eyes with
cheerful readiness.

" Yes, there are half a dozen standing
on their heads over yonder."

" Call one of them for me."

" I can't make out who they are, so
far off."

"Never mind; just call Peter. It's
a handy sort of name to exercise the
lungs on, and some one of them will
be sure to come."

"Wait a moment," said Mary, mak-
ing a telescope of her two hands. "I
think one of them is Willy ToUiver —
^ Civil Rights Bill,' you know."

"But I don't know. IIow did he
ever get that ridiculous nickname ?"

"How queer that Van didn't tell
you ! He thought it such a good hit."

Betty tossed her head. "Van and I
have had better things to talk of."

"It was a good while ago," said
Mary, with a slight flush, " when Willy
was about three years old — pert and
meddlesome as a monkey, ready to talk
back to a king, if one came in his way.
Colonel Dixon, from HoUywell, camo
to Yariba for a visit, and was staying
at the ToUivers'. It was when the Civil
Rights Bill was just before the public.
Colonel Dixon favored it as a measure
of policy, but Mr. ToUiver opposed it,
and they argued until eveiybody in the
house was sick of the subject. One
day they were playing croquet, and
Willy, who was always under foot, took
an unused ball and began a game of his
own. In knocking it about, it rolled
into* the lines, and Colonel Dixon gave it
a stroke that sent it flying. Willy was
furious. He rushed up, with his mallet
raised, crying, * You lem my ball alone!
I'll knock you down if you fools wud
my ball any mo' !' The ToUivers only
laughed — you know what easy-going
people they are — but Colonel Dixoii
flushed up, and said, * What's your
name, you little rascal ?' Then Mrs.
ToUiver came out in her sweet, drawling
voice: *His name is WiUy, but I think
we'U have to call him " Civil Rights
BiU." ' So that's the name he has been
known by from that day to this."

Betty laughed moderately. It was
too great an exertion to do more.

"I wish you would caU him," said
she ; " it hurts my throat to scream."

Mary and Blythe exchanged a smUe.

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Miss Page's selfishness was usually of
this naive character.

Willy was called, and Willy soon
came, panting from his run, his lean
figure showing through his ragged
clothes like a dew-covered bronze. He
was a lad about ten years old, with
laughing black eyes, arched by eye-
brows the shape of thin moons, flashing
teeth, and a peculiar startled expression,
due apparently to the fact that a lock
of his crisp hair, wrapped with a white
string, was drawn up tight from the
centre of his head and pointed heaven-
ward like an index-finger. This meant
that Bill had a cold. in the head; for
when small darkies have colds their
grandmothers say that their . palates
have dropped; and the lock of crisp
hair tied up from Bill's crown -piece
was supposed — on the principle of
the potato -vine and the potato — to
pull his palate up and afford entire
relief.

Bill beamed expectantly on the young
ladies, and Miss Page made her wishes
known.

" Don't send him into the water while
he is so warm," said Mary Barton.

" Lor', Miss Mary," cried Bill, « don't
you bo no ways consarned about me.
!N"othin' don't never hurt me. I'm one
o' dem dat fire can't burn an' water can't
drown. I stJiyed in de spring onct half
a day, and dey pulled me out 's lively
as a spring frog."

"Mind what I say. Bill!" said Miss
Page, authoritatively; "go and sit down
somewhere, and cool off before you go
into the water. Then bring me the
moss over to the stone bench. Come,
girls, let us go. We've been dawdling
on this bridge all the afternoon, and

you know it's against my principles to
stand up so long."

" Perhaps your feet are too small to
bear your weight," said Mary Barton,
with quiet mischief.

Betty's eyes flashed. She cultivated
small tempers, as she had been told that
she never looked so well as when in a
passion. Any allusion to her size, how-
ever, called out real anger. The fear of
being fat was, if I may so express it,
the skeleton in this young lady's closet.
She was a pretty creature, with a large
and shapely figure, but she took no joy
in her charming outlines, and never let
herself be weighed. She had not heard
of the Banting system, or beef and dry
bread would have been " the chief of
her diet ;" and it was not the days of
pilgrimages, or her's would have been
long ago to the hill of Naxos, where the
Greek girls* went for the pebbles with
which they repressed their blossoming
bosoms.

" I was brought up to think personal
remarks vulgar," said she to Miss Bar-
ton.

" What a vulgar set we must be,"
said Mary, frankly, " for Yariba people
all talk to each other as if they were
members of one family. But really,
Betty, you are the first girl that ever
objected to a compliment to her small
foot."

This happy turn restored Betty's com-
placency. Two little dimples showed
themselves at the corners of her mouth.

" Here we are !" said she, sinking
down on the stone bench. " Now let's
talk about our church - money. How
much have you, Blythe ?"

"Three dollars."

" I have five. I told mother I must

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have it; and there's nothing like be-
ing determined."

"So I think," said Mary Barton.
"I knew when I joined the society
that I would have to make what mon-
ey I put into it, and 7" determined. I
sent off to Altmann's for materials,
and set to work crocheting sacks and
baby -socks. I gave them to one of
our old darkies to sell for me, and I've
cleared — guess Kbw much ?"

"Two bits," said Betty, with a
shrug.

"Fifteen dollars," said Mary, with
calm triumph.

"Fifteen dollars ! Impossible! Mary
Barton, you are joking !"

"I cannot tell a lie," said Mary,
laughing. "I did it with my little
fingers;" and she spread them apart
for inspection.

" You wonderful girl ! But how
you will cast the rest of us into the
shade 1"

"Oh, I sha'n't give it all to the
church. I shall buy me a hat."

"How much you think of hats,
Mary I" said Blythe, rather loftily.

"I own it. Visions of hats are
forever floating about in my mind —
sometimes brightly, sometimes dimly
seen —

•Like silver trout in a brook;*

or according to the length of my
purse. It is a positive pain to me to
look shabby, Blythe."

" Why, you dear little smooth-feath-
ered Molly Barton! you never look
shabby. I have always thought you
the freshest, daintiest girl in our set."

" Thank you, dear. But my old hat
won't stand another making over ; and

I like to be particularly neat in the
summer, when the army people are
here."

" What are the army people to you ?"
said Betty Page. "If you are going
to spend your church -money to dress
for the Yankees, then I've my opinion
of you."

"It's my own money, and I've a
right to spend it as I please. I can
say my prayers better if I know that
the people in the choir are not criticis-
ing the top of my head. As for the
army people — well, they have eyes, if
they are Yankees. Besides, they say
that nearly all the officers in both reg-
iments are Democrats."

"And what if they are not?" said
Blythe Herndon, indolently. "I am
tired of this eternal harping on one
string. I should think Yariba would
welcome some new people. I don't
believe any town was ever so dull.
The men are as much alike as the
four-and-twenty tailors who went out
to kill a snail; and the women weary
one's soul out with their inane talk
about nothing."

"Well, Blythe, Mary and I don't
pretend to be any cleverer than our
neighbors, so our souls are not wearied .
out."

"Here's de moss!" interrupted a
muffled voice, and Civil Rights Bill
showed his black eyes from behind
a great armful of dripping green.
"Mos' thought de debbil was holdin'
it down, had ter tug so hard to git it."

"Much obliged, Bill. You're a fine
boy. Come over to our house to-mor-
row, and I'll give you some cake."

"How are all at home, Bill?" asked
Mary.

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" We'se all jes' toUerbul, Miss Mary.
We'se purty much upturned on 'count
o' some o' Mars' Jim's redikilous do-
in's. He's gwine ter take some o' dem
Yankee officers to bode for de sum-
mer, Ole Mis', she ain't so much upsot
about it as mammy ; but mammy says
she ain't gwine to work herself to
death for no UbM Yankees;" and
Bill's emphasis seemed to indicate that
she would have exerted herself tre-
mendously had they been dead.

** Mammy knowed an ole 'ooman
onct," he went on, "dat worked so
hard dat she jes' dropped in her tracks
one mornin' when she was f ryin' batty-
cakes, an' neber could have no f u'nel
sermon nor nothin' pleasant, 'cause dar
wA'n't no chance ter fine out if she
died in de Lord."

" He will talk all day, Betty, if you
encourage him."

"Here, skip along home, Civil
Rights. We've had enough of you for
one day. But, girls, do you really
suppose it is true that the ToUivers
have come to taking boarders — and
Yankees at that ?"

"I shouldn't wonder," said Mary.
" They are very poor, I know."

"I would starve before I would do
such a thing !" cried Betty.

"It would not surprise me," said
Mary, with a certain solemnity in her
manner, " if their coming to the ToUi-
vers' should prove — a wedge.^^

"I hope it may," said Blythe, "I
have no doubt there are gentlemen
among the Yankees just as good as
there are anywhere ; and I should
like every house in town to open to
them."

Surprise and wrath struggled in

Betty's eyes. Passion trembled in her
voice.

" Blythe Hemdon, if an angel from
heaven had told me you could make
such a speech, I would not have be-
lieved it I"

" They say that Yariba is almost the
only town that has held out against
them so long," said Mary Barton.

"And Yariba was always pig-head-
ed," said Blythe, calmly. "During
the war, mother says, the people never
would believe in a defeat. And even
at the last, when Lee surrendered, they
would not believe it until the soldiers
came home."

"And remembering Lee's surrender,
you would have us receive these men?"
cried Betty, passionately.

" Certainly. The war is ended; and
besides, the soldiers are not to blame.
They only did their duty in that state
of life in which it had pleased God to
call them," said Blythe, laughing.

"I suppose" — this with crushing
emphasis — "that you would as soon
marry one of them as not ?"

" I haven't as much genius for mar-
riage as some girls have," said Miss
Herndon, with spirit, " but if you dare
me to answer,! say — yea; and further,
that I would marry any man I loved —
were he Jew, Roman Catholic, Yankee,
or Fiji Islander !"

"And I," cried Betty, " would throw
myself into that water to - day, if I
thought it ever possible that I could
be a traitor to my country."

" The United States is your country."

"It is not. It is the South — the
beautiful, persecuted South."

" 'Little children, never let
Your angrj passions rise,'**

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sang Mary Barton, with the air of a
peace-maker.

" Well, what would you do ? would
you marry one of these officers ?"

" That is a question I will only an-
swer to the officer. Look, Blythe,
there are your father and mother."

Mr. and Mrs. Herndon approached
the group slowly, walking with the
lingering steps of those whose memo-
ries are brighter than their hopes. As
boy and girl they had played by the
spring near which they now loved to
wander, recalling tenderly all the asso-
ciations that made it dear; for they
were still lovers, though a double score
of years had passed since they first
kissed each other by the beautiful wa-
ters that had seemed to murmur a
blessing upon them. They stopped as
they reached the girls, and Mr. Hern-
don lifted his hat with the fine air that
distinguished him.

"What are you young ladies talk-
ing about?" he said, with courteous
interest.

" Blythe has just been making a dec-
laration of independence," said Mary,
laughing.

He shook his head good-humor-
edly.

" That is dangerous. A true woman
can no more be independent than the
vine that clings to this rock."

" Oh, that vine ! that vine !" sighed
Blythe. " Can't my papa, the cleverest
lawyer in the State, think of a new
simile ? Something might be made of
a drooping corn-tassel."

"I am sure," said Mrs. Herndon,
" your papa is quite right. I don't see
why any woman wants to be indepen-
dent. It is so sweet to have some one

to lean on. I don't believe I've so
much as bought a bonnet without Mr.
Herndon's help, since my first baby
was born."

Mrs. Herndon had one of those sweet
Southern voices over which age has no
power. Hearing it for the first time,
or the five-hundredth, it struck one's
ear with surprise. Youth and fresh
beauty seemed its fitting accompani-
ments. Coming from lips whose sum-
mer freshness had gone, it had an in-
describably pathetic sound. Yet her
smile was as sweet as her voice ; and
together they made it clear why her
husband had loved her all his life, and
had scarcely even noticed that the
years, like harpies, had stolen from
her all those charms that had once
made a dainty feast for his eyes. He
cared still less that an English classic
was as foreign to her as a Greek one,
and that she had a way of dating
things from certain notable events in
the lives of her children.

"I read something the other day,"
said Blythe, "that a Boston woman
said — ^Fuller, I think, was her name —
yes, Margaret Fuller: *To give her
hand with dignity, woman must be
able to stand alone.' That seemed to
me fine."

" What does it mean exactly ?" said
Mrs. Herndon. " How can any woman
stand alone?"

" There is a better line I would rec-
ommend to you, Blythe," said her fa-
ther, "and to you all, young ladies.
You may recall what one John Milton
has said of woman :

* He for God only, she for God through him !' "
" That is beautiful 1" said Mrs. Hern-

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don, her voice falling like a soft bird-
note into the air.

BIythe threw her head back with a
listless impatience against the rocks.
Her hand involuntarily fell into the
heap of wet moss at her side, and a

cold chill struck through her frame.
But her soul was filled with fever and
unrest.

" I wish," she thought, with sudden
longing, 'Uhat I could find out the
meaning and the use of my life."

CHAPTER II.

'YES, WE'RE A GOOD BREED IN YARIBAr

In its broad basin -shaped valley
Yariba spread itself out, in an un-
abashed sort of way, like a seedy sun-
flower. With a happy disregard of
time-honored laws, the town had been
laid out at variance with the. cardi-
nal points, the streets running from
north-west to south-east, bringing the
corners of the houses where their
fronts ought to be. The Yariba people
pointed out this divergence from rule
to strangers as "something different
from the common run of towns," and
were proud of it, as they were of
everything pertaining to their village.
They were by no means bishops who
spoke ill of their own relics, these
good people of Yariba ; and, once
among them, you were fairly talked
into their own belief that their town
was the finest on the earth's surface.
This point or that might not please
you ; but, then, Yariba had so many
virtues. You might deny the exist-
ence of atiy one of them, as you might
chop off one of the heads of the hy-
dra, only to have another rear itself
at you.

In truth, it was a most engaging
little town, with a natural beauty that
the good, easy fathers who planned it
2

had done little to spoil. Romantic
lanes led from one part to another;
mulberry, and catalpa, and poplar trees
shaded the streets; the beaten side-
walks were fringed with long grass,
that crept out into the road to the car-
riage-tracks — or wagon-tracks, I should
say, to be exact, as Yariba carriages
since the war " had left but the name"
of their cushions and curtains behind,
and were mostly used for hen-roosts.
Flowers grew everywhere, telling their
tale of the earth's fertility, like an ora-
tor's adjectives, in their wide and elo-
quent variety. They did everything
but speak — these Southern flowers.
They ran along the ground, they climb-
ed over fences, they hung from sturdy
trees in blossoms of bells, they floated
on the valley streams, they rambled up
the mountain paths, they sprang from
between close-wedged rocks, and every
wind that blew scattered their seeds
on the outlying lands, until the very
air had a " bouquet " as fine and sub-
tile as that of sparkling wine.

Mingling their changeless shadows
with the shifting shade of the oaks
and elms that grew about them, the
homes of Yariba lifted their weather-
stained walls. There were few mod-

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em bouses among them. They had
been built for a longer use than that
of the two or three generations who
had lived in them. Massive, rambling
houses they were, with tiled fireplaces
in the finest of them, and mantels high-
er than a man's head, and hospitable
doors always open, and generous win-
dows fit to frame the mountain views
on which they looked.

But the great beauty of Yariba was
the Spring. It was indeed one of
nature's wonders; an artery from her
hidden heart laid bare. It was always
called " The Spring," though in truth
it was broken into numerous streams
and water-falls, as it flowed down from
the mountain where it had its source.
Its culmination was at the base of a
rocky hill, where there suddenly came
forth a majestic swell of pure and lim-
pid water into a stony basin it had
hollowed for itself, deep enough to
drown a giant, but so clear that one
might fancy a child's arm could meas-
ure its depth. Then, bounding over
rocks in leaps of foam, it reached a
pebbly bed, and wandered away, a
placid stream, ever widening, flowing
gently through low meadow lands, un-
til it turned into a canal once used
for floating cotton down to the Ten-
nessee.

Yariba people gloried in the Spring.
It was something to show to strangers.
It was a theme for poets. It was as
useful as it was beautiful. Laundress-
es and lovers alike blessed it, for it
served equally the one who washed,
and the other who walked beside it.
Every one enjoyed it with a pleasant
personal sense of appropriation. Chil-
dren were brought up to look on it as

an inheritance. It was almost as good
as family diamonds in every house.

The climate was delicious. Winter
never came with whirl of wind and
wonder of piling snow, but as a tem-
perate king, with spring peeping to
meet him, before autumn's rustling
skirts had quite vanished round the
corner. Yet there was not the monot-
ony of eternal summer. Winter some-
times gave more than hints of power
to the pert knaves of flowers who
dared to spring up with a wave of
their blooming caps in his face; and
the peach-trees that blossomed too
soon were apt to get their pale pink
heads enclosed in glittering ice -caps,
through which they shone with re-
splendent beauty for a day, then meek-
ly died. Even a light snow fell at
times ; and everybody admired it and
shivered at it, and said the climate was
changing, and built great wood -fires,
and tacked list around the doors, and
piled blankets on the beds, to wake in
the morning to find sunshine and
warmth — and mud. But for the most
part, the days, one after another, were
as perfect as Guido's dancing hours.

As to the people of Yariba, they
were worthy of their town: could
higher praise be given them? They
lived up pretty well to the obligations
imposed by the possession of shadowy
ancestral portraits that hung on their
walls along with wide-branched genea-
logical trees done in India-ink by love-
ly fingers that had long ago crumbled
to dust. They had the immense dig-
nity of those who live in inherited
homes, with the simplicity of manner
that comes of an assured social posi-
tion. They were handsome, healthy,

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full of physical force, as all people
must be who ride horseback, climb
mountains, and do not lie awake at
night to wonder why they were born.
Their self-consciousness never took the
form of self-questioning ; it was rather
a species of generous pride — for pride
blossoms in as many varieties as if it
were a seedling-bed. That they were
Southerners was, of course, their first
cause of congi-atulation. After a
Northern tour they were glad to come
home and tell how they had been rec-
ognized as Southerners everywhere —
in the cars, shops, and theatres. They
felt their Southern air and accent a
grace and a distinction, separating
them from a people who walked fast,
talked through their noses, and built
railroads.

In a town where every one had a
grandfather the pride of birth was nat-
urally very pronounced; and it was
this, perhaps, that gave them strength
to make a pride of poverty, when their
time came to bear it.

They were proud of those qualities
that the local papers — the local organs,
may I say? — were fond of touching
upon when they wished to give Yariba
a " blow-out." (I speak with the exact-
ness of a Pamela — that was their word.)
The taste, the fashion, the refinement,
the intelligence of her people — these
were the songs they sung. Culture
was not a word much in vogue; nor
did it occur to the people that there
was something to gather in other fields
than they had gleaned. Their reading
was of a good solid sort. They were
brought up, as it were, on Walter Scott.
They read Richardson, and Fielding,
and Smollett, though you may be sure

that the last two were not allowed to
girls until they were married. They
liked Thackeray pretty well, Bulwer
very well, and Dickens they read under
protest — they thought him low. They
felt an easy sense of superiority in being
" quite English in our tastes, you know,"
and knew little of the literature of their
own country, as it came chiefly from
the North. Of its lesser lights they
had never heard, and as for the greater,
they would have pitted an ounce of Poe
against a pound of any one of them.
The women of Yariba read more than
the men; but the men were modelled
after the heroes that the women loved.
Of course Yariba was not provin-
cial. What small town ever was?
It had its own ways, to be sure, that
had sprung, like the flowers, from the
soil. When a youth and maiden of
Yariba promised to marry each other,
they became possessed immediately of
the one wild desire to conceal their en-
gagement from all the world. They ap-
peared no more together in public; they
paid marked attention to other youths
and maidens ; they met at parties with
a fine display of indifference ; and they
perjured themselves a thousand times
over in their indignant denial of any-
thing more than friendship between
them. A girl was completely happy if
she could send away for her trousseau^
or at least have allher " things " stamped
in the city ; as, in so doing, she escaped
the suspicion that always attached to
one who invested recklessly in silk or
linen at the Yariba shops. If forced
to borrow an embroidery pattern, she
was always careful to explain that she
had promised to " work a band " for a
friend. The number of people they

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could baffle or deceive became a point of
pride with these mating doves. One
young lady, whose engagement was not
suspected until the invitations for her
wedding were out, gained a fame that
promised to become classic in Yariba
annals; and not a school-girl in the
town but vowed to do the same thing
when her turn should come.

Another "way" of Yariba was to
ignore, as far as giving them their title
was concerned, the fact that there were
any married women in the town. When
a girl was married, the young men of
her set w^ent on calling her Miss Kate,
Miss Janey, or Miss Ada, as the case
might be; and the children of her inti-
mate friends used the same affectionate
address. Even when women who met
after their marriage became in any de-
gree intimate, their first advance toward
sociability was to drop the Mrs,^ and
be to each other Miss Fannie, Miss Cora,
or Miss Molly. It would have appeared
a more simple matter to have dropped
the title altogether, or to have given the
proper one ; but this w^as not the Yari-
ba fashion. And whatever its origin
may have been — whether caught from
the negroes or the cautious habit of a
conservative people who think change
a mischievous innovation — it had a
pretty and endearing sound, and is by
no means to be confounded with the
sharp abbreviations of the Northern
tongue that makes "Mis' Cutter,"
"Mis' Overdone," and "Mis' Wicks"
of the worthy women who have married
the butcher and baker and candlestick-
maker of their village.

Your genuine Southern provincial
inhabitant has another characteristic
tliat is probably one of all small towns

— that of addressing every stranger
who comes to the place, whether he be
the Duke Alexis or a newly-arrived
Esquimau chief, as if he were entirely
familiar with all the genealogies of the
best families and all the intricacies of
town gossip. This was not objection-
able, however, in Yariba, as it soon gave
him the feeling that he was entirely
at home in a large and warm-hearted
family.

It was pleasant to hear Squire Bar-
ton talk about Yariba. Squire Barton
was one of the Oracles of the Square.
He had a purple nose, under which "a
cob-pipe appeared to grow, and a bushy
white head, surmounted by a wide
white hat. Nine months of the year
he sat in a cane-bottomed chair, tilted
back either against the post-office win-
dow, or under a huge tree that gi*ew in
the middle of the street, and out of
which the Yariba people got a good
deal of comfort as an ornament, as it
was undeniably a very provoking ob-
struction. No one ever thought of cut-
ting it down. Since their fathers had
had sentiment enough to leave it, should
their descendants be degenerate enough
to destroy it, though it was a nucleus
around which all the loungers in Yari-
ba gathered, and at which all the cotton
drivers from the country daily swore ?

" Yes, we're a good breed in Yariba,"
Squire Barton would say. " The Lord
didn't skimp the cloth when he made
us. Don't know that we deserve any
credit. Grew up in the woods. Got
.a free sweep to our souls. Look at a
Yankee, now — shut up two-thirds of
his time in a room — a hot, stuffy
room I Why, his mind grows like it
— full of angles, and dark corners, and

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cobwebs. But a Southern man's got
all out-doors to grow in ; so he is
wide, and clear, and sweet- smelling.
Liberal-minded, too — to a fault. Every
man can have his own opinion, and
nothing said about it. Now, here in
Yariba — look at Lawyer Herndon I
. great man for poetry — likes Whittier
— ^likes his slave poems — says so pub-
licly, anywhere — just as soon say it
as to roll off a log — always has said it
Twenty years ago they'd have lynched
a man for that in some places I know
of. But there is no Puritan blood
in Yariba. We wouldn't have hung
witches; and the man who couldn't
live here couldn't live anywhere on
God's green earth."

But — "in spite of all this, and in
spite of much more" — the army peo-
ple did not wish to spend the summer
in Yariba. They grumbled over the
order, and considered themselves an
ill-used set of beings.

"It's a pretty place enough," said
Captain Silsby, of the Third, to Mrs.
Dexter, a lively little lady but recently
married to the Colonel of the Thir-
teenth ; " but, begging your pardon, so
infernally dull !"

" I have heard," said Mrs. Dexter,
" that the society in some of these old
Southern towns is very good indeed."

" Society!" said her husband; "much
we see of that! It is laughable to
see the airs these Southern folks put
on — and to old army officers, who

would grace a king's palace" — this
with an energetic frown.

" Yes," said Captain Silsby, languid-
ly, "they seem to look down on us,
you know. Pretty girls pass. us on
the street without so much as raising
their eyelids."

" Proud little geese !" cried Mrs.
Dexter, " they don't know what good
times they miss ! Never mind ! let us
be as gay as possible among ourselves.
The colonel has promised me a ball-
tent, and we can have dances every
night. Elegant idea !"

"If there is anything that disgusts
me with life," said Captain Silsby, " it
is to dance with a man, with a hand-
kerchief tiqd around his arm, making
believe that he is a woman. And there
are so few ladies in our camp, that it
would have to be done at our parties.
I would have given my vote to stay in
New Orleans, if it had been as hot as
Tophet."

"Soldiers can't have votes," quoth
Colonel Dexter. " We've got to move
like automaton chess-players, with
somebody behind to do the think-
ing."

"Now I fancy," said Mrs. Dexter,
cheerfully, " that the summer will turn
out much better than you expect. The
colonel and I are to board in a private
family, you know, and in that Way will
soon make acquaintances. Yariba — I
like its pretty Indian name ! and you
two may grumble into each other's
ears, for I sha'n't listen to a word."

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CHAPTER III

MR. TOLLIVER'S GRASPING GREED.

" Haek ! hark ! the dogs do bark,
The soldiers are coming to town ;

Some in rags,

And some in tags.
And not one in a velvet gown !*'

So sang Blythe Herndon in one key
after another, as she rocked herself
gently in a great wicker cjiair by the
open window.

The gate, half hidden by two Osage
orange-trees that grew on either side,
gave a little click, and Mr. Herndon
came in.

"Here is father, mother," said
Blythe, in a surprised tone. "Can it
be already noon? How the morning
has slipped away I"

" I should think it would have drag-
ged with you. You've done nothing
since breakfast but sit in that rocking-
chair, look out of the window, and
sing."

"Oh, I've been dreaming delightful-
ly! This is one of my happy days.
What queer things moods are, mother!
I often remind myself of one of your
flannel jelly-bags, that takes the color
of the stuff you pour into it."

"I don't know where you get your
freakish disposition, Blythe. Mr.
Herndon is just as even a man as ever
lived — though he has a temper — and
you are like him in the face. But it's

been * Simon says up ' with you one
day, and ' Simon says down ' another,
ever since you were a year old."

Mr. Herndon came into the room at
this moment.

" Oh, father," cried Blythe, " they
are really coming, aren't they ?"

"They — who? I can't follow your
mental processes."

" The soldiers — the enemy — the
Third and Thirteenth Regiments from
New Orleans?"

" Oh yes ; they'll be here in a week
— kits, cats, sacks, and wives."

"Wives!" echoed Mrs. Herndon,
" why they've never been here before."

" There, my dear ! Perhaps some
new report of the charms of Yariba
has reached them. At any rate, four
or five ladies are coming."

" And will they live in camp ?"

" I suppose so ; though I believe one
or two families are to board at the
Tollivers'."

"So Civil Rights Bill told a true
tale for once," said Blythe. "How
glad I am they choose Yariba for sum-
mer head-quarters, instead of any oth-
er town on the road."

" They do that because no other of-
fers such advantages."

" I should think they would find any
of these stupid towns dull. J[j jiopo

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they will have the same bands they
had last summer. It was so pleasant
to be wakened by music, and listen to
* Annie Laurie ' or * The Mocking-Bird '
from our front porch on moonlight
nights !"

As she spoke an old lady entered the
room. She was dressed all in black,
and had the fine fragile look of a piece
of Sevres porcelain. She wore about
her neck a gold chain almost as fine as
a thread, from which hung a large
open locket, framing the portrait of a
bearded face under a soldier's cap.
One noticed about her three points of
light — her steel-blue eyes of a remark-
able lustre, and the flashing of a single
diamond on one of her nervous fingers.
There was a touching dignity in her
aspect. Her face had an expression
of abstracted and unrested sorrow.

" What were you saying, Blythe ?"
she asked, in a voice faint and worn, as
if to speak loudly were to compromise
with her sadness.

" Nothing of any importance, grand-
mother, except that I was glad the sol-
diers were coming to make the town
a little more gay."

It almost seemed that two sparks
shot from the old lady's eyes.

"You are glad," said she, slowly,
" and you are my grandchild !"

"But, grandmother, I can't feel as
you do. I was so young during the
war."

" You are not a child now, Blythe ;
and one might expect from you some-
thing more than a child's insensibility
to tyranny and oppression."

"Well, well, mother!" interrupted
Mr. Herndon, " Blythe didn't mean to
hurt your feelings. It really isn't a

bad thing for the town that they are
coming. Barton says that it assures
the success of our great enterprise."

The great enterprise was nothing
less than an effort to run a street-car
in Yariba. It had been projected
three years back by some daring spirit,
and one by one the solid men had taken
stock in it. It had hung fire at elec-
tion times, and while the crops were
coming in, but in the interims it had
advanced slowly. Six weeks of mud
in the winter just past had given an
impetus, and the rails had actually
been laid in one burst of work. Now
the car and the mule had been bought,
the driver had been chosen, and the
coming of the army people assured
passengers.

" How charming it will be to have
something to go about in this hot
weather," said Blythe. " I'm afraid I
shall get quite enervated by the lux-
ury."

" It will be a gay summer for Yari-
ba," remarked Mrs. Herndon. " What
with the street- car and the Yankees,
there will be something going on all
the time."

"And besides all this," said Mr.
Herndon, smiling, "Van ToUiver is at
home."

"Is he, father? how long will he
stay?" cried Blythe.

"Yes, he came last night, and in-
tends to spend the summer, I believe.
He's a great favorite with you young
folks, isn't he?"

"Why, yes; but he is. so much
taken up with Betty Page that he isn't
much use to any one else."

" I wonder if she will marry him ?"

" I don't know. She likes him ; but

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she is the last girl in the world to mar-
ry a poor young planter."

"Van will be a rich young planter
before many years. Such a hard-
working, clear-headed young fellow is
bound to succeed. Let him once get
a fair start, his mortgages paid off,
and no girl could do better than to
take him."

"I should like to know what he
says to the prospect of Yankee board-
ers in the house."

" He probably feels it to be the dis-
gi'ace that it is," said old Mrs. Hern-
don ; ^^ and, Lucy, I hope that neither
you nor Blythe will go near Mrs. Tol-
liver this summer."

" Oh, mother, that is too much to
ask. Think how good she was when
Jimmie was born. And it isn't her
fault, poor woman. You know she
couldn't say anything if Mr. ToUiver
chose to make the house head-quarters
for both regiments."

It grew to be the general impres-
sion in Yariba that Mrs. Tolliver was
a victim, and she was pitied as far as
the outraged sensibilities of the people
would allow.

"We are all so bound together
here," said Mrs. Oglethorpe, "by so
many ties of kindred, and association,
and friendship, that one of us can't do
a thing without reflecting on the oth-
era. Until now, the dignity of Yariba
has been unimpaired, in spite of all we
have gone through ; and when it comes
to one of our good old families falling
so low, we must all feel the shock."

What Mrs. Oglethorpe said always
had great weight in Yariba. Feeling
ran high against Mr. Tolliver after this
speech. The women held their heads

more erect than usual, and looked at
each other with eyes that said "the
dignity of Yariba would have never
been impaired by one of t/«." Old
Mrs. Herndon said openly that Mr.
ToUiver's grasping greed had brought
it all about ; and when he appeared at
church, his bent figure leaning on a
knotted hickory stick, his coat shiny
with age, and his shoes tied with a
leather string, all the ladies looked
sadly on this monster of covetousness,
and wondered how he could have done
it. Finally, Mrs. ToUiver's friends hast-
ened to call on her — for the double
purpose of condoling with her, and of
getting through a social duty before
her summer guests arrived, that need
not be repeated until after they had
gone.

To their surprise, they found Mrs.
ToUiver's eyes free from the least sus-
picion of redness, and her state of
mind ignobly placid.

"Mis' ToUiver's affairs were getting
so mixed," she said, in her gentle
drawl, "that I had just lost aU heart
to live. Everything he went into turn-
ed out the wrong way. Rack and
ruin all around, and not a dime to stop
a hole in the roof. No ready money
till Van's crop came in, and he writing
in every letter for God's sake not to
go in debt at the stores. When the
Dexters asked Mis' Tolliver to take
them, it just seemed as if the Lord
had opened a door for us. Of course
it's a trial — I don't say it isn't; but
nobody can say it isn't perfectly re-
spectable to take boarders, and it's all
I could do in my position to help
along. Of course Aunt Sally made a
fuss about it; but I wej^t out to her

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and said, * You can just walk ofE this
place any day you want to; but I'm
going to take 'em, if I have to come to
this kitchen and cook myself.' That
brought her round short ofif. *Lor,'
chile,' she said, ^ ain't you learned not to
mind my tongue by this time? You
go right along in the house, and don't
you woiTy yourself about what goes
on the table.' She's been as pleasant
as a May morning ever since, and my
mind's at rest; for there's no better
cook anywhere than Aunt Sally, when
she tries herself."

With these and similar details did
Mrs. ToUiver entertain her guests.
Their sympathy was a wasted offering.
So they listened silently, and left her
to the cheerful work of getting ready
for her guests. She was a busy little
woman, in spite of the fact that she
spoke with a drawl and had long since
given up the effort to say Mister Tol-
liver. She made the chambers of her
house fresh and fragrant as the flow-
ers with which they were adorned;
Aunt Sally concocted a fruit-cake
which, when it came out of the oven,
was as large as her head in its best
turban; Mr. Tolliver bought a new
pack, of cards; Van mended all the
broken chairs; and Tom, the young
son of the house, with Civil Rights
Bill, set up a hitching-post in the yard
for Colonel Dexter's horse, and striped
it, like a barber's pole, with red and
yellow paint.

Yariba was not on a railroad, and
was five miles from any station. One
soft afternoon, just as the sun began
to tip downward, a bugle's piercing
note woke the echoes * in the hills
around the town and startled it to

sudden life. The ladies who were on
the streets hurried home; small boys
collected in excited groups ; the shop-
keepers came to their doors; the
loungers about the square climbed
upon shed-roofs, or stood in the high
windows of the Masonic Hall, with
field-glasses glued to the eyes of those
fortunate enough to possess such aid;
only Squire Barton remained tranquil-
ly in his seat in front of the post-of-
fice, remarking that when fools kicked
up a rumpus, wise men kept a steady
head. And now a long blue line ap-
peared in the distance, coming out
from the forest's edge, and curving
with the winding stream. Nearer and
nearer it came. A gust of wind lifted
the flag's drooning folds, and the Stars
and Sti'ipes, that the people hardly yet
saw with composure, fluttered out in
broad beauty as the soldiers came
marching into town, while the band
struck up the archaic air of " The girl
I left behind me." Girls watched
them from behind windows, and all
the small boys collected around the
drum, and kicked up the dust with ec-
stasy.

The camping-ground was the same
that had been used for the two sum-
mers past by the regiments from New
Orleans, and was a beautiful spot; a
wide, level grove, heavily shaded by
fine old trees. It was called " St. Thom-
as Hall Lot," and in its centre had once
stood a military institute. Only the
walls now remained; for it had been
used as a small -pox hospital during
the war, when the town was occupied
by the Northern army, and was burn-
ed as soon as they left. Three or four
graves were under one^of the trees,

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and it was whispered that when the
hoase was barned it held the corpses
of three unbuded men. Here was a
hini for a fine ghost-tale ; but, at least
since the soldiers had been quartered
there, nothing uncanny had been seen
or heard.

The tents were soon pitched, and
gave a cheerful picturesquencss to the
dark grove. Not a Yariba boy but
looked on the busy soldiers with envy ;
and when the preparations for supper
began, they were speechless with de-
light, and could only testify to one an-
other by silent nudges their apprecia-
tion of the joys of a soldier's life.

In the mean time the ambulance in
which Mrs. Dexter travelled had reach-
ed the Tolliver gate; and that lady's
pretty black head was thrust out ea-
gerly, that her eyes might lose no time
in taking their first impression.

She saw winding walks, rustic seats,
and a wide frame-house set back from
the road, surrounded by magnolia and
mimosa trees ; a house whose latticed
porch and open doors hinted pleasant-
ly of coolness and summer comfort.
Large iron gates swung open to admit
them.

" This is charming !" cried Mrs. Dex-
ter, " this is delightful !" Nor did her
raptures grow less warm as she ran
lightly along the grass -grown walk,
and the untrimmed rose-bushes caught
at her flying veil as she passed. Mrs.
Tolliver stood on the steps, and a
warm welcome rose to her lips at sight
of the bright young stranger, who was
soon sitting in the parlor sipping a
cup of tea, and glancing about her
with quick, admiring eyes. In fact,
those parlors were worth looking at.

Faded tapestry hung on the walls^
worked by fingers whose fairness no
man living remembered. Old por-
traits of beauties in "baby -waists"
smiled from under towering puffs of
hair. On the tall mantel stood an-
tique silver candelabra holding many-
colored wax -candles. Crossed above
them were two rusty swords. The
great open fireplace was filled in with
branches of asparagus and althea
boughs. The floor was uncai'peted,
and here and there were fine, worn
rugs. A chest of drawers, exquisitely
carved^ stood in one corner, holding
heavy majolica vases.

Finally, when Mrs. Dexter was tak-
en up-stairs and shown the two cool,
high rooms that had been appointed
to her, from whose windows she could
see the mountains, the winding stream,
and the soldiers' camp, she could not
restrain longer her expression of pleas-
ure.

" I am so glad to be here !" she said
to Mrs. Tolliver, with bright impulsive-
ness ; " to find that my lines are cast in
such pleasant places for at least three
months to come 1 We army people
are so tossed about, that you don't
know how much it means to me to
come into such a haven as this beau-
tiful old home of yours."

Mrs. ToUiver's heart warmed . " You
must consider it your home, my dear,"
she said, " and try to be happy with
us."

A week passed, and the ToUivers be-
came more and more delighted with
the strangers, who fell into their
household ways as naturally as two
children. Aunt Sally did not grumble
at their presence, as many bright rib-

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bons and red -bordered handkerchiefs
found their way into her box ; though
nothing quite cast out a slight scorn
that she felt at their liking for cold
suppers, in spite of the trouble that
she was spared thereby. Tom and
Civil Rights Bill revelled in. candy and
cartridge-boxes. Mr. Tolliver saw his
table well supplied from the Commis-
sary Department, and found in Colonel
Dexter an excellent partner at whist.
Finally, Tom fell sick, and Mrs. Dex-
ter, who had a medicine- chest filled

with .tiny phials, worked a miraculous
cure with homeopathic doses; and
then Mrs. ToUiver's heart was fairly
won. It soon became the current re-
port in Tariba that the ToUivers had
all "gone" to the Yankees; nor were
there wanting certain wise ones to say
that they had foreseen all along how
it would turn out, as they had expect-
ed nothing better from people who did
not have firmness enough to resist
temptation in the shape of a little
money.

CHAPTER IV.

BLYTHE HEARS A VOICE.

Tom Tolliveb was sick again ; and
BIythe Herndon, with a sun-bonnet on
her head and a pot of jelly in her hand,
ran across the street to see hini, one
bright morning, reaching the ToUivers'
ever-open door just in time to see Mr.
Shepherd's coat-tails vanishing up the
stairs. Mr. Shepherd was the Episco-
pal minister; and as BIythe had not
been to church for two Sundays past,
she rather dreaded a flowing reproof
from her pastor, and went into the
back -parlor to wait until his visit
should be ended. She seated herself
in one of the deep window recesses,
quite hidden behind the straight cur-
tains, and picking up a battered vol-
ume of " Clarissa Harlowe," was idly
turning its leaves, when she heard
voices in the room. First the youth-
ful treble of Civil Rights Bill, raised
to a slightly patronizing pitch.

" Yessir, Tom's rele po'ly : been eat-

in' too many water-milions is what ails
him. Der's some terrible bad boys
in dis town. Mister Ellis. De oder
night dey jumped inter Squire Bar-
ton's water-milion patch, an' plugged as
many as fifty, I reckon, green an' ripe :
et half de night, an' fotched away
s'many as dey could tote. Tom didn't
bring none home, but I knowed he was
in de crowd, 'cause de seed was stick-
in' all ober his close nex' day."

"You, of course, were at home,
sleeping virtuously in your bed," said
a deep, amused voice.

" Me ? oh, yessir ! I don't like ter
git broke o' my rest — it stops growin'.
Mammy knowed a man onct dat slep
till he growed as high as de church
steeple, an' neber had ter pay nothin'
ter go ter de circus 'cause he jes'
leaned ober an' punched a hole in de
tent an' looked in. But you set down,
sir; I'll tell Mrs. Dexter you are, here."

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A low laugh followed Bill's exit
from the room, and the words, " Of all
gaminSy commend me to the African."

Blythe, in her window, liked voice
and laugh. They were decided, easy,
clear; of great sweetness for a man,
and hinting at reserved power; so
frank as to invite a child's trust, and
imbued with the penetrating sympathy
of fine music. The young girl, quick
to receive impressions, felt that sudden
thrill of recognition tHat comes now
and then to the most guarded hearts
in meeting a kindred soul. It was but
a passing impression, for she was keen-
ly alive to the awkwardness of her sit-
uation.

"What shall I do?" she thought.
" It is too ridiculous to be hiding here,
like a young woman in a play ; but it
will be still worse to make a sudden
appearance, and have to explain."

The stranger took a turn up and
down the room, and Blythe peeped
out. There is little satisfaction, how-
ever, in gazing at any back out of mar-
ble; and all she saw was a tall form
in a loose-fitting coat, and a 8\vinging
walk almost like a sailor's.

" How pretty and Southern this is !"
he said ; " these cool, high rooms, the
old portraits, the narrow mantels, and
the mahogany tables with their dishes
of blown roses !" Then followed a
deep whiff of satisfaction, as if he drew
a breath with his face among the roses.

"How do you do, Mr. Ellis?" said
a lady's voice, and Mrs. Tolliver came
in, with Civil Rights Bill behind her.
"Mrs. Dexter is out to-day, but she
left a message for you in case you
should call, and Bill does get things
so mixed, that I thought I had better

give it to you myself. She said that
she wants to beg off from playing cards
with Colonel Dexter and Mis' Tolliver
this evening ; and if you had nothing
better to do, wouldn't you come up
after tea and read German with her ?"

"Certainly; I shall be most happy
to do so. I am sorry to hear that
your little boy is sick, Mrs. Tolliver.*'

" Yes, the poor child has been study-
ing too hard." (Civil Rights Bill, ia
the background, rolled his eyes fear-
fully.) " He's got all the ambition in
the world — too much, I'm sure, for a
growing boy — and the hot weather
coming on just prostrated him."

" I hope it will prove nothing seri-
ous, and that we shall soon see him
over at the camp again."

Good-mornings were exchanged, and
the gentleman went out. Blythe sprang
from the window-seat, blushing like a
rose.

" Why, Blythe Herndon ! where did
you come from?"

She laughingly explained, adding,
"And here is a pot of jelly mother
sent Tom. How is he to-day ?"

"A good deal better, ray dear. He
is picking up quite an appetite. I
know he will enjoy your mother's nice
jelly. I always did say she hadn't her
equal in Yariba for jelly."

" Do tell me, Mrs. Tolliver, who your
visitor was," cried Blythe. " I had one
peep at him, and noticed he was not in
uniform."

" Oh no, he is not one of the officers.
His name is Roger Ellis. He is a
gi'eat friend of Colonel Dexter's, and
his guest, I believe, for the summer.
He has been somewhat out of health,
I understand, and is trying camp-life

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to restore him. A very nice man he
is. We've had him to tea a few times,
and feel quite well acquainted."

"What a pleasant voice he has!"
said Blythe.

"Lor', Miss Blythe !'; cried Civil
Rights Bill, who had been leaning in
a jaunty attitude against the mantel,
" he ain't no match for you ; he's too
ole an' ugly.

" * He's got no wool on de top ov his head,
De place whar de wool ought ter grow,' "

and Bill broke into song.

"You Bill! what have I told you
about singing in the house?" cried
Mrs. Tolliver, with wrath in her gentle
face. "It seems to me, the more I
talk to you the worse you get. I did
think, when Mrs. Dexter came, you'd
behave a little better ; but no, on you
gOy just as much of a wild Indian as
ever. Go right out of this house, and
tell Aunt Sally if she doesn't whip you,
I will!"

Bill moved out placidly. "He's a
mighty good gentleman, anyhow. Miss
Blythe," he said, with a nod. "He
gave me a silver dime; an' you can't
pick up dimes in every horse-track in
dis town."

"And now, Blythe," said Mrs. Tol-
liver, impressively, " what do you think
I have to tell you ? Mrs. Oglethorpe
has called !"

" What ! Do you mean, she has
called on Mrs. Dexter ?"

"Yes ; that's just what I mean. It
came on me like a thunder-clap. When
Bill said she was in the parlor and had
asked for Mrs. Dexter, I didn't believe
a word of it. But I went in, and there
she sat, all dressed up, with her lace

shawl looped as an overskirt, and a
spick-and-span new bonnet on ; though
I'm pretty sure she made it herself,
for I recognized the feather. 'I've
come to call on Mrs. Dexter,' she said,
with that smile of hers. *I noticed
what a stylish little woman she was
in church Sunday, and I thhik it my
Christian duty to reconcile.' So I sent
Bill up to Mrs. Dexter with her card,
and everything- went off as pleasantly
as you please."

" I suppose every one will call now,"
said Blythe, deeply interested.

" I suppose so. Mis' Tolliver says the
people in this town follow Mrs. Ogle-
thorpe's lead like so many sheep."

" What are you two talking so ear-
nestly about ?" said a gay voice at the
door. " You have the air of conspira-
tors. How do you do, Miss Blythe ? I
haven't liad the pleasure of shaking
hands with you since I got home."

"I'm very glad to see you back.
Van," said Blythe, giving her hand
cordially to the tall young man who
came forward. " I hope you are with
us for the summer."

" Yes ; unless things go wrong at the
plantation."

"I have just been telling Blythe about
Mrs. Oglethorpe's call," said Mrs. Tol-
liver.

Van laughed, and drew his mother
toward him in a protecting sort of way,
" Never was any little woman so pleased
as this one," he said, gayly, " when my
Lady Oglethorpe vouchsafed to be gra-
cious. She went about the house all
day smiling to herself as if she had
heard some particularly good news that
none of the rest of us had a share in."

" You needn't laugh at me, Van. Of

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course I was pleased ; for Mrs. Dexter
is just such a winning, social, lovable
woman that I wanted .her to have a
pleasant summer here in Yariba, and
not feel herself neglected. And Effie
Oglethorpe, you know, when she does
take anybody up, makes people all see
her way."

" True, mother ; she has some secrets
worth learning. And really, Miss Bly the,
Mrs. Dexter is all that mother says, and
more — a charming little creature, a per-
fect school-girl in her ways."

" And Colonel Dexter — how do you
like him?"

"If I were writing a novel," said
Van, " I should call Colonel Dexter the
Man with the Eyebrows. They are
long and heavy and grizzled. One of
them grows up stiff and straight as a
holly-leaf, giving that half of his face an
expression of perpetual surprise; and
the other droops over his eye like a
w^eeping-willow, and makes him look
suspicious and fierce on that side."

" Don't you listen to him, Blythe,"
said Mrs. Tolliver ; " Colonel Dexter is
a very fine man. Mis' Tolliver says he
doesn't know anybody who plays a bet-
ter game of cards, when he gives his
mind to it. And he just worships his
wife."

" He is twenty years her senior," said
Van, " and I don't think he has quite
got over his surprise that she married
him. To make amends for her sacrifice
he is doing his best to make a spoiled
child of her, and suffers the usual in-
quietudes of those who have such dar-
lings on their hands."

" Mother and I have both been want-
ing to call on Mrs. Dexter," said Blythe,
" but we have put it off from day to

day, partly from laziness, I suppose ;
and then, you know — grandmother."

" Shedoesn t soften at all, does she ?'*

" Not the least in the world ; and I
believe this summer she is harder than
ever, perhaps because she sees that peo-
ple are not so bitter as they have been.
I have never known her spirits to be so
low as they are now. She is never ex-
actly cheerful, you know, but last win-
ter she seemed to take a little more
interest in things than she had since
the war ; but all that is over. Mother
says she looks almost as broken down
as she did the first summer after Lee's
surrender, when she used to walk in
her sleep so much, and we were all
afraid she would lose her mind. Many
a night I have watched her pacing up
and down the hall, wringing her hands,
all in white like a ghost, until I would
get so frightened I had to hide my
head under the bedclothes to keep from
screaming."

" Poor soul !" said Mrs. Tolliver. « If
William had been spared she wouldn't
have felt so. I'm sure I don't think I
ever could have had them in my house
if Van had been killed."

"I don't think Uncle Will's death
made any special difference; it's the
* Lost Cause ' grandma mourns. I can't
understand it. I think it is a great deal
better to forgive and forget ; don't you.
Van ?"

" I don't want to forget," said Van,
throwing back his head with a spirited
action peculiar to liim. " We made a
good fight for our rights, and I'm glad
and proud to have been in it. But as
for bearing any malice against the men
that whipped us — not I. The war end-?
ed, I would just as soon have shaken

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hands with General Sherman as with
Joe Johnston.'*

" Or with Grant as with Robert E.
Lee ?"

" No," said the young man, with a
sudden reverence in his tone, " for I
should have knelt to Lee."

Mr. Shepherd's step was heard on the
stair, and BIythe rose to go. " I told
mother I should be gone five minutes,"
3he said, " and here I've spent half the
morning !"

" Let me walk home with you," said
Van. "I had been intending to call at
your house to-day."
^ Mrs. Tolliver watched the two figures
as they strolled down the curving walk,
until called from her agreeable contem-
plation by Mr. Shepherd's voice.

" Aha !" said that gentleman, "I have
caught you, have I? Confess, now,
Mrs. Tolliver, that you were looking
after your boy, and thinking to yourself
that no other woman was ever mother
to so fine a young man."

" Perhaps I was," said Mrs. Tolliver
with a smile ; " at least I might think
it without going very far wrong. Here
come Colonel and Mrs. Dexter. Stay and
see them, won't you, Mr. Shepherd ?"

" I shall be glad to do so. I should
like to cultivate my acquaintance with
the Dexters. Evidently they are peo-
ple worth knowing."

Mr. Shepherd, who was a distin-
guished-looking man with curling gray
whiskers, had a very fine manner, and
a great deal of it — so much, in fact,
that it seemed to be always oozing out,
like moisture from damp clay. Mrs.
Tolliver felt that the Dexter star was
in the ascendant, as he bowed pro-
foundly over Mrs. Dexter's hand.

" Oh, Mrs. Tolliver," cried that viva-
cious little lady, " this is the most beau-
tiful country in the world ! We've had
the loveliest walk — all along the Spring
and half-way up the mountain. I tore
rny dress frightfully on a blackberry-
bush — only see what a rent ! I gath-
ered heaps of wild flowers for you, but
they withered before I got half-way
home, and I had to throw them away.
The colonel says we can have the am-
bulance any day for a picnic up the
mountain. Elegant idea, isn't it ? We
will go just as soon as Tom get's well.
We must have walked ten miles to-day,
and I'm tired half to death."

" She walked too far, I'm sure she
did," said Colonel Dexter, anxiously,
to Mrs. Tolliver. "I begged her to
turn back before she got so tired, but
you know how wilful she is."

"I like to be tired, colonel; you know
I do ; it gives me a good appetite."

" You poor child, you must be hun-
gry now," cried Mrs. Tolliver. " You
ate scarcely any breakfast, and dinner
won't be ready for two hours. Let me
get you something. I think Aunt Sal-
ly's light -bread is just about done.
Don't go, Mr. Shepherd" — as that gen-
tleman rose — " you know there's noth-
ing you like so well as a slice of hot
bread and a glass of buttermilk." Mr,
Shepherd sat down. " I can give you
some of Mrs. Herndon's jelly, too, for a
treat. BIythe brought some over to-
day for Tom. Just look at the col-

She held the jelly up to the light, then
hurried out to prepare the luncheon,
while Colonel Dexter established his
wife in an arm-chair, put a footstool
under her feet, inquired if she would

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like to be fanned, and pulled the cur-
tains together to keep the light from
her eyes.

" There, there, colonel ! you give me
the fidgets. Mr. Shepherd, can you tell
me if the young lady we met walking
with Mr. VanToUiver was Miss Blythe
Herndon ?"

" Yes ; they left the house together,
and you came in immediately after."

"I thought her quite pretty — un-
usual looking."

" Blythe often produces the effect of
beauty," said the minister, cautiously,
^^ particularly in animated moments. But
her face is spoiled by its dissatisfied ex-
pression. To my mind the predominant
characteristic of beauty should be se-
renity. Look at Miss Page's face, for
instance. It is the most harmonious
one I know."

" Miss Page ? Is she the young lady
with the black hat, who sits two pews
in front of the Tollivers ?"

"Pardon my inadvertence; I had
forgotten you had not met her. It is
she whom you have noticed in church."

"She is Van ToUiver's sweetheart.
I've seen them smiling at each other
during prayers. I. hope she is nice
enough for Van. I've fallen quite in
love with him myself, haven't I, col-
onel?"

" In a way, Ethel, in a way," said
the colonel, with an apologetic glance
at Mr. Shepherd, "but we all like young
ToUiver. He is a fine fellow."

" He is a type of a class that in an-
other generation we shall see no more,"
said Mr. Shepherd.

"Hey I eh! how's that?"

Mr. Shepherd settled himself in his
chair.

" There has been in the South," said
he, " a race of men who mightT have
been the descendants of knights and
feudal barons ; a race so peculiar in a
new country that it has been carica-
tured until one hesitates to use such
words as * knightly' or *chivalric' in
describing those proud and gallant
men who stand out the most romantic
figures in the history of our century.
Blood and circumstance combined to
give them the most fascinating and
heroic qualities — personal daring, reso-
lute will, and inflexible pride. Sur-
rounded from their cradles by obse-
quious attendants, they gained a royal
ease of manner which was matched by
an exquisite courtesy. No sordid cares
ever obtruding upon them, their gen-
erosity was as lavish as their hearts
were warm. They held landed estates,
and were princes in their own do-
mains."

"You mean the Southern planters,"
cried Mrs. Dexter, beginning to under-
stand why Mr. Shepherd's admirers
said he "talked like a book;" "but
were they not, as a class, rather lazy
and arrogant?"

" Lazy ? no, indeed ! Look at their
superb physiqtie^ gained by continued
and violent exercise in the open air.
No people ever equalled them in pow-
ers of physical endurance, unless the
English, whom they were not unlike.
Arrogant? well, perhaps a little arro-
gance was inevitable ; but it was more
than counterbalanced by an open-heart-
ed frankness and a delightful gayety
of temperament."

" Whatever his race or class," said
Mrs. Dexter, keeping steadily to the
subject in hand, " I'm sure Van has all

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of its virtues and none of its vices.
Do you know, colonel, Mrs. ToUiver
was telling me, the other day, that he
went into the war when he was only
eighteen, and fought all through with-
out a furlough !"

"I think that fight not worth as
much as the one he has made since,"
said Mr. Shepherd. " He rushed off
to Brazil just after the war, and lived
for some years in an adventurous sort
of way, not dreaming that his family
would ever need his services, for Mr.
Tolliver was a rich man even when the
war closed. He lost all his money,
however, speculating in cotton, and
trying to carry on the plantation under
the old rule. Van came home to find
the place mortgaged heavily, and ruin
dangerously near. He went to work
at once, and has shown the manliness
and self-denial of a true hero, working
all alone, as, between ourselves, his fa-
ther's advice is only valuable as point-
ing out a road not to take. In short.
Van Tolliver, like thousands of other
young Southern men, a Sybarite in days

of ease, has proved himself a Spartan
when necessity came."

" Now it's all ready," said Mrs. Tol-
liver, opening the door of the next
room. " I waited a little while for Bill
to finish churning, so that I could give
you some fresh buttermilk. The bread
is just out of the oven."

She cut into the brown smoking loaf
with a sharp knife, and the fresh, sweet
smell filled the room.

"How perfectly charming!" cried
Mrs. Dexter, " Fancy, colonel, what
they would say at home to cutting into
hot bread in this reckless manner."

" I wish Van were here," said Mrs.
Tolliver, "He will never eat cold
bread, and it seems as if he is never
in the house at the right time to get
it hot."

At this particular moment Van was
making long strides toward the home
of the young lady whose beauty was
characterized by serenity; for he had
permitted himself one luxury in all
these years, and that was to fall in
love with Betty Page.

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CHAPTER V.

MRS. OGLETHORPE FEELS IT HER DUTY TO RECONCILE.

•*Dby your sweet eyes, long drowned with sor-
row's raine,

Since, clouds disperst, suns guild the air againe.

Seas chafe and fret and beat and over-boile.

But turn soon calme againe as balm or oile.

Winds have their time to rage, but when they
cease

The leayie trees nod in a still-bom peace.

Your storm is over ; Lady, now appeare

Like to the peeping spring-time of the yeare ;

Off then with grave-clothes ; put fresh colors
on,

And flow and flame in your vermilion.

Upon your cheek sat ysicles awhile.

Now let the rose raigne like a queen, and
smile."

We may be sure that it was not to
one of those oasis types of whom the
Bible speaks as widows indeed, to
whom Herrick addressed this auda-
cious and charming " Comfort." No;
it was to some artless creature, who
needed only a little decent encourage-
ment, as the laughing poet knew, to
"flow and flame in her vermilion."
Her type is perennial. In Yariba she
was called Effie Oglethorpe. This lady
had been for many years a — very —
resigned widow. Her husband had
been a pleasant man, with a fine talent
for spending money. She loved him
and mourned him, and had never said
even in her most secret soul that his
loss was her gain; but she believed
very devoutly that God ordered all

things for the best. If her husband
had been alive he would have gone
to the war; with anxiety and dread
weighing upon her, she would have
wept oftener than smiled ; and it was
smiles, not tears, that had won her pro-
tection-papers from this general and
that, during the four years' fight. As
a widow, too, she could plead prettily
for her " fatherless babes," without im-
pairing her standing as a Southern ma-
tron in hot-headed Yariba. She could
even bewitch the " Vandals " who held
the town, looking very lovely in her
black bonnet with the white frill inside,
with no fear of tales being told an an-
gry husband when he came home. Fi-
nally, when the end came, and bank-
ruptcy, like a great devil-fish, drew in
one Southern family after another, she
remained secure. She came out of the
war with slight loss beyond that of her
slaves, and as her wealth had always
been in goods rather than chattels, in
the midst of

Poverty to the right of her,
Poverty to the left of her,

she flourished like a thrifty plant. In
her little establishment things went on
much as they had always done. " Aunt
Betsey " cooked in the kitchen as she
had cooked for twenty years past ; and

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in the house Aunt Betsey's grandchil-
dren grew up as her children had done,
trained by the mistress to habits of
neatness and obedience. Mrs. Ogle-
thorpe's maid, Peggy, was a model —
capable, industrious, polite ; everything,
in fact, that a girl of sixteen ought to
be, if we except a certain picturesque-
ness of moral character, at which Mrs.
Oglethorpe, figuratively speaking, wink-
ed. "We can't expect everything,"
she said, philosophically.

There is always a leader in a coun-
try town, and it was Mrs. Oglethorpe
who timed the music of the Yaiiba
orchestra. This was due in part to her
social position and easy circumstances,
but more to her tact. Men and wom-
en in her presence seemed to gain
what they had lacked — the old, a touch
of pink on their cheeks ; the young, a
softened grace ; the silly, wisdom ; the
wise, other charms than wisdom. She
reflected people like a highly polished
mirror, that gives back an idealized
likeness. It is not, perhaps, so fine a
thing to be a mirror as a diamond;
but we look at the diamond once and
are satisfied, while we want the mirror,
as we have the poor, always with us.

The news that Mrs. Oglethorpe had
called on the Dexters acted on the
Yariba people with the force of a gal-
vanic battery on a frog's legs — a figure
suggested by Squire Barton's remark,
that "it made them hop like sixty."
After the first shock the ladies of her
own church upheld her nobly ; but the
Baptist congregation " wondered at it"
for a week, and the Methodist sisters
said it all came of being an Episcopa-
lian, and having no real feeling about
anything; although the undertaker's

wife, a notable woman at prayer-meet-
ings, remarked that she thought she
should call herself, as it was only
right that "our set" should pay some
attention to strangers. And at last
all Yariba reduced its dignity to the
size of a pocket-compass, and decided
to follow in the forgiving steps of its
leader.

The next piece of news was that
Mrs. Oglethorpe was going to give
the Dexters a dinner-party, to which
the Bartons, the Pages, the Herndons,
and the ToUivers were invited — a re-
port that Squire Barton confirmed in
his own idiomatic way.

" Yes," he said, cheerfully, his hands
in his waistcoat pockets, his linen coat
flying out breezily at the sides, " Effie
Oglethorpe's going in for the Yankees
hot and heavy. Nobody but the Lord
knows why — and he won't tell. We're
invited, and we're going. I want to
see the thing through. Hot weather
for black clothes ; but I can't let down
to a light coat before the Yankees —
honor of Yariba, you know. Going to
wear my swallow-tail, white cravat,
gloves, maybe; though I tell Molly
that it doesn't make any difference
about gloves. Summer-time and kid
gloves are like oysters and sugar —
don't go together, you know. Besides,
they won't fit. I've got the real Barton
hand — pudgy— can't fit a glove on it.
Can any gentleman give me a light?"

Lighting his pipe, he added reflect-
ively, " Molly takes after her mother's
side. Very good people — but it was
the Bartons had the blood. I'm sorry
Molly hasn't got the Barton hand; it
shows breed."

In no house had Mrs^Oglethprpe's

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three-cornered note of invitation made
a greater commotion than at the Hern-
dons.

" Dear Miss Lucy " — she wrote, —
"I fear you will think I have indeed
gone over to the enemy when I tell
you I have invited the Dexter a to
dine. The way it all came about is
this : it seems that Uncle James Pax-
ton — who lives in Natchez, you know
-7-was an old classmate of Colonel
Dexter's. Running down to New Or-
leans just before the troops were or-
dered here, he met Colonel B, quite
hy accident. They shook hands, talk-
ed over old times together, and when
Uncle James found out they were
coming to Yariba he Vrote to me ask-
ing me to pay them some attention.
He said that Colonel Dexter belonged
to the real blue blood of Boston, and
that his wife had been considered one
of the beauties of New York. I did
not know exactly what to do; but
when I saw that she was a chur(5h-
woman — and very high^ I noticed — I
determined to reconcile. I called;
found her very pleasant, though not to
be called a beauty here in Yariba. I
have invited them to dine next Thurs-
day^ and I want you, Mr. Herndon, and
Blythe to meet them. Tell Blythe I
have not invited any of our young men
except Van Tolliver, as they could not
assimilate as readily as we can seem
to do. But there will be a Mr. Roger
Ellis, a friend of Colonel Dexter's, and
Captain Silsby, of the Third, both of
whom have called with Mrs. Dexter,
and are very pleasant men. Be sure
to come — all of you. Ever yours,
" Effie C. Oglethorpe."

Mrs. Herndon read the note aloud
to Blythe, who listened with sparkling ^
eyes.

" Shall you go, mother ?"

"No, dear; it will be too gay for
me. My party days ended when Nel-
ly died. Dear ! dear ! almost the last
one I ever went to was at Mrs. Ogle-
thorpe's, and was given to Nelly as a
bride. But you shall go, Blythe — you
and papa."

" Lucy Herndon, do you mean what
you say?"

It was the grandmother who spoke.
Pale and silent as a spectre, she had
glided in and stood by BIythe's side a
worn, wan figure, by the side of which
youth and beauty had a cruel look.

" Why, yes, mother," said Mrs. Hern-
don. " I do think it time that Blythe
should see a little more of the world
than Yariba affords. These may be
very desirable acquaintances."

" So that is how you feel about it !"
— the thin hand on which the restless
diamond flashed touched and covered
the open portrait on her bosom — " and
I look on every Yankee that lives as
my son's murderer; their hands are
stained with his blood !"

" Oh, mother, I am sure it is wrong
to feel so ! Why do you not talk to
Mr.Shepherd about it?"

" Mr. Shepherd — and what new thing
could that time-serving man tell me?
That is a weak thought, Lucy — but you
were always weak."

"I'm sure I was strong enough to
let my husband go to the war."

"You let him because you could
not help yourself. He had my blood
in his veins, and thanks to that he
made a good fight. I gave all I had —

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one son's life — and night and day I
prayed — prayed as the women all over
our land were doing — to a God whose
promises we trusted. But we were
conquered ; and never, never, so long
as life holds in this feeble body, shall
another prayer cross my lips !"

"Mother I what are you saying?"
cried Mrs. Herndon, with a half-fright-
ened look.

" If there had been a God," she said,
drearily, "he would have heard — he
would have been just — he would have
spared his people."

"I dare say Napoleon was right
when he said that the Lord was on
the side of the biggest battalions," said
BIythe, flippantly.

Mrs. Herndon looked from her
daughter's young, pettish face, to the
fixed, cold one beside it, and sighed.

""BIythe, you wring my heart by
your irreverent way of speaking. And,
mother, don't you see how wrong it is
to speak as you do before the child ?"

The old lady seemed not to hear the
question, but turned to her grand-
daughter. " Emma BIythe," said she,
with a slight, solemn gesture, " I have
something to say to you. I suppose it
is natural for the young to desire a
gay life. I have often heard you long-
ing for a winter in New Orleans. I
will give you one, if you will promise
me to have nothing to do with these
army people, no matter how eagerly
your friends may take them up."

"But, grandmother, I do not under-
stand — "

The grandmother held up her hand,
upon which the diamond that seemed
part of herself had sparkled as far back
as Blythe's memory could reach.

"You know, BIythe, what this is to
me. My husband put it on my finger
sixty years ago. It is all that is left
to me. But I will give it to you — ah,
gladly, as I sent my boys to fight for
their country ! It is valuable. It shall
be sold, and the money is yours for a
winter in. the most beautiful city in
the world."

" Why, grandmother I" cried BIythe,
half annoyed, half touched. "As if I
would let you sell your ring! No;
I can give up this party. I suppose
I shall live through the disappoint-
ment."

But she turned to the window to
hide sudden, swift tears. "I never
wanted anything so much in all my
life," she thought.

"We will refer the whole matter to
your father," said her mother ; " what
he says about it is sure to be right."

As it happened, Mr. Herndon had
met Mrs. Oglethorpe in town before he
came home, and had accepted her ver-
bal invitation. Besides this, he prided
himself on being a man of reason with-
out prejudices, and was really pleased
at the thought of making new and
agreeable acquaintances. He was not
a man to be turned from a purpose
by any woman's entreaty; and to his
mother's sad little prayer that BIythe
at least should stay at home, he return-
ed a good-humored but firm negative.
So it was decided that BIythe should
go. She felt guilty to be so glad, and
considerately turned her face from her
grandmother, that she might not see
its rosy blush and smile when the im-
portant question was settled.

In the afternoon Betty Page ran in
glowing with excitement,

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**Have you had a note from Mrs.
Oglethorpe ?" she began.

" Yes ; and I see that you have had
one too," said Mrs. Herndon, laughing.

" Shall you go, Miss Lucy ?"

" Oh no, I am too old. I have got
used to running in the ruts, and it
would jar me to pieces to get out of
them. But Blythe and her father will
go."

^'I think it shameful of Miss Effie
Oglethorpe I" cried Betty. " Of course
every one will take them up now."

"But I suppose you won't go, of
course," said Blythe, slyly.

"Perhaps I shaU."

" Oh yes, Betty, I would if I were
you," said Mrs. Herndon. " Get what
pleasure you can while you are young
enough to enjoy it."

^^JPleasure /" cried Miss Betty, scorn-
fully. " I hope. Miss Lucy, you don't
think I would go for pleasure I But
there are two reasons — "

" Let us have them."

" For one thing, mamma says it will
never do to slight Mrs. Oglethorpe's
invitation — that I may be left out some
time when it won't be pleasant; and
you know she does give the nicest par-
ties of anybody in Yariba. However,
I pay no attention to this," said Betty
loftily. " I am independent, and don't
run after my Lady Oglethorpe, as other
folks do."

" But your other reason ?"

" Is this : There is a Captain Silsby
in the Third, who, I take it, is a very
conceited jackanapes, and Mrs. Ogle-
thorpe has invited him. He has, it
seems, so fine an opinion of his own
sense that he thinks himself qualified to
pronounce judgment on people of whom

he knows nothing. Tom Tolliver heard
him talking to that silly little Mrs. Dex-
ter about Southern girls. He said that
they were as pretty as Christmas dolls,
and about as wise ; that he had never
met one capable of shining in cultured
Northern circles. What do you think
of that?"

Both Blythe and her mother thought
very ill of it. Southern matron and
Southern maids exchanged glances that
would have reduced Captain Silsby to
the condition of a withered leaf had he
fallen under their fire.

"What impertinence!" cried Blythe.

" What ignorance I" said her mother.

"It's only a case of sour grapes,"
said Betty. " Southern doors haven't
opened to him as freely as he wished."

" He can't meet anywhere a more el-
egant woman than Effie Oglethorpe,"
said Mrs. Herndon judicially ; " and I
do hope, girls, that you will feel the
responsibility resting on you, and do
credit to your countiy."

"That is why I want to go," said
Betty, with delightful ingenuousness —
" to let him see what one little town
can do in the way of girls."

" Will your mother go?"

" No ; you know she never goes any-
where."

" Blythe and Mr. Herndon will call
by for you, then."

"I was just going to ask if they
would. Now the great question is.
What shall we wear ? Do you think
my old black silk would do trimmed
up with mamma's black lace, and with
fresh ruches and roses ?"

" Why, yes ; but why do you wear
black in the summer ?"

" Because I look thinner in it than in

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anything else. I don't want them to
think me as big as Mount Sano. Now,
Blythe, what shall you wear ?"

" I think," said she, laughing, " that
I am thin enough to venture on my
white muslin."

" Oh, Blythe ! you know we shall go
into the room together."

"Yes."

" Then don't wear white. We shall
look like a hearse !"

" I haven't anything else that will do."

" I don't care for you to wear your
white muslin," said Mrs. Herndon, with
unwonted energy. " It is a short, shab-
by thing. I have always said that you
should open Nelly's trunk some day.
You shall do it now."

"Oh, mother !" cried Blythe, with a
thrill in her voice.

Mrs. Herndon got up, and moved
restlessly about the room.

" She was just you? height and com-
plexion," she said, gently. "It will
bring her back to me to see you in her
pretty dresses. Perhaps it has been
wrong to keep them from you so long.
But she had worn them ; she had been
— so happy in them."

Blythe sprang to her mother's side,
and saw the tears streaming over her
face.

" No, no ; do not give them to me,"
she cried. " Let them stay where they
are."

" It is right you should have them,
my Blythe. It will not grieve me.
Fifteen years ago, dear children, since
I packed them away, and it seems but
yesterday ! I will get the key, and you
may look over them together."

She left the room, and Blythe turned
to Betty with tears in her own eyes.

" I know what a trial this will be to
mother : and oh I Betty, I feel as if I
hardly dare touch those things, much
less wear them."

"It isn't as if you remembered her,
Blythe. You were scarcely more than
a baby when it all happened. And I
think she would like for you to be hap-
py in her clothes."

Mrs. Herndon re-entered the room
with her bonnet on. "Here is the
key, girls. You can take whatever
you choose. I am going to spend the
afternoon with old Mrs. Good wyn, who
is sick."

" You see," said Blythe, under her
breath, as her mother left the room,
" she won't even stay in the house."

" Well, that is a good thing," said
Betty, cheerfully. " She can get used
to the idea a little while she is away.
Come now, Blythe. You know every-
thing will be out of fashion, but I will
come over and help you gore and ruf-
fle every day this week, if you want
me."

So they went to the unused room
up -stairs, where Nelly's guitar, her
books, her little favorite ornaments,
were packed away ; and, half-frighten-
ed, half-curious, they turned the key in
the trunk's rusty lock, and lifted out
dresses fine and faded, yellowed lace,
ribbons, and dainty slippers. Trem-
bling hands had laid them there; hot
tears had stained them from blinded,
burning eyes, that had thought never
again to know a look of joy. But the
flowers of fifteen years had bloomed
over Nelly's grave ; the fair, fair face
was remembered only as a dream by
the sister who had wept when she
found it too cold for her kisses to

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warm. Soon Blythe and Betty
breathed more evenly ; ceased to speak
in whispers; even laughed over some
quaint bit of finery. Their time had
come for life and love ; the dead were
to them but as pictures on the walls.

The days of preparation passed gay-
ly and happily for Blythe. She sang
over her work, and even the sight of
her grandmother's face could not de-
press her spirits. At last something
was going to happen in her life ! She
had long since exhausted all that Yari-
ba had to offer in the way of enter-
tainment — or thought she had — and
had come to feel very much bored
with the monotony of things. It
would have pleased her to do some-
thing very startling to give the village
a shock, but the meanness of opportu-
nity had hitherto prevented. As yet
she had done nothing more dreadful
than to grieve Mr. Shepherd and her
family by going to the Methodist
church — that they called a "meeting-
house" — several Sundays in succes-
sion ; an exertion for which she scarce-
ly felt herself rewarded, as she gained
nothing new beyond an impression
that it was less elegant to take up the
collection in red -velvet bags than on
silver plates. Perhaps if Blythe had
been more popular among the young
people she would have absorbed her-
self more happily in the usual interests
of a girl in her father's home ; but she
had never been a favorite. She was
called literary. This was an unfortu-
nate adjective in Yariba, and set one
rather apart from one's fellows, like an
affliction in the family. Blythe's claims
to the word, indeed, might not have
been allowed in a Boston court, though

she had read all the novels in Yariba,
and thousands of old magazines; and
had written the graduating composi-
tions for half the girls in her class.
There was a certain likeness between
these efforts, as of a family nose or
chin; still, they had won her great rep-
utation. Then, too, she had written a
Carrier's Address in poetry for her
brother Jimmie, beginning,

"Though our Greeley is dead and our nation in
grief,
And our future looks dark without hope of
relief,"

which had been printed in gilt letters,
and was framed by more than one ad-
mirer of native talent.

The young men of Yariba were
more than ever shy of Miss Blythe af-
ter this performance, though they were
rather proud of her top, and always
pointed her out to strangers.

Blythe's face was pretty enough to
have neutralized the ill effect of her
mental gifts; but she was indifferent,
and neglected ordinary courtesies. On
one occasion some callers were an-
nounced to her as she was reading an
interesting book. She decided to fin-
ish her chapter before seeing them,
and by the time it was finished she
had forgotten their very existence.
Mrs. Herndon was not at home, and
after waiting an hour, Jimmie Hern-
don strolled in, with the cheerful re-
mark that he supposed sister Blythe
had forgotten about them. She was
up-stairs crying over a book ! It was,
perhaps, natural that those young men
did not call on Miss Henidon again.
Blythe had a power of sarcasm, too,
that did not add to her popularity;

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and she was openly intolerant of medi-
ocrity and narrowness, without suspect-
ing her own arrogance. Never troub-
ling herself to study character, she had
an irrational contempt for most of the
people of her acquaintance; and, by
virtue of her high aspirations, her
vague and lovely dreams, she felt her-
self their superior.

And yet Blythe — my BIythe — I
should wrong her not to speak of her
charms. The ingenuous young face —
the sweet, cold, innocent eyes — the

generous heart, quick to resent an in-
justice or a wrong — the glancing play
of her bright mind — the matchless, the
unsullied purity of her heart — the hu-
mility of her imperious nature before
the ideally beautiful or the great —
these might have won forgiveness for
worse faults than she owned. So far,
life, love, passion, have been to her
like close-shut buds of roses of whose
sweetness she has dreamed. Has the
sun dawned in this fair summer's sky
that is to warm them into bloom ?

.CHAPTER VI.

A SOUTHERN OLIVE-BRANCH.

" Yes, madam ; if I had my choice
of the whole world, I would choose to
live in America; of all States, just
this good old Southern State that I'm
living in now ; of all towns, Yariba, of
course ; of all streets, that wide avenue
fronting the sun that runs along by
the church ; and of all houses, the big
square white house at the head of it,
that my grandfather built, and lived
in until he was carried out feet fore-
most, and that I live in to-day."

Squire Barton was speaking to Mrs.
Dexter, The wax-candles were light-
ed in Mrs. Oglethorpe's drawing-room;
her guests were nearly all assembled.

" I wonder what Cousin Mark is say-
ing to Mrs. Dexter," said Mrs. Barton,
ii|i an aside to Mrs. Oglethorpe. " You
know there's never any telling how he
may break out. I cautioned him, be-
fore we came, to remember we were
going among strangers; but I don't
believe it has done the least good,"

Mrs. Barton was a person of fixed
habits. She had called her husband
Cousin Mark before she married him,
and continued to do so after. She
spoke gently, slowly, and with great
precision. She was always more or
less oppressed by anxiety as to " Cous-
in Mark's" behavior, and when they
were in company together, "she spent
most of the time in trying to catch his
eye; an attempt he persistently baf-
fled, from a very natural desire not to
draw in his horse as he was leaping.

" How charming to meet a contented
man !" said Mrs. Dexter to the squire.
"I think I must have stumbled across
a descendant of Diogenes."

"I don't say I have a contented dis-
position," he returned, gravely ; " but
the man that couldn't live in Yariba
couldn't live anywhere on God's green
earth. We're a good breed of people
here."

Mrs^Dexter's laugh rang out so gay-

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ly that the colonel, who was talking to
Mr. Shepherd across the room, turn-
ed his surprised eyebrow upon her.
Squire Barton caught the look, and a
sudden recollection dawned in his own
face.

"Beg your pardon, sir," he said,
" but can you tell me where you were
in the spring of '74 ?"

"Where was I?" repeated the col-
onel, somewhat fluttered by this sud-
den question. "With my regiment,
sir; with my regiment, down at Jack-
son Barracks."

"Never saw such a likeness in my
life !" said Squire Barton, slapping his
knee. " Molly, you remember the man
I hit in the eyebrow?"

Molly, sitting by the window, in a
white dress, with deep pink roses in
her cheeks, said, "Yes, papa;" and
Mrs. Barton exclaimed, " Never mind.
Cousin Mark; it isn't worth talking
about."

"But, wife, there is a most extra-
ordinary likeness. Good joke on me I
Mrs. Dexter was taking Molly down
to New Orleans, and some book ped-
dler on the cars put a book into her
lap not fit for ladies' eyes. I saw the
title — threw it at his head. General
idea was good — execution faulty. The
boy had gone some seats ofiP, and I
hit an unofiPending old gentleman on
the eyebrow. StifiE-looking old cus-
tomer. Wonderful likeness to the
colonel. Explained to him, of course,
that my theoiy of the case did not
originally include his eyebrow — apol-
ogized like a gentleman, and he was
good enough to overlook it. Said he
appreciated the spirit of the thing,
and would not regard the mere mat-

ter of detail. Very well put, wasn't
it?"

Mrs. Dexter laughed again. Colonel
Dexter coughed a few times, and con-
tinued his talk with Mr. Shepherd.

"You think, then, that the negro
race is doomed to go under?"

"Not a doubt of it, sir," said Mr.
Shepherd, calmly. " They were fitted
to live in just the position they held
— ^no other. Contact with a superior
race had elevated, refined, christian-
ized them ; but left to themselves, with
their irregular passions, unclean habits,
and inboni shiftlessness — there's no
other word for it — they'll die off, sir,
year by year, just as fast as graves
can be made for them."

"Inborn shiftlessness," said Squire
Barton; "you're right there. Shep-
herd. Did I ever tell you about that
old nigger of mine, Pris Dowdy ? He's
got a little place in the woods, where
he raises a crop, and could do well, if
he wanted to. He gets out of corn
every year, and comes begging to me
before the winter is over for money
to buy corn. Last fall he varied the
thing by coming just as winter set in.
* Look here !' says I, * what's become
of all your crop ?' * Lor', raarster, my
crop failed dis year.' 'Failed! why,
there hasn't been as good a corn year
since the war.' * Dat's so, marster, but
to tell you God's truth, I forgot ter
plant.' Now, what can you do with a
nigger like that?"

"Kill him and use him for a fertil-
izer," suggested Mrs. Dexter. "Ele-
gant idea !"

The colonel frowned slightly. Even
to him it sometimes occurred that his
adored wife was a little flippant.

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Roger Ellis and Captain Silsby now
entered together. Mr. Ellis was a tall,
loosely -built man, a little bald and a
little gray, with humorous, kindly gray
eyes, and strong, plain features, capa-
ble, perhaps, of expressing a high de-
gree of emotion. Captain Silsby pro-
duced a more dazzling effect, with his
blue coat and gold lace, his brown
eyes, Greek nose, and little curled mus-
tache. One felt instinctively that his
had been a victorious career on the
gentle fields where croquet-balls clash,
and that he had been a hero in the
ball-room strife. His manner was lan-
guid, his bow perfect. Mrs. Ogle-
thorpe gave them seats near the win-
dow in whose recess Maiy Barton and
Van Tolliver had already established
themselves. Mary, who had been hav-
ing a highly satisfactory talk with Van
about the way he spent his time at the
plantation, only reconciled herself to
the interruption by making compari-
sons very much to the advantage of
the young Southerner. Captain Silsby
hnd Mr. Ellis were pleased with her;
for she talked as easily and sensibly as
if she had been an ugly girl instead
of a pretty one. She looked at them
with innocent, candid eyes; thinking
triumphantly, "Van has a shabby coat,
but he is head and shoulders above
either of youf^ which was rather a
hasty judgment on Miss Maiy's part,
after a five minutes' acquaintance.

" What a pretty woman our hostess
is!" said Captain Silsby, in his lazy
tones. "Would it be indiscreet to
wonder how old she might be ?'*

"Don't you know that a man is as
old as he feels, and a woman as old as
she looks,'' said Mr. Ellis. •

"But a woman is as variable in her
looks as in her temper," said Mary
Barton, "so that rule won't do: a fit
of the blues or a dull day will add ten
years, sometimes, to a woman's face."

" Speaking of ages," said Ellis, with
a smile, "I am reminded of what a
queer little darkey said to me the oth-
er day. I had asked him how old he
was. * If you count by what my gran-
mammy says,' he replied, *I'se gwine
on ten; but if you count by de fun
I'se had, I reckon I'se about a hun-
dred.'"

"That sounds like Civil Rights
Bill," said Van Tolliver.

" So it was. *My name's Willy,' he
said, * but dey all calls me Civil Rights
Bill.'"

" He is a bright little shaver," said
Van, "but fearfully spoiled."

"And no wonder," cried Mary Bar-
ton; "you all laugh at him. Aunt Sal-
ly whips him, and he gets no training
at all."

"Nicknames play the deuce with a
fellow's prospects sometimes," remark-
ed Captain Silsby. " I knew a fellow
whose chances in life were all ruined
because he was called Snookery Bob."

"And they are often so inappropri-
ate," said Maiy. " I had a friend who,
as a child, was so thin that her family
nicknamed her * Bones.' She grew up
to be very fat, but they go on calling
her Bones all the same. Ah ! here is
Mr. Herndon, with Blythe, and Betty
Page."

Mr. Herndon stood in the door-way,
and on either side a smiling vision of
youth — Betty Page, all in black, a
lace scarf draped over her long, plain
skirt, and caught oi)^the_ shoulders

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with roses; her arras, smooth and firm,
and purely white as a magnolia pet-
al, bare and unadorned; her piquant
face was composed to an expression
of dignity: Blythe in a dress of some
green, shimmering stuff, brocaded with
a silver thread, that clung close to her
slender figure as the calyx of a moss-
rose to its bud. Her hair in a gold-
en plait encircled her small head, and
gave it an air of elegance and distinc-
tion. Both girls had in their beauty
an element of strangeness that seemed
to the Northern eyes a foreign grace;
but was only that distinguishing and
indefinable charm of the high-bred
Southern girl, that seems to come up
like an exhalation from the earth and
wrap her in its waving lines.

" Let us be a little late," Betty Page
had said ; " our entrance will be all the
more effective." And, in truth, as they
came in all the other women felt them-
selves suddenly pale and dim, like can-
dles burning in a room into which the
. sunlight is suddenly thrown.

"By Jove!" cried Captain Silsby,
under his breath, " what gloriously pret-
ty girls !"

VanTolliver started forward, but Mr.
Shepherd had befen too quick for -him,
and was already leading Betty Page to
a seat. He liked this young lady — ^both
her serenity and her sauciness. She
was pleasant to look upon and to pet,
as preachers may.

Blythe sat down contentedly near
Mrs. Barton, and answered abstractedly
the remarks of that lady. Blythe never
talked unless she liked to, and was rath-
er proud of this indifference. To-night
her heart was in a flutter of expecta-
tion. She had recoi^nized RoQ:er Ellis

in a swift glance, and she felt only his
presence in the room. It was enough
to sit quietly, catching an occasional
tone of his voice, and hope dreamily
that he would talk to her before the
/evening should be over. A girl's first
fancy needs as little as an air-plant to
live on.

Mrs. Oglethorpe had this evening a
novel feeling of anxiety as to the suc-
cess of her entertainment; an anxiety
such as Vatel might have felt in com-
pounding a broth of unknown ingredi-
ents. She was glad when Peggy ap-
peared in a much-beruffled white apron
to announce dinner, where a valuable
ally awaited her in the shape of cer-
tain wine-bottles that had lain for years
in the Oglethorpe cellar, and whose sup-
ply seemed as inexhaustible as the cruse
of a certain other fortunate widow. We
may believe, however, that she drank
home-made blackberry for every day,
and only brought out her cobwebbed
Madeira on high-days and holidays.

Blythe had the happiness of being
taken in to dinner on the arm of Mr.
Ellis. His first remark was to the ef-
fect that a restaurant-keeper at the
North would make his fortune if he
could give his customers such gumbo
soup as was served at Southern tables ;
his second was an aside to Peggy —
" No wine, please ; but I should like a
glass of buttermilk."

Blythe felt X^j,at, these remarks fell
somewhat short of the heroic standard |
but his eyes and voice and smile held
a fascination for her, and she waited a
moment of inspiration.

Colonel Dexter was almost as desir-
ous as Mrs. Oglethorpe that the din-
ner-party tshould go off well. It was

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the first olive-branch that a Southern
hand had extended, and he was disposed
to hug it to his bosom, not on his own
account, but that his gay little wife
might have a pleasant summer. He was
therefore in a mood of anxious amia-
bility. He was dressed in a full suit
of citizen's clothes, as if determined to
hurt no one's feelings ; and he praised
the South in labored terms, as if it were
dead and he were repeating its eulogy.

"And what do you think of Yari-
ba?" asked Squire Barton, cheerfully.
"You've been here, going on three
summers — time enough to find out an
open-hearted, out-doors people like our-
selves."

" Now, Cousin Mark," said Mrs. Bar-
ton, "it isn't fair to ask the colonel
what he thinks of the people, for Upraise
to the face is open disgrace;' and of
course he can't say anything but praise
right here in a nest of Yariba folks."

" My dear Mrs. Barton," said the col-
onel, " it might indeed be indiscreet to
say all I think of the intelligence and
refinement of the people of Yariba ; but
I may say that though I have been in
many towns, I have never seen one so
beautiful as this. Here, as the poet
says, * Every prospect pleases' — "

Mrs. Dexter's tinkling little laugh in-
terrupted this flow of eloquence. " The
colonel doesn't know the next line,"
cried she, in a stage-aside to Van Tolli-

ver — ,

** * Every prospect pleases,

And only man is vile.' "

The colonel's face became red, the
younger guests laughed, and Mrs. Bar-
ton thought that Mrs. Dexter was al-
most as bad as " Cousin Mark."

" One great beauty of Yariba," said

Mrs. Oglethorpe, "is its situation. Our
forefathers couldn't have chosen a pret-
tier spot."

" The largest springs of fresh, water
in the United States are here," said
Mr. Shepherd ; " and nothing is more
natural than here, where *He watereth
the hills from his chambers, and send-
eth springs into the valleys which run
among the hills,' that a human settle-
ment should early form, and afterward
grow up into a type of the highest
Southern culture and refinement, and
one, too, eminently distinctive in its
character. Not even in England can
be found more individual forms of pro-
vincial life than those which existed in
some of our Southern States before the
war. The climate, with the languor of
a lotus-fraught atmosphere — the blood
of the old Cavaliers showing itself in
the easy grace and fiery spirit of their
descendants — the accumulated wealth
of generations — all had a share in pro-
ducing and establishing a form of cult-
ure noted for its subtile tastes^ its na-
tive elegance, and its aristocratic ten-
dencies."

" Culture," said Roger Ellis, easily,
"that's a word worth defining. In
the South it is, as you suggest, a mat-
ter of refinement, social gifts, birth,
and wealth. In the North its meaning
is more complex."

" It is a difference of dress," laugh-
ed Mrs. Dexter, "with the women, at
least. A Southern woman of culture
is sure to be a dainty and fashionable
lady ; but in the North culture is com-
patible with a frowzled wig and a poke
bonnet. I remember one queer-look-
ing lady from Boston, who used to
visit us, who could out-talk all the

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learned professors and literary folk
my father invited to meet her; but
she would come into the drawing-room
with her overskirt wrong side oat,
and would often leave the dinner-table
with her napkin still tucked under her
chin."

^^ She belonged to what I should call
the semi-cultured class," said Mr. Ellis ;
"people of one idea. They embarrass
one terribly. I was once presented to
a demure - looking girl at a ball, and
she covered me with confusion by ask-
ing quite loudly if I could advise her
as to the best Chinese grammar, and
what was my opinion of the language.
I knew no more about Chinese then
than I do now; but I felt that she
scorned me for my ignorance, and I
crept out of her circle as soon as I
could. Many of our most elegant wom-
en, however, are also the most cultured.
For types of Northern and Southern
culture take Madame Le Vert and Mrs.
Julia Ward Howe. Madame Le Vert,
I take it, was the very flower of South-
em culture. She spoke half a dozen
languages passably, shone in a ball-room
as its belle, and was gifted with a sort
of divine tact that brought friends and
lovers to her feet. Contrast her with
Mrs. Howe, a society queen, as far as
she chose to be, but beyond that a pro-
found student, an original thinker, a
poet, and a reformer."

" I acknowledge," said Mr. Herndon,
somewhat coldly, " that Madame R6-
camier always seemed to me a woman
of finer culture than De StaSl."

" The old life of the South has pass-
ed away," said Mrs. Oglethorpe, who
did not quite like the turn that the
conversation was taking. " It only re-

mains for the genius of a George Eliot
to grasp these old materials, and from
their wreck build a memorial of its
glory in a Southeni * Middlemarch.' "

" What a tremendous thing the man
will have to do who writes the Amer-
ican novel !" remarked Mr. Herndon.
^'He must paint the Louisiana swamps,
the sluggish bayous, the lazy Creole
beauties; the Texas plains, with their
herds of cattle and dashing riders ; the
broad, free life of the West, and that
of the crowded Northern cities; the
skies of California, the mountains of
Carolina. Where is the man who can
do all this?"

"He will have to be a peddler,"
said Captain Silsby, " or a book-agent :
no other fellow could get over so much
ground."

"He was here the other day," cried
Mrs. Oglethorpe; "he called himself
a bread-maker. He had travielled the
country over teaching his noble art —
one of the lost arts, he called it. He
had, indeed, found one woman in Ten-
nessee who could make good bread;
but had the salvation of the South de-
pended on three righteous bread-mak-
ers, it could not have been saved."

"And did you have him teach you?"
asked Mary Barton, with interest.

"Yes; he was such a persuasive
rogue that I yielded. I kept him here
two days. He used half a barrel of
flour, ate a ham and a turkey, charged
me five dollars, and found out the his-
tory of myself and my grandfathers.
The questions that man could, ask I
He kneaded the dough, pale and pen-
sive as if he had a secret gi'ief, and
gently dropped one question after an-
other into the ear of whoever would

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stop to listen. I did not suspect bim
at the time, but now I feel that he was
an author in disguise, collecting mate-
rial for the American novel.''

" * Gin there's a hole in a' your coats,
I rede ye tent it I
A chiel's amang ye takin' notes,
And &ith he 11 prent it !' ''

quoted Mr. Shepherd, with a fine ac-
cent.

"And what of the bread?" asked
Mary, who liked to hear all of a story.

"None of us could eat it. It is
piled up in the sideboard, and I'm sure
I don't know what to do with it."

" You must do as we did in Texas
with the onions a neighbor sent us,"
said Mrs. Dexter. " Day after day a
little tow-headed boy would come in
making the air fragrant around him,
and drawl out, ^ Mam' says she don't
reckin yer got no gyardin wuth talkin'
'bout, so she sent yer a mess of ing'uns.'
Of course we had to return our thanks."

"In the practical shape of sugar,
coffee, or canned fruit," interrupted
Colonel Dexter, " my wife used to feed
half the neighborhood. She let her-
self be imposed on by everybody — too
generous by nature. I guess she has
some Southern blood in her veins — "

"Never mind that, colonel ; let me
finish my story. We couldn't eat
those onions, nor give them away; so
we used to bury them in the garden
and cover them over with leaves, like
the babes in the wood."

" I respect this down-trodden vege-
table," said Mr. Shepherd, in the midst
of the laugh that followed. " Cut up
raw with cucumbers, dressed with
pepper, vinegar, and salt — the very

look of such a dish is enough to give
one an appetite."

"Or an indigestion," said Captain
Silsby. "It depends entirely on the
person who looks."

"And how charmingly Warner talks
of the onion in ^ My Summer in a Gar-
den,' " said Mr. Ellis. " He declares it,
in its satin wrappings, the most beau-
tiful of vegetables, and the only one
that represents the essence of things.
It can almost be said to have a soul.
You take off coat after coat, and the
onion is still there ; and when the last
one is removed, who dare say that the
onion itself is destroyed, though yon
can weep over its departed spirit?
There is fine humor for you !"

" Warner?" said Captain Silsby, who
disliked general conversation — in an
aside to Betty Page — "who is this
Warner? Some Southern fellow who
runs a garden ?"

Betty's eyes sparkled. As it hap-
pened, she had read the delightful book
to which Mr.EUis had alluded. Van
Tolliver had sent it to her the year be-
fore for a Christmas present.

"Is a prophet without honor in his
own country?" she asked, "or is Cap-
tain Silsby affecting ignorance because
he is talking to a Southern girl?"

The captain received this shot with-
out wincing. " No," he said, placidly,
" but I don't take to books ; never did.
I could hit a bull's-eye in the centre
before I knew my letters."

"You were born after your time.
You should have lived in the Middle
Ages, when the priests had all the
learning, and the gentlemen hunted,
fought, and signed their names with a
cross-mark."

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" Yes, that would have pleased me
well enough, except that I should have
been dead now; and I wouldn't have
missed being alive to-day, and at Mrs.
Oglethorpe's dinner-party, for anything
the past has to offer," said the captain,
with low fervor. Betty was not such
a novice, however, as he supposed, and
she went on eating her salad with ad-
mirable composure.

"Are you a great reader. Miss
Page?"

"I am very fond of reading," said
Betty, with dignity.

" I shouldn't have thought it," said
the unabashed captain, looking at her
with such serious sadness in his hand-
some eyes that she could not avoid a
smile. "That's the specialty of Bos-
ton girls, you know : that's how they
know so much — pick up things out of
books, don't you see ?"

"Oh yes, I see," said Betty, showing
her dimples bewitchingly.

"I had a dreadful experience once
with a Beacon Street girl, who had
been educated at Vassar College. Fan-
cy — she sent me to the Athenaeum to
find out all I could about Protoplasm !"

" Hercules himself would have groan-
ed at the task."

"A classical allusion ! Miss Page, I
begin to be afraid of you. But let me
ask you a few direct questions, please.
Are you fond of dancing ?"

" Oh, very."

"And of riding?"

" Yes, indeed."

" Do you sketch, paint in water-col-
ors, or write poetry ?"

" No — ^no^no."

"You like the opera and the thea-
tre?"

" Yes, though I almost never have a
chance to go to them."

"I am relieved. You are neither
strong-minded nor a blue, or yoa
wouldn't confess to such civilized
tastes. And let me beg of you not to
read too much ; it is bad for the eyes.
Leave books to students, and disap-
pointed folks, and homely women who
can't be heroines. You Southern beau-
ties ought to live your own romances.
Apropos of dancing — do you glide ?"

"Oh, I have heard of that new
waltz-step," cried Betty, all ardor and
artlessness, " but I don't know it at
all."

"Let me teach it to you. It's my
strong point — any fellow in the regi-
ment will tell you so. You have just
the figure for it. It's a rhythmical sort
of thing — stately and slow: you can
dance it to a hymn -tune. You can
learn it in two or three lessons. I'll
have the regimental band to play for
us."

The regimental band! This sud-
denly recalled to Betty the fact that
it was "the enemy" with whom she
had been conversing so amicably. She
said, in her coldest tones, "Thank you ;
I will not trouble you;" and turned
her attention to Mr. Ellis, who was
speaking.

" Ellis is a great talker," murmured
Captain Silsby. " Do you ever notice,
Miss Page, that a man who is reckless
as to the tie of his cravat is apt to be
fluent of speech ?"

Miss Page made no reply; but the
captain, gazing earnestly at her profile,
saw a slight curl of her pretty red
lip, and he registered a mental vow to
teach this young lady the glide waltz,

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and several other . things, before the
summer should be over.

" What have you all been talking of,
Van?" whispered Miss Betty sweetly,
to her neighbor on the other side.

"Emerson, Hawthorne,* and the
towns about Boston," rejoined the
young Southerner, briefly. "Perhaps
it's just as well for you to listen as to
get it second-hand from me."

" I believe Concord has been quite a
home of genius, has it not ?" Mr. Shep-
herd remarked, in a tone of easy pat-
ronage.

« Yes," said Mr. Ellis, « and the little
town is disposed to give itself airs.
They tell a good story of a stranger,
who, after strolling half a day through
its quiet streets, seized the first living
creature he met — a small boy, of
course -7- and said, 'Look here, sonny,
what do you people do here in Con-
cord?' and the youngster, in the fine
shrill voice of youth, replied, ^We
writes for The Atlantic Monthly P "

"That reminds me," said Squire
Barton, untying his cravat that he
might laugh freely, "of two old fel-
lows here in Yariba — General Boxley
and Colonel Plummer — vain as tur-
key-cocks, both of 'em. They met one
day on the square, took their hats off,
and began to puff their own praises
like two frogs swelling at each other.
The general, he said, 'My friends all
tell me that I resemble Napoleon Bo-
naparte — in my power over men, dog-
ged pluck, military genius, and bril-
liant achievements.' 'Yes,' says the
colonel, thinking to flatter the gener-
al, against his turn, ' and they do you
no more than justice. There is a close
resemblance. For proofs, look at your
4

campaign in Mexico, your distinguish-
ed generalship in the late war.' Then
he coughed a little, and went on : 'It
has often been said of me that I have
a face like Lord Byron's ; the genei'al
contour is the same, and the color of
eyes and hair identical.' This was too
much for old Boxley.

" ' Humph !' said he, ' the devil looks
about as much like Byron as you do.' '
'Yes,' says Plummer, jamming his
cane down hard ; ' and I told a fool a
lie when I said you were like Bona-
parte !' "

Every one laughed but Mrs. Barton ;
she, unhappy lady, could only hope
that the gentle exhilaration of the
wine would prevent any one from
wondering what there could have been
in the anecdote Mr. Ellis had told, to
remind "Cousin Mark" of the one
with which he followed it.

Mrs. Oglethorpe felt all her cares at
rest. Conversation flowed with un-
diminished gayety during the two
hours from gumbo to coffee. When
she re-entered the drawing-room, it
was with the air of one who led her
forces from a victory.

"Take Mr. Ellis to see the roses,
Blythe," said she, with her charming
smile; and Blythe, feeling that Mrs.
Oglethorpe had a very happy way of
guessing what people would like, led
the way out of the heated room into
the coolness and stillness of the sum-
mer night, where June roses bloo'med
under the stars.

"Mrs. Oglethorpe has the finest
roses in Yariba," said Blythe. " Let
us gather the full-blown ones, for they
will be all shattered by morning, and
she likes to keep the leaves."

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She took ofiE her wide straw hat
and, knotting the strings loosely, hung
it on her arm.

"This will do for a basket," said
she, smiling.

" This is idyllic," cried Roger Ellis ;

"it is like a dream. I shall grow

strong and well here. To gather roses

.by the moon's light in a girl's straw

* hat, is an experience that doesn't come

into every man's life."

"Is that a help in making you
* strong and well?'" asked Blythe,
with mischief in her voice.

" Oh, it is the peace and quiet and
simplicity of everything. It is just
what I need. My nerves had begun
to play the deuce with me. I was
overworked — tired out. But this out-
of-the-world little town, with its cool
breezes and mountain views and roses,
is like a strain of gentle music between
two acts of a melodrama."

"Have you never been South be-
fore?"

He laughed. " Yes, more than once.
But you wouldn't have gathered roses
with me then,. Miss Herndon."

"Why not?"

" I travelled through half the South-
ern States, penetrating to the most re-
mote plantations. I rode on horseback
or walked through barbarous regions
where my life would not have been
worth a minute's purchase, had it been
known who I was. My friends and
companions were found only in the
negroes' cabins; and it is the one
thing in my life of which I am proud,
that I helped many a poor wretch to
freedom who, otherwise, might have
died waiting on the slow mills of the
gods. So you see. Miss Herndon,

twenty years ago your father would
have set his dogs on me ; and perhaps
I am a little too frank to win the
good-will of your father's daughter
to-night."

"Indeed, Mr. Ellis," said Blythe, "I
am more liberal-minded than you think.
I should have been an abolitionist had
I lived at the North; and, in fact, I
think I should have been one even at
the South. I have a very strong sense
of justice. Oh! see— isn't this love-
ly?"

She held toward him a wide, firm
rose, dewy, sweet, and of a dark rich
color.

"It looks black in this light," she
said, " but it is a beautiful crimson in
the day. It is a splendid rose. * Giant
of Battles' it is called. I won't pull
the leaves ofE; you must see it in all
its beauty when we go into the house.
Wait here one moment. Let me see
if the * Malmaison ' bush is in bloom."

Ellis stood still for the pleasure of
watching her, as she ran along the
walk, tripping back in a moment, and
coming toward him, like an exquisite
fair spirit in the moonlight that had
turned the roses dark.

"There are only buds," said she;-
" we must leave them to open."

"Are you mortal?" said Ellis, ab-
stractedly, "or am I dreaming of a
Southern garden and a fair-haired
spirit?"

She gave him a little prick with the
long thorn of a rose she held in her
hand.

"Now you are more unreal than
ever. You remind me of Shelley's
Hymn to Pan. Do you remember the
last four lines ?"

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" No,'' said Ely the, regretfully.

^ ' Singing, how down the vale of Menalus,
I pursued a maiden and clasped a reed.
Gods and men, we are all deluded thus !
It hreaks in our bosom, and then — we
bleed.'

Henceforward those lines are sacred to
Miss Blythe Herndon. See, there is
blood on my hand. But you were tell-
ing me what a liberal mind you had."

"Yes," said Blythe, "I am liberal
about everything. Mr. Shepherd calls
me the young person of the opposition,
because I'm always against the com-
mon ideas of things. But about the
war and its results, I think you'll find
most Southern people free from ill-feel-
ing. As Van Tolliver says, we are not
sorry we fought, but we are willing to
shake hands now that it is over. To
be sure, there are a few people who
still hold to the old prejudices — my
own grandmother, for instance."

" It is hard for the old to change."

" Yes, that is it. Grandmother did
not want me to come to-night. She
offered me her diamond solitaire if I
would stay away."

"And you resisted?" said Ellis,
thinking to himself that there was no
feminine grace so attractive as nctivete.

" Mr. Ellis," said Blythe, impressive-
ly, " when I want a thing very much,
no price is too great to pay for it ; and
when I am determined on doing a cer-
tain thing I can't be bribed from it. If
I had been superstitious, now, I might
not have come."

"How is that?"

"Because," said Blythe," when moth-
er was fastening my dress a tear fell
on it."

"And was your mother opposed to

your coming?" said Ellis, thinking that
Miss Blythe must be a young lady of
spirit.

" Oh no, indeed ; but this dress was
my sister's, and this is the first time
it has been worn since she died, fifteen
years ago. All the evening I have been
wondering how she felt and looked the
last time that she wore this pretty
green gown."

She shivered slightly, and Ellis
glanced beyond her slight figure, half
expecting to see a slighter, fairer form,
clad in pale and flowing green, glide
along the silvery paths.

" It is growing cool, I think," said
Blythe.

"Let me go after a shawl for you."

" No, we shall be going in soon."

" Put on your hat, then. You ought
not to stand with your head bare."

He handed her the hat, and she put
it on, at the instant breaking into a
ringing laugh. Ghosts fled. There
stood a lovely blushing girl, over whose
face and neck a cloud of rose-leaves
was falling.

" Oh, Mr. Ellis ! how could you for-
get?"

" How could we forget, you mean."

" All our labor gone for nothing."

" Never mind ; there are other nights
in June, and the world is full of roses."

Later in the evening, when they had
gone into the house, Ellis noticed that
the red rose had clung to Blythe's hair.
He said to her with a quizzical smile,
"I think you must let me have my
rose now. You have showed me its
color splendidly."

" What do you mean ?"

"Didn't you know that it was in
your hair ? I have been admiring for

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some tlmo the effect of crimson on a
cloth of gold."

Blythe laughed, blushed, and gave
him the rose. She rather hoped he
would keep it;, but just before they
left, her father engaged Mr. Ellis in an
animated discussion about labor -re-
form, and Blythe noticed that as he

talked he pulled the petals from her
rose, and threw them on the floor. A
young girl, however, who has started
out to make a hero of a man is not
easily discouraged. "He is a manly
man," thought Blythe, "and has no
foolish sentimentalism about him. I
like him all the better."

CHAPTER VIL

A SERIOUS WORD FROM VAN.

When Captain Silsby asked Van
Tolliver, a day later, to take him to
call on "that handsome Miss Page,"
Van did not refuse, though he antici-
pated a rival in the Yankee captain.
He knew the quick effect of Miss Bet-
ty's charms. The Pages had not al-
ways lived in Yariba, and Van had not
seen her until his return from Brazil,
five years before, when Betty was six-
teen. Coming from a land of full-blown
tropic beauties, he decided at once that
God had never made anything so pret-
ty as this young girl, with her cream-
white skin and clear gray eyes. He fell
in love at first sight, made love to her
at the second, and at the third had won
her promise to " think about it." She
had been thinking of it, more or less,
ever since. She had finally allowed
herself to become engaged to him ; but
the engagement was very much like a
magician's ring, that never gets itself
so much entangled with its fellows that
it cannot be disengaged at pleasure.
To Van, however, it rang true steel, al-
though their nearest friends did not
suspect that matters had advanced so
far. Betty liked Van — she thought him

a charming fellow ; but she was by no
means prepared to bury herself on a
Louisiana plantation. " If I were thirty
years old," she thought pensively, " I
don't suppose it would matter much
what became of me ; but as young and
pretty as I am, it does seem a pity to
waste myself on Van."

Unconscious of his sweetheart's fluc-
tuating fondness. Van wrote a note re-
questing that he might bring Captain
Silsby to call, and sent it by Civil Rights
Bill. The young lady was not at home,
and Bill, after calling at several of the
neighbors' houses, found her at Mrs.
Herndon's.

Blythe and Betty had each found a
good deal to say to Mrs. Herndon about
the dinner-party.

" It was pleasant," owned Betty; " but
you know how Mrs. Oglethorpe is ; if
she invited a set of pea-sticks and bar-
ber's poles to her house, she would man-
age to make them enjoy it."

"I am glad everything went off well,"
said Mrs. Herndon. " Mr. Herndon said
he was proud of you both."

" You ought to see Captain Silsby,'*
continued Betty. " He is so handsome,

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and rather fascinatbg, too. But I re-
membered — and I snubbed him beauti-
fuUy, didn't I, BIythe?"

"I didn't notice," said Bly the, ab-
stractedly; "he isn't worth thinking
about. He is the sort of man that says
sweet things to every girl he meets.
But Mr. Ellis — he is a man, mother I"

" Yes," said Betty, " an oldish man
in a baggy coat, who drank buttermilk
instead of wine, and asked for it, at
that."

"He wanted to compliment our
Southern drink," said Mrs. Herndon,
smiling.

"And suppose," retorted Betty, "that
at my first dinner-party in Boston I
should ask for a piece of pumpkin pie,
by way of complimenting their North-
ern pie !"

" Nonsense, Betty !" said Blythc, im-
patiently.

At this moment Civil Rights Bill
came in with —

" Lor', Miss Betty, I'se been a huntia'
you high arU low. Here's a note Mars'
Van done sent you."

Betty read the note and handed it to
Blythe.

^^ Would you see him?" she cried,
with a brave show of perplexity about
the eyes, and unconscious dimples in
the corners of her mouth.

Blythe laughed. " There is my writ-
ing-desk in the corner," said she; "of
course you will write that your princi-
ples, patriotism, etc., etc., forbid your
receiving one of the men who fought
against the Southern flag, etc., etc., un-
less, indeed, Betty, your principles are
like beauty — only skin deep."

" Principle hardly seems involved in
this matter," said Betty, with dignity ;

" it is only a question of whether or not
I would hurt Van's feelings."

"Oh, I see," cried Blythe; "you think
Van would be hurt by your receiving
this officer. That's a noble thought,
Betty."

Betty flashed one look at Blythe,
then wrote a stately little note :

"Miss Page's compliments to Mr.
Tolliver and Captain Silsby. She will
be very happy to see them this even-
ing." After which her remarks became
irrelevant, and she went home.

"Mark my words," said Mrs. Hern-
don, impressively, " Yariba is coming
oxitr

"You speak as if Yariba were a
widow," said Blythe, with a gay laugh.

It soon became evident, indeed, that
the day of Yariba had come. After
Mrs. Oglethorpe's dinner-party there
was no further question of whether
the Yankees should be "received.'*
There were still left certain "irrecon-
cilables," like old Mrs. Herndon, and
in a few cases entire families poised
themselves on their patriotic toes, in
the difficult attitude of belligerents;
but for the most part Southern doors
and Southern hearts were opened. A
warm hospitality was extended. The
officers' wives were found to be de-
lightful acquaintances; and as fen* the
officers themselves, they were so agree-
able that the Yariba girls began to
regret what they had lost in the two
summers past. Never in its old and
prosperous days had Yariba been so
thoroughly alive. The young men
thought this a fine opportunity to dis-
play their chivalry, and vied with each
other in courtesies to the summer
guests; which was no inconsiderable

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magnanimity, as the latter had more
time and money at their disposal than
the home-bred youths, and could easily
throw them into the shade in the ele-
gance of their attentions to the Yariba
belles.

Among these Miss Betty Page took
a foremost rank. She had less to say
now of the " enemies of her country."
She began to make sharp distinctions
between Democrats and Radicals. Yet
when Colonel Van der Meire, of the
Third, a very outspoken Republican,
invited her to ride, she accepted with-
out hesitation. "It was only for the
glory of the thing," she explained easi-
ly, " not that I have relapsed in my
principles in the least."

Betty^ principles, I fear, were noth-
ing more than her opinions; and the
opinions of the young are not unlike
the icicles that hang from house-eaves
— quickly formed, fantastic in shape,
and easily shattered.

Van ToUiver was not an exacting
lover: he liked to see his "dear girl"
enjoy her triumphs, and was proud of
the admiration that she excited; but
when people began to say that " Betty
Page meant to marry one of the offi-
cers," he thought a serious word from
himself might not come amiss.

"After all," said he, one day, " it isn't
a bad idea to announce engagements as
soon as they are made."

"That's the way they do at the
North," said Betty, balancing a flower
lightly on her finger, " Captain Silsby
told me all about it. The moment a
girl is engaged everybody who ever
heard of her has to be told the good
news. Then she must be congratulated
in great form, and her lover has to be

her escort wherever she goes, just as if
she were married."

" How very disagreeable 1" murmur-
ed Van.

" To be sure it is ! to go poking about
with a bridled horse, while the free wild
ones are rushing by, daring you to lasso
them."

"Upon my word I" cried Miss Betty's
"bridled horse," "that is a vigorous
simile to come out of a lady's rosy
mouth !"

" Well, well. Van, our good old South-
ern fashion doesn't need to be changed."

"It is all right for you to stand
up for it, Betty. If the officers had
known that Miss Betty Page had prom-
ised to marry Van ToUiver, it would
have spoiled her fun for the summer.
These army men never pay attention to
engaged girls."

" What stupid times the poor things
must have!" said Betty, maliciously,
" particularly if their engagements are
spun out like a Chinese play."

Van flushed deeply. "Betty, you
are cruel !" he exclaimed. Then, coming
to her side, he clasped her hands impetu-
ously, and said, " Believe me, darling, I
realize how much I have asked of. you.
Often, when I am alone down on the
pla^itation, I question myself whether I
have not been selfish in condemning you
to these dull years of waiting. But
then, I think, I will hold my dear by so
light a fetter that she will never feel
its weight ; and when at last I can ask
her to come to me, I shall love her so
utterly that she cannot regret being
bound. And now, understand, dear,
that I trust you absolutely. I know you
will do nothing to imperil our love."

" You must not listen to what people

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may say of me,** said Betty, with wise
forethought. "Remember how the
Yariba detectives like to talk."

The Yariba detectives, so named by
the young people of the place, were
the gossipy old gentlemen who lounged
about the square, and exchanged re-
marks that answered for wit concern
ing the passers-by.

"Squire Barton is just as bad as
any of them," said Betty. "He sits
out there by the post-office, and watch-
es the girls' feet as they lift their
dresses at the crossing opposite. And
do you know. Van, when it is muddy,
he actually goes over and measures the
tracks, and puts down the length in a
little note-book, with the initials of the
girl — and then he shows that villanous
little book to any of the young men
who want to see it."

"Fatal book! Who knows what
fortunes it has made or marred I But
I sha'n't listen to any gossip about
you, Betty, be sure of that. Only, my
dear girl, don't you think it would be
well to give them no occasion to gos-
sip? You make people misunder-
stand you by the gayety and impulsive-
ness of your manners. Now if you
could be a little more like Mary Bar-
ton. She has animation enough, but
she never loses a certain gentle reserve
that to me is the greatest charm a
woman's manner can have."

Betty's color rose. "I think we
have talked enough," she cried, " when
you can tell me to my face that you
prefer Mary Barton's or Mary Any-
body's manner to mine !"

Van perceived that some one had
blundered, and hastened to make his
peace with all the lover's flatteries at

his command; and his "serious talk"
had about as much effect on his viva-
cious sweetheart as might have been
expected by one who understood that
young ladyjj;>etter.

Betty was fully convinced in her
own mind that her friends Mary Bar-
ton and Blythe Herndon were having
a very dull summer ; but, had she only
known it, their lives were fuller of ex-
citement than her own.

There are to be no mysteries in this
story, and it may as well be said at
once that Mary Barton had been in
love with Van Tolliver all her life.
Those nearest and dearest to her had
never suspected her secret; but Mrs.
Dexter, whose bright black eyes had
been given her for something more
than to see a church by dayliglit,
had divined it when she first saw the
young people together. Mary herself
could scarcely have told when it had
begun. She had played with Van as
a child: he had been her hero ever
since she could remember. When he
came back from Brazil and pretty Betr
ty Page had won him with a glance,
she gave no sign. But she learned
the brave lessons of hopelessness, and
made of her life a sweet and serene
model that all disappointed maids
might do well to imitate. Not even
to her own soul did she ever tell over
the story of her love. She called her-
self Van's friend ; but, until this sum-
mer, with instinctive wisdom, she had
kept as much as possible out of Van's
way. It happened, however, that Mrs.
Dexter took a great fancy to Mary;
and, as this little lady's fancies were
obstinate, Maiy soon found herself oc-
cupying the position of her intimate

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friend. This threw her a good deal
into Van's company, as he and Mrs.
Dexter were sworn friends and allies.
She liked to visit at the Bartons; and
would conie tripping in on moonlight
evenings with, " The colonel and the
rest of them are playing cards: Van
and I ran away from the stupid folks."
Then she would chatter gay nonsense
to Squire Barton, leaving Van and
Mary to talk to each other. Or^ in
the fair summer mornings she and
Van would call for Mary to walk ; and
Mary, fresh as the morning's roses,
would tie on her hat, and the three
would ramble up the mountain as
gayly as children, while Miss Page
was still • sleeping. Or, Mrs. Dexter
would take Mary home with her to
spend the day or evening, and invite
charming young officers to meet her,
and give Van the opportunity of ad-
miring the young girl's graceful self-
possession and gentle dignity among
the strangers with whom she was
thrown.

All this was pleasant. That it was
not prudent Mary had quickly decided ;
but, with a new feeling of recklessness,
she yielded to the current, and for the
first time in her life shut her eyes to
the future. Nothing happened worth
the telling; but her days were not so
colorless as they seemed to Miss Betty,
the belle.

It would have pleased Mr. Ilerndon
to have seen his daughter much ad-
mired ; but, with his mother's silent,
bitter presence in the house, he could
not give her the advantage of his cour-
teous hospitality; and, as I have said,
Blythe. was not well enough liked by
the young men of Yariba for them to

make any special efiEort to include her
in their summer gayeties. But Roger
Ellis had been to see her more than
once, and she was satisfied. She liked
him. She said to herself with a little
thrill of pride, "He is old, he is ''ugly,
he is a Radical; but*— I like him."
Blythe had advanced far enough to
know that the word radical had some-
what more than a political significa-
tion, but her ideas were vague. He
had been an abolitionist — that was
well and good ; she would have been
the same had she been grown-up
enough to understand the question be-
fore it was settled. He did not go to
church, but passed his Sundays in the
woods rgtfBnf and dreaming; that
was a fine and independent thing to
do ! " I should like to do it myself,"
thought Blythe, " if only to give Mrs.
Oglethorpe a shock." Blythe had cer-
tain theories about women that had
been gently put down by the mascu-
line beings of her life -long acquaint-
ance; but Roger Ellis soon supple-
mented her budding views by wider
and wilder ones that she readily adopt-
ed as her own. She began to think it
very nice to be a Radical, and to won-
der if she had not been one uncon-
sciously all her life. For the rest,
Roger Ellis charmed her as a brilliant
and witty talker, and a man of wide
experience in many worlds. " He is a
very improving friend," she thought;
"and it is pleasant to find a man now
and then whom one can look up to."

And Roger liked Blythe. She was
part and parcel in the summer de-
lights. She seemed to him divinely
pure, and she charmed him as a fresh
opening soul always charms a man

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with poetic tastes — and forty years.
But she was no more to him than the
flowers that bloomed or the birds that

sang in this holiday time; for Roger
Ellis believed that the better part of
his li{& lay behind him.

CHAPTER VIIL

AN ECCENTRIC FELLOW.

It was a hot day. The square was
deserted except for a few men who
stood in the shade fanning vigorously,
and some cotton wagons whose black
drivers were stretched out drenched
and dreaming on top of their loads.
As mail -time approached, a small
crowd gathered in ivowi of the post-
office, where Squire Barton sat, smok-
ing and talking, with his chair tilted
very far back, and a silk handkerchief
spread over the top of his head.

"About these army men," he said;
" I can't say that I think they are any
great shakes. Not but what I like 'em
— am glad they're here — fine thing for
the town ; but Lord ! they're a lazy
lot. Nothing to do but to lie around
camp and plan how to have a good
time. Why, I'll bet you, the laziest
tramp that walks would be perfectly
willing to be a respectable man if he
could be an army officer. It would be
in his line, don't you see? But they
are awfully down on tramps. That
stifE old Dexter, says there ought to
be a whipping-post for their benefit in
every town. If it wasn't so hot I'd
have given him my opinion, and a hint
about fcllow-feeHng, you know."

"You had better not," said Mr.
Herndon, who was standing near with
Mr. Shepherd, waiting for the mail to

be opened. " They say that Dexter is
a fighting-cock."

" I hope they can all fight," said the
squire ; " that's what we keep 'em for.
If they can fight as well as they can
flirt, they'll do well. Upon my word,
you can't .turn a corner on a dark
night but what you run against a pair
of love- makers. Ofiicers, indeed ! I
call 'em sappy boys. Remind me of
Werther — eh, Herndon? * Sorrows of
Werther,' you know. I read that
book when I was an s. b. — sappy boy,
you know — myself."

" Not much like Werther," said Mr.
Herndon, laughing, "for however much
they may sigh, and pine, and ogle, they
don't blow their silly brains out at the
end of a summer's campaign — not by
any maimer of means — not while there
are * fresh woods and pastures new,'
where they can graze."

"That's so," assented the squire;
"it's touch and go — love and leave.
Well, the life is demoralizing, any way
you take it. I wouldn't put a son of
mine into the army any more than I'd
put him into the Chu — " The squire
checked himself suddenly and began
to cough, as if he had swallowed some
smoke the wrong way. Mr. Shepherd,
however, only said, with immense dig-
nity,

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"There is a great deal of truth in
what you say, Barton. The tendency
of army life in times of peace seems to
be lowering rather than elevating. It
seems to be a sort of irony of fate that
those who of all others have the most
opportunity for reading and thought,
give the least time to it. With more
advantages than any other isolated
class of men, they are, taken as a body,
the best mannered and worst inform-
ed men among us." So saying, Mr.
Shepherd passed into the office, and
one of the loungers, nudging another,
remarked, "They say that Shepherd
has soured on the officers since Silsby
cut him out with Betty Page.'*

" Shepherd's head is level," said the
squire, severely, "just as level as if his
coat-tails were as short as mine. But
as for these army fellows, they can't
have any bowels, you know. Now
take two lieutenants, for instance, first
and second. They may be good
friends, but how in thunder can the
second forget that the first has the
best pay, and that if anything should
happen to No. 1 it's so much the bet-
ter for No. 2 ? Stepping-stones — that's
how they look on each other. Halloo,
judge ! want to be smoked ?"

Judge Rivers, a dignified old man,
stopped within range of Squire Barton's
pipe, and in a moment his head was en-
veloped in the clouds of smoke.

"That fellow Ellis came along one
day," said the squire between his puffs,
" and saw me smoking the judge. You
never saw a man look so astonished !
Finally he burst out — wanted to know
* what the devil I was doing.' I was so
full of laugh I couldn't tell him ; but
the judge made out to let him know

that he got a friend to smoke him now
and then, because it made him sick to
smoke himself."

"I haven't time to stop longer to-
day, squire," said the judge, touching
his hat ; " much obliged, sir."

" That Ellis," continued Mr. Barton,
" is as queer a chap as ever crossed a
wagon-ti*ack. They don't make his sort
here in Yariba. I told him one day
what Jack Hill said to Lawyer Herndon
about the nigger. Didn't you ever hear
that ? Why, Herndon went into Jack's
office one day and found him fiddling.
Herndon's a great fellow for poetry,
you know; so he comes out — *That
strain again' — then something about
the south wind over a bed of violets —
* stealing and giving odor.' * Oh, hush !*
says Jack, * that's too much like a nig-
ger!' See? Stealing and giving odor
—good, wasn't it? Well, Ellis he
grinned a little, and then he said, * Sir,
the mistake you gentlemen of the South
have made for a good many years back,
and will make for a good many years
to come, is in not knowing how to spell
the word negro? Said I, * Well, for
out-and-out Tom-foolishness, Mr. Ellis,
that puts " the drinks on you." ' I reck-
on he is a little cracked : there's some-
thing wrong about the fellow."

" He's a bloody Radical, that's what's
the matter with him," said a voice in
the crowd.

" He is a good fellow, though,'^ said
the squire, peaceably ; " and as for be-
ing a Radical, now just suppose Yari-
ba had been one of those little towns
tucked under Boston's wing, what would
we have been ? Let us be thankful for
our mercies."

While this talk was going on, a scene

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was being enacted at the soldiers' camp
that had likewise resulted in the remark
that Roger Ellis was a queer fellow.
■ Three or four young officers were in
Captain. Silsby's tent, trifling over a
game of cards, bored with themselves
and life on this hot July afternoon. Mr.
Ellis was lying on a cot in one corner,
apparently asleep. A woman appeared
at the door of the tent wearing a long
green sun-bonnet that concealed her
face entirely. " I want ter see the col-
onel," said she.

Captain Silsby looked up at the sound
of a woman's voice. "Come in, mad-
am," said he, " come in."

Now, among this young man's accom-
plishments, he excelled in the noble art
of quizzing. He gave a sign to his com-
panions as the woman seated herself.

" My name's Roy," she said.

" A royal name," said Silsby, grave-
ly, " and borne by one, I doubt not,
graced with royal virtues."

Mrs. Roy belonged to that class that
the negroes despise as "po' white trash,"
known in this particular region as
" mountain sprouts." She was tall and
jaded-looking, with a figure bent like
the leaning tower, that excited contin-
ual wonder as to how it sustained itself
at such an angle. Her head was very
small, and was adorned with a yellow
bow and a high horn comb. Her hair
was tied up as securely as if each par-
ticular hair had been a convict, and was
twisted round in a hard little knot like
a cotton-boll. Her face was tinted a
dim yellow, and the skin had a crumpled
look on the forehead and around the
eyes. Her hose was long, with a mole
on each side of it; her mouth was drawn
down at one corner, apparently by a

small stick that she held between her
lips, that she removed now and then
and plunged into a small tin box that
hung at her belt by a steel chain.

"I didn't come on no friendly er-
rant," said Mrs. Roy, fanning herself
severely with the green sun-bonnet.

" Madam, you grieve me," said Sils-
by. " It is so seldom that my tent is
graced by one of your lovely sex, that
I can hardly bear such a cruel announce-
ment."

" Be any of you Colonel Dexter ?"

" We are all Colonel Dexter. That
is to say, we all, with him, represent
equally the honor of the regiment.
What can we do for you ?"

" It's about my chickens," said Mrs.
Roy. "I had as purty a little brood
as anybody could a-wanted. I meant
ter save every one of 'em for layin'
hens, so's ter sell eggs Christmas-time."

" Count not your eggs before they
are laid," said Silsby.

" Well, I kept a-missiu' them chick-
ens. I suspicioned rats; but they
went so fast that I made np my mind
to set up some night and watch fur the
thief; and no sooner had the moon
gone down than I saw two Yankee
soldiers jump the fence, grab a chicken
apiece, and git away befo' I could
more'n holler at 'em."

"In faith, my comrades, there's a
moving tale!" cried Silsby. "All her
pretty chickens and their dam — did I
understand you to say dam, Mrs. Roy ?"

"I didn't come here to say cuss-
words nor to hear 'em. What I want
is pay for them chickens !"

"I am a lawyer, madam," said one
of the others, "and I will gladly take
the case. In the first place, you must

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prove that you had the chickens. To
do this it will be necessary to produce
their tail-feathers, which of course you
have kept?"

Mrs. Roy rose, her yellow face turn-
ing a brick-dust red. " You are all a
set of rascals alike I" said she. " I was
a fool ter expect any jestice from a set
of low-down Yankees!"

She went out of the tent, followed by*
a laugh. But Ellis, who had, perhaps,
not been asleep, sprang to his feet and
seized his coat.

" You carried your fan a little too
far, boys. Remember, she is a woman."

" I'll be shot if he isn't going to fol-
low her!" cried Silsby. And then it
was that they all united in declaring
Roger Ellis the " queerest fellow out."

He soon overtook Mrs. Roy, and
spoke to hei' with genuine respect in
his tone. "Pray excuse those young
men, Mrs. Roy. They don't mean any
harm by their thoughtlessness. The
best thing for you to do will be to
speak directly to the colonel. He is
boarding at Mr. Tolliver's. I know
that you will be paid at once for your
chickens, and if possible the thieves
will be punished. The colonel exacts
the strictest discipline."

She looked at him questioningly ;
but not the poorest, meanest of man-
kind could look in Roger Ellis's face
and doubt him.

" I'm sure I'm obleeged to you," she
said. "I was afeard you might be

a-makin' game of me, like the others.
I saw through 'em the minute they be-
gun it; but I had to sit there and stand
it, for I'm a po' lone woman, wuss'n a
widder, and I'm used ter hard things.
Them chickens was about all I had ter
count for the winter. The 'Piscopal
Church gives me my house -rent, but
I have ter scratch round ter keep from
starving."

" Do you ever do any sewing ?" in-
quired Ellis.

"Yes, sir, when I can git it; but
I'm free to confess I ain't as good at
the needle as sonie."

"I am needing some shirts, and if
you could make them for me it would
really be a great convenience," • said
Ellis, who had his own way of doing
a charity.

"I'll be uncommon glad to make
'em, sir, and will do the best I can.
Shell I come for the stuff ?"

"No, do not trouble yourself; I will
either bring or send it. Where do you
live?"

" In the little green house behind the
depot. You will know it by the hol-
lyhocks growin' in the yard, and the
shetters bein' blown off."

He lifted his hat to her as politely
as if she had been the prettiest girl in
Yariba; and Captain Silsby, who had
watched the interview from his tent
door, declared, with a shake of the
head, "He's dencedly eccentrk;; there's
no other name for it."

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CHAPTER IX.

ROGER ELLIS.

. Roger Ellis was a man nearly for-
ty-five years old. Life had given him
some hard lessons, but as yet he had
become neither cynical nor practical.
He thought, with Hamlet, that the
world was out of joint; but instead
of calling it a cursed spite, that he
must do his part toward setting it
right, he went to work with a cheerful
confidence in ultimate results that
nothing could shake, because it was
not alloyed with any hope of personal
gain. He had helped in the realization
of one of his bold dreams — the aboli-
tion of slavery in America. He had
been one of the devoted' band whom
the fiery eloquence of a Garrison and
a Phillips had stung to apparently
hopeless effort in the old days when
men's hearts beat in their bosoms like
road birds dashing against prison-bars.
Roger Ellis, with all his young, quiver-
ing, violent sensibilities, had thrown
himself into the cause, more sacred to
him than the war for the Holy Sepul-
chre to the crusading knight. This
was the happiest time of his life, for
it gave him memories of which he was
proud. With. the war came opportu-
nity of gaining open and honorable

distinction. He enlisted as a private,
but he came out with a colonel's
eagles. Since the war he had indulged
his tastes in various ways. He had
founded an orphan asylum, collected a
library, and lectured a few times on
unpopular subjects. He had still been
a man of action, however, and had
worn himself out in leading forlorn-
hope bands along the rugged path of
" reform." Many of his schemes were
quixotic and impracticable; but of the
many human souls that had appealed
to him for help, none ever breathed his
name without blessing it. This pow-
er of helping the weak or the oppress-
ed, and the overflowing of his own
glad vitality, prevented Roger Ellis
from being a sad man, though in truth
he had suffered much. In his hot-
headed youth he had fallen in love in
an impetuous way with a beautiful
woman some years his senior, who had
jilted him eventually for a suitor with
moj'e money and less enthusiasm.
Since then he had loved many times,
but, as it happened, never worthily.
In the Northern city where he had
lived, chance had thrown him among
a set of people who talked more sqnti-

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ment, and felt less, than any others on
God's eartli ; a small coterie, semi-lit-
erary, semi-fashionable, who had noth-
ing real about them except their self-
indulgent bodies. Having a good deal
of leisure time on their hands, they
easily talked themselves into the con-
viction that they were blighted beings,
misunderstood by the world, and de-
frauded by fate. But their appetites
remained unimpaired, and wit and
laughter shed a transitory gleam over
their consolatory lunches. To see
them in their full glory, however, the
"conditions" must be favorable, and
not dissimilar to those the canny spir-
its demand when they "materialize"
— shaded rooms, morbid sensibilities, a
good deal of faith, and but little sense
of humor. Their great subject of con-
stant discussion was " love." They toss-
ed it about among them like a ball of
tissue strips, until it was a soiled and
worn-out thing. Every one was either
the lover or confidant of some one
else; so a chain of sympathy bound
them all together, and they canvassed
each other's affairs with generous
openness. They talked a great deal
of purity and duty, but — they defined
terms. Naturally they had much to
say about affinities, and they believed
constancy, like human perfection, a
divine possibility. The unforgivable
crime in their calendar was to love
more than one — at a time. A series
of impassioned affairs they called
growth.

Roger Ellis, to his credit be it said,
in this morbid and magnetic atmos-
phere had never experimented with his
own emotions. And now how remote
all his past seemed ! He was growing

light-hearted as a boy in this sweet
Southern town, where the people never
vexed themselves about problems of
life, but lived on happily and heartily
as the villagers in a Provengal poem.

As the moon neared its full in the
month of July, a moonlight picnic to
Mount Sano had been proposed. An
ordinary day-excursion had been first
planned, and it was Mrs. Oglethorpe
who lifted this into a higher region of
romance by suggesting the mysterious
beauty of the woods when the moon
was at its golden full. Betty Page
declared it was because Mrs. Ogle-
thorpe knew she hadn't a picnic-com-
plexion that she made this change of
plan ; but she and all her friends were
delighted with it. They felt that cold
indeed must be the hearts that could
resist the combined influences of pret-
ty faces and the moonlight. The truth
is. Southern girls like to flirt, and have
a genius for it. And never are young
people more let alone in their affairs
of the heart than those of a Southern
town. Their parents jog on in the
comfortable conviction that when the
right time comes "the children" will
marry where their hearts incline, as
they did before them. No scheming
is thought of, though a mild wish may
cross a mother's heart that her girls
will marry with the neighbor's boys
over the way, instead of falling in love
in a family at the other end of town.
As for the girls themselves, expecting
to marry as confidently as they expect
a coming birthday, they stave off seri-
ous declarations as long as possible,
and gather roses while they may ; for,
once married, their day is over, and
they reverse nature's order by becom-

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ing caterpillars after they have been
butterflies.

The young men lost no time in ar-
ranging details, and Roger Ellis started
out in the afternoon to offer his escort
to Blythe Herndon, going through the
woods in a roundabout way, for the
pleasure of watching the sunshine
flicker through the leaves and breath-
ing the sweet odors of the forest. A
country road wound along the edge of
the woods, like a rough, red line. As
Ellis reached it he heard a sound of
crying, and looking in its direction, he
saw a doleful little figure. It kicked
at the red clods of clay, it rubbed its
fists into its eyes, it indulged itself in
various exhibitions of a frank rage.
Roger Ellis stopped, and waited for it.
Then he gave it a cheerful slap on the
shoulder.

"Why, Civil Rights BUI! what is
the matter with you ?"

Bill gave a jump. " Why, Mars' El-
lis ! you gimme as much of a start 'sif
a bee had stung me."

"All the better, as it has made you
stop crying. Now, what's the trou-
ble?"

"I want ter go ter the moonlight
picnic," said Bill, with a fresh sob.

"Why?" said Ellis, with a stare of
surprise.

"I always like ter go whar there's
folks an' carryin' on," said Bill, "an' I
ain't never been to a moonlight picnic
in all my born days."

"Neither have I, Bill, and I want
to go. Your desire, after all, is
quite natural. Well, why can't you
go?"

"I meant ax Mars' Van ter let me
ride one o' de mules; but now he's

done gone an' got mad at me, an' I'm
afeard to ax him. He sont me wid a
note to Miss Betty Page, ter go wid
him ter de picnic, an' tole me ter hurry
so's ter git dar befo' anybody else.
An' I jes' streaked it like lightnin'
'cross de short cuts, 'cause I seed dat
Yankee captain'*s orderly ridin' along
de road, an' I thought like as not he'd
have a note for Miss Betty. An' I got
dar fust, an' Miss Betty hud done read
Mars' Van's note befo' de orderly come
up wid his'n. Den Miss Betty writ an
answer, an' I tuk it ter Mars' Van, an'
he read it ; an' den he said, kind o' vex-
atious-like, * Why didn't you git dar five
minutes sooner, you lazy little scamp ?
You let dat Yankee orderly git ahead
o' you, an' Miss Betty has to go wid
de captain 'cause she got his note
fust.' An' den I said, * I clar ter God,
Mars' Van, I streaked it like lightnin'
roun' by de short cuts, an' Miss Betty
she had read your note befo' dat Yan-
kee orderly had so much as knocked
at de do'.' An' den he says, * Bill, if
you don't stop tellin' lies de debil '11
git you ;' an' he pulled my years, an'
mammy she whupped me, an' I can't
go ter de picnic, an' I donno what ter
do."

Another wail finished this affecting
narration, and Ellis said, " Well, well,
Bill, your woes can be mended, I think.
Come along with me. Vm going to
ask Miss Blythe Herndon to let me
drive her in a buggy to this famous
picnic, and I shouldn't wonder if she
were willing for you to go with us, if
you can curl up in the bottom of the
buggy, and make yourself as small as
Alice was after she drank out of the
little bottle in Wonderland."

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"What was dat, Mars' Ellis?" said
Bill, looking up with curious eyes.

So as they walked along Mr. Ellis
told him of the little maid's quaint
dreams ; and Bill listened and laughed
intelligently, forgetting his grievances
and even their possible cure, becoming
more and more convinced that Mr.
Ellis was an "awful funny man, an' a
powerful good one."

It was nearly sunset when they
reached Mr. Herndon's, and Blythe
was walking in the yard among the
flowers.

" Two petitions !" said Ellis, as they
shook hands: "first, may I have the
great pleasure of driving you to the
moonlight picnic next Thursday ?"

" You may," said Blythe, laughing.

" Second : would you object to Bill
in the bottom of the buggy ? he wants
to go to the picnic : he says, feelingly,
that he's never been to a moonlight
picnic ; and if you don't mind — ^"

"Oh, I don't mind," said Blythe,
carelessly, though she felt that Civil
Rights Bill wriggling about in the
buggy would rather take the sentiment
out of things. " That is," she added,
" if Bill has a clean jacket to wear."

"I can war my burial close. Miss
Blythe," said Bill, with great anima-
tion. "I kin steal 'em out o' de
drawer while mammy's asleep."

"Plis burial clothes !" cried Ellis.

"Don't you know," said Blythe,
" that the darkies always like to have
a clean suit laid away for them to be
buried in?"

" I wonder if Mrs. Dexter would call
that an * elegant idea ?' "

" I mus' go arter de cows, now," said
Bill. "Good-bye, Miss Blythe. It's

niighty good in you to take me along
wid you. I'll take keer o' your basket,
to pay fur it."

Bill ran oflE, and Ellis said, " So this
day hasn't been lost, Miss Herndon, for
we've made one person happy. I'm
tremendously happy here," he went on.
" Do you know that I am hungry three
times a day ?"

"And that is the reason?"

"Oh, it helps. And then everything
is so serene, so wholesome. I really
think of investing in a Southern farm
and spending the rest of my days
here."

" Oh, Mr. Ellis, you would bo dead
in a year."

" You seem to have stood it longer
than that."

" I've lived on hope. Heaven knows
it has been dreary enough. Do you
know, Mr. Ellis, that I've never; been
anywJiere?'^'*

" Not even to New Orleans ?"

" Not even there. I think I could
not endure life if I did not feel that
somewhere there was a great satisfy-
ing, splendid world that some day I
was to enter."

"A great splendid world — ^yes; but
whether satisfying, is another thing.
Still, our Northern cities will be a
revelation to you. Boston, with its
wealth of tradition ; New York, with
its magnificent rush of life; and Chi-
cago, that modern miracle, which fire
blotted out in a night, and work, with
more than a magi's art, restored in
grander beauty in a year. It makes
the wonders of the Arabian Nights
mere commonplaces — the miracles of
Palestine mere school-boys' feats."

Blythe shivered a little, but she felt

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that it was something very much out
of the common run of things to have a
friend who spoke in this oflE-hand way
about the " miracles of Palestine,"

"Oh, for a modern Homer," she
cried, "to sing the rise of Chicago,
and dim with its noonday splendors
the rush -light glories of the siege of
Troyl"

He joined in her laugh. " But the
truth is," he said, "I never get used
to the wonders of work, and I hope I
never shall. They keep alive my love
and reverence for man ; a sentiment, I
believe, which is to take the place of
that reverence' for the Unknown which
has failed to do what its teachers
hoped for it."

^ «I fear, Mr. Ellis," said Blythe, de-
murely, *" that your natural talent is
not for religion."

"I don't know about that. My
natural instinct is. I drew in relig-
ion with my mother's milk. I am of
Scotch descent, and my religious train-
ing was of the strictest. How well I
can remember my fervent belief in
a God, and my unspeakable fear of
him !"

"And now?" said Blythe, quickly.

" Now," said he, laughing, " I call
myself a radical thinker ; and of course
every radical thinker says that man can
think oiit only formi^ of man — that what
the Greeks called Jupiter, and the Jews
Jah, or Jehovah, were neither more nor
less than their conceptions of ideal man-
hood. Calling their God the Lord God,
and the like, imposes on the multitude,
who bow and close their eyes ; but to
the radical, who stands erect and never
shuts his eyes nor his ears, they are

only idols — ^as wretched in the realm of
5

high thought as the South Sea idols are
wretched in the world of art."

" I don't quite follow you, Mr. Ellis.
I have always thought myself rather
liberal in religious matters. I never
believed that Cicero and the rest of
them went to hell ; and sometimes I
have even doubted if there could be a
place of eternal torment. Yet it is only
logical, if you deny that, to deny heav-
en, isn't it? Oh, how confusing it all
is, when one begins to think !"

" Yes, and ths^t is why so few peo-
ple are willing to think," said Mr. Ellis.
"They call themselves conservatives.
Conservatism is the creed that teaches
that it is better to bear the ills we have
than fly to benefactions that we know
not of. It is the Song of the Shirt try-
ing to drown the noise of the sewing-
machine in the next room."

" And a radical, a true radical, I sup-
pose," cried the young girl, "is one
who has thought his way through ev-
ery tangled problem — ^whose nature is
opened out in every direction like a
rose."

" That's a very pretty thought," said
Ellis, looking kindly at the fair, bright
face. " I don't believe any one before
you ever compared a radical to a rose.
But, my dear child, there are very few
pure types. Every good man has some
evil trait, every bad man some good ;
so every radical has some conservative
element in his character. And we are
such inconsistent creatures ! If a bul-
let should come whizzing by us this
second, I should certainly say Good
God I though I might have denied the
existence of a God the moment before."

" But you don't quite do that !" said
Blythe, under her breath.

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" No; oh no ! I do not trouble my-
self much on this subject — life is too
short I only know that I am here in
a world full of work. And I know that
I need bow my head or even lift my hat
to 110 man I have met yet — except one,
and he was hanged — ^for having lived
a life honestly devoted since boyhood
to earnest efforts to make the world

a better place for the weak to live in
than when I entered it. But come^
these are not the subjects for the hour.
Tell me what you have been doing
with yourself to-day?"

" One moment," tried Blythe, " what
do -you mean — who was the man who
was hanged ?"

" John Brown," said he, gravely.

CHAPTER X.

MOONLIGHT ON MOUNT SANO.

"Rakelt, rarely comest thou, Spirit of De-
light I"

Van ToUiver had not " wasted in de-
spair" because he could not take Miss
Betty to the picnic, but had offered his
escort to Mary Barton, as that young
lady had expected, after hearing through
Blythe Herndon of his ill-success in an-
other direction.

"Which would you prefer, Miss
Mary," asked Van, after her demure ac-
ceptance of his invitation, " to go in a
buggy, or on horseback ?"

"On horseback, by all means," said
Mary, with animation ; for she was con-
scious that her little figure never looked
better than when she was riding; while
— was not Betty a little too fat for this
form of exercise to suit her ?

The day of the picnic was with-
out a cloud, and at sunset the party
started out. As they passed through
the town, the country-people, whose
mules were hitched around the court-
house, stopped their "trading" and
came to the door, with the clerks, to

comment upon them. From every gate
children and darkies gazed after them.
It was a great event in Yariba.

" I hope this horse meets with your
approval," said Roger Ellis, as he hand-
ed Blythe into the buggy. *^It is a
Yariba horse. Mr. Briggs assured me
it was the finest in his stable. I don't
think he will run away with us."

"Mr. Briggs's horses seem to lack
that flower of all fine natures — soul,"
said Blythe, with a laugh; "or shall
I call it spirit, since the first word is
monopolized by the Yahoos?"

" But Mr. Briggs is a happy man to-
day, for not a knock-kneed animal is
left in his stable, and his pocket-book
is plethoric with an unwonted fulness."

" The finest horses I ever saw," re-
marked Blythe," were a pair of blood-
ed Kentucky bays — superb creatures.
A young fellow from California, who
was visiting in this part of the coun-
tiy, had bought them to take home
with him. It was an experience to
ride behind those horses, they were

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80 full of fire. I asked their owner
once, when we were having a drive,
what he would do if they ran away —
for he had acknowledged he couldn't
hold them — and what do you think was
his answer ? He pulled a loaded pistol
out of his pocket, and said, ^ I would
put a bullet through their heads.' "

"What a man for an emergency!
And you went driving more than once
with the loaded pistol, and the wild
horses, and the young man from Cali-
fornia?'*

"Oh yes; there was always the
chance of an adventure, and that is
what I liave pined for all my life."

By this time they had driven out of
the town and were passing the fine old
places in its suburbs, at great distances
from each other, with stretches of wild
land between. One of these attracted
Roger Ellis's j)articular attention, and
he drew up his horse a moment to ob-
serve it. The house was a large mas-
sive brick house, with generous door-
ways and many windows, and round-
headed chimneys that shot up above the
tops of the elms and the shining gloria
mundi, whose thick shadows rested on
the ground in wide black masses that
flowed together like waves. It was
set in a square sloping on all sides to
the south, and this was enclosed by a
brick wall twelve feet in height, bifilt
with buttresses and surmounted by a
coping of flagstones. At the north and
west corners were the lodge-gates, but-
tressed and battlemented in unison
with the architecture of the wall. .

"What a remarkable old place!"
said Ellis. " Who is living in it ?"

" It is the county jail," said Blythe,
speaking in a somewhat constrained

voice. "The jail proper was burned
during the war, and this property was
bought at auction by the public of-
ficers."

"A jail in the midst of birds' nests !"
cried Ellis, as a fiock of martins rose
with a whir of wings and darkened
the evening sky. " But I wonder that
its owner could give it up. It isn't a
haunted house, I suppose ? It looks as
if it might have a history."

"It was deserted for some years, I
believe," said Blythe, "and was finally
sold by a distant heir, who had never
seen the place. AH the immediate
family were dead. But let us go on."

Ellis saw that for some reason the
subject was not agreeable to Blythe,
and he asked no further questions.
Touching the horse lightly with his
whip, they drove along the road, that
soon began to grow narrower and more
steep.

"Look at the sunset!" said Ellis;
"is it not worth a dull day's living
to have such a sight as that at its
close?"

As he spoke they were afscending
the spur of the mountain, which,
clothed in the sombre hue of the pines,
stood like a sentinel in dark livery of
green before the kingly peak now
folded about with royal robes of crim-
son and purple. In the golden west
great cloud -gates of pearl and ame-
thyst and jasper stood apart, through
which the sun shot lances of fire, like
beams from some divine Titanic fur-
nace, upon the mountain's top, where
they rested in a blessing of color, mak-
ing, with the blue of the dim distant
hills and the purple of evening's deep
shadows, " the sacred chord of color —

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blue, purple, and scarlet, with white
and gold," given to Moses on the
Mount for the Tabernacle of Divine
presence. Below them, as both Roger
and Blythe looked back, to lose no
beauty of the picture, lay the round
valley from which they had come up,
its streams, like silvery veins, intersect-
ing and giving life to woods and fields ;
the cross - crowned spires of its town
glittering and seeming to tremble in'
the air; its swelling fields of plumy
wheat and bearded grain waving their
rich bread-promise to the land. Far
to the south, in an opening among the
low, blue mountains, lay an expanse of
the Tennessee Rivei*, shining like a fair
page of silver. The scene was one of
Nature's masterpieces, where with
prodigal hand she had thrown togeth-
er color, form, beauty, and grandeur
for earth's completest glorification.

"Ah, the kinship of kings!" cried
Ellis. "See how the sun flings his
rich gifts into the mountain's lap, and
the mountain answers back with every
hue reflected from gracious curves and
quivering woods. Why should poems
ever be written, when Nature speaks
in such eloquent magnificence to all
who have hearts to understand her
various language ?"

"I think that the most splendid
thing about sunsets is their constant
variety," said Blythe. " It is not mere-
ly that no two are ever just alike, but
in each glorious spectacle there are
such swift, wonderful changes as we
see in dreams. Look at those clouds,
now. Do they not seem to take new
forms and colors with every breath?
Do you know that I always sympa-
thized with poor old Polonius? I

don't think there was a bit of hypoc-
risy in his finding the cloud first like a
camel, then ' backed like d weasel,' and
finally, * veiy like a whale !'"

"You read Shakspeare?" said Ellis,
with a pleased look ; " and do you en-
joy him?"

" Why don't you ask me if I enjoy
the shining of the sun," said Blythe, a
little piqued at the question.

Ellis smiled. "You seem such a
child to me," he said, apologetically.
"And the other Elizabethan writers —
are you familiar with their works?"

"Why no," said Blythe^ ingenuously.
" Papa found me reading in a volume
of the British drama one day, and he
took the book away, saying that those
plays were not fit reading for a lady."

"The happy fortune of being a
woman," said Ellis, " ought not to de-
prive any one of the opportunity of
appreciating some of the finest things
in the English tongue. You ought to
study an age of which Shakspeare is
king, and understand that greatest
man better by knowing his contempo-
raries. They were giants whom none
have touched, though many have made
for themselves paths beside their foot-
steps. In reading them you will find
grace, fire, passion ; passages to make
you weep, and such as will make you
smile with mere pleasure at their
beauty; and further, you will find
your very feeling for the beauty of
words increased. Of course it is not
necessary to go through them all."

"Tell me some of the finest," said
Blythe, " and I will read them first."

" Oh ! I haven't them at ray fingers'
ends. But I will make out a list for
you of those you may read entire, and

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6^7

mark selections from others that would
be as unintelligible to you as operatic
music is uninteresting to me, except
for the ' airs ' that come in from time
to time. You will like Ben Jonson
best of all. He had a rich mine of
soul — rare Ben — and from its depths
he drew the gold of virtue, the dark
copper of vice, the varied jewel-forms
of beauty. In him, as in Shakspeare,
you find the essence of human nature,
humanity in its heights and depths,
that can never be studied too long or
too tenderly."

"There are three volumes of old
English plays on the top shelf of the
bookcase in the library," said Blythe,
" with a lot of other books, that I've
been forbidden to touch ever since I
can remember."

" Poor child ! And did you never
disobey orders?"

"Once only. It had rained for a
week, and I had read everything I could
lay my hands on. I was so bored that
I was desperate ; and one day I stood
on a chair, reached up to the top shelf,
and took down the first book my
hand touched. What do you think it
was?"

" I am a Yankee — but I can't guess."

" Tom Jones," said Blythe, lowering
her voice. "I took it to my room,
locked the door, and plunged into it.
But one day when papa and mamma
were out, I went down to the sitting-
room to read it by the fire. They came
home suddenly, and I had only time to
thrust it under the sofa-cushion. Now,
if you can believe it, I forgot all about
that book and left it there. It was
found the next morning before break-
fast, and there was a sceae! Papa

scolded, mamma cried, I cried, and it
ended by the book being thrown into
the kitchen fire. To this day I have
never known whether Tom married So-
phia!"

Ellis laughed heartily, with a lively
remembrance of Mr. Herndon's fine and
gentle manner.

"Papa never liked me to read any
novels," said Blythe; "and, indeed, he
was strict in every way. As a child, I
used to think him unjust, and we were
all terribly afraid of him. I don't know
why; for he was not often angry, and
hardly ever punished us. But papa is
a very impressive man ;" and Blythe
gave a light laugh. " Once, I remem-
ber, when I was a very little girl, I was
studying my spelling-lesson, and I came
to the long, hard word * abolitionist.'
I spelled it out, syllable by syllable, and
then asked my father its meaning. *It
is a name for a Yankee rascal,' he said,
' who believes that a negro is as good
as a white man, and who would set all
our slaves free if he could get a chance.'
This was such a new idea to me that I
stopped to think about it. At last I
stunned my family by the remark,
*Well, I think I am an abolitionist. I
don't see that we have any right to
make slaves of people because they have
black skins, any more than because they
have crooked noses.' Then I saw my
courtly papa in a white heat. He did
not use many words to tell me I was a
young idiot, who would come to some
very bad end unless I restrained the
vanity of having opinions opposite to
those of older and wiser folks; but
• what he did say can only be likened to
the whipping that ia certain father once
gave his son when he saw the sala-

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mander; and it impressed the occasion
quite as faithfully in my memory."

" It was your sweet, pure, true nature
that spoke," said Ellis, feeling a strong
inclination to give Blythe an apprecia-
tive kiss ; " but tell me, did you ever
change?"

"Oh! I put the subject out of my
mind ; and then, of course, when the
war came I had to take the side of my
people. The question of slavery was
not the only one involved, you know;
and even with that outsiders had no
right to meddle. Oh, pardon me!"
cried Blythe, with her quick blush.
«I forgot—"

"That I was one of the outsiders?
Why, I like your frankness, my dear
Miss Herndon. Besides, you were too
young to understand the questions at
issue."

" I don't know about that. I was al-
ways a strong believer in State's rights
and secession. This country is too large
for a single government."

" I see," said Ellis, with a smile, " that
you have listened intelligently to the
political talk of your father and his
friends."

" I am not a chameleon," said Blythe,
proudly.

" No," he said, " or you could not be
nqar me without taking what's the color
of loyalty."

"True blue, I suppose?"

" Or that of the life-blood."

'* 'And like a lobster boiled, alack !
1*11 blush with love for Union Jack !*

if I know you much longer," murmur-
ed Miss Blythe.

" So you read Hudibras, too ! Bless
me, child ! aren't you wasted in Yariba ?"

"lam wasted with pining to be some-
where else. Oh, for a prince and a fly-
ing horse !"

"They will come," said Ellis; and
something almost like sadness stole into
his voice. He did not for a moment
fancy himself the prince on the flying
horse; but it did occur to him that it
would be " pretty, though a plague," to
seeBlythe's face when her prince should
first take her in his arms. What a face
it was ! a little cold and sad, perhaps,
in repose, but with what a charm of
swift blushes and changing expression !

The road wound along, " up-hill all
the way," and the surroundings grew
milder and more beautiful. Little
mountain streams sprang to meet them
with a gurgle of welcome. Rhododen-
drons stretched across the road, and
Blythe gathered handful after handful
of the leaves, bruising them for their
sweetness and throwing them away.
At last the road, that had been narrow-
ing gradually, like a prima donna's sus-
tained note, dwindled to a narrow foot-
path, and they got out of the buggy.
An army wagon had been sent on in
advance, and the soldiers busied them-
selves in taking charge of all the horses
of the party. Mary Barton and Van
Tolliver had just dismounted — ^Mary
brilliantly pretty in her close black hab-
it, and Van as gay and debonair as if
he were not wondering how far Betty
Page's flirting propensities would carry
her under the favoring influences of the
moonlight.

" We are the last of the party," said
Mary. "We will find the others on
the flat rock on top of the mountain.
Shall we lead the way?"

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their senses on the alert for enjoyment.
Rocks, streams, ferns, mosses, and giant
forest-trees were mingled here in a
wild union of strength and beauty.
There were fresh and delicate woody
smells, and lonely, lovely bird -notes
rang high above the sound of falling
water, that hurried through its rugged
chambers to the spring in the valley
below. The gray twilight began to
be pierced by sharp darts of silver,
like mysterious thrills of life stinging
through a half- torpid soul. Light
laughter soon broke through nature's
musical silence, and they came upon
their friends grouped in various atti-
tudes of picturesqueness about the
mountain's top. Then for a while
there was a confusion of voices, until
Mrs. Oglethorpe made a gesture for
silence, and commanded Ely the Hern-
don to tell the legend of Mount Sano,
that none of the strangers had ever
heard. And Blythe, who was wrapped
in a scarlet cloak, leaned close upon
the indented rock, and, fixing her eyes
on the vague, vast mountains dimly
defined against the moon's gold, told
the legend, almost like a Corsican im-
provisatrice chanting a ballata,

^^ Long ago an Indian chieftain made
his home upon this mountain — the less-
er hills his hunting-grounds. Monte
was his dark-eyed daughter, whom
many suitors came to woo. Two of
the boldest outstripped all others ; but
to one she gave promises and love, to
the other refusal and scorn. He, stung
by jealousy to madness, swore a fear-
ful oath that he would yet win Monte,
the dark-eyed maid. Then he sum-
moned to his aid all evil souls. One
gave him fieiy eloquence, another giant

strength, and a third the wild beauty
of the beautiful lost gods. One day,
when the wind blew high, he met the
Indian maid, and beguiled her to a
lonely spot, where the high trees kissed
the clouds ; and here he stretched his
arms to her, and wooed her with such
rushing fire that the heavens darkened
and the earth seemed slipping away.
Then he assailed her with threats, and
fear seized the soul of the maiden, and
almost she consented to his fierce will ;
when from a hidden place in the arch-
ing rocks behind her came a whisper
low and strong as distant thunder —
^ Monte, say No I — Monte^ say IfoP
Strength came to her with that deep
murmur, for the Great Spirit himself
had come to her aid. * No 1' she cried,
in a voice that rang through the forest
like the stroke of steel on steel, and
the winds ceased to rage, and the war-
rior with a cry of wrath fled from the
sight of her face, and neither in the
council, nor by the wigwam fire, nor
on the hunting-ground nor battle-field,
was he ever seen again of man."

Ellis had watched Blythe with amaze-
ment. " What an actress the child is I"
he thought ; " or is it unconsciousness
— that pose against the rock, the musi-
cal monotone, the abstracted gaze?
Miss Blythe, you're a study !"

"The legend disappoints our no-
tions of Indian vengeance in having no
bloody sequel," remarked Mrs. Ogle-
thorpe; "but all its romance is pre-
served in the name it has given to the
mountain — Monte Sano.^'*

"I don't altogether like it, you
know," said Captain Silsby, "for I
don't believe the young ladies of Ta-
riba need any prompting to say No,"

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Whereupon Betty Page, breaking a
large leaf from a bush near by, fanned
the captain with an air of saucy soli-
citude not wholly agreeable to one
young man of the company.

They had supper on the flat rock,
and with champagne, cold chicken, and
jokes, in which a little wit went a great
way, filled up the next hour. Civil
Rights Bill was treated to his first
glass of champagne^ and he entertained
the company with the story of the
Tar-Baby, and joined boldly in the
songs that were sung. They wandered
about in groups of twos and threes,
while the moonlight bathed everything
in floods of ethereal yellow, as if some
gay angel were holding a buttercup
under the mountain's chin. Every-
body declared this the most unique
and delicious picnic of any season;
and finally it brought to Blythe Hern-
4an what she had wanted all her life —
an adventure. It was due to Civil
Rights Bill, for whom the excitement
and champagne had been too much.
He was sleeping composedly on Mr.
Ellis's feet, as Mr. Briggs's staid horse
was jogging homeward, when — what
dream came to him? That I cannot
tell, but he gave a cry as wild as the
Indian lover's howl of rage, and jump-
ing up as if the bottom of the buggy
had been a rearing horse, he sprang
out into the road. Mr. Briggs's horse
now proved himself the possessor of
more spirit than he had been given
credit for, by running away, upturning
the buggy against a stump, throwing
out Mr. Ellis and Blythe on opposite
sides, and dashing off to town unim-
peded by aught but some fragments
of Jiarness. There was a crash as if

the world were coming to an end ; for
Bill, with brilliant thrift, had gathered
up the empty wine-bottles to sell in
town; and they broke with a tremen*
dous clatter about the cars of the dis-
lodged pair.

• Mary Barton was off her horse in a
twinkling.

" Oh, Blythe, are you hurt?"

"Not at all. I hope my new hat
isn't;" and Blythe put her hands to
her head. Mr. Ellis sprang across the
road.

"Are you sure you are not hurt?"
he asked, anxiously.

" Indeed I am sure ; but I am afraid
poor little Bill is in a bad plight. Do
step back and see about him, Mr.
Ellis."

I believe, in that moment of unself-
ish thought for another, Roger Ellis
became her lover. He turned and
hurried back, to meet Bill limping to-
ward him.

" Somepen's done happen," said that
youth: "seems to me I'se flew all to
pieces !"

Blythe was still sitting on the road-
side when they came up. " Oh, my
gracious !" cried Bill ; " dars my spek-
ilation done broke all to smash !"

They all laughed ; and Blythe, de-
clining the offer of Van's hand, sprang
up. But alas ! a bit of a broken bot-
tle had imbedded itself in the soft
earth, and as Blythe started forward
she stepped on its jagged edge. Of
course, her shoes were thin — ^your true
Southern girl is fond of a cloth gaiter
with a paper sole.

" Oh, my foot !" she cried.

"Is your ankle sprained?" cried
Ellis.

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"No, my foot is cut — on Bill's —
speculation," said she, faintly.

" Oh, you little imp !" cried Van,
looking toward Bill as if he longed to
shake that small sinner, who crept C17-
ing behind Mr. Ellis.

" It isn't his fault, Van," said sweet
Blythe.

Fortunately, Mrs. Oglethorpe's bug-

gy came up at this moment, and Blythe
w^as helped into it. Tliey were not
very far from town, iand Mr. Ellis and
Bill walked the rest of the way — or
rather, Mr. Ellis walked, for, bearing
as long as he could Bill's sobs, and see-
ing that he could scarcely walk from
lameness and excitement, he took him
in his arms and carried him home.

CHAPTER XL

THREE VISITS.

Although his bones ached on wak-
ing, the morning after the picnic, Rog-
er Ellis arose earlier than usual, with
a brisk sense of having a great deal to
do. His first care was to go into town
to a dry-goods shop and ask over the
counter for a piece of muslin. Some
fine organdies were shown him.

"Not this," said Ellis, impatiently;
" I mean such stuff as shirts are made
of."

" Oh ! a bolt of domestic," said the
clerk, with an easy and superior smile.

The cotton cloth purchased, it was
sent to Mrs. Roy's, where Ellis soon
followed it, haying no difficulty in find-
ing the "little red house with the holly-
hocks in the yard and the shetters
blown away."

Mrs. Roy was looking forlorner than
ever, in a comfortless room to which
the sunshine that poured in gave only
an added look of desolation. The floor
was bare, and the boards were loosen-
ed or broken in several places. A
cracked looking-glass hung above a
pine table, while some red ribbons on

the table and a box of prepared chalk,
with the top of a stocking hanging out
of it, indicated that Mrs. Roy still sac-
rificed to the vanities. Two empty
barrels stood in one corner, and upon
a board stretched across them was
placed a water -bucket of obtrusive
blue, in which a well - seasoned gourd
floated.. A half-moou of water soon
formed around this in splashes, as the
Roy children at play in the yard seem-^
ed to be consumed with an inward
fever, or afflicted with a burning de-
sire to see the stranger, for they filed
in one after another during his call,
drinking like young horses, with the
gourd at their lips and a stream pouring
to the floor, as they peered at Mr. Ellis.

"Take a cheer, sir," said Mrs. Roy,
advancing a loose-jointed, split-bottom-
ed chair. "I'm sorry to have you see
me In sich a po' place ; but the Lord,
knows that I'm thankful nowadays to
have a rooft over my head."

"Are you a widow?" hazarded El-
lis. The question unlocked the foun-
tain of all her woes.

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"Our heavenly Father knows I'm
wass o£E 'n if I was a widder, whioh I
am not, by reason of haviu' a husband
which is a rascal, an' him the father of
my po' children, an' a saddler in very
good business when I married him."

Mrs. Roy now began to weep, and
Ellis, not knowing what to do, gave a
sympathetic murmur that seemed to
encourage her to go on.

" Pappy an' mammy didn't want me
to marry him," she said, wiping her
eyes and taking a pinch of snuflf; "for
all we wus plain people livin' up the
mountain in a plain way, an' him a
saddler ownin' his shop an' movin' in
good society too, bein' a church mem-
ber. Howsomever, aginst that he had
a sort of repitition for bein' a fast
man, an' mammy she said from the
first that there wasn't no part of him
she liked to see so well as the back of
his head. But marry him I would, for
I had a sperit of my own in them
days, though broken it is now. Well,
he brought me to town, an' for a while
I wus as proud as a peacock. Jim
wus a liberal man with his money, an'
we didn't want for nothin'. He give
me a silk gown too; and I wus so fool-
ish about that man that I wasn't satis-
fied with namin' my first boy after
him — Jim ; but when the next one wus
a girl, what did I do but name her
Mij — an' that ain't nothin' but the
name of Jim turned back'ard. Here,
you Mij ! stop a-sloppin' that water
an' come an' offer Mr. Ellis a drink."

Mij approached, hanging her head
and holding the gourd in such a way
that its contents flowed through the
handle in a thin stream to the floor,
and looking rather pretty with her elf-

locks and shy, black eyes. Mr. Ellis
welcomed a diversion, and tried to
make talk with the child; but the
mother said,

"Now, Mij Roy, you jest go on out
to play. Don't you see I'm busy talk-
in' to Mr. Ellis ?"

" Well, sir, more children came, an' I
kind o' lost my health, and Jim he got
ter stayin' out late at nights, sayin' he
had extry jobs. Well, things went on,
an' I wus as unsuspectin' as the unbora
babe, till Dan Rice come to town with
his circus. I wanted to go the wust
sort, for everybody had been crackin'
it up for the finest show ever seen in
these parts. When the night came,
an' I was lookin' for Jim to take me,
he said he wus powerful sorry, but he
couldn't go no way he could fix it, for
he had to work in the shop till mid-
night. I thought I ought ter be thank-
ful for havin' sich a hard-workin' hus-
band, so I give up the circus without
makin' any words. But after Jim
went off I got to wonderin' why I
couldn't go with some of the neigh-
bors; so I ran over to Bet Chalmers
to see if she wus goin'. She an' her
husband wus just ready to start, an' I
just went right along with 'em. The
tent wus packed when we got there, an'
the clown wus carryin' on as ridikilous
as you please. Mr. Ellis " — and here
Mrs. Roy's bitter monotone fell to a
deeper key, and she leaned toward her
companion, speaking with the empha-
sis of one who hardly expected to be
believed — ^^I never want to go to an-
other circus again as long as I live P^

** * I shall never be friends again with roses ;
I shall hate sweet music my whole life
long,'**

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thought Roger Ellis — "that sounds
rather more poetic ; but isn't the sen-
timent just the same?"

" I wus a-settin' there laughin' fit to
kill at the clown," continued Mrs. Roy,
"when Bet Chalmers caught hold of
my arm, an* she said, * Why, Matildy
Roy, there's your husband I' She wus
a-pintin' over to the six-bit seats, Mr.
Ellis — the finest scats in the tent — and
I looked, and there sat Jim, with a girl
named Ann Eliza Lowe beside him —
snuggled as close as if they'd a been
twin hicker-nuts — drinkin^ out o' the
same glass o* lemonade — eatM off
the same stick o' candy — befo' the
eyes o' the whole world ! I didn't see
much o' what went on in the ring after
that. I just sat there an' watched
'em ; and Gk)d knows I never want to
go through no wuss hell 'n I did that
night !

"Well, I made it hot for Jim when
he got home ; but it didn't seem to do
no manner o' good. After that things
went from bad to wuss; he spendin'
his money on Ann Eliza Lowe, an' the
children goin' in rags.

"I tried to forgive him; I prayed
on my knees for strength to forgive
that man; for I said, *My father is
dead, my mother is po', an' if I dorCt
forgive him what'U me an' my children
do for bread ?' So I did forgive him,
time and time agin, till I waked up
one fine day to find Jim Roy gone —
gone the Lord knows where, with Ann
Eliza Lowe ; and from that day to this
nobody in this town has sot eyes on
either one of 'em."

"How long ago did this happen?"

"It's been mor'n a year; an' a han'-
to-han' fight it's been to live," said

Mrs. Roy, sighing heavily. " I ain't got
no hopes of his ever comin' back, for
when a man has once broke loose there
ain't no gittin' him in the traces agin."

"Ah, well, your children will grow
up to be a comfort to you," said Ellis,
cheerily ; " in the mean time don't lose
heart. Have you seen Colonel Dexter
about your chickens yet?"

" Oh, yes, sir ; he paid me handsome
for 'em, and his wife guv me a real
fashionable alpakky, as good as new.
I'm free to confess that some Yankees
is mighty clever folks."

Ellis laid a bill on the table as he
rose to go. "A little advance pay for
the shirts," he explained. " I have or-
dered the stuflE sent to you."

"I think I can suit you, sir," said
Mrs. Roy. "You're just about Jim's
build, and I made all his shirts."

A fresh burst of sobs seemed immi-
nent, and Ellis hurried his good-bye,
though he stopped to make acquaint-
ance with the sallow-faced children in
the yard, and to invite them over to his
tent to a tea-party, consisting entirely
of candy and fire-crackers.

Mr. Ellis next turned his steps in
the direction of the Tollivers'. He
met Tom in the yard, and inquired af-
ter Civil Rights Bill.

" So you had a spill !" cried Master
Tom. " What fun ! Bill is sick, I
believe: anyhow he has been in bed
all day."

" I should like to see him."

" Come on," said Tom.

He took Mr. Ellis through a gap in
the fence to the back yard, and point-
ed out a little cabin.

"Lift the latch and the door'll fly
open," he said, and vanished.

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Ellis rapped at the door.

"Who dat knockin' at my do'?"
cried a voice.

Ellis pushed the door open. "Grant
you grace, mister," said an old woman,
rising to meet him, and dropping a
funny little courtesy, as if somebody
had pulled a cord in her spinal column.
"I wouldn't a' spoke so sharp, but I
thought it was Tom ToUiver up to
some of his tricks."

Aunt Sally was an imposing figure.
No one knew how old she was. She
said she had lived a hundred years,
but she was as straight as if she had
been strapped to a board. She wore
a wide calico gown that reached to
her ankles, covered with pale, staring
flowers, a handkerchief knotted on
her bosom, and her head was tightly
bound in a snow-white turban. She
was blind in one eye, and this gave a
peculiar wildness to her expression,
as the blind eye was fixed, blue, and
glassy, while the other was black and
rolling. Her mouth gave a cavernous
impression of vastness; it was tooth-
less apparently, save for one long fang,
and when she spoke or laughed she
showed its entire roof and her thick
red tongue to its roots.

Mr. Ellis inquired after Bill.

"Bill's asleep jes' now," said Aunt
Sally. "He's been a-sufferin' right
smart. Got a powerful heap o'
bruises : I've been a rubbin' him with
yearth-worms."

" With wJwtJtr' cried Ellis.

" With yearth - worms," repeated
Aunt Sally, showing him a glass full
of wriggling bait for fishes. "Dey's
mighty good for stone-bruises and any
kind o' limb trouble.

" Bill always wus sickly," she went
on. "He had a spell o' terrified fever
las' summer dat I thought would lay
him out, sure. I nussed him till I
thought I'd drop. But lor'! I'se an
ole South Carliny nigger, I is, wid a
backbone; none o' your limpsy Ala-
bama trash !"

"How long have you lived in Ala-
bama?"

"Oh, for de bes' part o' my life.
Ole mars' when he died he lef me to
dis branch o' de ToUivers. But it was
jes' like drawin' eye-teeth to leave ole
mis' — sho's you born it was. All de
Tollivers is good stock, but none ekal
to de Carliny stock. Ole mis' she
brought me up from a baby. She
nussed me, an' tucked me in nights,
an' fed me outen a silver spoon. I
never had no humpin', nor dumpin'.
I never had but one whippin' in my
life, an' dat was give me by a miserbel
mean ole overseer. He jes' stretched
me out like a rabbit for breakin' a lit-
tle yearth en pot on his table. Lor'!
wasn't ole mis' mad when she heerd
about it! Dat overseer was sent a
kitin' off de place, an' 'twarn't more'n
a year befo' dat very man was hung
at de cross-roads. I went to de hang-
in', an' it was a fine sight, sho's you
born."

Ellis began to find Aunt Sally
alarming.

" Ole mars' honeyed mS up mightly
arter dat whippin'," she went on;
"coul4n't do enough for me. One
mornin' I felt kind o' droopin', an' I
said, *I want a drink. Mars' Dare.'
He says to me, ' How much whiskey
could you drink. Aunt Sally ?' says he.
*Try me. Mars' Dare,' says I. * Come

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along,* says he. He tuk de key to de
sto'-room, an' when we got dar he
pulled de plug outen de whiskey bar-
rel, an' let out a brimraiti' glass o' liq-
uor. I tossed it off, an' he says, * Have
another ?' * Yes, sir.' So I drunk dat.
*]sruff?' says he. *Lor', Mars' Dare,
you're jokin' I' He gim me another —
dat made three ; I drunk dat, an' hel'
out de glass. * Good God A'mighty !'
says he, * ain't you never goin' ter be
satisfied?' Well, he poured out two
mo' glasses; an' de las' glass I said,
*Len' me your knife, Mar^' Dare.'
* What you want wid it, you crazy ole
critter ?' But hfe handed it out, an' I
«craped my finger-nail in dis glass, an'
den, de Lord be praised I I had my
fill. * Some o' you watch dat ole lady,'
Mars' Dare said to de niggers roun' de
house; * she'll keel over befo' long.'
But, bless you, I went roun' straight as
a preacher all day."

" Pray how large were the glasses ?"
cried Ellis.

" Oh, 'bout de size of a pint cup,"
said this terrible Aunt Sally. "All
dat whiskey might a made some fool
niggers drunk; but it jes' seemed to
me as if wings was sproutin' out o' my
shoulder-blades."

At this moment Bill awoke, in great
surprise at sight of the visitor. " My
eyes ! Mr. Ellis, is dat you?"

"You Bill! dat's no way to speak
to de gentleman. Tell y6u, nigger,
whar I was raised no white gentleman
ever spoke to me without I made my
low obedient."

Fortunately the voluble Aunt Sally
was called out at this juncture, and
Ellis had an opportunity to talk a lit-
tle with Willy, whom he found fever-

ed and restless. A paper of oranges
made his eyes brighten, and, with the
promise to come again, and a silver
pourboire for Aunt Sally, Mr. Ellis's
second visit came to an end.

"And now for the reward of duty !"
he said to himself as he walked away,
" sweet Blythe l"

Dinner, however, and a freshened
toilet intervened before this visit.
Roger even looked in his mirror, as he
dressed himself, with a certain odd in-
terest. "If I were ten years young-
er," he muttered, as he brushed his
curling light hair and wished it more
than a fringe to his head.

Blythe was in the cool latticed par-
lor, her foot bandaged and on a stool,
and half a dozen magazines stl*ewed
around her. In her cool white wrap-
per she looked as fresh and smiling as
the May, as she leaned back in the
loveliest and laziest of attitudes, sip-
ping iced lemonade, and reading by
turns.

" How comfortable you look !" said
Ellis, as she gave him her hand with
a bright, beautiful smile. " And how
are you to-day ?"

" Very well ; my foot scarcely pains
me at all."

" Have you seen the doctor yet ?"

" Oh yes, and he tells me it may be
a month before I am able to walk.
Papa is more concerned about it than
I am. He thought it so improper to
fall out of a buggy with a lot of bot-
tles ! He was very much annoyed this
morning by the men on the square
crowding around him to ask how his
daughter was after her dreadful acci-
dent; and his first care was to rush
to the editor of the Advocate to tell

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him not to make a paragraph of the
* shocking affair.' Papa never willing-
ly gives gossip any food. I believe he
would like for ns all to be drowned at
sea to avoid the sensation of a funeral
in the family."

" How well you bear the thought of
a month's confinement!" said Ellis,
tliinking BIythe looked charmingly pret-
ty as she threw her head back and
laughed at her own nonsense.

" I will tell you a secret. I am, in
the flesh, the laziest creature in the
world ; but I have an intellectual con-
sciousness that laziness is contemptible.
So my two selves are constantly at war;
I am torn by conflicting desires. But
now I'm at peace ; for it is my plain
duty to do nothing but lie on the sofa,
read novels, and drink lemonade. Can
you suggest any further amusement,
should these finally pall upon me ?"

"You might learn the signal lan-
guage," said Ellis, laughing.

"What is that?" said BIythe, with
lively interest.

"It is a method of communication
invented by the officers of the Thir-
teenth. All the ladies in camp have
learned it, and amuse themselves sig-
naling from one tent to another on rainy
days."

" I should like to learn it. Do you
think I could ?"

" You need only a handkerchief and
a memoiy. It is a little like talking
with the fingers, you know."

" Ah, yes, I begin to see into it. But
it must take a great deal of practice be-
fore one can do it at all well."

" You shall have all the practice you
want," said Ellis promptly. "Your
window overlooks the camp. I shall take

some tall tree as my station, and cUmb
it every morning just at the hour when
Daniel — or was it Peter ? — went out on
the house-top to pray. Then I shall in-
quire how you have passed the night,
when I may come and see you, whether
you've any commissions for the hum-
blest of your seiTants, and a thousand
other things, that you must answer at
length — ^for practice."

" I fear it will be a severe tax on my
intellect,"^ said BIythe; "and I shall
read fewer magazines than I supposed
I should."

" I brought you some books to-day,
by -the -way," said Ellis, "some odd
volumes of Hawthorne. You were say-
ing that you were not familiar with his
books?"

"Except the 'Marble Faun.' I know
that by heart."

" Take the * Scarlet Letter ' next. It
will mark a date in your life. I do not
know whether I could be so greatly
moved again as I was when* I first read
the * Scarlet Letter.' Never did a book
so profoundly impress my imagination.
I have thought since then that it is the
one matchless flower of American li^
erature. I was quite young when I
read it ; but I half fear to read it again,
as it seems to be a law of life that the
same delight shall never be tasted tv¥km
by the same lips."

" Is Hawthorne your favorite Ameri-
can author, Mr. Ellis ?"

" No, I think not ; though he, in my
judgment, is the great artist of Ameri-
ca. His style is consummate art — the
work is fused in his genius and is a per-
fect unit. You must admire it as a fin-
ished product of his mind ; not stop,
as you do in reading some very clever

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authors of a later date, and pick out
plums in eveiy paragraph to admire
separately. Such a style maybe art,
but it is mosaic art; high sometimes,
but the highest never."

A ring at the bell was heard, and a
moment later Betty Page and Captain
Silsby came in.

"How is your foot, Blythe?" cried
Jiiss Betty. " What a thousand pities
it should be hurt just now I Did you
know that the officers were going to
give us a ball in Masonic Hall ?"

"How soon?"

"In a week or two — as soon as I
learn to glide. Captain Silsby is going
to give me a lesson to-night. Yon must
learn, Blythe, just as soon as your foot
gets well."

" Is it very hard ?"

" Let us show the step, Captain Sils-
by," said Betty ; and the young lady
and the officer placed themselves oppo-
site each other.

"It is very simple," said Captain
Silsby, speaking with more animation
than usual. " The great thing is to re-
member always to keep one foot behind
the othsr. Ityou let them go apart you
are lost. Then it is only a continued
forward and back — come to me — go
away" — and the captain balanced light-
ly to and from Miss Betty Page.

" Only two steps ?" said Blythe.

" Yes ; the third is a rest. Now see
how it goes to music."

Beans I beans I Bos-ton baked beans I

he hummed agreeably. 'And to see the
blonde and languid young officer ad-
vance on the first beans, retreat on the

second, and rest on Boston, while Betty
followed his movements with flushed
gravity and pretty, awkward steps, was
a sight to win a smile from the weeping
philosopher.

" Never mind," said Blythe ; " while
you are gliding I shall be learning some-
thing very mysterious and delightful —
the signal language."

"What is that?" said Betty; hard-
ly waiting for it to be explained before
expressing a violent desire to add it
to her accomplishments. "You will
teach me, won't you. Captain Silsby ?"

"For what other purpose was I
bom?" said the captain.

"Do you dance, Mr. Ellis?" asked
Betty.

"No, indeed. I should be at a loss
to know what to do with myself in a
ball-room."

"You ought to learn. Come over
this evening, and have a lesson with
me."

" Thank you. Miss Page, but I fear
nothing short of standing on a hot
plate would make me dance in this
year of my life, and I have an engage-
ment for this evening. Willy ToUiver
is sick, and I promised to look in on
him."

"Willy Tolliver: who is he?"

" I believe you call him Civil Rights
Bill."

"Oh!" said Betty, with a look of
wonder in her gray eyes. "Captain
Silsby, I think it time we were off."

"Don't go," said Blythe, hospitably.

"We must," said Betty. "Captain
Silsby is invited to our house to tea,
and if we are late there's no certainty
that Aunt Lissy will keep us any hot
muffins."

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^' So much the better,'' said Captain
Silsby. " Who wants his constitution
undermined by these delicious hot
abominations, that you Southern folks
eat at an hour when you ought to be
virtuously supping on cold bread and
apple-sauce I"

"And yet I notice that you Yankees
never decline these ^hot abomina-
tions.' "

" True, but the goblins rend us after-
ward."

"How proud ypu are of being a
dyspeptic !" said Betty. " You allude
to it ai^ constantly as Squire Barton
does to the Barton hand, and with the
same complacency."

" On the contraiy," said Silsby, with
an air of sentiment, "I deplore it now
more than ever, as it seems to place a
gulf between us. On every other point
there is such harmony. Still, as the
years roll on, a persistent course of
hot muffins and pickles on your part
may unite us in feeling."

"Don't you think," said Mr. Ellis to
Blythe, in a stage whisper, " that their
conversation is taking a very personal
turn? Would it not show a delicate
sympathy if I were to wheel your chair
to the farthest window, and read to
you in a loud voice?"

" For shame, Mr. Ellis !" cried Betty.
" Now we are really going. Good-bye,

Blythe dear; I shall see you to-mor-
row."

"Don't you think /their hearts are
beginning to tip a little toward each
other ?" said Ellis, after they had gone.

" It hardly seems possible. You've
no idea how bitterly Betty spoke
against you before you came. She
and I almost had a quaiTel because I
said I hoped the officers would be re-
ceived. But I suppose she can't re-
sist the temptation to amuse herself."

" She would find it very amusing to
marry Silsby," said Mr. Ellis, with a
laugh; "and she isn't one to trouble
her head about consistency. Now,
you have been consistent all the way
through."

"Yes," said Blythe, proudly; "I am
not influenced by my feelings or fan-
cies."

" I have an artist friend," said Ellis,
gravely, "and some day I shall get
him to paint me a new Goddess of
Reason. She shall be standing in the
moonlight in a Southern garden, with
rose-leaves falling about her, and one
red rose clinging by its thorns in her
golden hair."

"I am afraid you are laughing at
me," said Blythe ; " but, indeed, I am
reasonable in all things. Only try me."

" Perhaps I shall, some day," he an-
swered.

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CHAPTER XIL

AH DIO! MORIR SI GIOVANE!

When Blythe Herndon came home
from the moonlight picnic, with her
foot bandaged in half a dozen hand-
kerchiefs and a green veil, and the
doctor had declared that she must stay
in the house for a month, the grand-
mother secretly rejoiced. Since Mrs.
Oglethorpe's dinner-party, the bitter
old lady had known no moment of
peace or rest. She had said nothing;
and, to do her family justice, none of
them realized how she suffered. She
moved among them paler and more
spirit-like each day ; at a sudden word
pressing her hand to the locket on her
bosom, as if it were her heart in pain ;
and all the while her hurt, hostile soul
was throbbing with one desire — to
save Blythe. She had never before
concerned herself about the child's fut-
ure. Blythe might have married the
poorest or idlest young fellow in Yari-
ba — she would scarcely have come out
from her abstracted living to know
what was going on ; but the fear of a
lover's liking between one of her name
and blood and an abhorred enemy
stung her to life. The accident to
Blythe she hailed as fortunate, as it
must keep her aloof for a time from
the gay doings of the summer, and
would lessen her chance of meeting a
6

possible lover. But the grandmother
had counted without — Roger Ellis.
Scarcely a day passed that he was not
at Mr. Herndon's. lie was not a so-
ciety man, and perhaps but for the ac-
cident that kept Blythe a prisoner, she
would never have been more to him
than a bright vision of the summer;
but in her isolation she almost seem-
ed dependent on him, and this was a
thought too enticing for him to resist.
So the days passed, and these two nat-
ures drew near together, each finding
in the other a strange charm.

Blythe was the purest woman Ellis
had ever met ; Ellis' the cleverest man
Blythe had ever known. To her he was
a stimulant ; to him she was a rest. He
lent her books and read her the poems
that he loved best; he delighted her
with stories of distinguished men and
women he had known, who had seemed
to Blythe as remote from every-day life
as the vast shades of a Dante's dream ;
he opened to her a new world in litera-
ture and the arts ; he told her of his
own life and its loneliness ; finally, he
talked to her of herself, with such lu-
minous appreciation of the fine elements
in her character that Blythe must have
liked him from mere gratitude. He
drew her on skilfully to tell him of the

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little events of her simple life. She
told him of her childhood and its wild
pranks, varied by occasional efforts to
be good, one of them lasting a whole
day, and resulting so successfully that
her papa bought her a gold ring as its
souvenir ; of one mad freak when, in a
passion of rebellion against an unjust
punishment, she packed up her best
Swiss dress and some bread and ham
in a satchel and ran away to seek her
fortune, only to be brought back and
punished, alas ! instead of being petted
into reason ; of her beautiful pony. Jet,
that her papa gave her when she was
eight years old, and of the many times
she had tumbled off his back without
telling, for fear of being forbidden to
ride. Then she told him of her roman-
tic and dreamy girlhood ; of the secret
passion she had cherished for a knight-
ly being whom she had seen riding at
a tournament under the name of Glen-
dower ; of her confirmation when she
was thirteen, with ten other girls, all
dressed in white, with white veils —
only she had on brown gloves, and was
mortified because the others were bare-
handed, and she pulled them off during
the ceremony, and her mother scolded
her afterward for doing so; of one
cruel experience during the war, when
a French boy, named Paul Lemoiner, a
ward of Mr. Shepherd's, formed a com-
pany of girls and taught them to drill ;
but her father said it was unlady-like
and wouldn't let her join them, though
she shed rivers of tears and her mam-
ma had made her an apron of stars
and bars; of her young-lady life, that
had been disappointing,- because she
had realized no ideals ; of her longing
for action, adventure, life. In short,

Blythe Herndon, whom the young men
of Yariba called cold and sarcastic,
and who was ppt to talk above their
heads, seemed to Roger Ellis adorable
because of her simplicity, sweetness,
and docility; and truly, if love may
be likened *to the kingdom of heaven,
Blythe prepared herself to enter it by
becoming as a little child.

Roger Ellis found means, too, to
make himself acceptable to other
members of the family. There was a
sunniness of nature about him that
made most people warm and expand
in his presence. The children cluster-
ed around him like flies about a honey-
pot ; Mr. Herndon invited him to tea,
and laid down political laws to which
Ellis listened deferentially as he watch-
ed the changing expression of Blythe's
face ; Mrs* Herndon made him sweet
little rambling confidences, "quite as
if I were her son," thought Ellis, with
a flush of joy. One, indeed, he failed
to win ; though he lost no opportunity
of a gentle or a genial word to the si-
lent little lady in the long black dress,
with the diamond flashing on her with-
ered finger. He could see that he ad-
vanced not one step. She did not
conspicuously absent herself from the
family circle when he was present;
but in Roger Ellis's presence she turn-
ed the locket that she wore so that
the face touched her bosom : his eyes
should not profane it by a look.

There came a time when a high
proof of the family friendship was
given him — he was admitted to the
confidence of a family sorrow.

Calling one morning as usual, he
was met at the door by a servant,
who, instead of asking him in, hand-
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ed bim a note that he read standing
there.

" Deab Mr. Ellis, — This is an anni-
versary day for us, and a very sad one.
"We never receive any visitors. Par-
don rae for not telling you yesterday,
but I did not think of the date when
I made an engagement to see you.
Please come to-morrow.

" Your friend,
"Bltthb Heendon."

The next day, when he called, Mrs.
Herndon was in the room. "I was
sorry Blythe did not see you yestei'-
day,'' she said, as she shook hands.
"It isn't necessary that she should
shut herself up because I do. She is
too young to remember. I have told
her to tell you about it, and you. will
understand that we did not mean to
fail in either courtesy or kindness to-
ward such a good friend as yourself."

She left the room, and Blythe said :
"I told mamma I knew that you
would not take tho least offence at
being denied, but she said I had better
tell you."

"My dear Miss Blythe, of course I
had not thought of the matter again,
except to sympathize in your sorrow.
Pray do not tell me what it will give
you pain to speak of."

" No, it will not do that exactly ; as
mamma says, I am too young to re-
member. It is about my sister Nelly.
I have spoken to you of her?"

" Yes, the very first time I ever saw
you, you told me that you were wear-
ing her dress, and that she died fifteen
years ago."

"It is a dreadful tragedy," said

Blythe. "Nelly was very beautiful,
very wilful, and had had her own way
all her life. We have a picture of
her that I must show you some time.
Her eyes were dark, but her hair was
as light as mine; and you never saw
anything so pretty as her neck and
arms. When she was sixteen years
old she met a young man named Roy
Herrick, who had just come home
from college. He was brilliant, hand-
some, and rich. The Herricks were a
fine family — none better in the State ;
but there seemed to be a drop of bad
blood in their veins. Nearly all of
them met with violent deaths. Do
you remember that beautiful old place
on the edge of the town that I told
you was now used for a jail ?"

"Yes, perfectly."

"The Herricks lived there, and it
was the finest place in the country.
Roy's father and grandfather had been
men of cultivated tastes, and they had
filled the house with pictures, bronzes,
and lovely articles of vertu. Roy Her-
rick was the last of his name — his fa-
ther had been killed in a duel. In each
generation there had been some tale
of blood. Roy was very handsome —
dark and tall, wath wild, melancholy
eyes, and the finest shot, the boldest
rider, the richest planter, in the coun-
try. It was no wonder poor sister
Nelly loved him; and he loved her
from the time he saw her first on her
way home from school. In one month
they were engaged. Father and moth-
er bitterly opposed the match, for he
had the name of being a wild young
man — and this dreadful family record !
But they were so determined ! They
pleaded, and wept, and threatened to

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run away, and at last consent was
wrung from my parents. But there
wasn't even a servant on the place who
was not frightened at the thought of
the marriage. Every one was oppress-
ed by presentiments. I have a distinct
remembrance of seeing our negroes
running with waving firebrands to
frighten away a whip-poor-will that
had perched on a tree near sister
Nelly's window. They said it boded
death. But they were married, and the
prayers and love of all who knew them
went with them to their home — they
were so young, so beautiful, so happy.

" We paid them a visit, a month or
two after their marriage, at that beau-
tiful house, which I cannot pass now
without a shudder. It was like fairy-
land inside; and they were like two
gleeful children. Their servants vrere
never tired of telling my mother of
how their young master and mistress
adored each other. One curious thing
he had done. He had taken offence at
some people staring at them, one day,
when they were gathering flowers, and
he had a high wall built round the
grounds. I believe sister Nelly was
rather proud of this as a sign of his
jealous love.

" One winter day she rode in early
to spend the day with us. About four
o'clock he came after her to take her
home. It had turned colder during
the day; the wind was blowing, and
my mother begged them to stay all
night. Roy said it was not possible
for him to do so, but that Nelly might,
if she wished. Then we all got round
her, begging her not to go. I remem-
ber so well how he stood by the fire
striking his boot lightly with his rid-

ing-whip, smiling at sister Nelly, and
the answering look of fondness that she
flashed back at him as she threw her
arms around mamma's neck and cried,
* Do you think I would stay away from
my husband all night?' So they rode
off laughing and waving farewells as
long as we could see them.

"The next day we children were
playing in mamma's room, having a
pillow fight on her bed, when suddenly
our old black mammy rushed in shriek-
ing out, * Oh, Miss Lucy ! Miss Lucy !
Miss Nelly's dead. Dat man's done
killed her and himself both !'

" My mother sprang past her to the
porch. There stood a man from the
plantation, his horse reeking with foam,
and he told us, as well as he could for
his choking sobs, that when they went
into the house that morning to make
the fires, no answer was returned to the
knocks at the bedroom door. They
waited an hour, and knocked again
without reply. Then they became
frightened, broke open the door, and
there were Roy and Nelly — dead. She
was in bed, looking as if 8h« were
asleep — with a shot through her heart.
He was lying on the floor, with a pair
of pistols by his side.

" Oh, that fearful day ! I remember
my mother walking up and down the
hall, not uttering a sound or a cry —
only wringing her hands, and myself
creeping after her, afraid to speak to
the mother with the strange new face.
I don't believe she shed a tear until
our poor old mammy caught her in
her arms and begged her to cry. Then
she broke down."

Blythe paused, and wiped away her
I own tears.

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*83

"He must have been insane," said
Ellis, in a low voice.

" Yes, there is no other explanation.
The servants said they had been more
than usually" fond and gay that even-
ing, after reaching home: they had
heard them singing together. They
had been married six months. She
was not quite seventeen years old."

" And you have always kept the
anniversary of her death sacred and
apart from other days ?"

" Yes, and it is the saddest in the
year for us all. Mamma scarcely
speaks — certainly does not smile. She
stays for hours by sister's grave.
Mamma is Episcopalian, you know;
but she is very High-Church, and I
believe she prays for their souls."

A moment's silence, and Blythe said,
"It was cruel to sadden you by this
story. "We have many bright family
ianniversaries, and I hope you will be
here to help us celebrate some of them.
All our birthdays, of course, and mam-

ma's and papa's wedding-day. Papa
tried to inaugurate one anniversaiy of
gloom dating from the fall of Vicks-
burg, but he gave up the effort about
the third year after the war."

"I shall forget all my old anniver-
saries," said Ellis, "and begin anew
from this summer. There are so
many white days I want to remem-
ber!"

"And I," said Blythe, with a smile,
" shall choose for my one day of mem-
ory the tenth of last June."

" The tenth of June ? That was be-
fore I knew you. May I ask what are
your associations with that day?"

Blythe was in a very gentle and
softened mood.

"It is the day I first heard your
voice in Mrs. ToUiver's parlor, and I
knew we should be friends," she said,
with so sweet a look in her blue eyes
that Ellis forgot the sad story he had
just heard in a bewildering rush of
hope.

CHAPTER XIIL

I WILL MAKE MUCH OF YOUR VOICES.

" For goodness' sake, wife, get me a
fan !" cried Squire Barton, as he enter-
ed his house one day at noon.

" Sit down. Cousin Mark, and let me
fan you."

" Warm 1" said the squire, as he sub-
mitted to this delicate attention — " it's
warm enough to give a fly the blind-
staggers! Old Convers will have a
sunstroke if he doesn't look sharp —
walked home with his wig off."

"Are there many ladies out to-day?"

"Oh yes — enough to bring on a
storm to-morrow. Saw Mrs. Herndon,
Effie Oglethorpe, Betty Page — pretty
much everybody !"

"I hope you remembered to ask af-
ter Blythe?"

" Of course I did. I'm not a brute
beast."

"And how is she?"

" Oh, mending slowlj^ She has been

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hoping to get out Decoration-day, but
her mother seems doubtful. Foolish
affair, that picnio! Some of Effie
Oglethorpe's nonsense. Such airs and
graces as she puts on! Buying a
spotted veil this moniing — peeping at
herself in that old cracked looking-
glass in Gonvers's shop. Reckon she
wishes we decorated the soldiers'
graves by moonlight. Moonlight pic-
nic, indeed !"

"Oh, Cousin Mark, let the young
folks enjoy themselves !"

« Young folks I Well, if Effie Ogle-
thorpe isn't forty -five, I'll kiss my el-
bow !"

"Just my age," said Mrs. Barton;
"but I'm sure she looks ten years
younger."

"No she doesn't. If you dressed
out as she does, and put flour on your
face—"

" Flour ! oh no. Cousin Mark."

"It's too hot to argue," said Mr.
Barton, sleepily, " but I saw it on her
nose. By- the -way, young ToUiver
nearly knocked me down this morn-
ing."

" Nearly knocked you down !"

"Well, he wanted to do it — just be-
cause I hinted to him mildly that Bet-
ty Page was making herself ridiculous
by the way she was carrying on with
these Yankees."

" I know what your hints are," said
his wife, "and I don't wonder Van was
offended. I don't see what Betty has
done to call you out on the subject.
She only amuses herself as any gay
young girl would do."

"Humph! what should you say to
our Mary standing at the gate and
signaling to an officer riding by on

horseback, or holding a long conver-
sation with one a hundred yards away,
by means of a handkerchief tied to the
end of a stick ?"

" Things get exaggerated so. Cousin
Mark; and, after all, it was only a bit
of fun."

"D—n such fun !" said Cousin Mark,
with brief pertinency.

Van Tolliver had, indeed, been much
cut up by Squire Barton's remarks,
which, as may be supposed, were more
forcible than delicate. Again he de-
termined on a remonstrance with his
capricious sweetheart; a determina-
tion that he carried into effect on hb
next visit.

"I do not like this signaling busi-
ness," he began.

"Don't you. Van?" said Miss Betty.
" I think it is great fun. I can do it so
well ; a great deal better than Blythe
Herndon, for all she is the clever girl
of Yariba. Captain Silsby says that
he never saw any one learn it so quick-
ly as I have done."

" Captain Silsby— always Captain
Silsby ! Whatever he may say, I say
it is not lady-like."

" But I do it."

" You are but a girl, and your judg-
ment is often at fault — you know it is,
Betty."

" Yes, I think it is," said Betty, calm-
ly. "It was one day, for instance,
when we were gathering chestnuts in
St. Thomas Hall lot, and I said * Yes'
to a young man who might have been
your double, except that his expression
was more winning than yours is now."

" What a day that was !" cried Van.
"I shall never forget how lovely you
looked in your white dress — ?*

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"All stained with coffee that Tom
Tolliver spilled on it."

" And your lovely eyes — "

"Red with crying, because I pricked
my fingers with the chestnut-burs."

"Don't tell me that you regret it,
Betty," he cried, heedless of her inter-
ruptions.

"How can I help regretting it, when
I see that you do not love me now as
you did then."

" Not love you I Have I not proved
ray love? Have I ever looked at an-
other girl ? I wish I were an eloquent
fellow, Betty, that I might make you
realize my love better than I can do
with my plain words. I found a little
poem in the odd corner of an old
newspaper, the other day, that seemed
to me a very pretty expression of love ;
though I don't care much for poetry,
as a rule. But this seemed to express
so exactly my feeling for you. It was
called *A Sigh.' Should you like to
hear it?"

" Yes, Van, if it isn't too pathetic."

" Listen, dear :

** * Never to see her nor hear her,

To speak her name aloud never ;
Yet hold her always the dearer,
And love her forever.

To see how, day by day, clearer,
She blights both hope and endeavor —

["God grant you may never do that,
my Betty!]

Yet absolve her, bless her, revere her,
And love her forever.

To sleep and dream I am near her.
To hate the daybeams that sever,

To think of death as a cheerer,
And love her forever.

Never to see her nor hear her.
To speak her name aload never ;

Yet wilder, tenderer, dearer,
To love her forever.* "

" Van, I am not worthy of that !"
cried Betty, with a sudden burst of
candor ; " indeed, I am not ! I do think
the best thing you could do would be
to give me up."

" Give up my pretty Betty, and all
the dreams and hopes that cluster
about her ! I am not quite ready for
that. You don't know, darling, how
my love for you has grown in these
years of absence. I took a little
thought of you in my heart when I
went down to that grim old plantation
four years ago, and there, in the long,
hot days, through the lonely nights,
{hat little thought has grown until it
is intertwined with my very, heart's
fibres: to tear it away would be to
tear myself to pieces."

Betty replied to this very sweetly;
and, on leaving. Van was conscious
that his visit had been an extremely
satisfactory one, although, looking at
it impartially as a " remonstrance," it
did not appear to him a success. As
the impression of her witcheries wore
away, his annoyance at the "signaling
business" returned, and meeting Roger
Ellis shortly after, he resolved to enlist
his help in putting a stop to it.

" Pardon me," said he, " but I be-
lieve you originated this — infernal —
signal language, that the Yariba girls
have taken up as if it were a new
crochet stitch ?"

" Why no," said Ellis, laughing; " it
^growed' of itself, because the time
was ripe for it. But I taught it to
Miss Blythe Herndon^as a nossibl©

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means of amusomeut while her foot
kept her a prisoner."

"That was all well enough," said
Van, " but it has been turned into a
vehicle for coquetry, and it is really so
undignified — ^"

" Yes, I see. It can be overdone,
and JVIiss Page certainly has overdone
it."

" It is not necessary to mention any
names," said the young Southerner,
stiffly.

"As you please," said Ellis, good-
humoredly.

" But you will help me put a stop to
it all?"

"Oh yes, I'll * never do so any morel'
And I will promise that Miss Blythe
Herndon shall not. She has never
played the child's game with any one
but me,'' said Ellis, with a light laugh,
through which there ran a thrill of
pride. "It was only a child's game;
but I am sorry if it has caused you
the least unpleasantness," he added so
frankly that Van could do no less than
meet him on his own ground.

"I must apologize," he said, "if I
have seemed rude; but I have been
very much annoyed by hearing this
matter discussed with a free tongue
by the men about the square. If
women only knew how men talked,
how their little frivolities would drop
away !"

"And how uninteresting they would
become !" said Ellis, laughing. " But
I doubt, after all, if that result would
follow. It isn't the women that care
for men's gossip, but it is the men who
are afraid of each other."

"You say *the men,' as if you be-
lonfjed to another order of beings

yourself. Should you not care if any
one dear to you had been lightly talked
about?"

"If she deserved it, the trouble
would be too deep for mere words to
affect me one way or another. If not,
evil speech would affect me no more
than the wind that blows — not so
much, in fact, for the wind that blows
sometimes gives me catarrh."

" I can't go with you," said Van ; " it
would be almost easier for me to close
the coffin-lid over the woman I loved
best, than to have her fair fame ever
so lightly breathed upon, though she
were innocent as the stainless Una."

"How serious you are!" laughed
Ellis. " Come, tell me what you should
do, if you had a wife, and she, like the
lady in the poem, should run away
w^ith a handsomer man ?"

"I should kill her !"

"Now see how different men are.
I would give her a divorce, say * Bless
you, my children !' and start the new
husband in business."

"It is easy to jest."

" Oh, I am in earnest, I assure you :
but perhaps it is because I am a rad-
ical, and believe in every human soul
— and body — having a right to itself.
At any rate, I should never try to keep
a love that was going from me. For
the law of love is liberty."

Van had a defined opinion that this
sentiment was an outrageous one; but
looking into Roger's kindling face, the
eyes twinkling with humor and kindli-
ness, it was hard to feel any way but
warmly toward the man whose soul
it indexed. But on leaving him, the
Southerner reviled himself secretly for
having yielded to Roger's personal

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charm, and a vague distrust of him
crept into bis mind.

The most important day in the Ya-
viba summer was now near at hand —
that appointed for the decoration of
the soldiers' graves. The strangers
joined with the townspeople in friendly
« preparations ; everybody talked recon-
ciliation at a tremendous rate ; and the
Sunday before Mr. Shepherd preached
such a beautiful sermon on forgiveness,
that every woman in the church felt
that she must invite the Yankees to a
tea-party during the week, by way of
showing her Christian grace. Van
Tolliver, Mary Barton, and Mrs. Dex-
ter made wreaths together in the wide
front hall at Mr. Tolliver's during the
afternoon preceding the great day.

" What is the order of exercises for
to-morrow?" asked Mrs. Dexter.

"We are to Oe on the grounds at
three o'clock," said Van, "and young
Greyson is to give us a speech. Then
somebody will recite 'The Conquered
Banner,' and Mr. Shepherd will make
a prayer."

"All that is so elaborate," said Mary
Barton. "I think it would be much
nicer to have no fixed ceremonies, but
just to let the people go when they
liked and decorate the graves. There
would be more sentiment about it —
don't you think so. Van ?"

" Yes, I do ; but then it would be a
pity to deprive Greyson of the chance
to air his eloquence. I don't doubt it
has been his one thought since Christ-
mas."

" This Mr. Greyson seems to be the
clever young man of the town," said
Mrs. Dexter, laughing. "I hear his
promise spoken of in a vague, large

way, as if it were a sugar-plantation in
Texas."

"He is a cousin of Blythe Hern-
don's," said Mary ; "and they do say
that Blythe helps him to write his
speeches."

"What! is she brighter than he
is?"

" Oh, I don't suppose it is true ; but
every one has a great idea of Blythe's
talent."

"She is a pretty girl," said Mrs.
Dexter, "indeed, almost elegant, except
for a little air of thinking herself supe-
rior to the other people."

" Yes, Blythe always had that. But
when I was at Mr. Herndon's the oth-
er day, I thought I had never seen her
manner so soft and sweet; and she
certainly might have been excused for
being very irritable and impatient, shut
up as long as she has been."

" By-the-way, I wonder if Mr. Ellis
isn't falling in love with her," cried
Mrs. Dexter. " He ought to do so, I
am sure, after tipping her out of the
buggy: all the laws of romance de-
mand it."

" I should be very sorry to see Ellis
in love with any one of the Yariba
girls," said Van.

" What, Van !" said Mrs. Dexter, in
a pathetic tone, " are you still so bitter
against * these horrid Yankees ?' What
are you going to do about Miss Page,
who will certainly marry Arthur Silsby
— if she can ?"

Mary glanced apprehensively at Van,
but his face was impassive.

"If Miss Page did Captain Silsby
the honor of accepting his proposals,"
he said, " there is no reason why she
should not marry him. ,^e is a-rgentle-

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man, and a pleasant fellow. But Ellis
is the sort of man that ought to be la-
belled dangerous."

"What do you mean? Colonel
Dexter thinks the world of him. He
is a most generous and unselfish man,
and, Fm sure, a very brilliant one."

" That may be; but he seems to have
no moral sheet-anchor."

"How do you know that?"

" I can hardly tell ; but I have gath-
ered it from certain expressions he has
let fall. He avows himself a free-think-
er, you know, and he has a specious
way of talking that might easily blind
the judgment, especially of such an im-
pressionable young creature as Blythe
Herndon."

"You must learn to be tolerant,
Van."

" Tolerant — I hope I am ; but I do
not like to hear the adjective 'free'
prefixed to such words as love or re-
ligion."

"Free religion?" said Mary, inno-
cently ; " what does that mean ? Free
from what?"

" From God, as far as I can under-
stand it," said Van, diyly.

"Ah well. Van," said Mary, "you
needn't fear that Blythe will fall in
love with Mr. Ellis. I have heard her
describe her ideal hero too many times.
And besides, I do believe it would kill
old Mrs. Herndon."

"What an implacable old lady she
is !" said Mrs. Dexter. " I meet her
sometimes in my walks, and actually
it seems to me that her whole fonn
shrinks as I pass by."

"She had a son killed in the war,
you know; and she gave everything
she had to the Cause — melted her sil-

ver, sold her books, and used to spend
all her time — even Sundays — making
lint for the hospitals. She had no
more doubt of our final success than
she had a doubt of her own existence."

"Does it not seem strange," said
Mrs. Dexter, "that all over the land
people can be praying for entirely
opposite results, and all with a firm
faith that their especial prayers will
be answered ? It makes one doubt, at
least, whether it is any use to pray at
all. But I must not talk this way be-
fore Van ! He will be declaring that
I am as bad as Mr. Ellis."

"Mr. Ellis !" said Mrs. ToUiver, ap-
pearing at this moment — "are you
talking of him ? Well, now, I've such
a funny thing to tell you. I have just
been in the kitchen watching Aunt
Sally make a rum omelet for Mis' Tol-
liver — he isn't very well to-day, and
if I didn't watch Aunt Sally she would
drink the rum — and she was telling me
about ilr. Ellis. You know the night
of the moonlight picnic, when they all
were spilled out of the buggy ? Bill
got hurt. On the way home he began
to cry and complain, and what does
Mr. Ellis do but pick him up and bring
him home in his arms !"

" No !" cried Mary.

"Yes; Bill told Aunt Sally himself.
Of course it may be just one of his
tales. You ought to hear Aunt Sally
tell it. She is mightily disgusted —
says Mr. Ellis is the sort of white man
that is made out of scraps."

" I hope Bill was a little cleaner than
he usually is," said Van.

" Well, he wasn't, for he fell into a
mud-puddle."

At this Mrs. Dexter laughed heart-

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ily. « How like Ellis I" she cried ; " it
is lucky it wasn't daylight, and on the
public square, for he would have glo-
ried in doing the same thing with all
Yariba looking on, had he felt that the
interests of humanity required it."

While Mr. Ellis was thus being dis-
cussed, the gentleman himself, with
neither of his ears burning, was talking
earnestly with Blythe Herndon. The
young girl's chair had been wheeled
out on to the front porch, and Ellis
sat on the steps, his head showing
finely against a background of Madeira
vines.

"It is too bad that I can't go out
to-morrow,'* Blythe was saying; "but
I owe it to my own imprudence. I
tried to walk too soon, and have been
thrown back a week."

" I believe you girls look on this as
the most festive day of the year," said
Ellis, smiling. "I saw Miss Page in
town, buying ribbon and flowers,"

"Yes, Betty means to have a new
hat. We all like to look our freshest
and brightest on Decoration -day. It
has got to be a sort of fashion.'*

"I wonder," said Ellis, slowly, "if
I might ask a favor of you, Miss
Blythe!"

" One ? A dozen !" cried Blythe.

"Wait until you hear what it is.
Have you ever noticed those four un-
marked graves under one of the large
trees in St, Thomas Hall lot?"

" Indeed I have," said Blythe, " and
with real sympathy, Mr. Ellis; won-
dering what hearts had been desolated
by the mystery of their deaths, what
love was sighing to spend itself on
their poor gi-aves, unnoticed or scorn-
ed here in an alien land."

"Who or what they were," said
Ellis, thanking her with a quick look,
"we can never know. Enough that
they were loyal men who gave their
lives to their country. To-morrow I
shall take their graves under my care.
I could do this alone; but for aome
reason I should like for you to be as-
sociated with me in it. I want you to
make me some wreaths and crosses —
will you do it ?"

" Of course I will, Mr. Ellis. Did
you think so meanly of me as that I
would refuse ?"

" No, Blythe, no. I understand your
generous nature too well."

Blythe colored bewitchingly — he
had never called her Blythe before —
but what more he might have said
was prevented by the appearance of
the grandmother. She glided by them
with averted face, and passed into the
front yard, where she stood plucking
the dead seed -pods from a rose-bush
with' quick, nervous motions, the great
diamond on her finger shooting little
angry sparkles of light. Mr. Ellis per-
haps felt a menacing influence, for he
stayed but a little longer. As soon as
he left, the grandmother came back to
the porch where Blythe sat.

"I am sorry I can't offer you my
chair, grandmamma," said Blythe,
breaking off a gay tune that she was
humming under her breath.

" I do not wish to ait down. Emma
Blythe, have my ears played me false ?
Or did I hear that man asking you —
my grandchild — to make wreaths to
put on the graves of those vile mur-
derers in St. Thomas Hall lot?"

" I don't know about vile murderers,
grandmother. There are some soldiers

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buried there whose graves I shall be
very glad to decorate. Poor fellows !
I should think anybody would feel sor-
ry for them. And besides, only see
how generously the army people are
acting about Decoration-day. Betty
Page says that they are all going. And
I know that Mrs. Dexter has been
making wreaths with Van ToUiver and
Mary Barton all day."

" Oh, you blind, foolish girl ! Be-
cause these people, for the sake of hav-
ing something to do, plunge into this
excitement as they would into any oth-
er, you think them very fine and mag-
nanimous. What do you suppose is in
their hearts? They mingle with us to
exult over us — to spy out the naked-
ness of our land. To-morrow they will
laugh at the tears that flow. The touch
of their feet will pollute the sacred
ground where our dead lie. And yet
you must grow sentimental over the
graves of those wretches who helped
to make our land the ruin that it is —
robbers, cut-throats — "

" Spare the dead, grandmother."
" Spare the dead !" — and the old lady

flashed a swift lightning glance upon
her — "then shall I tell you what I
think of the living? Of this Roger
Ellis, who comes here day after day
with the assurance that only his kind
have — this bold-speaking, bold-looking
man, who recommends himself to you,
God knows how — ^"

" Stop, grandmother, stop !" cried
Blythe, her face in a flame, her eyes
illuminated with anger. " I won't lis-
ten to you ! You shall not abuse my
friends ! I will put ray fingers in my
ears. How cruel of you, when you
know I can't get away! You don't
know Mr. Ellis. I won't hear you
abuse him ! I won't — I won't ! If you
begin again, I will sing 'MacGregor's
Gathering' just as loud as I can
scream it ! There !"

The grandmother raised her hand as
if to still a tempest.

" It would be too much, perhaps, to
expect good manners from you, Blythe,
after this summer's association," she
said quietly, and passed into the house,
leaving Miss Blythe to repent her un-
dutiful outburst at leisure.

CHAPTER XIV.

DECORA TION-DA Y.

Decoration-day in Yariba had very
much the air of a village festival. Chil-
dren danced about, scattering flowers
as they passed ; families from the coun-
try greeted friends in town with cor-
dial effusion ; young men and maidens
smiled at each other over the funeral
wreaths they bore. The presence of

the army people gave to the day a
new element of excitement; and one
can scarcely tell which to admire most
— the generous tact with which they
were made to feel that their society
was a pleasure, not an intrusion, or
the warm sympathy with which they
entered into the feelings of the day,

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and listened to the sad little details
that every gravestone suggested.

It was a time to revive old memo-
ries. When Mrs. Meredith was seen
entering the gate, leading her fair-
haired boy who had never seen his
father's face, and followed by an old
negro man who had been her husband's
body-servant and borne his body off
the field, the story was told again of
the gallant oflScer's bravery and dar-
ing; how he held a besieged town, and,
when summoned to surrender, flung
back the proud reply, " Mississippians
never surrender I" and had fallen mad-
ly fighting, with his face to the foe ;
how his young bride had not even worn
mourning for weeks and weeks after he
died, but had gone about in her gay
bridal garments, whose brave colors
emphasized so pathetically her wild
grief and isolation that no one dared
speak of her dress, until at last mourn-
ing-clothes were provided for her, and
now she would never wear any other ;
how the first time she had appeared
in church after her widowhood it was
to have her baby christened, and how
everybody cried as she stood there,
motionless aS a figure in black marble,
holding the milk-white babe to whom
his father's name was given ; how she
had locked her piano, nor touched it in
all these years ; had never kissed any
one on the lips ; and had sold her dia-
monds to buy the fine tomb that was
now the chief ornament of the burying-
ground. It was a tall monument, in
the centre of a level plot, with an urn
nt the four corners of the square, to-
day heaped and running over with
flowers. Close by its broken shaft the
fair-haired boy set a flag-staff, from

which drooped folds torn and riddled
and stained with blood. It was his
father's flag, brought here this one day
of the year as a sacred relic. Old
Ned, the colonel's servant, stood by it
all day, telling over talcs of the war to
one after another who came — tales that
year by year gained in breadth of
richness and detail, as imagination lent
her smiling aid to memory.

Another widow was talked over very
tenderly. This was Mrs. Ross, who
had sent her six sons to the war, and
had seen them, one by one, brought
back to her dead — even to the young-
est, the slight lad who had looked like
a masquerading girl in his gray soldier-
clothes. But nowhere in all the coun-
try round was there a brighter and
cheerf uller little woman than this moth-
er bereaved of her all. Her house was
gay with flowers; she wore soft, light
colors ; her eyes were smiling, and her
withered cheeks w/sro fresh and pink.
She talked of her bcjys as if they were
in the next room ; she never put away
their belongings, and they lay about
the house as if six riotous young men
were coming and going through its
rooms. The active little lady would
nse Charley's whip on her drives;
drink her milk -punch out of Tom's
christening-cup — Tom was the baby;
lend Eddy's books, scribbled over with
his marks ; read Joe's letters to choice
friends, laughing heartily at their
jokes; or snatch up Egbert's cap to
crown her beautiful gray head when
she chased the hens in her garden, or
ran over to a neighbor's with a Char-
lotte-Russe or a dish of ambrosia. All
the young people loved her; children
crowded the house; those in trouble

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went to her for comfort, and those
who had sinned found rest in her di-
vine charity. But to one person living
her heart seemed closed — to'the young
girl who had been engaged to her
Walter, and who, after years of mourn-
ing, had married another. Decoration-
day was to her the happiest in the
year. She bubbled over with happy
talk, " Only think how blest I am !"
she would cry. " All my boys here —
not one dear body lost to me, buried
in some far-off grave. God knew just
how much I could bear."

It was pretty to see the bright-faced
old lady stooping among her graves,
twining around each gravestone the
flowers that he who lay beneath had
best loved.

All this was kindly gossip; and
there was none less friendly save a
half-suppressed whisper of Miss Poin^
dexter's heartlessness when that tall
and dignified young lady moved about
with an indifferent air, not putting so
much as a flower on poor Ralph Selph's
grave, who had died with her name on
his lips. None knew that in the early
morning before the stars had gone
from the sky they had looked down
upon this girl kneeling at her lover's
grave, weeping wild, hot tears, and
laying on it, with her flowers, new
vows of constancy that gave to him
her youth, her bloom, her heart, herself,
with all the absoluteness of a royal
gift that it would be degradation to
take back.

Mr. Greyson got through his speech
creditably; then a youth, with an elo-
quent gesture in the direction of Colo-
nel Meredith's battle-flag, recited "The
Conquered Banner." He had a voice

of music, and sobs resounded as he
spoke. Indeed, it will be long before a
Southern audience can hear that poem
without the accompaniment of tears.

" Furl that Banner, for *tis weary,
Bound its staff 'tis drooping dreary :

Furl it, fold it, it is best ;
For there's not a man to wave it,
And there's not a sword to lave it
In the blood that heroes gave it ;
And its foes now scom and brave it :

Furl it, hide it, let it rest.
f
Take that Banner down ; 'tis tattered,
Broken is its staff and shattered.
And the valiant hosts are scattered

Over whom it floated high.
Oh, *tis hard for us to fold it,
Hard to think there's none to hold it,
Hard that those who once unrolled it

Now must furl it with a sigh.

Furl that Banner, furl it sadly :
Once ten thousand hailed it gladly,
And ten thousand wildly, madly

Swore it would forever wave ;
Swore the foeman's sword could never
Hearts like theirs entwined dissever.
Till that flag should float forever

O'er their freedom or their grave.

Furl it, for the hands that grasped it,
And the hands that fondly claimed it,

Cold and dead are lying now ;
And the Banner it is trailing.
While around it sounds the wailing

Of thQ people in their woe :
For, though conquered, they adore it.
Love the cold dead hands that bore it,
Weep for those who fell before it.
Pardon those who trailed and tore it.
And, oh, wildly they deplore it,

Now to furl and fold it so.

Furl that Banner ; true, *tis gory.
Yet *tis wreathed around with gloiy ;
And 'twill live in song and story
Though its folds are in the dust.

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For its form, on brightest pages
Penned bj poets and by sages,
Shall go sounding down through ages,

Furl its folds tho* now we must.
Furl that Banner, softly, slowly;
Touch it not, unfold it never ;
Let it droop there, furled forever !

For the people's hopes are dead."

A prayer followed the poem, that
had the good effect of calming the
excited nerves of the listeners. This
concluded the ceremonies of the day,
after which the people broke into
groups that soon became cheerful.
Betty Page wandered off with Captain
Silsby to the graves on the side of the
hill, where the unknown soldiers of the
hospitals were buried, and the two sat
down to rest under a tree at the end
of a long row of graves.

" Our regiment," remarked Captain
Silsby, who had made a mental vow
not to talk about dead soldiers, "is
the best drilled in the brigade ; but I
don't suppose you understand enough
about tactics to appreciate that."

" Oh yes, I do. I think it is beauti-
ful to see you drill your company. It
moves like a machine. I wish you
w^ould give another skirmish drill. I
never saw anything so pretty as a
skirmish drill."

"I will have one in your honor.
Haven't you a birthday, or something,
coming off soon ?" *

" Oh, I can have a birthday at any
time."

" Very well ; appoint your day, and
we will have a skirmish drill, with all
the town invited, and you for the
queen of the occasion."

"How charming I How kind you
are!" M

"Now, Miss^ Betty — as if I wouldn't
go to the ends of the earth to please
you !"

Betty thought it would be interest-
ing at this point to coquet a little.

"I am sorry for one thing," said
she, artlessly — "that the Thirteenth
has so many more handsome men than
the Third. Now, your company is so
ill-assorted. There are some tall, some
short men, two or three with blazing
red heads, one that has had the small-
pox, another with a broken nose — "

" By Jove I" interrupted the captain,
"how closely you have examined my
company !"

" Well, I've been invited to see it
drill often enough. Now, Captain
Tucker's company is made up of such
straight, fine, soldierly fellows, all of a
size. I like to hear him drill them.
He is the only one of you who pro-
nounces clearly. Upon my word, for
a long time I thought that you all said
^Shoulder — humps^ when you jerked
out your order; but Captain Tucker
says * Shoulder arms' in a natural, easy
way that any one can understand."

"If there is a company in either
regiment that is poorly disciplined and
drilled, it is Tucker's," said Captain
Silsby, with a little heat.

" Then the Thirteenth's band," con-
tinued Betty, calmly, "is so much bet-
ter than yours."

Captain Silsby looked moody.

" But your caps are nicer," said the
naive Miss Betty. "I think the crossed
rifles in front are ever so pretty."

" Do you really ? Now, that's lucky.
I happened to have a duplicate of
mine. I sent it on to New York, and
had a pin put to it."

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Ho drew a littlo box out of his
waistcoat pocket aud handed her the
ornament.

"Wouldn't it make a good scarf-
pin ?" he said.

" Very good, indeed."

" Won't you wear it ? Do say Yes.
It would please me so much !"

"It would please me, too," said
Betty, sweetly.

"Put it in now, in that floating
black thing you have around your
neck."

She pulled out the faded rose at her
throat — ^Van had given it to her — and
tried to fasten her scarf with the rifles.
There was some diflSculty with the
clasp.

" Let me fasten it," said Silsby.

He disengaged the pin, that had
caught in the lace. His hand almost
touched her chin. She blushed, and
allowed her eyelashes to flicker on her
cheek.

At this moment Van ToUiver and
Mrs. Parker passed on the other side
of the tree. They saw, but they were
not seen, for Betty and the captain
were entirely taken up with each other.

" So I enroll you in the Third," said
Silsby, gallantly. Van passed on with
one glance of fire; and Betty — con-
stant and consistent Betty — coquetted
in peace at the side of a Southern sol-
dier's grave, and felt not the slightest
desire to throw herself into the waters
of Yariba Spring.

Late in the afternoon Blythe saw
Mr. Ellis on his way to St. Thomas Hall
plot, with the wreaths and crosses she
had made. Civil Rights Bill was with
him, and when they reached the graves
the two laid the flowers reverently

upon them. Then Ellis stretched him-
self out under a tree that grew near,
while Bill sat on the ground and
watched him respectfully.

"You poor little atom, you I" said
Ellis, " it was for you they died. Do
you understand that ?"

" No, sir," said Bill, promptly ; " dey
died befo' I wus born."

"So did Jesus Christ," said Ellis.
Then, seeing the child's bewildered
look, he said, "Listen to this. Bill, and
tell me what you think of it :

'*'In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born
across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures

you and me.
As he died to make men holy, let us die to
make men free,
As his truth goes mnrcliing on.* "

Bill's great black eyes were fasten-
ed on Ellis's face: his little dark face
looked puzzled.

" Won't you say it agin. Mars' Rog-
er, please, sir ?"

" This time I will sing it for yon.
Bill."

His voice rolled out in the wild,
sweet tune that illumiries the stainless
words, like a red light thrown on a
crystal carving ; and as Bill listened —
who knows why? — two sudden tears
sprang to his eyes and rolled over his
face.

" Why, you poor little child," said
Ellis, " you've got a soul, haven't ^u ?
What do you think of the song?"^

" It's like being in de woods early in
de mornin' befo' sun-up," said Bill,
brushing away his teirt^s and looking
ashamed, " an' hearin' ^e hounds way,
way off, bayin' long and clear. Seems
s'if when I hear dat I can*ll^p in my

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skin. I mus' run or jump, or climb
trees or swing from saplins."

"And should you like to do that
now,BiU?"

" I'd ruther hear you tell some mo',''
said Bill, timidly.

And late into the twilight the two
sat there, and Ellis talked to the child,
in whom he felt a constantly deepening
interest.

It happened that night that Ellis
could not sleep. Between eleven and
twelve he got up, left his tent, and
wandered some distance into the
woods. His path woi\nd upward, and
finally he turned to look back at the
camp — so white in its waving shad-
ows — and the graves he had decorated
touched with little gleams of silver as
the moon shone on white flowers. As
he stood there he saw, or fancied he
saw, a figure moving among the trees.
His blood thrilled tremulously; for he
was not without a certain fine chord in
his nature that would have echoed to a
spirit-touch. He watched closely : yes,
a figure was emerging from the shad-
ows.

" * Man or woman,

Ghost or human,*

I must find out," he muttered. The
apparition advanced slowly — slight,
all white — as if the vagrant moon-
beams had taken shape and slid to
earth. It reached the flower -covered
graves, stooped, lifted a wreath, and

the next instant, with a fierce gesture,
stripped it of leaves and flowers and
threw it to the ground. Ellis sprang
forward with a hoarse exclamation,
only to fall back with a look of hor-
ror; for it was no outraged Southern
ghost that wrought this deed, but a
breathing spirit of revenge that Ellis
dared not touch. It was Blythe's
grandmother — and she was asleep.
Yes; in her sleep the tireless brain,
the embittered heart, had sent the un-
conscious body on its errand of hate.
Ellis could not turn his eyes away.
He seemed to himself in some awful
dream. Her face was fixed and livid ;
her oyes wide open; the wind blew
her white hair and her white dress
gently about her ; the diamond on her
finger flashed like a little demon's eye.
One after another she gathered the
wreaths, tore and trampled them.

"Blythe's grandmother!" he whis-
pered, as he held himself in a leash,
that he might not spring forward to
save the graves from sacrilege.

At last the wild work was done and
she glided away. Ellis then rushed
forward, and picking up the poor, de-
faced flowers, tried to restore to them
a little beauty. Again he laid them
on the graves ; and, with sleep banish-
ed for the night, he went back to his
tent to ponder through all its hours on
the implacable heart shut in the breast
of this frail old woman.

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CHAPTER XV.

so LONG AS BLYTHE IS WILLING.

DuEiKG the week following Decora-
tion-day Van Tolliver paid Miss Page
a visit, and Blythe Herndon took a
walk ; events not of a pronounced nat-
ure, perhaps, but of more than suffi-
cient importance to those of whose
lives these torn pages give a fragmen-
tary glimpse. It is not necessary to
dwell on the distressing details of Mr.
Tolliver's visit, in which a graveyard
scene was adverted to with lively fre-
quency. At its close Van flung him-
self out of the house, with the air of
one who only awaited a convenient op-
portunity of falling on his sword, and
at the gate nearly fell against Mary
Barton, who was just coming in,

"What is the matter, Van?" she
cried, her heart giving such a leap that
her face grew as white as his own.

He seized her hands.

"I am going away, Mary," he said.
"I am going to the plantation. I
must crawl o£E with ray wound, like
any other hurt animal. I have been a
fool — the victim of my own conceit.
I have dreamed of a love great enough
to bear poverty and court isolation, I
have found out that it is too much to
ask of any woman .'"

" There is such love. Van ; there is !
Do not let one girl's falseness destroy

your faith in it," cried Mary, the blood
rushing to her face in a crimson tor-
rent.

" I will believe it, Mary," he said,
more softly, " for I have known you.
In your spirit there is no guile. Thank
you for all you have been to me this
summer. Good-bye, dear. I shall not
see you again."

He wrung her hand, and' hurried
away, leaving Mary so agitated, that,
except for the fact that she had been
long accustomed to control her emo-
tions, she must have turned back and
gone home. She found Betty sewing
some beads on a velvet jacket, her
beauty characterized by as much seren-
ity as usual.

"Did you meet Van, Mary ?"

" Yes, I did. What have you been
doing to him, Betty ?"

"Nothing much. You know Van
has been in love with me a long time."

" Yes, and I was sure you were en-
gaged."

" Well, we were — off and on," said
Miss Betty," and now it's off for good
and all."

"Oh, Betty! Betty!"

"He is so provoking!" said Betty,
threading her needle. " He began at
me about flirting with CAtein Silsby.

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Then when I convinced him that I was
an injured innocent, he declared that
he would forgive me on one condition
— and what do you think that was ?"

" I cannot imagine."

"That I would marry him now — in
three weeks' time — and go down to
the plantation to live. I told him it
was too much to ask of any woman."

" Not if the woman loved him, Bet-
ty."

" Love goes where it is sent," said
Betty; "and it will be an uncommon-
ly long time before I send mine to
Van's plantation."

"How about Captain Silsby's tent?"

Betty laughed. "The captain
doesn't talk love to me," she said ; "he
is all the time leaning toward senti-
ment — about like the tower of Pisa
toward the earth — but he never quite
falls into it. So I reserve my heart,
and don't lose my sleep."

" I hope Van Tolliver may not," said
Mary, in a low voice.

" Oh, Van will survive. He and I
never were really suited, you know.
He wouldn't let his wife dance round-
dances for a kingdom. Poor Van, I
hope he will marry some nice girl;
but she will have a stupid time of
it."

Much more did Miss Betty say, and
Mary listened quietly, only hanging
out two flaming little signals of emo-
tion on her cheeks. She walked home
with flying steps, and for the rest of
the day manifested an extraordinary
activity. ' She made a cake, put fresh
flowers into all the vases, told stories
to the children, and finally read aloud
to her father until he was half asleep.
Could it be that she feared to be aldne

with her own heart? And why, when
she should have been quietly asleep,
did she bury her face in her pillows as
if to shut out some sound ? Was it
that the stars laughing in at her win-
dow, the moths beating against it, the
rustling trees, and the wavering shad-
ows, had all found voices, and were
ringing in her ears, like a silver bell,
the sweetest word to which lips can
ever give utterance — hope ?

It was a great day for Blythe when
she took her first walk after her acci-
dent. She had never been in-doors so
long before, and she passed through
the square with a slight feeling of
surprise at finding everything so un-
changed. Still, the sunbrowned young
men in linen suits and the countrymen
in jeans chatted together; the black-
faced old " uncles " lounged about; the
patient mules stood around the court-
house; the cotton- wagons were being
unloaded; the shops hung out their
faded ribbons. Blythe stopped to buy
a Chinese fan, and to kiss half a dozen
young lady friends; then she passed
out of this prosaic world into that oth-
er world of shade and coolness and
pleasant sounds where the Spring gur-
gled a welcome. Here, with a new
pleasure, her eyes dwelt on the giant
rocks whose faces were covered with
graybeard moss and whose feet rested
in the silent pool. She walked to the
bridge, and stood for a while watching
the waving spears of moss, then raised
her eyes to take in the evening's quiet
beauty. The sun's face had disappear-
ed, biit the trail of his golden gar-
ments rolled in fiery forms along the
blue floor of the heavens. The light
fingers of the wind lifted and dropped

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the leaves in play until all the for-
est moved like a gently swelling sea.
Down the stream, where it turned sud-
denly, like a broken silver bar, stood
two mild-faced cows, ankle^deep in the
shining water. Waiting for them to
drink, was Billy Tolliver on the shore,
giving utterance now and then to the
melancholy and musical "Soo-oo cow
— soo-oo-e — soo-oo-e," with which the
darkies call the cattle home. The final
interest was given to the picture when
Roger Ellis came walking out of the
woods and stopped to talk with Civil
Rights Bill. He soon caught sight of
Blythe on the bridge, and hurried to
join her.

" How delighted I am to see you !"
he said. " I did not know you were to
be out to-day."

" Nor did any one," said she, with
a smile; "but mamma and papa had
gone to the country, grandmother was
asleep, so I had no one's leave to ask
but my own."

" And it does not hurt your foot to
walk?"

" Oh, not in the least. I was very
tired of staying in the house. And
how pleasant it is to see the woods and
the water again," said Blythe, direct-
ing a frank glance toward Mr. Ellis, and
meeting a look of passionate love that
he made no attempt to conceal. For
the languor of the summer evening had
stolen into his veins ; he scarcely dared
speak lest his voice should break with
tenderness.

As a bunch of grasses under a burn-
ing-glass quivers faintly before break-
ing into flame, so the sweet disturb-
ance that precedes love agitated the
maiden's heart as her eyes met his ar-

dent glance. Her color fluctuated ; her
hands moved nervously,

"Let us go and sit on the stone
bench and watch the moon rise over
the water," said Ellis, gently.

" Mrs. Oglethorpe gave a little party
last night," said Blythe, as they seated
themselves. " Were you there ?"

" No," said Ellis. " I am not very
apt to go to such gatherings. I am
like Rousseau, at once too indolent and
too active to enjoy them."

"I don't understand exactly," said
Blythe, looking interested.

" ' The indolence of company is bur-
densome,' quoted Ellis, * because it is
forced; that of solitude is charming,
because it is free. In company I suf-
fer terribly from inactivity, because I
must be inactive. I must sit stock-
still, glued to my chaii*, or stand like a
post, without stirring hand or foot, not
free to run, jump, shout, sing, or ges-
ticulate, when I want to — not even al-
lowed to muse — visited at once with
all the fatigue of inaction and all the
torment of constraint; obliged to pay
attention. to every compliment paid,
and compelled to keep eternally cud-
gelling my brains, so as not to fail
when my turn comes to contribute my
jest or my lie. And this is called idle-
ness ! Why, it is a task for a galley-
slave!'"

" How little some people appreciate
their blessings!" cried Blythe, "and
what a dull, blind soul Rousseau must
have had, to feel thus in the most
brilliant and delightful society of the
world ! Why, do you know, my idea
of perfect bliss is to be a society queen
in Paris !"

'* Heaven forbid such a life for you f

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And you would not like it as much as
you fancy."

"Why not?"

Ellis's eyes twinkled. He took
Blythe's fan from her lap, and, holding
it up like a book, began, in a sing-song
tone: "Three dear little boys went
sailing to the west in a great balloon,
accompanied by their teacher, who
held advanced ideas, and taught by the
natural method. * Oh, see that splen-
did world !' cried one of the dear little
boys, pointing to a gorgeous mass of
floating color thrown like a blaze
against the sky. *How I wish we
could ^ nearer to it !' * We will sail
thither,' said the teacher, with a wise
smile. And when they had sailed into
it, it was only a cloud of cool, gray
mist, and the dear little boys were all
chilled to the bone, and had to take
three little nips of brandy, while the
teacher, still smiling wisely, applied
the moral,"

Blythe's laugh rang out gayly. "Oh,
Mr. Ellis, if the moral of your charm-
ing allegory is that I must stay content
in Yariba, it is wasted on me. I can-
not tell you how I long for life, move-
ment, action. I am so tired of this
place ! — the quiet streets, the hills and
the streams, and the moss eternally
waving. I want to get away from it
all. Nothing ever happens here. And
only think — there are people living here
who are old, and who have never been
out of Yariba ! Fancy having written
against one's name in the book of fate
only this : — was born — married — died."

" It is enough if you had said, was
born — loved — died."

"It is the same thing, is it not?
But love could not fill my life."

"Sappho thought it the only thing
that could fill hers. Do you know her
ode * To the Beloved,' the most incom-
parable piece of writing in any lan-
guage?"

" I have never read it. Repeat it to
me, please."

Blythe ! BIythe I what a chance you
have given, your lover.

My heart swells toward my uncon-
scious heroine with sudden, half-pa-
thetic tenderness. What a revelation
awaits her ! Farewell now to the fan-
cies and dreams of her past I Never
again will she lift eyes so innocently
cold I Never again will she see silver-
ed water flowing beneath a pale sky
and a great white moon, but that a
voice sweeter than singing will echo in
her ear the rhymed cadences of Sap-
pho's song:

''Blest as the immortal gods is he,
The youth who fondly sits by thee,
And hears, and sees thee all the while
Softly speak and sweetly smile.

*Twas this deprived my soul of rest,
And raised such tumults in my breast ;
For, while I gazed in transport tost.
My breath was gone — my voice was lost.

My bosom glowed ; a subtle flame
Ran quick through all my vital frame ;
0*er my dim eyes a darkness hung ;
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.

In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd,
My blood with gentle horrors thriird ;
My feeble pulse forgot to play,
I fainted, sunk, and died away.*'

His voice, low, resonant, and clearly
musical, seemed to strike the very key-
note of the young girl's being. The
delicate voluptuousness^f the, poem

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set her heart to beating as tumnlt-
uously as if each word had been a
lover's kiss.

Roger Ellis watched her face as it
shone in the moonlight, and it dazzled
him like the page of an illuminated
book. Wild words trembled on his
lips; but, with a woman's first impulse
to hide an unwonted emotion, Blythe
sprang to her feet.

" I must go home," said she, hurried-
ly ; " it is growing late."

" It is chilly, too," said EUis, drawing
her hand through his arm.

"Yes; I hope we shall find a fire at
home. I like a light blaze these Au-
gust evenings."

"May 1 come in?" said Ellis, as
they reached the gate. .

« Certainly."

The fire in the parlot was burning
low. Blythe knelt down by the wood-
box and began to replenish it.

" Let me help you," said Ellis.

"You could not," said Blythe, laugh-
ing. " Making a wood-fire is like writ-
ing poetry — one must have i genius
for it. About a year ago I made the
acquaintance of a lady from the North,
who soon began to question me about
my accomplishments. When she found
out that I was neither a musician nor
a student, and detested fancy-work,
sewing, and house-keeping, she looked
at me over her spectacles and said,
'My poor child, will you tell me what
you can do ?' And I answered meekly
that I could make a very good wood-
fire. Fancy her disgust !"

She tunied her laughing face, and
looked over her shoulder at Mr. Ellis.
The pine kindling, breaking into a
blaze, deepened the red of cheek and

lip and brought out the glory of her
Titian hair. He was so near her that
he could touch her shoulder with his
hand.

"Blythe!" he said, in an unsteady
voice.

She felt herself drawn gently toward
him, and before the light smile could
leave her lips, or a protest reach them,
he had made them his own with a
kiss. She sprang away from him, and
stood crimson — trembling — afraid —
ashamed.

"What does it mean?" her lips
formed.

"It means, dear," he said,^quietly,
smiling a little, but still in that cu-
riously unsteady voice, " that you must
light the fires of my life for me. Will
you be my Vesta, my darling, my
own?"

Blythe had often imagined herself as
playing a very poetic and satisfactoiy
part in a love scene ; but, alas ! when
the occasion came, four of her five wits
went halting off. She could only droop
her lovely head and say nothing.

"How beautiful you are!" he whis-
pered. " Look at me, darling !"

She raised her eyes. She saw a
dark face glowing with love; deep,
passionate, yearning eyes that, I'esting
tenderly on her, filled slowly with
tears.

Tears — how they thrilled and star-
tled her ! Impulse, generosity, and a
divine tenderness swept her toward
him. He opened his arms with a glad,
proud gesture, and she was drawn to
the lonely heart that believed itself at
last to have found a home.

"Blythe!" he cried, passionately,
"never was woman loved as you shall

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101

be ! I shall make all your Southern
lovers tame to you.**

"I haven't any Southern lovers."

" Let them come, then ; and if any
man can love you more than I, he is
more worthy of you, and I can give
you up."

"How can you talk of giving me
up," whispered Blythe, "in the first
moment that you know you have gain-
ed me?"

" Because, my darling, I accept with
a kind of doubt the good the gods be-
stow. I hardly meant to teli you my
love, but it was stronger than myself.
It seemed to me that I should hold
back when the beautiful young life,
with its bright mind, its sincere heart,
its great need of love, its greater pow-
er of loving, came near, to mine; for
perfect love is perfect self-sacrifice,
taketh no thought of its own desires,
looketh only to make more serenely
happy the mate that it yearns for.
And then I was so much older than
you ; I had seen and suffered so much :
my ambition had burned to its em-
bers; a great career was no longer
possible — "

"Hush! hush!" cried Blythe, "do
you think I should have liked you had
you been an immature boy? 1 hate
young men. I want to look up to
my—"

She stopped short with a wide
blush.

"To your husband, Blythe — sweet
Blythe Ellis ! Was there ever a more
delicious little name! Darling, let me
hear you say that you will be my
wife."

" Yes," said Blythe sof tly^ " I will be
your wife— God willing."

"And I," he cried, pressing her
hands to his lips, "will be your hus-
band, God willing — or God not willing
— so long as Blythe is willing !"

Steps were heard in the hall. "There
are father and mother coming home,"
said Blythe. " Oh ! what will they say
to this? I had forgotten about your
being a Northern man, and all that I"

" Miss Capulet, your Montague does
not fear either your father or your
mother. But, child ! child ! how your
grandmother will hate mQ !"

" She cannot, when she knows you
better."

Ellis had never told Blythe of the
scene at the soldiers' graves: he thrust
its ugly, ghostly remembrance from
him with a shudder.

"Well, well," he said brightly, « we
will hope for the best. Now, deai*,
how soon shall we announce our en-
gagement to the wondering public of
Yariba?"

"Announce our engagement?" crjed
Blythe, "why, never! We Southern
people don't do that sort of thing.
No Southern girl would have it known
for the world that she was engaged."

"Why not, Blythe?"

"Oh! it would take away all the
romance — every one would be talking
about her, and none of the other young
men would pay her any attention : and
the engagement might be broken, or
she might not be in earnest when it
was made. One of the girls here was
engaged to eleven at the same time."

"Blythe, you alarm me. It seems
that engagements in this country are
as numerous and as honorable as duels
at Heidelberg. May I be so imperti-
nept as to ask your record ?"

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"I am twenty -one years old," said
Blythe, proudly, " and you are the first
sweetheart I have ever had — the only
man who ever kissed the tips of ray
fingers."

Then he said a thousand tender and
flattering things to her ; and her vani-
ty, like the slave that ran by the em-
peror's horse, kept pace with the swift
rush of his words — so convincins: is

the magnificent unreser\^e of a strong
soul. And if any one had said to
Blythe, in this delicious hour, that
Cleopatra was loved more madly, she
would have put away the thought in
scorn, as Roger Ellis poured out a
wine for her drinking pressed from
his life's experience, sweet and rich as
a cup of the gods offered to eager hu-
man lips.

CHAPTER XVL

THE GRANDMOTHERS LAST STAKE.

^^ Oh, the shame of it ! the shame of
it !"

It was night, and the grandmother
was alone in her room. A few hours
since she had been told of Blythe's en-
gagement, and in the same breath her
son had added that he had consented
to the match and approved of it ; and
Blythe's mother with tears had begged
the old lady to try and be reconciled
to her child's lover. She had said
nothing; words were idle, even had
the ofiPence not been too monstrous
for expostulation. But when night
came and she shut herself up in her
room, she made her moan in a terrible
and deep despair. What could she do
to prevent it? Nothing — nothing —
nothing I " I am so old and helpless
and weak," she murmured, wringing
her frail and fevered hands. " I have
no brain to plot or plan. God help
me ! I can do nothing." She started
at the sound of her own words, and
a sudden gleam of light passed over
her face. How dare I tell the strange

train of thought that awoke in her
brain ? Since the day that the news
came of Lee's surrender she had
ceased to pray; she thought that she
had ceased to believe in a God. She
had gone no more to church, and had
refused to listen to the ingenious ar-
guments with which Mr. Shepherd, in
common with other Southern pastors,
tried to excuse God's failure to meet
the wishes of the Southern people.
But now, as she walked up and down
the room with noiseless steps, an old
faith stirred within her, mingled with
the daring impiety that had grown to
be her second nature. In short, Mrs.
Herndon was m.aking up her mind
to forgive God the past, if he would
grant her prayer for the future. She
flung herself on her knees by the bed,
humbling herself at last, and prayed —
prayed that God would do what she
could not — prevent this loathed and
hated marriage. She pleaded with
God for this proof of his power, and
promised him her soul as a reward.

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*' Grant me this, O God, and I will
strive to see thy justice even in the
ruin thou hast brought upon this
wretched country. I will love and
serve and worship thee all my days.
Hear me, God ! Fulfil now the prom-
ises made unto thy people, and listen
to the voice of my despair."

Thus far into the night she pray-
ed, while tears burned along her cold
cheeks, until at last her voice grew
hoarse, her eyes dry and dim, and she
crept to bed a pale, faintly breathing
imago, exhausted with emotion but
strong in a new-born hope.

From that time the grandmother
seemed a changed being. Her face
grew even more rapt and far-off in its
expression ; she spoke little, and never
in her old tone of bitterness ; the fam-
ily thought her almost reconciled to
the thought of Blythe's marriage.
With her new gentleness came a phys-
ical change. Her voice gained a fuller
tone, her form a firmer erectness; she
fancied that the strength of youth
had come back to her, upborne as she
was by the excitement of her strange
inner life. Morning, noon, and night,
whether kneeling alone or moving
among her people, she prayed. She
resorted to prayer as a stimulus, and
such was her fervid will that it never
failed to leave her in a state of exalta-
tion. She rarely spoke to Blythe of
her engagement, but the young girl in
her presence became dimly aware of a
strong opposing influence; and some-
times, after the novelty of having a
lover had worn away, and her mind
was in a languid state, if she happened
to be standing by her grandmother
when Roger was coming toward her,

she would feel as if the air about her
had condensed to a force that pushed
her with a gentle steadiness in an op-
posite direction. It was a strange
feeling — one that was instantly over-
come by an effort of will ; but she was
vaguely conscious that if she should
yield to it, the movement of her body
would follow its guidance as surely
as if she were an automaton pushed
about by human hands.

But all this was so trifling as to be
hardly remembered when Roger was
near; and the weeks drifted by that
opened a new world to Blythe and glo-
rified an old one to her lover. Ellis
remembered these weeks afterward as
the most perfect of his life. He was
aroused from the unworldly happiness
of the sweet days by letters requiring
his immediate return to the North.
He saw at once that he must go ; but,
he hoped, not alone. Strolling through
the woods with Blythe, he told her of
the necessity of leaving her within a
few days, and after pleasing himself for
a while with her surprise and distress,
he said :

"And now, Blythe, for a test of
your character! The time has come
when I am to see where your unlike-
ness to other young women ends and
likeness begins."

"Am I unlike other girls?" said
Blythe, demurely: "tell me how,
please."

"What an outrageous bid for flat-
tery ! Well, then, I have seen hand-
somer women than you are, but none
with such witchery of hair, and eyes,
and mouth. I have known cleverer
women, but none with so lovely an en-
thusiasm, and not one so shy in her

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tenderness, so delicate in her expres-
sion, so pure in her soul. Blythe, my
child, you dazzle me sometimes. I
want to shade my eyes when I look at
you."

Blythe laid her hand lightly across
his lips. "No more of that, Roger.
You make me feel ashamed that I am
not better. Now for the test of char-
acter !"

"What I wish to know, Blythe," he
said solemnly, " is, how much you are
held in the bondage of fashion."

" Not very much," she said, laugh-
ing, " as I make all my own dresses."

"And very pretty ones they are,"
said Roger, looking her over with an
approving eye.

Blythe was singularly pretty to-day.
She had on a white dress, and as she
passed through the hall she had caught
up a short red cloak that hung on the
rack, and had tossed one of her broth-
er's hats on her head — a broad, soft
straw, under which her peach-bloom
face shone with exquisite delicacy.

" Now, I like this dress particular-
ly,'^ continued Roger, touching her
flowing white skirts. "Don't you
think it would make a very pretty
wedding-dress, Blythe?"

"This!" cried Blythe; "why no,
dear. Don't you see it is thick f'*'*

" So it is !" said Roger, with an air
of surprise : " how stupid of me not to
notice that! Of course, a wedding-
dress shouldn't be thick."

" Unless it is silk or satin, or some-
thing of that sort, you know."

"Certainly," said Roger, with easy
assurance — " silk, or satin, or bomba-

zme-

^ Bombazine P^ and Blythe gave a

laugh that must have startled the
birds.

"Come now, Blythe, don't lead a
man on to his ruin and then laugh at
him. Tell me, darling, how long would
it take to get up the proper and con-
ventional wedding-dress ?"

" Oh, that depends ! " If you were to
order it from a city dressmaker, sho
would probably keep you wasting in
despair for weeks and weeks after ths
time she promised to let you have it.
If you made it at home, and called in
all your neighbors to help, you might
have it ready in a week."

"A week! — ^I can stay just a week
longer," said Roger, with deep mean-
ing in his tone. But Blythe was deaf
to his hints.

" Only a week !" she sighed. " Let
us not think of it, Roger. Who knows
if we shall ever meet again ?"

"Blythe, don't you see what I am
driving at ?" cried Roger. " I want to
take you with me, my darling. I want
to be married right off, as you South-
ern folk say. Oh, my love, say yes, I
implore you !"

The color flew out of Blythe's face
and into it again. " It is impossible !"
she said, breathlessly.

Then Roger set to work to convince
her of how possible a thing it was;
and, of course, it was not many minutes
before she began to yield, and not an
hour before she had quite consented to
marry him in a week's time, if her
family would hear of such a sudden
arrangement.

Ellis lost no time in preferring his
request to Blythe's father, and that
gentleman promised to think it over;
and it was discussed at length in the

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family circle. Mr. Herndon did not
"like things done in a hurry;" and
Mrs. Herndon " could not bear to think
of the poor child marrying without
anything to put on." Still, as tender
parents should, they waived these lit-
tle prejudices, and were about to an-
nounce their consent, when — the grand-
mother spoke.

"Emma Blythe," she said, quietly,
"I shall say nothing of the indecent
haste of marrying a man whom you
scarcely know, and leaving your home
w4th him; I shall say nothing of the
suffering in store for you when you, a
Southern girl, find yourself among ene-
mies and strangers; but I shall make
a prayer to you. Do you remember,
my child, eight years ago, when I had
that long siege of illness — rheumatic
fever?"

" Yes, grandmother."

" Do you remember how constantly
you were with me? how you rubbed
me, nursed me, tended me ? how you
listened when I told you of my sor-
rows, and did not weaiy of my groans ?
how you read to me, sung to me, wept
over me ?"

"I remember it all, grandmother,"
cried Blythe, tears rushing to her eyes.
" Why do you speak of it now ?"

" I appeal to that memory, dear, be-
cause Blythe the young lady has loved
me less than Blythe the child. It may
be that it has been my fault — I have
been cold, and harsh, and unloving —
though you, of all others, have always
been nearest my heart. But the ghosts
of those that are gone come like a
cloud between me and the living. I
have little joy in my life. I have fallen
on evil times. My days are numbered,

Blythe. It will not make you happier
when I am gone to think that you re-
fused my last request"

"And that request, grandmother?"
said Blythe, trembling.

"It is not to give up your lover,
child," she said, with a slight, col4
smile ; " do not look so alarmed. It is
only that you will defer your marriage
six months. Is it too much to ask ?"

" No, grandmother, it is not ; I will
do as you wish," said Blythe, mastered
by the influence that seemed to be
closing like bands around her, and
ready, too, to make a sacrifice that
seemed so small to one whose wishes
she had treated so lightly from the be-
ginning.

" You promise — solemnly ?"

" I promise — solemnly !"

A long, quivering sigh escaped the
old lady's lips. She leaned back in her
chair and closed her eyes. Mr. and
Mrs. Herndon warmly praised their
daughter's docility, and commended
the moderation of the grandmother's
demand. But neither heard them.
The one was lifting up her soul in pas-
sionate gratitude to God, the other
was wondering what her lover would
say when she told him of her prom-
ise.

What he did say was something un-
der his breath that Blythe did not
hear; then — "I knew she would injure
me," he said, with a strange look on
his face. He remembered the tearing
hands, the trampling feet.

It was now Blythe's turn to argue ;
and though she did not quite succeed
in convincing her lover that delays
were not dangerous, she brought a
smile to his lips, and with a judicious

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kiss made him forget that she was —
Mrs. Herndon's granddaughter.

Blythe was a little dissatisfied with
herself that she did not feel this disap-
pointment more keenly. And, to tell
truth, she had been a little dissatisfied
with herself almost from the beginning
of her engagement. She was perhaps
more unlike other women than Ellis
had imagined. Her imagination was
highly sensitive; she could not read
an impassioned love scene without a
thrill of the blood ; she believed ardent-
ly — or thought she did — in the theory
of "All for love and the world well
lost." Then why, in the very moment
when her lover clasped his arms about
her and told a rosary of kisses on
cheek and brow and lip, did she feel
a vague sense of something missed?
What was the little mocking inner
voice that, even at the moment of her
highest feeling, questioned the reality
of her emotion — even ridiculed it?
Was this all she should know of the
passion for which empires had been
thrown away? Or was love something
that must grow until every lesser feel-
ing should be pushed out by its spread-
ing roots ?

Mr. Ellis, it is needless to say, did
not dream that Miss Blythe was be-
coming an analyst and critic. Many a
delicious thought had come to him of
her sweet impassioned Southern nat-
ure, for her self-surrender had been ab-
solute. Had it not been so, her dis-
appointment would at least have been
longer in coming. After all, it was
scarcely more than a breath on a mir-
ror; her admiration for her lover was
unbounded; she was proud of his love;
and she would have become his wife

at the time he wished, with high hope
and happiness, had God and her grand-
mother so ordered it.

Roger Ellis left Tariba with strange
reluctance. He could not account for
it. He should be back in a few weeks ;
Blythe would write to him every day ;
and yet an oppression that he could
not shake off fell upon him as he drove
over to the station and looked back
upon the little town among its hills
and springs. Once back at the North,
however, his natural buoyancy asserted
itself. He announced his engagement
to a few of his intimates with peculiar
complacency; indeed, he could scarce-
ly help talking of Blythe, for he seem-
ed to draw in thoughts of her with his
breath.

"I do not worship her" — it was
only to himself he said this — "nor
even adore her. I see her faults. I
am too old a man to be blinded by
my passion as a youth might be; but
I love her with reason and devotion,
and I am as much her friend as her
lover."

And then Mr. Ellis, being in a hotel,
rang for pen, ink, and paper, and wrote
this letter to his lovely Southern sweet-
heart, whom he did not worship nor
even adore:

New York, August 16th.
" I reached here yesterday morning,
my darling, and intended to write a
day sooner, but I was hurried by busi-
ness until late in the afternoon, and
when evening came was dragged off
to some patriotic tea-party by friends
whom I could not well refuse. When
I got back I was all tired out, and had
no wish to write to you. No wish-
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for I cannot give the dregs of my life,
even of a day, to her who has given
the richest vintage of her life to me.
I lead a charmed life. I am encom-
passed round about with the glory of
your love. I see the cares and sorrows
of humanity as trees, walking. I am
young again with the ripeness of a
power which boyhood cannot know;
and I find it all needed to express the
richness and fulness of my love for
you. My own, my beautiful, I thank
God for you. I bless yon as his most
perfect symbol of love. I am grateful
for my life, because you have shone with
all the splendor of your heart and mind
across it. For your bright intellect, I
love you; for your pure heart, I love
you ; for your beautiful body, type of
a beautiful spirit, I love you ; and I
love you because to me you have been
the most beneficent and most radiant
soul that has ever brightened my life
with its pure effulgence. Darling! I
kiss you as I would kiss a messenger
of God sent to compensate me for all
the wrongs I have endured without a
murmur, and for all the sorrows whose
history only my secret sighs have told.
I love you, BIythe, heart, soul, and
body — with my heart, soul, and body
I love you. Fate itself I defy ; for be
its decree what it may — hear me, Ood^
who made us both ! — body and soul I
am hers, and hers only, now, hence-
forth, and for aye. Amen. Fori love
you ! I love you !

"My own, my mate, my beautiful
one ! to me the rustle of your garments
is sweeter music than earth yields to
the spell of genius; to touch your
hand is to open the doors of a heaven
fuller of more exquisite joys than any

Elysium that the Greeks or the He-
brews ever dreamed of; to me your
face is a revelation of goodness which
no other writing of the Infinite de-
clares.

" I love you I

"I take your bright face between
my hands once more, and gaze into
your glorious eyes and kiss them ten-
derly, and with a love that even the
most perfect kiss can never express.
I kiss your forehead, shrine of a brill-
iant and noble intellect, and I kiss
your white hands, as I would kiss your
feet, with a pure and manly love which
is too genuine either to exalt or debase
itself, and too sincere to see homage of
a servile kind in any form of acknowl-
edgment of an absorbing and over-
whelming and inspiring affection.

" I love you !

"For your sweet sake I love your
people whom I hated; for you I ab-
jure all enmities that a life of warfare
has brought forth ; for you, my queen,
my royal and glorious mate, I love
whatever can be loved in the life and
thought of your countrymen ; I abjure
all but honor and honesty, and these I
cannot give up, because without them
I should not be worthy even to say —
I love you !

" For you, flower — and the fairest
flower of the South ! I bless the South.
I shower benedictions on the people
against whom I urged endless and re-
morseless war. For you, except to kneel
to its Baal, I shall do all I can to serve
it. I shall ever thrill with a mystic
delight when I hear the very name of
the South.

"I love you!"

" I shut my eyes, apd see again the

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pure and stately maiden whose voice
has been my most heavenly music since
first I heard it — whose eyes have thrill-
ed me with the most celestial pleasures
I have ever known — whose heart and
soul have inspired me with a joy and
hope and gladness that I never yet
knew, nor believed could be.

" I bless you !

" I love you ! and I am ever and for-
ever yours. R. E."

It was Blythe's first love-letter ; and
well I know the changing cheek, the
rosy blushes, the quickened sense, with
which she read. How the lovely lit-
tle bosom throbbed when she kissed
the scattered sheets and placed them
against her tender heart ! How nature's

soft glory moved her soul to a myste-
rious delight as she walked by the
spring with shining eyes! How she
started half in fear if one spoke to her
suddenly, as if the refrain of her ardent
letter were a shouting Greek chorus
that all the world might hear! After
all, there is a wonderful charm in first
times; and Blythe never felt again
quite this same tumult of emotion on
reading a love-letter, though a new one
came every day, and there was no fall-
ing off in their sustained fervor. But
they made her very happy; and the
grandmother, watching her soft, con-
tented face, redoubled her prayers,
thinking desperately of the widow and
the unjust judge, who was wearied into
clemency by much pleading.

CHAPTER XVII.

MISS PAGE'S STRATEGY,

" I WAS sorry to see you come," said
Betty Page ; " but oh, how much more
sorry I am to see you go !"

Miss Betty was standing on the
front porch, with a watering-pot in her
hand, while Captain Silsby was sitting
in a dejected attitude among her ge-
raniums. They were discussing the
marching orders that had just been
received by the two regiments.

" You look a perfect image of sor-
row," said the captain, wishing that he
knew how much the young lady did
care.

"I'ni sure," said Miss Betty, " I could
scarcely sleep last night for thinking
of it. How dull the winter will be

without you ! No more serenades, nor
picnics, nor germans, nor rides — "

" Shall you miss nothing more than
these ?" said Captain Silsby, faintly re-
proachful, with his head a little on one
side.

" Oh, certainly ! There are Captain
Simcoe's jokes, and Major Bullard's
songs, and the visits of my friend Mrs.
Dexter, who is just coming through
the gate now, by-the-way, as you will
see if you look from behind that pillar."

" How very annoying ! It seems to
me that I never have a quiet word with
you of late. I must have one long
evening before I go. When shall it
be?"

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" To-morrow, if you like. I am en-
gaged for this evening. How do you
do, Mrs. Dexter ?" and she ran down
the steps to shake hands. " Won't you
come in ?"

" Let us stay out here awhile," said
Mrs. Dexter; "I always like to see the
flowers just after they have been wa-
tered. Don't let me drive you away.
Captain Silsby."

"I was just on the point of going,"
said the captain, bowing himself ofiE
with easy grace.

" There is one thing that young man
can do well," said Mrs. Dexter, as the
gate closed behind him — "or perhaps
I should say two things: he knows
how to enter a room and how to take
leave ; but for the rest — " She shrug-
ged her shoulders expressively.

" Now, see my ignorance !" said
Betty, artlessly. " I thought that he
was one of your finest specimens of
Northern culture."

"He has good manners, as I have
said," returned the little Northern lady
sharply, " but he is a frivolous, lazy fel-
low, without any object in life except
amusement. Then he isn't sincere,"
she went on, with a touch of Betty's
own artlessness. "Ho is always mak-
ing love to some girl who happens to
be near him. Of course, each one
thinks that she is the one to whom
he will be constant. I have often felt
very sorry for the deluded creatures —
who are not to blame, of course — for
he usually selects simple-minded girls,
who have not had enough experience
of the world to understand a man of
Silsby's stamp,"

" How lovely of yon to be a sort of
dictionaiy of his character !" said Bet-

ty, sweetly, "and how infinitely he
would be obliged to you if he knew
about it! No doubt he would man-
age to return the favor in some way."

(" She will tell him," thought Mrs.
Dexter, biting her lips in vexation,
" and there isn't a man who dances the
gennan who knows my step so well.
Ethel Dexter, what an imprudent creat-
ure you are ! But this girl is too ag-
gravating !")

" To tell the truth," said she, socia-
bly, "I believe Van Tolliver has spoil-
ed me for all other young men."

" Is Van a paragon of yours ?".said
Betty, lazily picking the dead leaves
off a geranium-bush.

" Indeed he is. I admire him in ev-
ery way. He looks like one of Van-
dyke's heroes, with his dark face under
that broad hat he wears. Then he is
so noble, manly, earnest, self-sacrific-
ing ! By-the-way, he has invited us to
make him a visit. I am so anxious to
see a Southern plantation ! We are
going to stop for a few days, on our
way down to New Orleans. Elegant
idea, isn't it?"

" Yes, for those who like that sort
of thing. I think a plantation the
dullest place in the world."

"I do not agree with you. It gives
a man great dignity to own large es-
tates. There is a noble pride about
his way of living — so different from
our rough-and-tumble array life. The
only trouble about Van is that he
must be lonely at times. But I don't
know any one who is good enough for
him to marry, unless it is Mjiry Bar-
ton. She is a great favorite of mine."

("Tou malicious thing!" thought
Betty.)

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But she only said, with the faintest
possible trace of imitation, "Elegant
idea I Hadn't you better suggest it to
Van ? I don't believe it has ever en-
tered his head."

"Don't be too sure of that," said
Mrs. Dexter, smiling mysteriously.
" Van may have had little love affairs
vt^ith one girl and another, but when it
comes to a question of marriage he is
too wise not to appreciate a charming,
well-balanced girl like Mary Barton."

" It has not been my observation,"
returned Betty, "that well-balanced
girls hold any particulai* charms for
men. However, Mary is a dear good
girl. She would suit admirably as the
mistress of a plantation. She is natu-
rally domestic."

("She is worth twenty times as much
as you, you little goose.")

This mentally, as Mrs. Dexter rose,
saying, " Is your mother here ? I must
go in and say good-bye to her."

Betty led the way in, feeling that
she had kept up her end of the plank
nobly in this feminine balancing; and
as Mrs. Dexter and her mother talk-
ed, she formed a plan. "The little
cat gave me a hint, in spite of herself,"
she thought.

Accordingly the next day Miss Betty
asked Blythe Herndon and Mary Bar-
ton to stay all night with her. Then
she wrote pretty little notes to differ-
ent officers of her acquaintance, invit-
ing them to spend the evening; and
she set out a table with ambrosia, and
syllabub, and fruit-cake, for their en-
tertainment ; and when Captain Silsby
arrived, in a mood of parting tender-
ness, he found the parlor filled with
company, and Betty heartlessly gay.

He felt himself to be an injured man.
There was no chance to be sentimental,
so the noble captain sulked. It was
not long before he rose to go, " Good-
bye, Miss Betty," he said, with a sad
attempt at dignity. "I suppose I
sha'n't see you Jigain."

" You are not going so soon ?" cried
Betty, with charming surprise. "I
thought you promised to spend a long
evening."

Captain Silsby bowed stiffly, and
murmured something that nobody
heard. Then he stepped into the hall,
to reappear in a moment with — " Miss
Betty, may I have a word with you ?"

He was standing by the hat-stand
in the hall, his fair mustache pressed
hard upon his lower lip. Betty ex-
cused herself, and joined him. But
before he could speak she took up Cap-
tain Simcoe's cap and placed it jauntily
on her black braids.

" Does it become me ?" she said, with
the very spirit of mischief dancing in
her eyes.

" I do not like you in it at all," said
the captain ; " and if you were my sis-
ter I should say you were not — ^lady-
like."

"Lady-like!" cried Betty, with a
pretty scorn. " Don't you know. Cap-
tain Silsby, that it is only people who
are not ladies who must be l^dy-Uke ?
and Betty Page can never be merely
like what she is — a lady by the grace
of God — though she put a soldier's cap
on her head, and gives you a military
salute in saying, * Good-night and
good-bye.' "

She raised her hand in a mocking
salutation, tossed the cap upon the
stand, and was back in the parlor be-

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fore the mortified captain could reply.
He went back to camp much more in
love than he had yet been, which proved
the wisdom of Miss Betty's course;
and that astute young person, when
alone in her room, nodded to her image
in the mirror with great satisfaction.
" If he means anything," she thought,
" this won't change him ; if he doesn't,
he can't boast pf his conquest of Betty
I'agel"

And the two regiments marched
away from Yariba, followed by as
many good wishes as if they had been
a lot of brides. Good wishes from all
save a pale old lady, who stood on a
high ' veranda, pressing a locket to
her Jbosom, watching them with long
glances of hate ; and who said, as the
last glimmer of their blue ranks was
lost in the forest, " Now I can breathe
a breath of pure air !"

CHAPTER XVIII.

AN ELEGANT IDEA.

"So this is Laurel Station?" said
Mrs. Dexter ; " and it is here that Van
is to meet us."

" There he is now," cried the colonel.
" Look sharp, Ethel ! — short stop, you
know. Are these all your traps? This
way."

Van was on horseback, looking more
like a knight than ever. He lifted his
hat as heads were thrust from the car
windows and eager salutations called
out, for all the army people had liked
the young man.

, Springing off his horse as Mrs. Dex-
ter and the colonel appeared, he greet-
ed them with delighted warmth.

"I have a spring -wagon here for
you," he said. "You will find it very
comfortable, Mrs. Dexter. Colonel, I
would offer you my horse, but he is
really such a vicious beast — Steady,
Tempest!"

" Thanks, thanks ; I prefer this, I
assure you," said the colonel, helping
his wife into the wagon drawn by a
pair of frisky young mules.
8

"This is Daddy Ned," said Van,
waving his hand toward a white-haired
old man who stood at their heads,
" who will drive you with the skill of
a Roman charioteer over the devious
ways that lead to the plantation."

They started off, Mrs. Dexter look-
ing with interest on the little Southern
town, that seemed too lazy to hold it-
self upright ; for the houses were rick-
ety, the fence-rails tumbled over each
other, the men leaned up against
things : very brown men some of them
were, who had lived "i' the sun," until
hardly to be distinguished, save for
their lazy air of command, from their
brethren whose color had been burned
in before the light of the Bun^ had
touched their faces.

Van's home was fifteen miles away,
but the drive was full of interest. His
Northern guests were surprised at the
variety of scenery in a low, flat coun-
try. Now it was a wide, still sheet of
water, with reedy grass growing along
its edges, and tall white flowers and

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lance -like spears in shining shadows
on its surface; now a long, slim, curl-
ing stream winding through willows,
and kissing weeds whose faces blew
lightly together across its dividing
line; and water again — thick, red,
muddy creeks, their intolerable color
broken with little green islands as
round as footstools. Nor was human
interest lacking. Smiling darkies just
out of babyhood, whose rags fluttered
breezily about their small persons, as
if they were young trees in full leaf,
and whose appearance suggested that
they must have been dipped in tar be-
fore having their clothes stuck on,
shouted "Howdy?" as they passed;
old "uncles," standing knee -deep in
withering broom, gave them cheerful
greeting. Cabins dotted the road at
wide distances, over which broad ba-
nana-leaves drooped heavily. By one
poor little house, in a fenced-in plot,
was a poor little grave. A dwarfed
magnolia grew beside it, stiff -leaved
and shining glossily — stern sentinel for
a grave so pitiful and small that it
seemed to beg some weak, soft tribute
of flower or clinging vine.

Then there were the trees — the
strange trees weighted, whether in
green leaf or dry leaf, with the long,
dim moss that gave sombreness and
mystery to the woods. Fancy could
run wild among them. Here a long
line of them green-topped with bare,
dead trunks, about which the moss has
wound itself coil on coil: like para-
lyzed bodies, with living, miserable
heads that know death is slowly creep-
ing up to them. Some grew in a bold
erratic way, that in their youth may
have been a daring grace; but they

were old, and dry, and leafless now,
and the very moss was cruel, for it hung
from them in a shreddy sort of way,
leaving their ugliness unshaded and
bare. Others made one think of young
widows ; the moss draped them heavi-
ly, like deep dark weeds, but little
budding, tender leaves were shooting
from every limb, like furtive glances
and half-checked smiles.

"We are nearing home now," said
Van.

As he spoke, a turn in the road re-
vealed a queer figure standing on the
edge of a stream. It wore a short
skirt, from which a pair of man's bro-
gans obtruded, a short sack, and a bat-
tered hat, under which could be seen
long twists of hair coiled in a knot.
Evidently it was not meant for a scare-
crow, for as it peered into the water it
gently agitated a fishing-rod.

" Van, Van, see that thing !" cried
Mrs. Dexter. " Can you tell mo what
it is?"

Daddy Ned broke into a grin, and
Van laughed as he said, " Oh, that is
old Uncle Si', one of the characters on
the plantation."

"A man? But the hair I"

" Thereby hangs a tale. Wlien Un-
cle Si' was young, he fell in love with
my grandmother's waiting-maid, who,
poor girl, walking out one day when
the Big Muddy was up, fell in, and was
drowned. In his afiiiction Si' made a
vow never to cut his hair again, and he
has kept his word. On the plantation
he is held up as a model of constancy,
and the beauty of it is that he has had
about as many wives as ever Solomon
had ! This does not at all impair his
reputation as a widowed and griefr

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Stricken soul; as old Aunt Mely, my
cook, said to me : * Lor*, Mars' Van,
he jes' takes up wid dem foolish women
to 'stract his mind ; but all dat po' soul
longs fer is to meet Sally on de oder
side of Jordan.' "

"Delightful Uncle Si'!" cried Mrs.
Dextei^; "he ought to be put into a
book."

" Our land begins here, colonel," said
Van ; " but I am forced to let all these
outer fields lie idle. They are gradu-
ally eating themselves up; but I am
hoping that when Government gets
hold of them they will be sold to a
good class of emigrants who will im-
prove the country. For myself, I shall
attempt nothing more than a small
farm of two or three hundred acres.
My father nearly ruined himself by try-
ing to make things go under the old
plantation system."

A few moments more of rapid driv-
ing brought them in sight of the house
^•a great rambling structure, with
wide piazzas on either side.

" So this is your home. Van," said
Mrs. Dexter, softly ; " where you were
all born, I suppose?"

" Yes, and where we are all buried,"
said Van, pointing out a heavily-sKaded
enclosure with chilling glimpses of mar-
ble. " Some afternoon I will take you
to our family burying -ground, and if
you like you may sit on the flat tomb
of my great-grandfather, and I will read
you the epitaphs and tell you stories of
the dead and gone ToUivers.

Mrs. Dexter began to say " Elegant
idea!" but her husband turned his
fierce eyebrow upon her in time to
prevent the seal of her favorite phrase
upon Van's suggestion.

An old black woman met them at
the door with a veiy fine courtesy.

" This is my old Aunt Silvy," said
Van, " who keeps house for me, and
makes coffee that the gods might be
proud to drink."

Aunt Silvy received the praise with
dignity.

"Supper's about ready," said she;
"but I suppose the lady would like
to freshen her dress a bit after her
ride."

" Yes ; show her to her room, Aunt
Silvy."

Mrs. Dexter followed Aunt Silvy up-
stairs, quite impressed by the good
bearing and gentle speech of the old
servant.

" Do you never go to Yariba, Aunt
Silvy?" she inquired.

"Oh no, ma'am ; Mars' Van couldn't
get on without me to see to him."

" Mars' Van ought to get married
and have a wife to see to him ; don't
you think so?" said Mrs. Dexter, so-
ciably.

Aunt Silvy relaxed a little from her
dignity.

" Yes, ma'am, it would be a mighty
pleasant thing to see Mars' Van .with a
wife, and he deserves a good one if ever
a boy did. I'se been thinking he was in
love with somebody up in Yariba ; but
when he come home this time, and I
asked him after his sweetheart, he kind
o' lifted his eyebrows and said he
didn't have any sweetheart. * But you
us'ter have,' says I. And with that he
took his egg out of his cup — he was
just beginnin' breakfast — and he says,
* True, Aunt Silvy ; and this egg used
to be in the cup.' Then what does he
do but throw the egg out of the win-

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dow, where of course it broke all to
pieces, and says,

** * An' all the king's horses an' all the king's men
Can't set Humpty Dumpty up again. '

I thought it was a mighty curious way
for the boy to do; but I wasn't
brought up to question folks, so I
wouldn't say nothing more to Van, for
all I nursed him, and love him like my
own."

"All the secret, I fancy, is that he
was smitten with some pretty girl who
wasn't worth loving, and he found it
out," said Mrs. Dexter, lightly; "but
his heart isn't hurt a bit."

Her trunk had been sent up by this
time, and at the unaccustomed sight of
woman's finery Aunt Silvy grew still
more cordial.

"I'll wait on you myself, honey,
while you are here," she said. " Mars'
Van wanted me to call in one o' the
young slips for your maid, but they're
all as triflin' as cotton -seed butter —
wishy-washy. What do they know
about waitin' on a real lady? I'm
powerful glad you're come, and I hope
you'll stay a long time at the old place."
And so she talked while Mrs. Dexter
made herself fair before the mirror.

This accomplished, they went down
to the dining-room — a great barn of a
room, so dimly lighted that a white
dog coming to meet them from a dark
corner, loomed up with such sudden
large ghostliness that Mrs. Dexter gave
a little start and caught Aunt Silvy's
arm. At the farther end was cheerful-
ness — cheerfulness in the shape of the
lamp with its gay shade, a smiling
waiter, moon -faced and yellow. Van,
beaming with hospitality, and a round

table upon which was spread a South-*
ern supper : Broiled chickens ; waffles
brought in hot every five minutes,
crisp and brown, with drops of golden
butter in their dimples; Sally Lunn,
light and white (blessed be the -Sally
who first gave to its pai'ticles local
habitation and a name !) ; batter-bread
— a delicious mingling of eggs, milk,
and meal, known only unto a South-
ern cook ; water-melon preserve, with
elaborate green embroidery on its
leaves and hearts; cream — goblets of
cream; and coffee to make a Turk
doff his turban — such is a Southern
supper, that no one enjoys more than
a Northern man. Colonel Dexter was
not proof against its temptations,
though he declared that he ate in the
spirit of the soldiers who buried Sir
John Moore. " I bitterly think of the
morrow," he said. " Yes, Aunt Silvy,
another cup of that coffee, if you
please. I'm in for it, anyhow."

The week went by trippingly. The
three friends rode, walked, and talked
in great harmony; and the last day
but one of their visit Mrs. Dexter put
a secret resolve into execution.

Colonel Dexter bad gone off fishing
with •Uncle Si' ; she and Van were on
the porch watching the sunset.

"Are you glad we came to see you.
Van ?" she began, sweetly.

" Indeed, I am. It has been like a
draught of wine. I believe I was get-
ting a little out of heart."

" You have no need to do that, I
am sure. Isn't the plantation doing
well?"

"Better than it has done since the
war. And now that there is strong
hope that our political affairs will be

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happily settled — for a Democratic
president will be elected beyond a
doubt, and this infernal carpet-bag
government overthrown — ^I think that
the future of our whole country looks
bright. Already it seefiis to be wak-
ing from an awful dream."

It was by no means Mrs. Dexter's
intention to discuss the state of the
country, so she said, heartily : " Well,
Van, if this election will ma^e you av-
erage more cotton to the acre, I shall
jcertainly pray for it. I want you to
be rich."

" Oh, in another year I can give the
old house a coat of paint," said Van,
lightly.

"You had better wait until you are
married; then give the place a thor-
ough going over, as we say at the
North."

"It might be a long waiting," said
Van, compressing his lips.

"But why. Van? Do you not mean
to marry ?"

"Of course. I think that is part of
a man's duty."

"What a cool way of putting it!
Have you no dreams? no ideals of
wife and home?"
• "All men have, I suppose."

" Tell me what yours are," said Mrs.
Dexter, very softly.

" There isn't much to tell — only what
any decent man looks forward to."

" But, Van, if you wouldn't mind, I
should like to know what your ideals
are."

The moon was rising ; the hour was
propitious. Mrs. Dexter was very win-
ning; Van was but j\ man.

"Don't expect any romance from
me," he said. "I am a very practical

fellow. First, a home. Now you may
think me supinely content, but I do
think the life of a country-gentleman
on his estate the finest and freest iu
the world. I ask nothing better than
to renew this old place, and live here
soberly, generously, and to the good of
those around me, all my days. And
the wife — a woman not so beautiful
that all her soul is sucked into her
face, but not ugly, you understand —
fair, fresh, and tranquil, with tender
eyes, ancf lips sweet to kiss. She must
be even of temper; not so gay as to
pine in the quiet of a country home,
nor yet so simple as to chronicle the
small -beer of her country life when
she goes to town. Well read, but not
learned — without ambition — well bred
— a lady to her finger-tips — unselfish,
without knowing that she is so — of a
sweet reticence of soul — with no small
coquetries — loving her home, her hus-
band, and the little heads that nestle
in her bosom — But I'm only gener-
alizing : any man's ideal wife would be
all this."

" You may have described the ideal
wife of any Southern gentleman," said
Mrs. Dexter, quietly ; " but Van, you
foolish fellow, don't you know that
you've described Mary Barton ?"

Silence. Mrs. Dexter dared not look
at the young man, whose boots were
just visible to her as he stood leaning
against a pillar.

She fell to watching a vagrant cloud
in the western sky, and tried to look
as if she hadn't said anything. Final-
ly Van remarked very naturally, "Here
come the colonel and Uncle Si'. And
do look at that string of fish !"

The little lady l)reathed freely. She

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had said it ; sho lived ; and she began
to talk volubly about the fish.

The subject was not renewed; but
she could not control her eyes. At
the very moment of their parting she
gave Van one swift look that asked a
thousand questions.

Van smiled. Then he leaned for-
ward until the corners of his brown
mustache almost touched her cheek.
And as the train with a wild shriek
came rushing into the station, he whis-
pered,

^^ Elegant idea P^

CHAPTER XIX.

MR. ELLIS AS THE GOOD SAMARITAN.

"Come, you long, yellow thing!"
said Blythe, holding her plait of gold-
en hair between her eyes and the sun,
"be very sleek to-day; for somebody
may stroke you before the sun goes
down."

Mr. Ellis had written that this was
the earliest day on which she might
expect him, but it was five days later
before he came. Blythe was not look-
ing for him, and had gone out with
Betty Page ; and he met the two girls
walking arm-in-arm down the street.

Blythe wondered if she were blush-
ing as he canie up to them. His face
was beaming. He looked at his love
with a proud glance of possession that
threw her into an agony lest Betty
Page should observe it. Indeed, it was
hard for Roger Ellis to keep such a
secret. When he looked at a woman
he loved, his face took everybody into
his confidence.

" How long have you been here, Mr.
Ellis ?" she asked, in a tone of polite
friendliness.

"Only an hour, Blythe. I took a
room at the hotel and went directly to
your house — to find you away."

There was no doubt about Blythe's
blushing now, but it was not a blush
of pleasure. Betty Page stared; but
Mr. Ellis, with fine unconsciousness,
after telling Blythe that he should see
her after tea, lifted his hat and pass-
ed on.

"What does it mean ?" cried Betty,
as soon as he was out of hearing.

"Mean? Nothing," said Blythe,
blushing furiously.

" Then why are you blushing ? And
he called you Blythe! And his tone
was so assured! Why has he come
back to Yariba ? Blythe Hemdon, I
do believe — "

"Yes," cried Blythe, desperately,
" you are right. I am engaged to Mr.
Ellis. But, Betty Page, if you betray
me, I'll never speak to you again on
earth!"

"He is the blackest of black repub-
licans!" said Betty, solemnly; "forty-
five years old, and bald. Blythe, how
could yoxiT^

"He is the noblest and the clever-
est man I know ! And I should thank
you, Betty Page, to speak more re-
spectfully of him."

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'*01i, good gracious, Blythe, you
needn't fly out ! I'm too surprised to
be respectful. I don't see why you
want to marry him. He is so peculiar,
you know. He carried Civil Rights
Bill home in his arms the night of the
picnic. And he doesn't make anything
of stopping on the street to kiss a
black baby."

" What of that? I dare say you've
kissed many a black person."

" To be sure ; I kiss my old Mammy
Ann to this day. But I don't do it to
show off, as Mr. Ellis does."

" Betty, how dare you speak so !"
cried Blythe. " Mr. Ellis is a philan-
thropist, I would have you know. He
spares no effort to elevate the human
race."

"The reason that I thought the
baby -kissing was for show-off," said
Betty, calmly, " was that I never yet
knew a man who would kiss a white
baby if he could get out of it; but, of
course, if he is in the stupendous busi-
ness of elevating the |)uman race, any
little eccentricity is accounted for. No
wonder he is bald. By-and-by you'll
be having a mission, Blythe. I hope
it won't take your hair off !"

Miss Page's remarks rankled in
Blythe's bosom, and she received her
lover with less dissolved tenderness
than he had expected.

** How could you ?" she cried, waving
him off as he came toward her with
outstretched arms; "how could you
speak to me, look at me in that way?"

"How could I do otherwise, my
beautiful Blythe ? I haven't seen you
for a century !"

"Of course, Betty guessed every-
thing."

"Hadn't you told her? I thought
you girls always made confidants of
each other,"

" I have no confidants. And I was
very averse to any one knowing of
this affair."

" This affair ! Good heavens ! Blythe,
you speak as if this were the first of a
series.'*

" I do not know how you can jest,
Mr. Ellis, when you see how annoyed I
am."

" Darling, forgive me, and put your-
self into my place a moment. I had
not seen you for so long a tijne. Ton
don't know how I struggled with the
desire to clasp you to my heart before
Miss Page's eyes. I haven't done it
yet, by-the-way — and I'm not a patient
man. What a pity, dear " — and laugh-
ter twinkled in his eyes — ^^ that Nature
did not give you a pair of eyebrows
like Colonel Dexter's ; then, as I came
up, you could have turned the fierce
one toward me, and I should have been
warned to be discreet. Blythe, don't
you think if you had been wandering
about purgatory a long while, you
would have beamed rather effusively
on the golden - haired angel that met
you at the gate of heaven ? Blythe — "

He spoke her name in the low, pas-
sionate whisper that she had not learn-
ed to resist. As she swayed gently
toward him, he caught her in his arms
and rained snch kisses as she had
dreamed of on cheek, and brow, and
lip.

" I must forgive you," she murmur-
ed, at last; "but, Roger, dear, do try
to be more discreet."

" I will. Blythe, do you know that
your cheek is like satin ?"

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Blythe glanced into the mirror over
the mantel.

" I wish you bad been a dark man,"
said she, regretfully. "Your eyes are
gray, are they not ?"

" Except when I look at you, dear.
Then the pupil grows big with wonder
at your beauty, and they are black."

"Sit down, Roger, and let us talk
rationally. Tell me about your trip."

" It was a wearying, worrying trip.
Let us not talk about it just yet."

" Tell me, then, your plans for the
winter."

"You won't let me rest a moment
longer in paradise ? Very well, then.
I will tell you what I had meant to do,
and what I must do. I had planned
to «peud thfe lovely months of the fall
with you here in Yariba; the winter
at the North, attending to my business
affairs, while my little girl was *at
home sewing long white seams,' and
making ready for a marriage in the
spring; the summer to be spent in
travelling where my bride pleased, and
then to settle in our home in the fall.
But I have been forced to relinquish
this. I can stay but a week with you
here. Then I shall go to New Orleans
for an indefinite time."

" To New Orleans ! but why ? What
interests have you there?"

" No personal interests ; and my go-
ing is a matter of duty, not of choice.
You must know, Blythe, that the next
Presidential campaign is to be a hard-
ly contested one. The Democrats are
determined to elect a Democratic Pres-
ident, by fair means or foul. In the
South, where they, have power, they
can intimidate and crush the loyal Re-
publican elertient, and they will do it

mercilessly. I have been living here,
Blythe, in a dream — forgetting every-
thing in the sweet madness of my love.
But once away from you among men
that are doing the world's work, I
found the air filled with forebodings.
It is a time when no honest man can
shirk. I must do my part."

"But all this is extremely vague,
Roger. What do you mean to do ?'*

"I mean to give the next year of
my life to the service of my country.
I shall go to Louisiana, and see with
my own eyes how the campaign is con-
ducted."

"Shall you make stump speeches,"
said Blythe, a little scornfully, " in the
interests of the * great and glorious
Republican party ?' "

" I shall make no effort to win Re-
publican votes ; but, by heaven ! I will
not see loyal men cowed or bullied as
long as I have a voice !"

" What can one voice do ?"

"It can make itself heard from
Maine to Florida," said Roger Ellis.

"How very disagi'eeable all this is !"
said Blythe, impatiently. "Oh, Mr.
Ellis, I did hope that you were done
with politics !"

" I shall never be a politician, Blythe,
but I shall never be done with politics.
My country is my religion. But come,
my little girl, there are other things
pleasanter to talk of in this first hour
of meeting."

Blythe pressed his hand softly against
her cheek, with a sudden sweet tender-
ness. "I could not love you more if
you were twenty times a Democrat,"
she said, " and I am sure you will never
do anything to hurt my country."

" My darling I" cried Ellis, with some

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emotion, "your country is my country,
and mine is yours. I love the Union ;
and I hate and will fight remorselessly
that old Bourbon element that would
destroy the Union to satisfy a desper-
ate ambition; that would make your
beautiful South an Egypt ; that is and
has always been opposed to progress
in all its forms; that plays upon the
passions of a low, unscrupulous class
to whom murder is as easy as bird-
shooting — ^"

"I don't know who these dreadful
people are, Roger," interrupted Blythe,
" nor where you find them. But I am
sure you are talking very unpleasantly.
My father and all his friends are Dem-
ocrats. They seem to me to be gentle-
men. And everybody knows that the
Republican party in the South is made
up of men of the lowest class and life."

" It is not a question of men, Blythe,
but of great principles," said Roger ;
and then he changed the ungenial topic
to one that filled the rest of the even-
ing with its sweet repetitions and de-
lightful mysteries of remembrance and
anticipation.

The town clock was striking twelve
as Mr. Ellis shut the Herndon gate be-
hind him. It was a night to make one
faint with beauty. Like a woman smil-
ing in her lover's face, this little South-
em town, set in the hills, revealed its
tenderest fairness to the summer night.
The large, low moon, and the few lan-
guid stars shone in a sky whose infi-
nite distance rested rather than troubled
the soul. The broad leaves of the
chestnut and catalpa trees were glint-
ed with gold ; and high up in the air
the cross on the church spire glittered
tremblingly like an arrested prayer.

Roger Ellis walked slowly along the
street, his eyes looking upward, his
lips parted in a smile, his soul delicate-
ly poised between serenity and joy*
He was brought to earth — almost lit-
erally — ^by stumbling against a some-
thing that lay under a tree on the side-
walk. The something rose and con-
fronted him. It was not a mild-faced
cow, but a little dark figure that Ellis
recognized at once.

"Civil Rights Bill! what in the
world are you doing here at this time
of the night?"

"Howdy, Bister Ellis," said Bill,
holding out his hand affably.

Bill was shivering. The catarrhal B
was fitfully indicated in his speech, and
Mr. Ellis, putting his hand on the lad's
shoulder, found it damp.

"What the dickens does all this
mean?" said he. "Speak out, you
funny little forlorn mite of a boy."

" Nothin' much de batter,'^ said Bill,
with husky cheerfulness. "Mammy
ducked me in de hoss-bond dis evenin',
an' I cleared out."

"Ducked you in the horse- pond!
What was that for?"

" Jes' de ole Satan in her, I reckon.
I ain't a' been doin' nothin' out o' de
way ; you know dat. Bister Ellis."

" Oh, certainly. Bill," said Mr. Ellis,
with his short laugh; "and did you
mean to sleep all night under the
tree?"

" Yessir; but it was kind o' coolish."

"I should think so. Come with me
now, my lad. Take my hand, and let
us walk fast."

As I write I wonder if any one who
reads will feel the extreme lovable-
neas of this man ? if an^ one will say.

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"What a sweet and tender thing for
him to doT' thinking of him as he
hurried through the streets of Yariba,
clasping a little chilled hand in his own,
and talking cheerily to a tired child !

He took Bill to his hotel and to his
room; he ordered- a whiskey cocktail
and made Bill drink it; he undressed
the child and rnbbed his numbed
limbs; and ended by wrapping him
round and round like a mummy in a
blanket he pulled o£E the bed — smiling,
as he did so, at the thought of the
landlord's horror if he could look in
upon his proceedings — and laying him
on the lounge, where he soon fell asleep.
His care, no doubt, saved Bill a fit of
sickness ; for, although the next morn-
ing he was so hoarse as not to be able
to speak in his usual ringing treble,
there were no feverish symptoms, and
Ellis looked at him with all of a physi-
cian's satisfaction in his patient.

" I think, young man," he said, as
Bill skipped around him a revived and
grateful Bill — " I think I saved your
life last night. ErgOy it ought to be-
long to me."

« Yes, Mars' Roger," said Bill, affec-
tionately. "I'd be mighty proud to
be your body-servant, sir."

" No, Bill ; I rather fancy that there
is the making of a man in you. And
don't you ever call me Mars' Roger
again. Should you like to go to the
North and get an education ?"

" I donno, sir," said Bill, doubtfully.
" When I see Tom Tolliver a wrestlin'
wid his books, and a cussin', and a
flingin' 'em across de room, it 'pears to
me dar ain't much fun in gittin' edu-
cated, I'd rather be a clowp in a cir-
cus,"

" Bill, you are incorrigible. I shall
have to help you in spite of yourself.
But you wouldn't mind leaving Yari-
ba, I suppose ?"

"I reckon I wouldn't," said Bill, em-
phatically, "I'd ruther ride on de
kears dan to go to heaven.'*

Mr. Ellis was quite in eaiHest in his
resolve to free Bill from Aunt Sally's
malignant rule. It had long been on
his mind, and it now occurred to him
that he could connect Bill's interests
with a scheme of benevolence that he
had matured during his Northern tour.
The first step in Bill's behalf was to
win Aunt Sally's consent to take him
away. Directly after his breakfast he
set off for the ToUivers, where he was
received with great cordiality by Mrs.
Tolliver.

" I'm right glad to see you back, Mr.
Ellis," said the lady; "it seems like
old times. I declare, we do miss the
soldiers more and more evejy day.
Mis' Tolliver is as cross as a bear with-
out them, for he used to play cards
with the colonel every evening, and
that's just spoiled him for my game."

" I would not have intruded so early
this morning," said Ellis, after a time,
" except that I came on little Bill's ac-
count."

"And where is Bill?" cried Mrs,
Tolliver. " Do you know that the poor
child ran away last night ? Aunt SaU
ly treated him like a dog."

" I have heard about it."

" Yes, she got into one of her furies,
and j»he snatched Bill up as if he
had been a kitten — you know what a
great, large, portly woman she is," said
Mrs. Tolliver, with generous clearness ;
" and the next thing we knew she was

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down at the horse-pond, and had duck-
ed him well before any of us could get
to her. I gave her an up-and-down
scolding, and told her if she couldn't
behave herself she should walk right
ofE this place; so she quieted down,
and got supper as meekly as you
please. When she brought in the hot
muffins she looked so injured that I
thought I would smooth the old lady
down a little ; so I said, * What deli-
cious muffins these are ! Aunt Sally
never fails on her muffins 1' Aunt Sal-
ly tosses her head at this and says,
* Humph ! I never fails on nothin' I
tries to do, 'cep'n it's to drown a little
nigger!' You ought to have heard
her, Mr. Ellis. It was too funny for
anything.''

«I should think so," said Ellis,
grimly.

" I sent Tom out after supper," con-
tinued Mrs. ToUiver, placidly, " to tell
Bill to come and sleep in the house, for
fear Aunt Sally should pounce on him
again; but he couldn't find the child
high nor low, I'm real glad you hap-
pened to stumble* on him, Mr, Ellis."

Here Mr. Ellis briefly unfolded his
plan for Bill's future ; and Mrs. ToUi-
ver, who, although a very naive woman,
was also a very polite one, did not ex-
press the surprise she felt, but declared
that it would be **a great thing for
Bill," and that she was sure Aunt Sally
would consent.

" With your permission I will talk
to Aunt Sally about it," said Ellis, ris-
ing.

" Come right through this way," said
Mrs. TolUver, passing through the hall
to the baek-door, *' There's Aunt Sal-
ly in the yard; you can go out there, if

you like — there are no dogs to fly at
you."

A fire was burning in the yard, over
which a great black kettle was set filled
with boiling and bubblipg suds. Aunt
Sally stood by an old tree -stump, on
whose smooth top a heap of motley
garments were piled, that she was
pounding with fierce blows from a
"battling-stick" that she held in her
hand. Whack I whack! the blows
came down with unerriug aim. Aunt
Sally's lean arm, bared to the shoulder,
seemed to describe a circle in the air
— fine foam flew about her turbaned
head.

" What in the world are you doing.
Aunt Sally?" said Ellis, as she stopped
an instant to give the clothes on the
stunip a turn.

« Lor', Mars' Ellis, is dat you ? What
a scare you give me, comin' up so sud-
den !"

Ellis repeated his query.

" What am I a doin' ? Why, battlin'
de close, to be sho', I'se a old-fash-
ioned Carliny nigger, I is, an' I sticks
to de ole ways. None o' your scrubbin'-
bo'des for my knuckles! I biles my
close, an' battles 'em, an' dey's clean
when I gits done wid 'em. Dat's Car-
liny way."

" And is it Carliny way," said Mr.
Ellis, severely, "to dip children in
horse-ponds and try to drown them?"

"Lor', how'd you hear dat? Well,
I jes' tell you dat ar Bill is de provok-
in'est nigger dat de good Lord ever
made. What d'ye think dat boy had
done? He had tuk my best Sunday
skiarf dat I wears wid my gauidin
gown, and ropped it roun' some miser-
bel new-born puppies! No wonder

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I ducked him. Pity de sinfulness
couldn't be washed out o* him.
Waste ! — dat boy'll throw out more
wid a teaspoon dan anybody kin bring
in wid a shovel. He runs through my
things as if dey was weeds. He ain't
wuth his salt !"

"If that is the case," said Mr. Ellis,
" perhaps you would be pleased to get
rid of Bill for good and all."

This was the beginning of a negotia-
tion that ended in the transfer of cer-
tain crisp bills from Ellis's pocket to
Aunt Sally's bosom; and a formal

written surrender of her gi*andchild, to
which she affixed her mark, and which
Tom Tolliver signed as a witness.

The next sight of interest afforded
to Tariba was that of Civil Rights
Bill, in a new suit of clothes, walking
through the streets with an air of sol-
emn dignity, foUawed by all the small
boys of the town, evidently aching to
" 'eave 'arf a brick at him," and only
restrained by fear of Mr. Ellis, whose
eyes were twinkling behind him in
min<;led amusement and satisfaction.

CHAPTER XX.

THE FIRST FAINT SWERVING OF THE HEART.

It was the grandmother who did it.
Neither one of them ever knew this;
but it was a fact that she brought
about, indirectly, the first quarrel be-
tween Blythe and her lover. Blythe,
who never lost an opportunity of prais-
ing Mr. Ellis in her grandmother's
hearing, was speaking of his liberality
of mind, his freedom from prejudice,
his devotion to grand principles.

-"Did you ever happen to tell him
about your cousin, Dick Herndou?"
said the old lady, carelessly.

"Why, no," said Blythe, in some
surprise, as the question did not seem
particularly relevant; "why should I?"

*^ Oh, for no reason, except that I
should like to know what he would
think of Dick's war career."

" I suppose he would think, as we all
do, that Dick took an extreme course,
biit was almost justified in it by tho

terrible provocation. Mr. Ellis is not
one," added Blythe, loftily, " to judge
a man unjustly, because he happened
to be on this side or the other."

Dick Herndon was a wild young
fellow, who had covered himself with
gloiy during the war as a guerilla
captain. The notable thing about his
mode of warfare was, that he never
took a prisoner. Blythe could never
forget one winter night, when, as bed-
time drew near, there came a double
rap at the front -door. Her father
opened it cautiously, with a candle and
a pistol in his hand — for those were
troubled times — to see on the thresh-
old the gray -coated forms of Dick
Herndon and one of his comrades,
who had ridden fast and far, and had
stopped for a night's rest and food.
She could never forget how they sat
around the fire late into the dark hourjs

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of the new day, the grandmother lean-
ing from one corner, herself crouching
in another, and talked of battles, and
flying rumors, and woful deaths; nor
how the firelight shone redly on the
dark, thin face of the young guerilla
captain, who was standing with his
hand on his sword, as he said/' Aunt
Xuct/yl/iavemade a vow never to take
another prisoner/^ nor how her moth-
er's voice trembled as she said, " That
is a dreadful vow, Dick ; why did you
make it?" nor the flash of passion,
dimming the firelight, that kindled on
Dick's face, as he replied, " How can
you ask me. Aunt Herndon, when you
know that my mother and sister live
in New Orleans?"

It was long before Blythe under-
stood the significance of these words,
or the sombre pause that followed
them; and when she did, it was to feel
something like a thrill of pride in the
young Southerner's desperate resolve,
that seemed to her only a chivalrous,
though exaggerated, vengeance for an
insult offered to all women.*

Dick had kept his word, and his
name had become a terror through the
state. In fact, his fame was so wide-
spread that at the close of the war
be had found it necessary to leave the
country; and he was now in Brazil
pursuing the peaceful avocation of a
sheep-farmer, and much respected by
bis neighbors as a noble exile.

* The time was daring the military occupa-
tion of New Orleans by the Northern army; and
a war order had jast been issued prescribing the
course to be pursued toward all women who in-
sulted the United States flag or one of its sol-
diers. It was so much talked of, that it is per-
haps nnnecessaiy to mention it more specifically.

The grandmother's hint remained in
BIythe's mind, and she took an early
opportunity of telling Mr. Ellis about
Dick. He had listened with an un-
moved face, merely remarking that he
was rather glad the young man had
left the country.

"I shouldn't like to refuse my hand
even to such an indefinite relation as
a cousin by marriage," said he, dryly,
" as I must have done, if, indeed, Mr.
Dick Herndon had escaped hanging."

"But consider his terrible provoca-
tion, Roger," urged Blythe.

" I do not recognize that," said Mr.
Ellis. "The war order in question
was justifiable, necessary — emphatical-
ly, the right thing at the right time."

Blythe grew white to the lips. It
seemed as if her lover had struck her
a blow.

" Roger, do you know what you are
saying?"

"Why yes, dear. It is not a sub-
ject on which I could speak at random.
You do not comprehend, Blythe, all
that the American flag is to the men
who offered their lives to save it. It
has the magnificent sacredness of the
Holy Grail; and when this flag was
insulted, outraged, by the ill-bred wom-
en of a rebel city, it was right to give
them a lesson that they would remem-
ber as long as the breath of life was in
them."

Blythe had risen from her seat. She
stood before Roger Ellis, cheeks and
eyes blazing.

"And what could they do?" she
said, with curling lips — " these terrible
malignants, these powerful enemies,
whom you did so well to fight ?"

"Do? oh, a thousand petty atro-

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cious things. It is astonishiDg," said
Ellis, reflectively, "how many ingen-
ious ways those New Orleans women
devised to torment our soldiers. Noth-
ing but the most rigorous measures
would have answered with them. You
cannot imagine, Blythe — "

"But I can imagine,'' said Blythe,
interrupting him with impetuous
haste; "you forget, Mr. Ellis, that I
am twenty-two years old. The North-
ern troops were in Tariba half the
time during the war, and we women
of Yariba were not behind others in
showing loyalty to our cause. When
this house was taken for a hospital,
and the Union flag hung over the
porch, rather than walk under it I
went out through the windows or
jumped off the end of the porch. Had
you seen me, and had I been ten years
older—"

"Blythe, why torment yourself in
this way ? Let us be quietly thankful
that I was not here, and that you are
twenty-two instead of thirty-two years
old."

"In any case, it should have been
the same," said Blythe, waving him
away as he approached her. "And
you say that for such little, foolish out-
breaks of a woman's feeling, that had
no other vent — petty acts that should
be no more regarded than a baby's
slaps in a giant's face — that you would
commend a base and terrible insult as
a needed lesson !"

Then Mr. Ellis got up and made an-
other little speech about the American
flag; how it symbolized to him all that
was sacred — all that other men found
in religion, home, poetry, art. From
this he branched off to some remarks

on patriotism that would have done
credit to a Fourth of July oration;
and, returning to the subject in hand,
he declared that events had proved the
wisdom of the order in question, as it
had taught the women to behave them-
selves.

Blythe had listened with growing
irritation. To her excited fancy there
was something fantastic about her lover
— ^his bombastic tone, his iterated ideas.
"Why, Blythe!" he broke off sudden-
ly, " what a desperate little rebel you
are, in spite of your liberal concession
in accepting a Yankee lover I"

" You mistake me entirely," said the
girl, proudly ; " it is not as a Southern*
er I resent what you have said, but as
a woman, I cannot bear it, Mr. El-
lis !" and she made a sudden swift ges*
ture of dismissal. " I should like to be
alone."

It was Ellis's turn to doubt if his own
ears might be trusted. He flashed a
quiet glance at Blythe's burning face,
but she stood there erect, passionately
angry, but unmoved, like a frozen
flame. He bowed profoundly and left
the room.

Blythe cried much and slept little
that night. She could not reconcile
herself to a lowered ideal of her lover.
Her family could but notice the follow-
ing day that her eyelids were heavy
and her cheeks pale; but she was too
proud and too loyal to her lover to take
any one into her confidence. They
all knew, however, that something had
happened, and the grandmother in her
chamber rendered devout thanks to
God.

In the afternoon Blythe essayed a
little conversation with^her father.

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"Papa," she said, leaning over the
back of bis chair so that he could not
see her face, " what is a fanatic ?"

"A fanatic, my dear," rejoined her
father cheerfully, " a fanatic is a fool."

Two days passed, and it became evi-
dent to Blythe that if there was to be
a reconciliation the advances must
come from her. She was not sorry for
this. It was a comfort to blame her^
self. She told her mother that she had
turned Mr. Ellis out of the house, and
saw with pleasure that lady's mortifi-
cation and surprise. "But, Blythe,"
she said, "what had he said — what
could he have said to lead you to such
inexcusable rudeness ?"

"I can't tell you, mamma; you would
think less of him : though, after all, it
was only a difference of opinion," said
Blythe, generously.

" A difference of opinion ! Oh,
Blythe! and you have always prided
yourself on being so impartial."

" I am, mother," said Blythe, naive-
ly ; " but there is but one way of look-
ing at this question."

"There must be," said Mrs. Hern-
don, laughing, "since you and Mr. El-
lis differed about it."

" There is the puzzle," said Blythe
with a sigh, " how he could— At any
rate, mamma, I was so rude that I
ought to write him a note and ask him
to forgive me— don't you think so ?"

"Most assuredly. I am perfectly
ashamed, Blythe, when I think of the
ill-breeding you showed. What will
he think of the way you have been
brought up ?"

Another day of loneliness convinced
Blythe that she could not give up her
love. " The sweet habit of loving " had

grown upon her, and she missed the
close intimacy with an intellectual nat-
ure. But even as she wrote the note
to bring him back she sighed, " It can
never be quite the same again ;" and she
' felt in a vague sort of way that it was a
species of weakness to recall him. " I
do it," she said, " to relieve my pain,
just as 1 would go to a chloroform
bottle if I had the toothache."

Mr. Ellis had not been so unhappy
during the days of their estrangement
as Blythe had been; he felt that he
had sustained the cause of right under
somewhat trying circumstances, and
was stimulated by a martyr's glow.
Still, he suffered ; all the old sorrowful
emotions that he had thought himself
done with forever came rushing upon
him, like a torrent too long dammed.
He strolled about the woods, with Civil
Rights Bill tramping laboriously after
him ; and he managed to blunt the edge
of his feelings by giving that small
youth much rambling information con-
cerning genii, kobolds, and fairies. Fi-
nally he bethought himself of a visit
to Mrs. Roy, who as yet remained ig-
norant of the good fortune awaiting
her. Mr. Ellis, as I have said, had
founded an orphan asylum at one pe-
riod of his life. It had grown to be a
large one, and Government had made
it an appropriation. On his trip to the
North he had found that there was a
vacancy among its offices — the place
of assistant seamstress — and it oc-
curred to him that here was an oppor-
tunity to be of practical service to the
melancholy Mrs. Roy. He found this
tall dame very much as he had left her
— depressed, yellow, and given to much
talk and snuff. ^^ j

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" I manage to git on, sir," she said,
" the neighbors is powerful good ; but
winter is comin', an' it just makes me
sick to think about it."

Mr. Ellis then told her of the orphan
asylum, and ofEered her the vacant
place. She seemed grateful, but not
surprised. Somebody always had man-
aged her affairs for her : why should it
not be so to the end?

** It's powerful good in you, Mr. El-
lis," said she, " and I'll be thankful to
take the place and keep things a-goin'.
It'll come hard on me at first, I sup-
pose, livin' at the North, with the cli-
mate an' ways so different, an' tramps
murderin' you in your bed; but I
s'pose I'll git used ter it."

"I think you will like it," said Ellis,
with a fleeting smile; "it will be a
good home for your children. They
will get a plain education, and a chance
to settle respectably in life."

" Yes, sir. I don't suppose their fa-
ther will ever think of 'em again — po'
innocents !"

"I will *send a telegram to-night,"
said Ellis, " saying that you will take
the place, and I think you had better
leave as soon as possible. You will
take a through train and have no trou-
ble. I want to send Willy Tolliver
with you. He can help you take care
of the children."

"Bill Tolliver! Is he a-goin' to the
asylum ?"

" Yes."

"I thought folks at the North had
2\11 white servants," said Mrs. Roy;
"and Bill is a shif'less little nigger
anyhow, and can't be much good to
nobody."

" I am not sending him as a servant.

but as one of the children of the asy-
lum."

" What! you let in niggers ?"

" Why, my good w^oman, it is a col-
ored orphan asylum. But they are not
proud— they let in whites !"

Mrs. Roy, after looking at Mr. Ellis
a ihoment in a stony sort of way, lift-
ed up her voice and wept. "That it
should come to this I" she sobbed —
" to be insulted by a strange man and
a Yankee! Oh, Jim, Jim! little did I
think,- when I married you, that mar-
ryin' would bring me to this. I would
have you know, sir, that howsomever
it be that I'm forsaken and po', I ain't
quit off bein' respectable; an' I'll
starve, if I must, but I won't let myself
down to niggers — not quite yet. My
family was always high - notioned,
though we did live up the mountain
an' didn't plant; but we owned nig-
gers, an' if it hadn't a' been for the
war that you an' sech as you brought
upon us, a-plenty I would a' had to this
day. I don't forgit the shirts, sir; an'
I'll allow that you meant to be kind.
But 'tain't to be expected that you could
understand the feelin's of a Southern
lady. I ain't ashamed of workin' ; but
I'll die in my tracks befo' I'll let my
children associate with niggers; an'
you can give that place to some Yan-
kee woman who ain't above it, for pov-
erty ain't took down my pride, Mr.
Ellis !"

Mrs. Roy refreshed herself with a
little snuff, and Mr. Ellis rose to go.

" Very well, madam," he said, some-
what roughly, " the place can readily
be filled by some one, as you suggiest,
better fitted for it. I have only to
wish you good-day."

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So saying, Mr. Ellis shook from bis
feet the* dust of the house of Roy, and
walked away, not even stopping to
speak to the Roy children, who were
playing contentedly in the dirt with as
many colored companions. He looked
across the swelling fields to red-leaved
woods, and stepped in the spreading
gold of antumn^s splendid sun; but
his face was worn, his eyes tired, and
there were liqes of pain around his
mouth. Once he sighed heavily, as if

to relieve himself of an oppression, and
muimured,

*^And there was darkness over the
land of Egypt — even darkness that
might hefeltP

But he found Blythe^s note awaiting
him at the hotel; and the transition
from general woe to specific happiness
was so violent that he could have
scarcely been depressed, even had he
known that the young lady was con-
sidering him as a bottle of chloroform.

CHAPTER XXL

A BUNCH OF VIOLETS.

Mrs. Oglethobpb had her reward.
As soon as the regiments were settled
in their winter - quarters, invitations
poured upon her to visit her army
friends in New Orleans; and she was
not long in deciding to take a house
there for the winter, nor in inviting
Blythe Herndon and Betty Page to
visit her. It was early in November
that Mrs. Oglethorpe locked the door
of her cottage in Yariba and went to
New Orleans; six weeks later the two
girls joined her.

They reached their journey's end at
dusk ; and the misty city showed little
beauty to the eager young faces that
pressed against the carriage panes,
peering out with childlike interest.
The carriage stopped before a house
of which they could see nothing for
the high wall that surrounded it.
They pulled the rusty bell at the lock-
ed gate, and in a moment Peggy ap-
peared — Peggy, as much beruffled as
9

ever, and with a most elegant panier
that showed she had not been a
month in the neighborhood of Madame
Olympe for nothing. Mrs. Oglethorpe
greeted her "dear girls" with such et
fusive cordiality that they almost felt
themselves back in Yariba; but her
greetings were hardly over before she
sent them to their rooms to dress for
the evening. " I have invited a little
company to meet you," she said.

" They will all be here," cried Betty,
when they were alone in their room.
" Oh, Blythe, isn't it lovely I Now tell
me, dear, shall I do my hair low in a
Grecian coil, or high with a plait on
top?"

"Grecian coil, I think — you are so
tall, you know."

"Yes," said Betty, doubtfully: "the
the<yry of the Grecian coil is very fine ;
but, Blythe, do you know that I never
have it so without a horrible suspicion
that I look flat-headed r^

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"You might pull out the crimps
and make it fluffy on top," suggested
Blythe, thoughtfully.

A rap at the door, and Peggy ap-
peared.

" Here's sompen' one o' your beaux
done sent you already, Miss Blythe.
He's in a hurry, he is."

It was a basket of flowers — a care-
less confusion of violets and valley lil-
ies — with a sealed note lying across
them.

"My Daelixg, — You are making
a poet of me. Last night, as I lay
awake, thinking that another twenty-
four hours would bring you to me, a
sonnet came singing through my brain,
that I send you now as my welcome :

1 counted first the weeks, and then the days,
And DOW I count the hours that endless

seem,
Ere thou wilt come again. As in a dream,

Or through an atmosphere of golden haze,

I see thee on those peiilous iron ways,
As over mountain, valley, hill, and stream,
Those steeds with hearts of fire and breath
of steam,

Are bearing thee, impatient of delays.

O Bird of Paradise, that comest flying —
Fast flying— flying to the sunny South,

Thou but returnest unto what is thine ;

For as the sea, in dreamy silence lying.
Drinks the sweet waters from a river's mouth.

So I receive thy being into mine.

" There ! that is your poem, for you
have been its inspiration.

" Outside, the sun is shining as if it
were June — this is the rarest of days.
Such, I say, as I look out on the beam-
ing earth, has Blythe been to me. I
owe to you, my beautiful comrade, my
pure lover, more than you can ever
know. A life-long gi'atitude is yours,

won without a conscious effort, as the
sun brings forth the violets, and does
not know what a blessing it has been
to them. But the violets know what
it is to be rescued from the cold grip
of the frozen earth, and brought into
fragrant life and the delirious joys of
sunshine. And I know, my beautiful
and bright and joy-giving Blythe, what
your love has done for me. I bless
you with my whole soul; every beat
of my heart reverberates with bene-
dictions.

"I cannot meet you at the station,
Blythe. Miss Betty Page will be with
you, and I don't believe I should have
the strength of mind to refrain from
taking you in my arms, though forty
thousand Pages should stand ready to
proclaim it. Then your lovely lips
would take on that mutinous pont that
it will take a great many years' kisses
to make them forget. Many years'
kisses ! Blythe, Blythe, my fieiy-souled
and wilful and beloved child, do you
know how humbly and how proudly I
sign myself,

"Your lover,

"R.E."

« Oh, Betty, I am glad to be here I"
said Blythe, with a long breath, folding
the note and thrusting her face deep
down into the sweet wet violets.

"I should think you might be,"
said Betty. " 'Tisn't bad fun to have
a devoted lover to send one violets and
things."

" A poem, Betty," said Blythe, with
a low laugh; "only think of that I"

"A poem !" cried Betty. « Oh ! well,
he copied it. My captain could do that
much."

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** Copied it t Indeed, he did no
such thing! He composed it. It is
a sonnet — fourteen lines, you know —
and perfectly lovely !"

" BIythe, my dear, I've a new respect
for you" — and Betty let fall her hair,
that she had just combed up to the
proper height. "I don't believe any
other ffirl in Yariba ever had a poem
written to her. It makes you feel like
*Mary in Heaven,* doesn't it? Now,
dear, if you could come down to earth
and tie this back hair — "

BIytho dressed herself slowly, and
by the time she was ready to go down
Mr. Ellis was announced. The young
girl had a pretty way of stopping an
instant on the threshold just before
entering a room and looking in shyly.
Ellis caught his breath as she stood at
the door to-night. She wore a white
woollen dress, from above which her
face blossomed like a flower springing
from the snow. Her lips were parted
in a tender smile. Never had she
seemed to him so winsome and so fair.
He kissed her lips with a tenderness
that she but half understood. Men
and women love very dilEerently; but
I think the most exquisite feeling that
a human nature can know is that of a
man who clasps in his arms the woman
that he loves. The keen joy, tempered
by reverent wonder — the fine passion
that would protect rather than exact —
and above all, the rapturous certainty
of possession — these are emotions that
no woman ever quite comprehends.

" How brown you are, Roger !" cried
Miss BIythe ; " you are sunburnt, I do
believe, and bearded like a pard. And
oh, Roger, how absurdly happy you
look!"

"BIythe, that look has struck in as
unfadingly as if my head were an
Easter egg and had been boiled in a
piece of red calico. A raging tooth-
ache couldn't take it out. You must
bear with it as best you can."

"If you can only repress it a little
before people — ^'*

" I will try — I will think on my lat-
ter end. But, that won't do any good,
for I hope to breathe my last sigh in
your arms, my darling, and the thought
is not a sad one."

" How I wish," said BIythe, pressing
his hand to her cheek, "that we were
to have this evening to ourselves. But
Mrs. Oglethorpe has invited a lot of
people to meet us."

" I feared as much, and came early
to have a few minutes with you. Oh,
my dear girl, I foresee all sorts of
vexations and interruptions. I am
busy from morning until night. I
shall have to steal all the time I give
you."

"But what are you doing, Roger?"

"At present I am trying to verify
or disprove certain political outrages
that have been reported in Republican
quarters and are carefully kept out of
the newspapers. Witnesses pour in
upon me. I listen to stories one hour,
that make my blood run cold ; and the
next, to men who deny every word of
them."

"How do you know which side to
believe?"

"That is what I shall find out, if I
have to travel the length and breadth
of the State to do it," said Ellis, press-
ing his lips firmly together.

"Roger, why do you do all this?
Do you know, it seems to me a sort of

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detective business," said Blythe, impa-
tiently.

"My dear girl, I should much pre-
fer going out with a musket on my
shoulder; but that is not the way the
fight is earned on to-day. I can only
do my part by hunting down assas-
sins, exposing trickery, and showing
up fraud. It is not an agreeable busi-
ness, but what would you ? I cannot
choose my work."

" I wish you were out of it," mur-
mured Blythe.

" Remember, dear," said Ellis, " that
I've the blood of the Scotch Covenant-
ers in my veins, and it forces me to
fight to the death for whatever cause
I conceive to be just. I must throw
whatever courage and ability I have on
the side of the classes that cannot help
themselves."

"If I were a man," said Blythe, "I
would not touch such pitch as Ameri-
can politics."

"Blythe, it is a very false concep-
tion of politics that looks on it as an
impure vocation. It arises from a
natural disgust for the corrupt men
who have made themselves prominent
in public aflFairs. But should Miranda
have forsworn love because Caliban
had profaned its name? There are
human beasts, and there are venal poli-
ticians, but there are also lovers and
patriots. I don't think," he went on,
laughing, "that women are ever very
patriotic. They look with gentle pity
on the foolish fellows who would give
their lives for a strip of bunting. I
give my word, Blythe, that when I was
abroad I could never hear the word
* America' without a tingling of the
blood, I passionately love the ideas

that distinguish it from other nation-
alities. Only two things ever made
me actually tremble with joy, with ex-
cess of love, in all my life — a woman's
portrait and the American flag."

"Good heavens I" thought Blythe;
"if the American flag is unfurled upon
us we are undone !"

"A woman's portrait!" she cried;
" perhaps I have a right to know a lit-
tle more about that."

"Perhaps you don't remember a
photograph you sent me in New
York," he said, gayly. "It did not
give me the light of your eyes, nor the
glory of your hair; and yet it made
such a light in my room that I had to
draw the curtains, for fear people
should think there was a conflagration
inside and turn the fire-engines upon

me.'

" Oh, Roger, what a goose you are !
I did not like that photograph at all.
I had on my old blue."

"I am penetrated with awe," said
Roger, " at that profound and unintel-
ligible remark — I had on my old blue.
Would you object to my writing it
down in my note-book, under the head
of metaphysics ?"

" Be serious, Mr. Ellis. Come now,
confess. Haven't you a dozen photo-
graphs of your sweethearts stuck
around your walls with pins through
their noses?"

" * Elegant idea I' " said Roger, " but
I haven't. I've only one other picture
of a woman — that is an ivoi7t}'pe, a
most beautiful picture of a most beau-
tiful woman."

"Did you love her?"

" Yes, I loved her long and dearl}-,
as the song says. I've nothing left of

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her now but a disagreeable memory —
this pictai*e and one letter, that I've
kept principally for its literary excel-
lence. She was a clever creature."

"Well, well," said Blythe, «I sha'n't
*be jealous. You had never seen me
when you loved her. But I have nev-
er written you clever letters. Did you
not make comparisons?"

" I did," said Roger, laughing ; " and
as I read your dear, formal little letters,
beginning * Dear Mr. Ellis,' I wanted to
believe in God, that I might thank
him that you were not as other women
were. Your picture and the letter
you sent me with it are on my heart,
my darling; and though you turn me
out-of-doors a dozen times over, I shall
never give them back to you. I want
them to moulder and mix with my
dust. Hers I should have destroyed
when I first won you, but I thought
you might like to see them some day."

"The picture I should like to see
very much; but the letter — oh no, Rog-
er ; it would not be right."

"She doesn't deserve the slightest
consideration, my dear Blythe. Con-
sider her as a woman in a book. At
the veiy time when she was writing
these letters to me — and I assure you
that Sappho hei'self would have doffed
her bonnet to her — she was carrying on
impassioned love affairs with two other
men, both intimate friends of mine."

" There is Betty's voice at the door !"
cried Blythe, smoothing her slightly
ruffled hair; and Miss Page came in
pale and pretty, just as a peal at the
bell announced other visitors.

Mr. Ellis had no further opportunity
to speak with Blythe, except to make
an engagement to take her to the

French market the next morning be-
fore breakfast ; for the room was soon
crowded with the friends of the sum-
mer past, who gave warm greetings to
both the pretty girls. Captain Silsby's
figure was, of course, prominent among
the officers. He had intended to be
very dignified toward Miss Page, but
he relented as he saw how his com-
rades crowded around her, and heard
her pretty laugh rewarding their jokes,
that he thought very stupid ones.
Captain Silsby is, perhaps, not the first
man who does not find out that a jewel
is worth having until he sees its price
affixed in a shop window.

Miss Page, after the two girls ha(J
gone to their room, expressed herself
as highly delighted with .the evening.

"I think we shall be great belles,
Blythe," she remarked. "How they
all crowded in this evening — even to
the Great Panjandrum himself, with
the little round button at the top."

"I suppose the Great Panjandrum
is General Van der Meire?" said
Blythe, laughing.

"Yes, ponderous old fellow! but
his horses are simply superb. I do
hope that he will ask me to ride."

"Captain Silsby seems entirely at
your command."

"Yes," said Betty again, "and I
shouldn't wonder, Blythe, if I were to
have a — violet-sender before the win-
ter is over."

"You don't mean that you would
accept him ?"

"Why not?"

"Oh, your principles, of course!
Don't you remember the afternoon at
the spring, when you launched out
against me so furiously ?"

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132

LIKE UNTO LIKE.

" I don't remember," said Betty, in-
nocently. " Did I say anything in par-
ticular? But I suppose I was rather
intolerant, before I knew them so
well."

" * Grown familiar with their hateful faces,
You first endures, then pities, then em-
braces I* '»

quoted Blythe, liberally.

"And then, Blythe," said Betty,
meditatively, unlacing her boot, "I
make distinctions. There are Yan-
kees and Yankees. If Captain Silsby
were a radical, I wouldn't think of
him ; but as he is not, I waste a thought
on him now and then."

"General Van der Meire is a radi-
cal, and how delighted you are when
he takes you to ride ! And who was
that young fellow you flirted with so

desperately during the summer — alter-
nating between him and Captain Sils*
by?"

"Lieutenant Gilbert?" suggested
Betty.

"Yes; Mr. Ellis told me that his fa-
ther is a great friend of Wendell Phil-
lips, and this young fellow is an out-
and-out radical himself."

"Oh, well, I only flirted with him,"
said Betty, briskly : " I never intended
to marry him."

*^ I don't follow your reasoning, ex-
actly; but for my part, I think it is
just about as bad to make love to a
man, as to marry him."

"Make love! as if I would do such
a thing !" said Betty, with a yawn. " I
only let them make love to me — there's
all the difference in the world."

CHAPTER XXIL

THE FRENCH MARKET.

To go to the French market in New
Orleans, it is necessary to be ahead of
the sun in rising; and Blythe looked
like one of its advance beams, as she
came into the room where Roger Ellis
was awaiting her. Blythe had that
beauty which is at its fairest in the
searching morning hours.

"Here is an old friend of yours,"
said Mr. Ellis, leading forward a spruce
young lad in a scarlet necktie, whom
Blythe found no trouble in recognizing
as Civil Bights Bill, in spite of his
clean face and smart dress.

"He seems to have suffered a sea-
cl^nge," said Blythe, laughing, as she

shook hands. "Actually, he looks
shy ! How are you getting on. Bill ?"

"Mighty well, thank you. Miss
Blythe," returned Bill, in good Eng-
lish, and with an uneasy smile that
was but the ghost of his former giin.
"How are all the folks at home?"

" Very well, Bill. I saw Aunt Sally
just before I left, and she told me to
tell you 'Howdy' for her, and said
that she wanted you to write her a let-
ter and send her a new head-handker-
chief."

"I suppose Bill is quite a hero in
her eyes since he has left her?" said
Mr. Ellis, as they walked away.

LIKE UNTO LIKE.

133

" Oh. yes, indeed ! I understand that
she laments him as the comfort of her
old age. I don't believe that your
hold on the youth is very seoure,"

"I shall hold him fast enough. I've
bought him, you know. Circumstance
plays queer tricks with a man's princi-
ples. I bought the * little Billee,' and
paid for him in currency notes."

<*And paid more than he is worth,!
dare say," remarked Blythe.

" Not so, my Lady Blythe. I can't
begin to tell you how fond I am of the
lad. I brought him down here with
me, intending to send him North the
first opportunity that offered; but,
really, he is such a comfort to me —
sucli a faithful, affectionate little fel-
low — that I don't like to give him
tip."

Blythe was looking about her with
interested eyes. They were almost
the only persons in the street at this
early morning hour. The pleasant air
blew fresh against their faces with
the softness of midsummer. The
houses were solidly built, and were
surrounded by the ever-blooming gar-
dens, to which the warmth and moist-
ure of the climate give a perpetual
beauty.

"This is called the Garden District,"
said Ellis, " and is the least interesting
because the newest and most American*
part of the city. Tou must see the
French quarter — *le CarrS de la Ville,'
as the Creoles call it. It i& the
only place in the United States that I
know of that gives one some idea of a
European town. The streets are nar-
row and crooked, and all the names are
foreign — Bourbon, Toulouse, Chartres
Royale, Dauphin, etc. It really is very

quaint and interesting. Tou might
imagine yourself in a sleepy old French
town. And to add to the delusion,
you will find people there who have
never been in the part of the city made
rude and Yankee-like by Americans;
who boast that they have seen Paris
the Beautiful, but never the vulgar
part of New Orleans 'where the Yan-
kees traffic and sell. Oh, it is a charm-
ing old city this ! though its glory is
passing away, and it will soon cease
to be unique."

" How glad I am to be here !" said
Blythe. "I hope it is an easy city to
find one's way about in, for I mean to
explore it thoroughly."

"You won't do much exploring
alone," said Roger, pressing her hand
against his arm; "you might easily
lose yourself if you attempted it. All
roads lead to the Levee, of course.'*

" Roger," said Blythe, with a blush,
" I have heard of the Levee all my life,
but I give you my word I don't know
what it is."

He laughed gayly. "I am afraid
you are shamming," he said, " in order
to give me the pleasure of telling you
something about your own Southern
city ; but know, my sly saint, that New
Orleans differs from most seaport
towns- in that it has no wharves built
out into the water, but the vessels and
steamboats lie along a broad street
called * the Levee,' which in the season
is covered with cotton bales and su-
gar hogsheads. This street follows the
bend of the river on which the city is
built, and from its shape comes the
name * Crescent City.' Other streets
run from it, not parallel, but spreading
out like the sticks of a fan,"

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134

LIKE UNTO LIKE.

^'I should think that would be a
confushig arrangement."

" So it is. You can never tell how
far off the street may be that you knew,
in the beginning of your walk, lay but
a square to the right or left. Another
puzzling peculiarity is, that a different
name is often given to what would
seem to be different parts of the same
street. And all this goes to prove,
sweetheart, that you must not go cruis-
ing about alone. If I can't go with
you, take Civil Rights Bill. He will
prove a vivacious and accurate guide.
He knows the banks whereon the wild
thyme grows just as well as if he had
been a city gamin all his life."

They had passed the broad streets
and were turning into the crooked,
crowded ways where life was swarm-
ing busily. The chattering crowd were
all going one way — toward the French
market, whose long, low booths Blythe
saw with the lively feeling of pleasure
one experiences at any novel sight. It
was a scene well worth looking at.
Creoles, negroes, Mexicans, and French
people crossed and recrossed each oth-
ers' paths ; pale Southern girls stood at
the stalls, sipping the strong black cof-
fee ; children, fresh as the early dawn,
ran about with their hands full of fruit.
It was the busiest hour of the twenty-
four. In the confusion of sounds
Blythe could hardly distinguish any
intelligible speech. The Gascon butch-
ers, the Sicilian fruiterers, the Quad-
roon flower -merchants, and the old
French women, in high white caps,
who sold vegetables and rabbits, all
seemed to think talk the soul of busi-
ness, and chattered like so many mon-
keys on a branch, vying with each oth-

er in giving customers some trifle over
their purchases, which they called La
Niappe.

They wandered through the market,
drinking coffee and buying flowers
with the rest, until Blythe declared
that the one had made her giddy, and
that the other would soon need a bas-
ket to hold them.

" How soon are we going home, Rog-
er ?" she said.

"Oh, not for a long time yet. I
shall take you to breakfast with me."

" Then all these lovely flowers will
wither : let us send them home. Here,
Bill, you take them — hold both hands.
Now run home with them, and tell
Miss Betty to put them into water.
He may go, may he not, Roger ?"

" The queen has spoken," said Rog-
er, making a sign to Bill, and the little
fellow darted away.

"Curious!" said Ellis, reflectively,
" what a tone of command crept into
your sweet Southern voice as you
spoke to Bill ! Now, a Yankee girl
would perhaps have said, * Please,
Willy, will you take these flowers home
for me ?' But it comes as naturally for
you to order as it does for him, poor
little wretch, to obey."

"You ought to be glad of that,"
said Blythe. "You are training him
to be a sort of confidential servant, are
you not ?"

" I am training him, Blythe, to be a
man. He will rise to his level. If it
is to be my servant, well and good ; if
it is to be my master, well and good
all the same."

"I hardly think that Bill will ever
teach you anything. Where are we to
breakfast, Roger ?"

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LIKE UNTO LIKE

135

"I am going to take you to a queer
little French restaurant near by, not
known to more than half a hundred
people in the city. Miss Betty Page
probably would scorn to put the tip
of her impertinent little nose inside of
it; but you, my Blythe, will find eyes,
nose, and palate alike delighted by the
oddity, and cleanliness, and delicious-
ness of everything about it."

They had turned into a narrow, short
street, at the foot of which a modest
sign was swinging. A dingy figure
of Napoleon was painted on it, under-
neath which the name "M. Cost6" ap-
peared in small black letters.

" Behold the restaurant of the Little
Corporal !" said JEllis, waving his hand
with an oratorical air. "Enter, ma-
demoiselle."

Entering, they found a clean, sweet
room with a sanded floor, and birds
singing in the windows that looked out
on beds of flowers. An old negro man,
with snow-white hair, saluted Ellis with
great dignity, and a nimble-footed gar-
po;?', whose name should have been
Mercury, flung a smile at Blythe,
placed a great bunch of scarlet rad-
ishes on the table, and asked for the
gentleman's order, in one and the same
instant of time.

"You shall have a regular French
breakfast, dear," said Ellis, as Mercury
flew away, " beginning with bread and
radishes, changing your plate half a
dozen times, and drinking, instead of
tea or chocolate,

'A bottle of wine, to make you shine,'

and ending, if you like, with a ciga-
rette."
"So I will!" cried Blythe. "My

spirits rise at the prospect of such a
delightful piece of wickedness."

"We will imagine ourselves in Paris
on our wedding journey. No ; on sec-
ond thought, it shall not be Paris, but
some little Fi*ench town, like Barbazon
or Morville, where the houses are old
and steep-roofed, and the people, as
fresh as the flowers in their fields, talk
their patois around us, and won't un-
derstand a word when I say, * My dar-
ling! My wife! I love you to mad-
ness!'"

" Eat your radishes !" cried Blythe,
in a fright. "I can tell that yonder
garpon is hearing and laughing at you
by the way the parting of his back
hair looks."

" Blythe, there will be no supercili-
ous garpon to laugh at us in that little
inn at Barbazon. There will be an
old woman, with a face like scorched
leather, and black eyes with a snap to
them. She will say, 'What will it
please monsieur and madame to order
for breakfast?' and then she will go
out and cook it herself, monsieur and
madame not caring one jot how long
she is about it — "

" Unless they are very hungry."

" — ^While they are feeding on meat
that she knows not of. Blythe, my
hand is under that newspaper; just
slip yours into it for one second, that
I may know if you are flesh and blood,
and not a fair phantom that my own
longing has conjured up."

"No phantom ever buttered bread
with sueh deliberate energy as this,
Mr. Ellis."

"I don't know. I had a dream the
other night about Charlotte, in which
she appeared as a ghost who went on

136

LIKE UNTO IJKE.

cutting bread-and-butter in the sweet
old way of life — only, to my horror,
the loaf that she was slicing away was
the head of Werther. To be sure, his
head was a soft one — but what a
vengeful ghost !'*

The gar^on coming with the break-
fast, a new turn was given to the con-
versation,

" One reason why I like to come to
this place," remarked Ellis, "is that
they always let Willy sit at the table
with me. Now, Blythe, why are you
opening your blue eyes so wide ?"

"Willy at the table with you!" re-
peated Blythe. "Now, Roger, isn't
that carrying things a little too far ?"

" My dear girl, if I had adopted one
of the Roy children, should you have
thought it strange that I should have
him at the table with me ?",

Blythe was silent. After a mo-
ment's pause she said, "Roger, what
ai*e you going to do with Bill when
we are — ^" she stopped with a lovely
blush.

" When we are married, dear ?" said
Ellis, very gently: " why, nothing more

than what I am doing now, aided by
your lovely woman's influence."

"I hope you understand," said
Blythe, looking down into her glass,
" that I will not sit at table with him ?"

"Blythe—"

"Please don't let us argue about it,"
said she, hastily. "I know all that
you would say, and my reason tells me
that you are right. I agree with you
entirely in theory, but — I will not sit
at the table with Civil Rights Bill !"

"Blythe, you remind me of the
young man who turned upon the girl
of his heart, as they sat on the settle,
spooning sweetly — "

" How charmingly alliterative !"

— "With the question, *Now, before
this thing goes any farther, I want to
know who is going to make the fires?'"

" I suppose I am rather premature,"
laughed Blythe. "There are more
important questions to be settled be-
fore—"

"Before this Civil Rights Bill comes
up between us," finished Ellis, with a
smile. But Blythe noticed that a look
of pain succeeded it.

CHAPTER XXIII.

BY THE TOMB OF TEE FAITHFUL SLAVE.

The winter that now opened for
Blythe she remembered afterward as
one recalls a night of fever and turbu-
lent dreams. The days hurried by as
never before in her uneventful life;
for though New Orleans was far from
being gay in this most sombre winter
of eighteen hundred and seventy-six,

the two girls from Yariba found living
in it a very exciting affair. Blythe
sometimes caught herself envying Bet-
ty Page, who walked about as if the
very air exhilarated her, and grew
prettier and saucier every day. If
Mr. Swinburne had known the girls he
would have added another verse to his

LIKE UNTO LIKE.

137

"Ballad of Burdens," that he would
have called "The Burden of Many
Beaux;*' for the officers were all more
or less in love with them both, and
pursued them with unflagging atten-
tions. Nor was this the only world
that opened to them. Blythe had let-
ters from her grandmother to some of
the old families in New Orleans, and
in the finished charm of their courtly
society she found the completest satis-
faction that her winter afforded. Yet
even this was marred when Roger El-
lis's name began to be well and not
favorably known among them, and she
heard him spoken of with the careless
contempt that places its object beyond
the pale of honest hate, and is, of all
tones the human voice can take, the
most utterly disagreeable. Mr. Ellis
had begun to be a rather conspicuous
figure. Nobody seemed to know ex-
actly what he was doing, but he was
heard of now and then as making a
speech at a negro meeting, or going
up the river on a hunt for outrages
instead of alligators, or talking on
the street corners about the American
flag, and the old Bourbon element (by
which he did not mean whiskey) that
was leading the countiy to ruin.

As for Blythe's interviews with her
lover, they lacked the sweetness of
past hours that had moved to the
measure of the Sapphic Love Ode. A
mania for letting Blythe know his
opinions on all subjects appeared to
have seized Mr. Ellis, and she felt
sometimes as if she were being pelted
with hailstones.

One Sunday afternoon they spent in
an old French burying-ground. It was
a dull old place in the heart of the city,

surrounded by high walls that were
devoted to tlie double purpose of
guarding the enclosure and serving as
a receptacle for the dead. They were
very thick, and built in small compart-
ments open on the inside, into each
one of which a coffin could be shoved
and the opening sealed up.

"I don't believe even Mrs. Dexter
would call this an * elegant idea,' " said
Blythe, with a shudder. "I don't like
to look at the walls, Roger ; I should
fancy a dead man in his shroud burst-
ing through them and coming at me, if
I were here alone. I should dash out
my desperate brains for very fear of it.
I do not feel that way in the least about
the dear dead in the ground, over whom
flowers are growing."

^' There is something not altogether
agreeable in the idea of being packed
away as if you were a sardine," said
Roger, laughing. " But I intend to be
cremated, my dear, unless I die of a
mysterious disease that will enable me
to pay some pretty woman doctor the
delicate attention of leaving her my re-
mains for inside investigations."

"What ghastly talk!" and Blythe
bent to examine an old tombstone on
which was recorded the name and vir-
tues of a faithful slave who had served
his master's family for ninety years,
during which time he had held in his
arms the first-born' of four generations.

" Let us rest here," said the young
girl ; and she seated herself on the low,
flat tombstone, while Roger Ellis flung
himself on the grass at her feet.

" There is a novel," he said, dreami-
ly, " by Victor Cherbuliez, in which the
hero. Prosper, a fascinating ne'er-do-
well, determines on suicide} but, going

138

' LIKE UNTO LIKE.

to the top of a precipice from which
he means to throw himself, he picks a
little flower, the smell of which is so
ineffably sweet that he decides not to
renounce a life that still held such fine
joys."

" As came to him through the nose,"
said Blythe, with a little scorn.

"And are not to be sneezed at,"
laughed Roger, " as if they were snuff.
But I suppose the author meant to
hint the folly of despair while any of
our senses remained unimpaired. Sup-
pose a man bereft of love, home,
friends ; life is worth the living if his
digestion is still good. How much
more if he has eyes for the glories of
art, or ears for the ravishment of
sound."

"This must be the reason," said
Blythe, thoughtfully, " why we recover
so soon from the death of one we have
loved. The senses will enjoy, however
much we may loathe ourselves for that
enjoyment. But after all, Roger, I
hate to think that you could be forget-
fully happy if I were under one of
these stones."

" Do not speak of such a thing here,
Blythe. It makes me feel as if a lump
of ice were pressed on my wrist: you
know that cold, paralyzing sensation."

He raised himself on his elbow and
looked up into her face — the pale
Southern face, that did not flush so
quickly now under his gaze. He won-
dered if she knew what his love was
— the love that welled up and almost
choked him at times — that was always
with him, whether it rolled in tumul-
tuous waves of passion or was at rest
with tenderness. Other good hearts he
might have won ; but none other ever

had power to make his own quiver in
the silence of the night, in the shim-
mer of the dawn, in the sunshine of
the day. It startled, it thrilled, it as-
tounded him.

"Blythe," he murmured, "I thought
that the genius of my heart was for
suffering ; you have taught me that it
was for love."

"I wonder if you will always love
me?" said Blythe; "if you won't
change when you find out my faults ?"

"If you have faults, sweetheart, I
shall never scold you for them. If my
heart-throbs don't wear them away, my
temper shall never cut them away."

"It would be the proper thing,"
said Blythe, " for you to say I had no
faults."

"But you know I never say the
proper thing! Shall I say something
truthful instead ?"

" If you please."

"Here it is, then: Blythe, you do
not love me a millionth part as much
as I do you — that goes without say-
ing. But further, I doubt sometimes
if your real love-nature has ever been
aroused."

"You have no right to say that!"
cried Blythe, vehemently. "Are we
not engaged? Have I not — kissed
you?" (This last in a very small
whisper.)

Ellis laughed. " Ponder this orpbic
saying, my dear child : * In the court
of love, mistakes are not regarded as
life-mortgages.' If ever you want to
give me up, do not keep to me from
any mistaken sense of duty. Sense of
duty has done a great deal of mischief
in this world. It is a rampant fiend
that people mistake for a god, and

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139

build him altars out of ruined'lives and
broken hearts,"
"How wildly you talk, Roger!"
" Then I will talk tamely. There is
one reason, Blythe, why I am glad our
marriage was postponed. I want you
to see other men — to compare, to
choose freely. If there is a man living
who can win you from me, then he is
the man whom you ought to marry.
And remember this, dear: whatever
sign of affection you have bestowed on
me shall always be regarded as a gift
— something to be grateful for ; not as
a claim on which to found dominion
over you."

In spite of herself, Blythe's quick
imagination caught at the idea he had
suggested. " Suppose, after all, I have
made a mistake," she whispered to her-
self ; and side by side with the daring
thought came another, veiled and
blinded, indeed, but importunate for
place — " If he knew me better than
I Ynyself — if he is so magnanimous as
he says — he ought never to have kissed
my lips, never have won my promise,
until I had proved my own heart."
But she thrust the thought from her,
and only said lightly,

"You know, Roger, no one ever
liked you as much as I do."

" I can't accuse you of talking wild-
ly," said he, with a laugh ; " there's no
wild enthusiasm in that assurance of
affection ; and, by-the-way," he went
on, sitting up and looking very animat-
ed, " I have the picture of my Sappho-
sweetheart, and her last undestroyed
letter. Should you like to see them ?"
"Have you them with you?"
"Yes; I brought them to show you."
He drew a little packet from his

waistcoat - pocket and handed it to
Blythe. She looked at the picture
without any emotion, although it was
a much prettier face than her own.
"But the letter, Roger — I ought not
to read that."

"Imagine she has been dead for
fifty years," he said, " and tell me what
you think of it as a love-letter."

Blythe drew it out of the envelope
with hesitating fingers, but after read-
ing the first line her attention was ab-
sorbed. She read it to the end, and it
dropped from her hand. If Ellis had
looked at her face he would have been
shocked. She felt as if the earth had
slipped from her feet. The white but-
terflies were still flitting about, the
birds singing from near and distant
trees, but how her world had changed !

The letter was simply a passionate
and extremely well-written love-letter.

" Come to my arms, my Antony,

For the twilight shadows grow,
And the tiger's ancient fierceness

In my reins begins to flow.
Come not cringing to sue me,

Take me with triumph and power,
As a warrior storms a fortress ;

I shall not shrink nor cower."

Story's Cleopatra might have been
the model from which it had been writ-
ten, and it was almost equally strong
and fine. But its merit as a literary
performance did not appeal to Blythe's
sympathy. The irregular lines had
seemed to reel across the page in a
Bacchantic abandonment.

"It is little wonder," she said at
last, " that you think I do not love you,
if this is the sort of thing you like. It
makes me Mver with shame for her
— and for you."

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"Blythe, what do you mean?" said
Ellis, in genuine amazement. <' It isn't
possible that you are jealous! You
women are queer creatures. If you
like a man, you want to take out a pat-
ent on him."

But Blythe did not smile.

"Jealous! how little you under-
stand!"

"I don't believe you understand
yourself, dear child," he said, gravely.

"Why did you show it to me?" she
cried, wringing her hands.

*^It was nothing to me," he said,
" except a brilliant letter. I thought it
would interest you. I see that I have
made a mistake."

Perhaps, were we to seek too curi-
ously into motives, we should find in
Mr. Ellis the slight vanity of wishing
this proud Southern girl to know how
he had been loved by a very brilliant
woman. But he was sincere in regret-
ting it. "Do not be jealous of my
past, Blythe," he said. " Remember I
was forty years old before I met you
— and I was only flesh and blood, like
other men. But I came to you with a
heart as pure as your own."

"Jealous?" she repeated, "it is not
that, Roger. But, don't you see — this
seems to vulgarize our love ? Oh, I
can't talk about it !"

She felt a passionate sense of having
been betrayed. She had fancied that
she had revealed a whole world of new
delights to her lover ; but all the while
she had only been following in a tame
way the lead of another woman — other
women, perhaps. The sacre3ness was
all gone out of their love. She remem-
bered the tears in his eyes the first
night that he told her of his love — the

tears that had turned the vibrating
scale to the side of love. Good heav-
ens! perhaps it was his way to shed
t^ars on these occasions.

'*How use doth breed a habit in a man!"

No wonder he talked love so well.
Doubtless it is a matter of practice to
become a lover, as it is to become a
musician.

" Then we won't talk about it," said
the voice of Mr. Ellis breaking upon her
bitter thought. " See here, Blythe.'*

He had found a little hole in the
side of the old tomb, and had crushed
the letter and picture into a small pack-
age.

" I am going to put them in there,"
he said, " along with the dust of the
faithful slave who held four first-borns
in his arms. Come, dear, won't you
say a Hequieseat .^"

She smiled faintly as he pushed them
in with a long stick. "I think you
are doing great dishonor to the faith-
ful slave," she said.

"I can't understand your feeling,"
he said. " You knew long ago that I
had loved other women."

"True," s\iB said, "but I had never
realized it." And poor Blythe will
not be the last to find out that there
are many things that must be realized
before they can be comprehended.

" Why did you not marry her, Rog-
er?" she said, after a while.

" She was married already," said Mr.
Ellis, pensively.

Blythe pressed her hands down on
the flat tombstone with a desperate
sense of holding on — to something.

"She was married when she was
sixteen," continued Roger, "by her

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parents, to a great brute. of a man who
had no more soul than — a centipede.
He poisoned her life for her pretty ef-
fectually. In her heart -sickness she
took to playing with love, until she
tendered herself incapable of a real
attachment. She flew from one excite-
ment to another until she became a
false and heartless creature unworthy
of any man's love."

" But you loved her."

"Yes; I tried to save her. It was
her last chance. But I met her too late.
Her nature was thoroughly warped."

Now, if Roger Ellis, or any man, had
confided to BIythe, as a fateful and
tragic secret, tlie story of his love for
a neglected and lovely creature whose
husband was unworthy to kiss her
shoe-tips, and had told it with a proper
sense of its wild daring and romantic
hopelessness, BIythe would have been
the first to sympathize and glow with
indignation against the unjust laws
that pressed so heavily upon the better
part of humanity; but the matter-of-
fact way in which Roger Ellis men-
tioned that his Sappho was a married
woman, was too much for Blythe's
theoretic philosophy; and when Ellis
M'ent on —

"It was all the fault of her sinful

marriage ; and, by heaven ! if I had
fifty years to live-I should organize a
crusade against the corrupt system,"
she could only say, with the tears
springing to her eyes. "Oh, Roger, this
is worse than your African craze !"

Mr, Ellis laughed and caught
Blythe's hands. "My dear girl," he
said, " when you accepted me, you ac-
cepted a radical through and through.
You cannot change me, dear. But I
am not surprised at your feeling.
What should you, a Southern child,
brought up in the strictest school of
conservatism, know of the great on-
ward movements that owe their birth
to radicalism ?"

"I think, Roger," said BIythe "that
you will make me a conservative in
spite of myself."

" It is what you are, dear. But do
you see this little shrub growing by
the grave of the faithful slave? A
year from now it will be tall enough
to shake its leaves over the old tomb ;
another, and it will reach to your
waist; a third, and we can hide our
faces in its branches. Groioth^ dear
child, is the law of life. You won't be
exempt from it."

" I am not sure that I want to grow,"
said BIythe, with a troubled look.

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CHAPTER XXIV.

THE QUADROON BALL.

The year of eighteen hundred and
seventy -six will be a deeply marked
one in the annals of American history.
It dawned in the North with the ring-
ing of bells summoning all nations to
witness America's prosperity, and to
wonder at the swift glory that had
crowned her youth; but in the South
the Centennial Exposition was felt to
be a much less important affair than
the Presidential election. More espe-
cially in the Gulf States, where military
rule had not yet been displaced, the
party struggle of this year was looked
forward to with a grim and terrible
earnestness. The excitement in Louis-
iana culminated in its Crescent City;
and not in its early years when its
very existence was problematic — not
in the awful time when the yellow
horror of the pestilence enfolded it
like a great vaporous serpent melting
slowly into poisoned air — not when
the Northern army held possession of
it, and every day brought new hopes
and fears — had the gay city known a
time filled with such violent emotion
as these winter months.

"The Southern people know how to
suffer grandly !'' said a prominent Lou-
isiana gentleman, in speaking but re-
cently of that eventful year; "but in

the slavery to which they had been
subjected since the war there was a
sting of degradation that goaded them
to a fury of resistance. Torn by party
faction, her fair lands lying waste, an
alien people on her soil who compre-
hended not her past nor cared for her
future, our beautiful State turned like
an animal at bay, and swore that the
end of oppression had come. Her sons
joined hands in a common cause; the
same fire was kindled in every heart;
their one hope and aim and resolve —
to free their mother State^ cost what
it might What a time it was ! Men,
women, and children talked politics;
one breathed quickly walking among
them ; their passion charged the air."

Yet this strange Southern character !
It is like a tapestry woven in brilliant
hues, that, with a turn of the hand,
shows a reverse side of sombre colors
on a sanguinary ground. Mercurial
and vivacious as they were resolute
and violent, the people of New Orleans
prepared for their annual play-day with
the same zest and reckless liberality
that had made their carnival pageant
in the years past an evidence of ex-
quisite tastes and a marvel of splendid
effects.

It was a strange life for BlytJie

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Herndon. She felt sometimes as if she
were acting in some wild, fantastic
tragedy. Nothing was real to her,
though one emotion followed another,
and her nerves were like quivering eyes
bai'ed to the sun. Roger Ellis did not
have time to notice the subtile change.
It is so gradual — the drifting away of
a heart that has been ours. A word
to-day, a look to-morrow, and a face
that has been within the atmosphere of
our breath, recedes slowly as if borne
on waves, and is gone while we still
dream of its kisses. Koger did see
that Blythe was paler, quieter than she
had been; he knew that she did not
sympathize with his work; yet, with
his own sublime faith in it, he believed
that she would "grow" to its compre-
hension. He never spoke to her of
what he was doing unless she ques-
tioned him ; yet he was so often silent
and preoccupied in her presence, that
she knew his thoughts were wandering
to some hateful subject that divided
him from her. Once she had a glimpse
of him among the people whose cause
he upheld and in whose society he was
working. There were quadroon balls
given every fortnight in the city, and
Mrs. Dexter had so often expressed a
wish to know how they were carried
on that the colonel made up a small
party of intimate friends to look at one
from the galleiy of the hall in which it
was given. It was somewhat hastily
arranged, and Blythe had no oppor-
tunity to ask Mr. Ellis to join them.
The ball was at its height just as
they reached the hall. People of al-
most every color and nationality were
dancing with an abandon due as much
to the temperament of these Southern
10

races as to the whiskey that circulat-
ed moderately. Some very beautiful
quadroon girls, who would have been
called white anywhere so long as they
did not show their thumb-nails, attract-
ed great attention by their graceful
movements. The music was quick and
irregular, and seemed much to the taste
of the company. Now and then the
leader, an old man with French and
African blood in his veins, would sing
out a verse of a song in negro-French
that would elicit loud laughter and cries
of ^^BU! Ma! bisP^ from the dancers :

"MoacliePr^val,
Li donn^ grand bal,
Li fe n^gue pay^
Pou santd ain pd.
Danse Calenda,

Doan, doan, doun,
Danse Calenda,

La, la, la!"

In one of the pauses of the music
Blythe heard a laugh — the mellow,
sympathetic laugh that she had once
thought the pleasantest sound in the
world. Almost at the same instant
Betty Page, who was leaning over the
gallery, exclaimed, " Look, Blythe !
There is Roger Ellis !"

He was standing among a group of
men who were talking noisily. One
of them, a stalwart young negro, clap-
ped Mr. Ellis familiarly on the back,
as they looked down.

"He seems to be in very congenial
company," remarked Miss Page. "I
hope he won't see us."

He did see them, however, recogniz-
ing the ladies at once, although they
were closely veiled. He came up to
them, his face bright with pleasure at
the unexpected meeting.

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"It is worth looking at, isn't it?"
he said. " I am sure none of you ever
saw anything of this kind before."

"And I'm sure we never want to
again," said Miss Page. "We only
came out of curiosity — as we would
have gone to any other monkey-show."

" These monkeys," said Roger Ellis,
coolly, "are developing with uncom-
mon rapidity. I shouldn't wonder if
they got to be men even in your day,
Miss Page.

" ' Dans^ Calenda,

Doun, douD, doun,
Dans^ Calenda,

La, la, la I* "

"Do you understand the negro-
French?" said Mr. Ellis, turning to
Ely the. "It's easy, if you once get
into it. Do you notice that white-hair-
ed fellow leaning against the post ?"

"Yes."

" I must tell you something he said
to me to-night. He is chief cook at
one of the restaurants here, and has
been a slave. I was dining there with
some friends, and one of the entrkea
that he served was so particularly good
that we sent for the old fellow to come
in and have a glass of wine. P6re
Gabriel, as they call him, came in,
bowing and pleased. We gave him a
compliment and a toast. ^Ahl mes-
shef^ he said, alluding to the dish we
had praised, *c'w'es^^«s avec du syrop
i& montri moi^ ^I^ Which is to say,
* It was not with sugar (or soft words)
that they taught me that.' Rather pa-
thetic, wasn't it ?

" *Li donn^ soupd,
Pour n^gue regale,
So vi^ la mnsique,
T^bay^lacolique.'"

" Really, Mr. Ellis," cried Miss Page,
" I don't see how you could leave the
charming society of your pathetic cook
for our poor company."

He only smiled, and turned to Blythe
with some low words of love that
seemed to mix themselves oddly with
the monotonous music :

'^Dans^ Calenda,
Doun, doun, doun,
Dans^ Calenda,

La, la, la!"

But she smiled back at him, and
tried to be indifferent to the fact that
he had on no gloves ; and that Captain
Silsby was scorning him for it, even
as Betty Page was sneering at the an-
ecdote of the " pathetic cook."

" See there, girls !" said Mrs. Ogle-
thorpe, suddenly ; " is not that the sad-
dler who ran away from his wife in
Yariba — Roy was his name, I believe
— over there by the music-stand ?"

" I never saw the man," said Blythe.

"That is he," said Roger Ellis: "I
have recently made his acquaintance.
He is still drinking out of the same
glass of lemonade and eating off the
same stick of candy with his beloved
Ann Eliza."

" Oh, good heavens I" thought Blythe,
turning cold ; " in one minute more he
will come out with some of his peculiar
views to Mrs. Oglethorpe !"

She jumped up with such sudden-
ness as to overturn her chair.

"Really, this air is insufferable!"
she cried. " Do take me out, Mr. El-
lis, to a place where I can breathe I I
think a quadroon ball is like honey — a
little more than a little is much too
much."

"Suppose you let me take you

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145

home/' said Roger, "and the others
can follow when they are ready;" to
which she gladly consented.

" How did you make Jim Roy's ac-
quaintance?" she asked, as they walked
toward home.

" He was a witness in a case that
came up before one of our committees.
' I kept him after the others left, and
attacked him in the most disinterested
manner for going off and leaving Mrs.
Roy with no money to buy her snuff.
He unbosomed himself completely;
said he led a dog's life of it with her.
He is living in a little shanty up on
the Bayou Teche. I stopped there
one evening and made the acquaint-
ance of the fair Ann Eliza. She made
me a good cup of tea, and impressed
me as being a very pretty and modest
girl. Really, one can't wonder that he
ran away from the melancholy Mrs.
Roy."

Blythe gave a little groan, with the
feeling that her views would have to
put on seven-league boots to keep pace
with Mr. Ellis's.

" I hope," said she, "that if you have
any influence Avith this man, you will
prevail on him to go back to his wife
and children."

"Not T," said Mr. Ellis, cheerfully;
"I'm all for Ann Eliza! But I'll tell
you what I have done. I've told him
that if he will enter into a written
bond to send half his earnings to Mrs.
Roy, I will help him to get a divorce
that he may marry this girl."

"To leave her in turn, I suppose,
when she gets to be a faded old
scold."

" Oh ! no man ever made a habit of
that sort of thing," said Mr. Ellis, light-
ly, " except Blue-beard and the found-
er of your Church, the eighth Henry!"

"Jim Roy a witness!" burst out
Blythe. " Roger, how can you believe
anything he says, after the scandalous
way in which he has acted ?"

" I don't quite understand your logr
ic, my dear Blythe," said he, laughing.
" Does it follow with the unerring cer-
tainty of a marksman's aim that Jim
Roy is a liar because he ran away from
a wife he had ceased to love? That
rather seems to me an evidence of his
high moral truthfulness !"

" I suppose he is a good Republican
when he is trying to take you in?"
said Blythe, with more force than ele-
gance.

" Yes," responded Mr. Ellis, with un-
diminished good -humor, "James seems
to have struggled to the light."

" Everybody in Yariba will tell you
that Jim Roy is a scamp," said Blythe,
impressively; "and you will find out
another thing — that it is only such
men who belong to the radical party
in the South."

"I dare say that it is only men
who have little to lose who dare avow
their honest convictions in this civil-
ized country," said Mr. Ellis, giving
Blythe's hand a gentle and provoking
little pat.

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CHAPTER XXV.

FIVE SIDES OF A QUESTION.

It must not be supposed that Blythe
Herndoa was easily learning to unlove
her lover. It was ebb and flow with
the tides of her heart. In some exalt-
ed mood he would seem revealed to
her so generous and tender and unself-
ish that her whole nature would turn
to him with its old warmth; and his
wit and brilliancy never failed to arouse
her pride. In her moments of soften-
ed feeling, she longed passionately to
put herself in harmony with his life ;
to enter into his thoughts, and share in
his enthusiasms.

With all Blythe's pride she had
more than usual humility. She was
ready to acknowledge that Mr. Ellis's
judgment was better than her own,
and anxious to believe that his conclu-
sions on all subjects were entirely
right. But she had not that charming
docility which in many women leads
them to accept the dictum of the near-
est man, as stolen goods are received —
with no questions asked. My puzzled
heroine had, in fact, just reached that
point in mental growth where she ask-
ed to understand what she wished to
believe ; furthermore, she was develop-
ing the unfeminine power of looking
at a question on more than one side —
a power, by-the-way, not altogether to

be desired by one who wishes to be a
positive force in one day and genera-
tion, whatever it may be in the long
run of the ages.

Miss Herndon made up her mind to
decide on a political creed; and in
spite of a hesitancy in presenting my
Blythe to a not over-patient public in
the character of a nuisance, I should
like to tell how she went about it;
for it has its humorous side, although
the young lady was entirely serious.

" I know at least one ultra-Republi-
can," she mused within herself, " and
any number of ultra-Democrats. Then
there is Colonel Dexter, who is a Re-
publican, but not an extremist ; and
Van Tolliver, who matches him as a
Democrat ; and finally, Captain Silsby,
who is indifferent to both sides alike.
Now, these men are all honest, all
clear-headed. I shall go to each one
in turn, and say, * Imagine I have just
come to this earth from another planet,
and explain to me all about American
politics.' In this w^ay I shall get on
all sides and be able to form my own
opinion."

Now, if there be any man who
does not find something very pleasing
in 'pretty Blythe's novel and ingenious
plan for forming a political creed he

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may skip this chapter, for he will find
it dull.

" Roger," she said one day, " I mean
to study up this political question.
Really, I don't yet know of any vital
differences between the two parties.
I am about as much a Republican as
a Democrat."

" Don't pride yourself on that," said
Ellis, smiling, and with a teasing tone
of badinage. " Just let me whisper in
your ear — and a very beautiful little ear
it is — that that is only a confession,
rather arrogantly made, of ignorance."

"Pi-ay enlighten my ignorance," said
Blythe, modestly, but with a high
blush. ^'Imagine that I have just
come from another plan — "

" My dear girl," interrupted Mr. El-
lis, whose ears had only opened to the
first half of Blythe's remark, "what
would you have thought of a person
who, when Luther was fighting the
foes of free thought, had said that she
was just as much a Catholic as a Prot-
estant ? or, during the war, that she
was equally loyal to the North and to
the South ? Would you not have said
that* she did not know what her beau-
tiful lips were talking about ? Well, I
can assure you there are differences as
deep and far-reaching between Repub-
licanism and Democracy as between
the corner-stone of the Confederacy
and Plymouth Rock."

"Explain the differences," said
Blythe, with her finger on a point, as
it were.

But Mr. Ellis got up and walked the
length of the room; and when he
spoke, it was in the voice usually re-
served for remarks on the American

"Blythe," he said, solemnly, "you
must learn that there is a science and
a religion in politics; and truth, in
that as in every field of human thought
and endeavor, must be sought with a
humble and contrite spirit — with as
earnest a desire to know truth for its
own sake as fires the heart of the mys-
tic or the soul of the man of science.
To be very frank with you, my dar-
ling, you have not made the first step
toward learning the truth in any sci-
ence. It is not as a woman you must
seek it ; for truth is not a man, to be
won by beauty or coquetry. But seek
as a soul hungering and thirsting for
it— ready to do and die for it. * Who-
so loveth father and mother more than
me, is not worthy of me.' The great
Man who said that was speaking of
the truth. The small men who repeat
it suppose he was a sublime egotist
speaking of himself."

"Tliis is very interesting," murmur-
ed Blythe. " I feel that I am assisting,
as the French say, at an oration."

"I have sometimes wondered j Blythe,
what different men would have said of
the ground whereon Moses could not
walk save with unsandaled feet. 1
think some of them would have called
it in muddy weather a filthy arena;
and others would have calculated that
it was * powerful po' land for cotton ;'
and most men would have called Moses
a fanatic, because he saw more in it
than they could see."

Here the talk was interrupted, rath-
er to Blythe's relief, as it was getting
nebulous.

" What I am after,", she said to her-
self, plaintively, " are fixed facts. And
Roger is so eloquent that it is very

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hard to get a fixed fact out of him.
However, I shall have him to fall back
on, in case the Democrats are too much
for me."

The friends to whom Blythe applied,
in turn, responded nobly to her appeal.
It is never unpleasing to the masculine
mind to lift the feminine into the re-
gion of high thought — especially into
the cloud - capped region of " national
affairs;" and it isn't every day that one
gets a chance to enlighten a lovely
young creature fresh from another
planet.

And how much they found to say !
how fruitful the subject ! how varied
its ramifications ! Blythe had not been
prepared for such wealth of discourse ;
and more than once she felt like the
shuddering little fisherman who un-
corked the tight little home in which
an ungentle giant was packed away.

Among her Democratic friends was
a man with a melancholy, rather poetic
face, and a very gentle and musical
voice. After going through the his-
tory of slavery in America, dwelling
strongly on the assertion that it was
only given up in Massachusetts after
it had ceased to be profitable, he dis-
coursed in this mild fashion: "And
having satisfied their moral sense, sold
their slaves, and pocketed the profits,
our Northern brethren began to howl
at their neighbors, and determined to
advance the cause of Christ, as the
Puritans called every scheme that suit-
ed their prejudices, by robbing them.
And before our nation was a hundred
years old, they had violated our glori-
ous Constitution, and precipitated upon
us a war in which they w6re spurred
on by that hope of *gaynful pilladge'

that seems to find its natural home in
the Puritan breast. Amidst blazing
cities and the smoking ruin of desolated
homes, the South succumbed to the
force of superior numbers and superior
resources, in a war characterized by
atrocities that would iShame Indian
butchers. Having completed our ruin,
they degraded us by placing over us as
political masters the descendants of the
Africans whom they kidnapped and
sold into slavery. Think of it ! We,
in whose veins flows the blood of Sur-
rey, of Raleigh, of Hampden, of the
liberty-loving Huguenots, of the people
of Normandy, Brittany, and the other
heroic provinces of France, were sub-
jected to the mastery of half a million
brainless, brutal blacks, who were up-
held by the bayonets of the Northern
army ! Well has it been called an act
of savage, merciless revenge. Well
has it been said that human nature was
never before capable of so enormous, so
abominable, and so infamous a crime."

"What a singular effect it has on
them all!" mused Blythe. "They
seem to jump on a platform, and ad-
dress me as if I were an audience."

" Look at our Southern gentleman,"
continued her friend, " the finest prod-
uct of civilization, the ornament and
pride of the human race. But they've
got one fault^they have borne insult
and outrage with too grand a patience.
Nothing saved the South from annihi-
lation, after the war, but the Ku Klux
Klan. And if we had not been so
squeamish about mob-law — if we had
hung a few dozen thieves and carpet-
baggers to lamp-posts and trees — the
South would have been free and pros-
perous to-day."

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« Don't talk that way," said Blythe,
vehemently. "It justifies the worst
our enemies say of us. You ought
to be ashamed of yourself ! Suppose
some Koi*thei*n man heard you; he
would be o£E and quote your words as
representing Southern sentiment — and
they dp not, I am very sure."

" Why, Miss Blythe, I believe in law
and order just as much as anybody;
but there are times when a man with a
shot-gun is of more use to his country
• than a lawyer. When scoundrels can
commit every dastardly crime under
heaven, and get clear of punishment by
some infernal trickery, it is time for
honest men to make laws that they
can't skulk behind. Now, look at that
Roger Ellis — a miserable Yankee, who
is here for no other purpose than to
stir up the evil passions of the negroes,
and send home lying reports of out-
rages that he prompts or manufactures.
He is the sort of man that ought to be
knocked on the head and dropped into
the river some dark night."

" Then you ought to be dropped with
him," said Blythe, amiably, " for it is
very clear that you are as much of a
fanatic as he."

"There is no such thing as fanati-
cism in the cause of truth," rejoined
her friend, with a grand air worthy of
Roger himself.

The young girl repeated a part of
this conversation to Mr. Ellis. " Now
you see, Roger, what it is to be an ex-
tremist," said she ; " he hates the Yan-
kees as illogically as you do the * reb-
els.' And the wonder to me is, that
you, seeing, as you must, the silliness
of fanaticism in others, can be a fanat-
ic yourself."

" So you think me a fanatic, Blythe?"
he said, with a half smile. " I wonder
what you would say if you heard a
genuine fanatic talk ?"

" Tell me how he would talk. I want
to hear all sides."

" I had better not. You are a South-
ern woman, and the fanatic wouldn't
mince his words."

"Never mind that. I haven't any
prejudices. Just imagine that I've
come from another planet, and let your
fanatic speak entirely in character."

"Very well, then; he would talk
something in this way :

"*The war was a necessity — a
growth. No statesmanship could do
more than defer it.

" * The country exhibited the anoma-
ly of two civilizations of extreme an-
tagonisms growing up together. The
most forcible people on earth were try-
ing two experiments.

" * The Northern experiment was uni-
versal suffrage, universal freedom, uni-
versal education.

" ' The Southern experiment was ar-
istocracy founded on human slavery,
universal ignorance, universal repres-
sion.

" * It did not matter that both exper-
iments originated in a desire for profit.

" * The natural tendency of the North
was to progress, enlightenment, free-
dom; of the South, to irresponsible
power, license, narrowness — class to
govern, a mass to be governed.

" * It is easier for man, when* isola-
ted, to revert to the savage than to
progress in civilization.

" ' The South isolated itself. It be-
came savage. When the war came, it
dropped the thin veneer of a false civ-

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ilizatiou, and donnod paint and feath-
ers.

"*The war rolled on. The innate
tendency of the Soath to brutality was
developed into its natural consequences.
The laws of modern warfare were de-
fied. Bands of murderers infested the
country. Prisoners were starved — not
in occasional instances, the accident of
time or place, the fault of a fiendish
keeper — but as a deliberate plan of the
Southern leaders, to instil fear and to
get rid of trouble—' "

Blythe put her hand to her lips
to repress a passionate exclamation.
" I will hear it out," she thought ; " I
brought it on myself."

" * The North was too mild,' contin-
ued Roger Ellis, who, perhaps, heard
his own sharp, terse sentences with a
certain degree of complacency. *It
should have treated the South as it
would the shark or the tiger. It should
have swept the South with the be-
som of destruction — razed every house,
burned every blade of grass, drowned
opposition in blood. There should
have been nothing left to fight.

" ' As for reconstruction, the whole
Southern country should have been
reduced to a territorial condition — a
ward of the nation, to be recognized
w^hen education and thrift had made it
worthy of admission into a nation of
freemen.' "

"That is enough," said Blythe, in
a constrained voice; "you talk too
well."

"My dear child, remember I was
not talking in my own person. I only
gave you — at your own request — an
extreme Northern view, to set against
that of your Democratic friend whom

you have just quoted to me. Tou are
not angry with me ?"

"Oh no," said Blythe, recovering
herself with an effort; " but sometimes
I can hardly help feeling that you hate
the Southern people."

Mr. Ellis looked hurt. " Blythe, you
cannot mean that ! Why, child, it is
your battle I am fighting. As for as-
sassins and bandits — yes, I hate them
as they deserve. But are the^/ the
Southern people? Three hundred ne-
groes were murdered in Mississippi*
and Louisiana during the last election
campaign — "

" I do not believe it," said Blythe.

"It is a proven fact. But how
should you know of these horrors, liv-
ing in a civilized community, with all
the papers silent or lying as to outrage,
instigated by base political leaders ?"

" It is a proven fact," retorted Blythe,
" that one of the Vicksburg riots was
instigated directly by the Republican'
governor, who said that the blood of
twenty-five negroes would be the sal-
vation of his party in Mississippi. Oh,
Roger, how trying you are I You say
that you do not hate the Southern peo-
ple, yet in the next breath you say that
we murder negroes — that our best men
are base — that we are ignorant, unciv-
ilized. Mr. Ellis, I know that I have
a liberal mind. I believe in the Union
— its theories of government — ^its fut-
ure. But yow, of all others, seem to
narrow this feeling to a passionate
love for the South — to a passionate re-
sentment, as if I saw you strike my
own mother. You make me as angry
as one of Wendell Phillips's speeches.
You know how cruel and bitter he is
against us."

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" My dear giil, neither Wendell Phil-
lips nor any reformer ever thinks of
people, but only of men as embodi-
ments of ideas. The South, in the
mind of Northern thinkers, means, not
the Southern people, but the leaders
and exponents of feudal as distin-
guished from popular or republican
theories of government These are the
men who upheld slavery ; who tried to
create a damnable aristocratic order in
the South; who ruined the land that
fed them. It is they who have revived
this sectional war. When they stop
their insolence in Congress, their ostra-
cism of Yankees — '*

"Insolence, indeed!" cried Blythe,
with an angry blush ; " are you speak-
ing of slaves, Mr. Ellis ? Have not our
Southern gentlemen a right to say what
they choose in Congress ? And it be-
comes yow, indeed, to talk of ostracism
of Yankees !"

Mr. Ellis came to Blythe, and took
her hands in his strong, warm clasp :
"My darling!" he said, with that pecul-
iar tenderness of voice and eye that
she could never quite resist, " you must
not be angiy with my plain-speaking ;
remember I am not arguing a question
of North and South. There is a science
which notes and directs the onward
movements of the race ; and he only is
noble and of use to his age who aids
the political and social elements that,
on the whole, are travelling in the
right way ; and, more than that, who
opposes whatever would retard the
progress of his kind. In Italy the
backward movement is called Popery ;
in France, Bourbonism; in England,
Toryism; in America, Democracy.
They are only diflferent shapes and

names for the same spirit — the sj^irit
that once animated the past, and may
have been of service then, but to-day
is to be driven back, crashed, stamped
into the sepulchre, Avhenever and wher-
ever it rears its head."

Blythe's anger bad passed: she be-
gan to laugh.

"I am just feeling my first throb of
sympathy for General Grant," she said,
gayly. " I know how he felt when he
said, * Let us have peace.' "

" Never mind, dear," be said, with a
smile ; " in after yeara you will be glad
to have lived in just this tiresome and
turbulent age; for the reconstruction
era, with all its errors and follies and
crimes, will be regarded as the auroral
epoch of your beautiful South."

Blythe shook her head. " I am be-
ginning, Roger, to have less confidence
in your judgment than in your sincer-
ity."

" And do yon not think," said he,
kissing the pink tips of Blythe's pretty
fingers, " that if any fair Catholic of
Luther's time had met a fiery Protes-
tant and fallen in love with him, she
would have had more confidence in
his sincerity than in his judgment?
We need not argue, fair Catholic — we
look at things from an opposite point
of view. To be suro,^ you are not an
ultra-Catholic — hardly a Catholic at all
— only a High-Church Episcopalian ; but
I am a Rationalist, you see, and have
no more sympathy with Episcopalians,
high or low-heeled, than with Jesuits
or Inquisitors."

" Why don't you write a book, Rog-
er?" said Blythe, languidly. "Your
illustrations are so apt, and you have
such a flow of language."

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152

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"Blythe, I am one of those men on
whom pretty little sarcasms are thrown
away — who make bouqnets of them
and send them back; so never hold
your hand, dear."

" Well, well, you Quixotic goose of
a Roger, why don't you like me better
than your principles?" said Blythe,
very softly, leaning her beautiful head
toward his breast, and with a hint of
passion in the upward look of her blue
eyes that foolish Roger overlooked;
for he patted her cheek in a medita-
tive manner, and said :

" There must be pioneers of thought
and of utterance. It is a hated but an
honorable post. Some must be sacri-
ficed ; and I am ready to become one
of the stepping-stones for my race to
march over to the only heaven I know
— an earth where justice reigns."

"I have not the faintest desire for
such glory," said Blythe, sitting very
ei-ect, and with a little more color than
usual in her cheeks ; " so please under-
stand that if asking me to become one
with you you have any expectation
that I shall be half the stepping-stone,
I distinctly, finally, and forever decline
that honor."

A fortnight later Van Tolliver came
to New Orleans, and the young seeker
after truth received her next political
lesson from him. Van was an attrac-
tive talker. Equally free from rant or
coldness, firm in opinion but modest of
utterance, his words had a manly ring
that could not fail of impressing the
listener.

"I have accepted the consequences
of the war," he said, "and mean to
abide by them. I would not have the
negi'o back in slavery if I could; and

I don't want to deny him any rights
that a free man ought to have. But
as for having him to rule over us, that
is a different thing. He is the tool of
these miserable carpet-baggers, who
have plundered the country steadily
since the war, and who must be driven
out, root and branch. The very es-
sence of the Constitution is violated by
their presence among us. Self-govern-
ment is the very spirit of free institu-
tions. We have been taxed and rob-
bed and insulted long enough. We
must get in a Democratic President
next fall, who will free our country of
its incubus, and then an era of pros-
perity will set in for the South."

"There is one subject. Van, that I
should like to settle in my own mind,"
said Blythe : " What do you think of
these outrages that they tell so much
about? Do you think these dreadful
stories are true ?"

" You must take them with a good
deal of dilution, Blythe."

"But even then. Van— "

" Well, yes," said Van, reluctantly ;
"I suppose some things have happen-
ed that we shall have to regret. But
remember, every country has its law-
less class ; private vengeance is wreak-
ed in many a case, and the motive cov-
ered with a political cloak. We can't
always control the worst element of
our population."

"But it seems to me. Van, that
public sentiment ought to be sti'ong
enough to prevent repetition of these
dreadful acts. But it isn't. People
either deny them outright, or wink at
them."

" I do not wish to excuse any act of
violence," said Van, earnestly. " God

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knows, I would rather suffer a century
than win even a just cause by a crime.
But those upon whom oppression falls
most heavily cannot always keep cool
heads. And the provocation has been
terrible. But there is fearful exagger-
ation in the stories you have heard —
you may be very sure of that."

Colonel Dexter entered as Van had
made his contribution to Blythe's con-
fusion of ideas, and the discussion
-widened. Blytlie was delighted to
hear the two conservatives talk to-
gether. " Now I shall get the golden
mean," she thought.

" The Democrats," said the colonel,
^^ committed a political crime in the
South; the Kepublicans, a political
blunder. Both ruined their party.
But our blunder — negro rule — is like-
ly to be more disastrous to us than
your crime — armed secession ; because
you've turned about, and we can't. It
will ruin the North as well as the
South. Now, the Republican party in
the North is made up of our best peo-
ple — churchrgoing folk, thinkers, poets :
you know this."

' " Whyj yes," said Van, " though our
people generally don't realize it."

"No; because here we have a Pe-
ter's dream of a party — a blanket filled
with animals clean and unclean," mostly
the last; illiterate negroes, dishonest
carpet-baggers, fanatics, ofiice-seekers
— so many that the few sensible men
are crushed out, and the States are
ruled by ignorance and greed and
thievery. You've all had a turn. It
makes me sick to think of it. Why
the deuce. Van, didn't you Southern
fellows go in at the close of the war
and lead the blacks ?"

" We had the misfortune to be gen-
tlemen," said Van, quickly ; and then
he saw his error. But Blythe helped
him out of his tongue-ditch by saying :

"But you know* Mr. Ellis is a gen-
tleman. Van, socially and by education ;
yet I have heard him say that he
thought seriously of coming South af-
ter the war and making himself one of
the leaders of the negro party."

" He is a Northern gentleman," said
Van, seeing a chance for a masterly
retreat from the inadvertent discourte-
sy of his speech. "He never held the
relation of master to these people;
and there is a wide difference between
advocating the political claims of a
class whom your education has taught
you to regard as an oppressed people,
and asking the boon of political sup-
port from men whom you once owned.
We couldn't do it, colonel."

"The situation was full of difficul-
ties," said the colonel, thoughtfully,
" and a little of the wisdom of the ser-
pent would have made things better
for you. Uncommonly short -headed
fellows you were. Look at one in-
stance: your provisional government
in Mississippi, under Johnson, passed a
labor code that practically restored
slavery — that kicked over the fiat of
emancipation. I don't wonder at it —
don't blame you; it was a sort of
guileless thing to do, you know. The
anti-slavery power of the North was
roused. They had to give the poor
devils a weapon, or protection; the
choice lay between universal suffrage
and military rule."

"I should have preferred military
rule."

"Perhaps, but that would have end-

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ed in destroyiug free institutions. So
the Republicans decreed negro suf-
frage, as you call it; equal rights, as
Ellis calls it; confusion worse con-
founded, I call it. And God knows
how we shall ever get the muddle
righted."

"By a Democratic National Admin-
istration," said Van, promptly.

"No; I think not. It is easy to
know what we should have done. We
should have waited and made educa-
tion compulsory — no man, white or
black, allowed to vote unless he could
read; made more point of a citizen's
duties and less of his rights. But
that's past. We've done the mischief
— we put the bull into the china shop.
What we want now is a conservative
Republican President, who will concil-
iate the alienated white South, do jus-
tice to the blacks, and bring things
round to a normal state."

"You two gentlemen seem agreed
on the vital points," said Blythe, " yet
you belong to different parties. How
is that?"

The colonel smiled. Van laughed.

" Oh, do speak freely !" urged Blythe.
"You are too sensible to get angry
about a political difference. And I do
so want to understand this subject
thoroughly."

" Go ahead, colonel," said Van ; "fire
away at my party, then I will have a
shot at yours."

"Ob," said Colonel Dexter, good-
naturedly, " be true to your traditions.
The South fired first — we only answer-
ed back. Go on. Fort Sumptcr !"

"Very well," §aid Van, laughing.
"But what is it you want to know,
Blythe?"

" Oh, the particular reason why a
Democrat should be elected next fall."

" I believe," said Van, " that a Dem-
ocratic triumph only can restore the
old harmony, because it is the only na-
tional party — the only party that main-
tains the good spund doctrine of self-
government and home -rule, and that
opposes centralization of power. It is
the only party that upholds the rights
of the States, and that has a traditional
enmity to subsidies and extravagance
of expenditure by the Federal Govern-
ment. Besides, if your party wore ever
so sound in the faith, long rule neces-
sarily engenders corruption; power
becomes concentrated in a few hands ;
rings breed jobs; the caucus resolu-
tion silences the popular voice ; we end
in an oligarchy with the form of a de-
mocracy."

("What queer creatures men are,"
Blythe was thinking. "Who would
think, to hear Van talk about politics,
how crazy he was after Betty Page!
And Colonel Dexter — how much better
he looks than when he is fussing
round his wife. They do not seem to
strike realities until they talk ifco each
other. I don't suppose a woman counts
for much in any man's real life. She is
a sort of side-issue — like Eve.")

"Well stated!" the colonel replied
to Van ; " now let me be as brief. De-
mocracy talks nationality, and acts sec-
tionality — that's history. The theoiy
of State rights makes men not Ameri-
cans, but Mississippians, Alabamians,
Georgians, Carolinians — big boys proud
of theit village, not patriots proud of
their country. Centralization means
the majestic rule of a national govern-,
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155

of a provincial junto. Belter subsidies
for improvements that knit States to-
gether^ than economies that hold them
apart. Republicanism has never vio-
lated State rights ; it doesn't take much
stock in State prerogatives. Our party-
is not corrupt ; there never was a purer
party in history. It was not our fault
tliat we were too strong. . We didn't ask
the Democrats to leave Congress and
go out with their States, you know."

Blythe was a little tired. She found
it impossible to sum up in her mind;
she seemed farther than ever from a
conclusion. It was a relief when Cap-
tain Silsby's card was brought in. She
felt a desire to be frivolous.

" Oh, captain," she said, as he enter-
ed, "our friends here are trying to
teach me the real difference between
the Republican and Democratic party.
Now, what is it ?"

"Ins and outs," said the captain,
indifferently. "We-uns and you-uns
— oflSce- seekers and office-holders —
house of have and house of want — ev-
ery man for his place and the devil
take the hindmost, on the election re-
turns."

"And what is your political creed?"

" To go for good men, snap your lin-
gers at parties, and hurrah for the side
that is up. It's all the same, you know.
It's a game of see-saw. It doesn't put
a stop to the country's growing-pains.
Do I make myself understood. Miss
Herndon ?"

"Perfectly. I think you must bo
rather a comfortable person to live

with. Such easy philosophy! The
Vicar of Bray over again !"

"The Vicar of Bray I have not
met," murmured the captain, " though
there are ordinary fellows, even in the
army, who do it. But if you think I
would do to live with, please consider
me at your feet. Miss Herndon."

" What creed should you like me to
adopt, Roger ?" she said, at last, " if I
could make a choice ?"

"Any but my own," he said, laugh-
ing. "It's only egotism to adore a
feminine likeness of one's self. Choose
the worst if possible. I don't want
you to be too perfect; and there's a
zest in ideas all awry, when they're
held in a head covered with golden
plaits, and uttered by lips lovelier than
ever Paris kissed."

Blythe felt that Roger did not under-
stand her ; and she wrote in her jour-
nal : " My plan has been an utter fail-
ure. I am frightened at myself. I am
getting to have a sort of — of — disdain
of people who have opinions. I can't
find anything to put in the place that
I emptied of my prejudices. Indiffer-
ence is benumbing. I feel languid and
worn — averse to thinking out things.
What a state of mind ! It is only a
ghost — or a pig — who has a right to
be indifferent to human affairs. But
how is one ever to really know any-
thing, unless he has lived from the be-
ginning of time?

"I wish I had not come from the
other planet. I believe I am less
strong than I thought myself."

•""^^^

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.CHAPTER XXVI.

THE CARNIVAL.

Shrove Tuesday fell, this year, on
the last day of February — the

**one day more,
"We add to it one year in four."

It was brilliant with sunshine, as a
Carnival-day should be ; and from the
flush of its dawn the streets were
crowded with people giving themselves
up to the spirit of the festival with all
the joyous surrender of a Southern race.

Our friends were assembled on a
Canal Street balcony, from which the
younger members of the party could
hardly be persuaded to stir even for
luncheon or dinner, so delightful was
the scene to their unaccustomed eyes.
Mary Barton, who had been spending
the week before Mardi-Gras with Mrs.
Dexter, was among them, and kisses,
bouquets, and bon-bons were flung up-
ward by the gay masqueraders as the
three pretty faces peeped over the bal-
cony. Each one of the girls looked
particularly happy, and they looked ex-
actly as they felt, which relieves me of
the necessity of making a not entirely
novel remark about masks and faces
that the day might suggest. Each one,
of course, had her especial and private
reason for being happy. Miss Page
was thinking of a dress of pale yellow

silk that had come forth a miracle from
Olympe's hands, and was to be worn at
the Carnival ball ; Mary Barton felt as
Taglioni looked when she poised herself
on the tips of her toes and seemed just
ready to spring into the air as her nat-
ural home ; this was because Van had
happened to be in New Orleans ever
since she had been there, and had
seemed delightfully indifferent to his
old love; and Blythe Heradon was
happy because Mr. Ellis was with her,
and in his sunniest, wittiest mood. She
forgot for a moment that ^ jarring
word had ever been spoken between
them ; and the regrets that had haunt-
ed her of late like spectres grew too
pale to be seen in the sunshine of his
tenderness.

The day passed quickly. Its long
hours seemed to melt into one splendid
point of time, so changeless was the
vision of undulating crowds, of glit-
tering processions, and grotesque dis-
guises.

Late in the afternoon the girls disap-
peared long enough to make their toi-
lets for the evening, coming back with
soft dark shawls wrapped about them,
concealing their ball-dresses and height-
ening the rosy loveliness of their faces.

Blythe leaned against a vine-wreath-

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ed pillar, apart ironi the rest, waiting
the return of her lover in a state of
dreamy content. It was her last day
in New Orleans ; she was to leave for
Yariba with Mary Barton on the morn-
ing of Ash-Wednesday. " The last day
and the happiest," she whispered to
herself. Roger had been so lovely all
day. He had said charming things of
the joyous grace of the Southern peo-
ple at play; he had not so much as
hinted that the world held an assassin,
a bandit, or an American flag ; he had
laughed with the others when Satan
and his imps passed along the street,
the Returning-board and the Louisi-
ana Senate being prominent and horri-
ble among the devils of his majesty's
court.

« Why does he stay away so long ?"
murmured Blythe, and a thought of
Rosalind passed through her mind —
" Come woo me, woo me ; for I am in
holiday humor, and like enough to con-
sent."

But her mood in nowise resembled
that of the vivacious, masquerading
maid. She had eaten nothing all day,
and for all her dinner had drunk a cup
of strong coffee dashed with a glass of
Cognac. The powerful stimulant had
set her nerves to vibrating tremulous-
ly. A penetrating languor diffused it-
self subtilely through her frame. She
could close her eyes and imagine her-
self with warm arms of love about her,
floating to the pale heights of distant
stars.
' "Blythe!"

She turned her head and Roger El-
lis was beside her. She held out her
hand with a lovely, lingering smile.
The shawl had slipped from her shoul-

157

ders, and he kissed it passionately as
he folded it about her bare, beautiful
neck.

"Oh, my love! my love!" he whis-
pered, as their hands met, and their
eyes shone on each other through the
dusk, "how completely you have wrap-
ped me in your heart!"

As the darkness deepened, the crowd
grew denser and more quiet. An ex-
pectant hush thrilled the vast multi-
tude. They awaited the great event
of the day — the coming of the "Mys-
tick Krewe." Suddenly, with a wild
burst of music and a blaze of golden
light, the splendid vision pierced the
dusk. The History of the Jews was
the theme chosen for illustration: a
series of pictures from the beginning
of things in the idyllic garden, to the
destruction of Jerusalem by the Ro-
man soldiers ; grouped on wide slow-
moving floats with a dramatic percep-
tion, a splendor and exactness of cos-
tuming, that lifted them into the re-
gion of high art, and made one sigh
that their passing should be so brief.

" Who would have thought that the
Bible could be so interesting !" cried
Betty Page. "I declare, I shall enjoy
reading it after this, for it will remind
me of this beautiful night."

"This beautiful night!" echoed
Blythe, softly, leaning toward her lov-
er ; " and it is but just begun."

It was not the ball, however, to
which she looked forward as the even-
ing's crowning glory. True, she was
going; but after the tableaux and the
first dance Mr. Ellis was to bring her
home, and spend the evening with her
alone.

"And you may stay until Mrs. Ogle-
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thorpe and Betty come back from the
ball," she had said, recklessly, " what-
ever that hour may be !"

As soon as the last float had pass-
ed the ladies were harried to their car-
riages and driven to the Grand Opera-
house. At the door they were forced
to part from their escorts, as the best
seats were all reserved for ladies, and
the gentlemen, without exception, must
be "gallery gods" for the nonce.

"Remember," said Blythe, to Mr.
Ellis, as they stood at the door, " you
are to come for me after the first
dance. I shall be with Mrs. Ogle-
thorpe."

At this moment a ragged figure
pushed its way through the crowd to
where Mr. Ellis stood and thi*ust a
folded paper into his hand. Blythe
had no time to ask what it was, as the
crowd hurried her and her friends to
their places.

The tableaux were over ; the " Mys-
tick Krewe" had come from behind
the curtain, and, still masked, were
selecting their partners for the first
dance. Blythe had been chosen by no
less a person than the mighty Moses.
They had just taken their places on
the floor, and she was idly trying to
recognize a friend behind the long
beard of the Lawgiver, when she saw
Roger Ellis hurrying toward her.

" One moment, darling," he said in a
low voice, drawing her a little to one
side; "I have some bad news — ^I must
leave you."

^^ Leave me — to-night?'^'*

"I mm% Blythe. I have just re-
ceived intelligence of a secret meeting
in the lower part of the city that it is
absolutely necessary I should attend."

"But, Roger, have you forgotten
that I go to-morrow — that this is our
last evening ?"

"Oh, my darling, do you think I
want to leave you? It distracts me.
But it is so plainly my duty, that I
should be a coward to hesitate. I will
come back if I can. At least you shall
see me the first thing to-morrow."

The music struck up with a deafen-
ing crash. Moses extended his vener-
able hand.

" Good-bye, darling ! darling ! dar-
ling !" murmured Ellis.

He will never forget that moment
of his life; he will never forget how
she looked as she stood there, white
like a lily, with the glory of color
around her, and the sound of music
swelling above her low, sweet tones ;
rior the deepening look of pain on her
delicate, wistful, lovely face, as she held
one hand half out to him in uncon-
scious appeal, and resigned the other
to the impatient clasp of her masked
partner. She was swept from him,
and the next moment he was in the
street.

Nor will Blythe forget that night.
She crushed the bewildered pain at
her heart. Like all proud, hurt creat-
ures, she strove to hide her wound.
A brilliant color leaped to her cheek,
light to her eyes, and repartee to her
tongue. She was a new being. She
outshone Betty Page, and for the first
time in her life was a belle. Her
mother would scarcely have known
her ; her father would never have been
so proud of his child.

At last it was over. Pale and
drooping, she sat by the fire in her
room, wondering if she should ever

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sleep again, when Betty Page came in,
radiant as the sun.

"Blythe Herndon !" she cried;
"pinch me and see if I am real. I
am going to Europe."

" So am I," said Blythe, dreamily —
" when I die."

" I am going in three months' time !"

"As companion to some rich old
lady?"

"As companion to Captain Silsby,
my dear. I have accepted him. He
is to get a six months' leave. We
are to be married in April, go to the
Exposition, and from there to Europe.
Oh, Blythe, think of Paris ! Now do
tell me that I am the luckiest girl un-
der the sun 1"

"You are, dear — if you love him."

" Oh, I love him well enough — not
madly, you know. Vm not romantic.
But then, neither is he. He isn't a
poem-writer, like your Mr. Ellis — but
I'm not a poem-reader. We suit each
other, don't you see, Blythe? and
there's everything in that."

" Yes, I think there is," said Blythe,
slowly.

"It was all settled to-night. This
dress was too much for him," said
Betty, smoothing out her yellow skirts.
"I knew it would be. And Europe
was too much for me. There isn't

another girl in Yariba who ever went
to Europe for a bridal tour. Blythe,
suppose you and Mr. Ellis get married
at the same time. Think what a sen-
sation a double wedding would make
in poky old Yariba, and let us all go
to Europe together. Propose it to
him, will you, Blythe ?"

"Hardly!"

"Well, what difference would it
make? You really mean to marry
him, don't you ?"

"I don't know, Betty," said Blythe,
wearily, walking to the window, and
looking up to the sky, from which the
pale stars were beginning to fade in
the dawn of Ash - Wednesday morn-
ing. The city had grown still as sleep ;
but as she stood there she heard the
striking of a distant clock, and a be-
lated Frenchman passed under her
window, who had probably taken his
little glass of absinthe, and was de-
claiming Victor Hugo in high, shriek-
ing tones :

"L*avenir! ravenir! mystere!
Toutes les choses de la terre,
Gloire, fortune militaire,

Couronne ^clatante des rois ;
Victoire aiix ailes embrasees
Illusions realisees,
Ne sent jamais sur nous posees,

Que comme Toiseau sur nos toits."

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CHAPTER XXVII.

BE HAPPY AND FORGET ME.

"We twain shall not re- measure
The ways which left us twain."

Mr. Ellis did not make his appear-
ance the next morning; but Civil
Rights Bill came with a note of expla-
nation and regret, that Blythe read
with a slight, bitter smile, and to which
she returned no answer.

" You look like a ghost," said Mrs.
Oglethorpe, as she kissed her young
guest good-bye. "I am afraid the
winter has been too much for you."

"She needs Yariba air," said Van
ToUiver, who was to escort the two
girls home.

"Yes," said Blythe,"! shall be glad
to get back to Yariba, although I have
enjoyed my visit so much ; but I did
not know I was so fond of the dear old
place. I am sure I shall want to kiss
the very cows by the Spring !"

Squire Barton was waiting for the
girls in a light wagon at the railway
station; and he 3rove them home in
fine style, laughing all the way at their
raptures in getting back to Yariba.

" You'd have thought they had been
gone seven years," he said to his wife.
" When they got to the Spring, they
must get out and walk ; and who should
come along but old Riddleback, the
jug -man, you know, and what must I

both those girls do but stop and shake
hands with the old Dutchman, as if he
had been kin to them! You never
saw an old fellow so taken aback : you
see, he didn't even know they had been
away I"

"How does Blythe look?" asked
Mrs. Barton.

" She looks sick ; she looks as if she
needs a good deal of mother^'* said the
honest old squire, giving his wife a
sounding kiss.

"The trip seems to have agreed
with Mary," said Mrs. Barton, fondly.
" I never saw her look so w^ell in my
life."

" Oh, I enjoyed every moment of the
time," said Mary, with a deep blush, as
if she had made a most compromising
statement. " Still, I am very glad to
be at home again."

" Ah, yes," said the squire ; " there's
no place like Yariba. The man or
woman that can't be happy in Yariba
can't be happy anywhere on God's
green earth."

" It seems to me, father, that I have
heard you say something like that be-
fore," said Mary, slyly.

"Perhaps you have, child. It has
occurred to me more than once," said
the placid squire.

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One person in Blytbe's family re-
joiced over her altered looks — that
was the grandmother. She saw that
she was unhappy ; she felt that there
was trouble between her and Mr. Ellis ;
and again she thanked God in a devout
spirit.

Betty Page came home with her
brave bridal garments, and was married
in the spring, with a string of brides-
maids as long as the tail of a Highland
chieftain attending her. She was brill-
iantly happy. There had never been
anything in Yariba as fine as her wed-
ding. She had originated the daring
novelty of being married in a dress the
color of the peach-blooms, while all her
bridesmaids appeared in white.

" It will be very eflEective," she had
said to Blythe, " and no one will have a
chance to say that Captain Silsby has
got a White Elephant on his hands
— you know how immense I am in
white."

" Happy pair !" wrote Mr. Ellis ; " I
ara almost tempted to envy them.
When I think of the summer we too
might have had in the shadow o^ some
cool, far-off foreign mountains, and the
summer I must have here in this hot,
wretched country, filling my soul with
horrors, life seems just a little hard ;
but here I feel my duty lies, and not
even you, my Blythe, could tempt me
out of its path."

Sensational articles appeared from
time to time in the Northern papers,
giving Mr. Ellis's name as authority
for terrific stories of Southern out-
rages, A deep and bitter feeling
against him was aroused in Yariba.
The Yariba Advocate came out in a
scathing editorial headed " Human Vi-

pers," that was very much admired
throughout the county. Mrs. Ogle-
thorpe gave a dinner-party, and solemn-
ly assured her friends that she had
turned the cold shoulder to him just
as soon as she found out what he was
doing in New Orleans. Mr. Shepherd
said that nothing was too infamous to
expect from a man of his loose religious
views. Mrs. Roy made the tour of the
town, with a basket on her arm for
stray contributions, and told the story
of her acquaintanceship with Mr. Ellis,
not omitting to say that " she mistrust-
ed the man as soon as she clapped
her eyes on him, but he seemed so
anxious to do something for her that
she thought it would be ungenerous
to refuse." Squire Barton, ever good-
natured, undertook a word in his de-
fence.

" You must consider how a man's
made," he said. "Now, Ellis can't
help being what he is, any more than
a June bug can help its smell. But,
then" — reflectively — "I can't say that
I like having a June bug rubbed un-
der my nose."

Mrs. Tolliver declared that for her
part she always would say that Mr.
Ellis was a kind, good man ; that Mis'
Tolliver said he was as weak as mush ;
but she thought it was just a sign of
his generous nature that he was so
easily taken in by the negroes, who
would lie just for the fun of it; but,
to be sure, how was he to know that?

All this was trifling enough ; but it
was gall and wormwood to a girl like
Blythe Herndon, whose most ardent
desire was to be proud of her lover.
She never failed to defend him, but it
grew to be a tiresome business; and

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day after day, walking by the spring,
climbing the bill, sewing or pretending
to read, the same old wearying train
of thought passed through her mind —
"Do I love him? Did I ever love
him? And if so, could my heart turn
from him now, whatever he might
do?"

She read his impassioned letters, re-
membering how she had read the first
of them with blushes and thrills of
shy delight; but now her heart beat
not faster, nor did her cheek change
its even pallor. She wondered if it
were so in all love ; if passion were as
short-lived as a flower held in a warm
hand ; or if, as Mr. Ellis had some-
times said, her deepest feeling had
never been aroused. This thought
came to her with mingled pain and
consolation — consolation that she miglit
still believe in love as a reality, not as
a dream of her imagination ; pain, des-
perate pain, that she had wasted her-
self so recklessly before the true love
came. She felt it a solemn and a
shameful thing to break an engage-
ment that had been sealed by such
kisses as lovers give. " Unless I loved
Roger Ellis," she said to herself, " I
am too indelicate and obtuse a creat-
ure to live upon the earth, or some
fine instinct would have held me back.
And yet, if I have exhausted so soon
the finest and divinest passion that a
human heart can know, then life is a
cheat and a lie, and I don't want to
live any longer."

In truth, Blythe was unfortunately
constituted. Her intellect was eager
and aspiring, her soul delicate and
sensitive, but her physical tempera-
ment was cold. To hold dominion

over such a woman it was absolutely
essential to keep her intellectual ad-
miration. The man who could do
this might pass his life in the delusion
that she adored his person.

Heart - sickness seizes strongly on
young souls ; and Blythe grew hollow-
eyed and thin. If she had talked to any
one of her trouble it would have been
easier to bear; but she made no con-
fidant, not even of Mary Barton, who,
through some unknown influence, was
growing tenderer and sweeter every
day. And now a very novel experi-
ence came to her — she began to like
going to church. Service was held
every afternoon at six, and after a long
day of tiresome thought it was peace
and quiet pleasure to glide into the
little church where scarcely more than
two or three were gathered together,
and listen to the familiar words of
prayer as the long aisles grew misty
in the twilight, and the fading sun-
beams rested on the communion altar,
or flickered at play with the black let-^
tering of a tablet " to the beloved and
blessed memory " of a pastor who had
died among his people. There was
good singing in the church at Yariba,
and all her life long Blythe will re-
member those evening hymns, that
stole like perfume into her soul.

" Softly now the light of day
Fades upon my sight away ;
Now from care, from labor free,
Lord, I would commune with thee.'*

Or,

*'Lord, dismiss us with thy blessing,
Fill our hearts with joy and peace" —

sweet, soothing strains that she could
not hear without a faint trembling at

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.163

the heart, and a slow coming of tears
to her blue eyes.

Every one noticed the change in
Blythe Herndon, and every one liked
her softened manner. She took more
interest in every-day matters. In her
intercourse with Roger Ellis she had
heard so many fine abstractions and
glittering theories, that it was with a
sense of actual relief that she listened
to Mrs. Dering's gentle account of the
sufferings of Carrie's twins when they
were five days old, or heard Mrs. Barton
tell of a silk quilt she had just finished
in the bird's- nest pattern, for which
she had been saving the pieces twenty-
five years.

Sometimes she wondered vaguely at
herself. " I seem to be crystallizing in
a new mould," she said ; " or is it that
I am just finding out what I really
am?" She had been called romantic,
but the most romantic expression of
love had failed to satisfy her; she had
thought herself liberal-minded, but her
lover seemed to her a fanatic, and she
was not liberal enough to be indifferent
to it; she had been impatient of the
commonplace, yet she was so common-
place as to desire a smooth and com-
fortable life; she had openly declared
her scorn of " the prosaic and narrow
teachings" of her early life, but their
influences held her as tenaciously as
the earth holds the roots of a flower,
while its blossoms may be blown to
the winds.

During all this time she had written
short, cold letters at long intervals to
Roger Ellis: finally there came from
him a passionate appeal for her confi-
dence.

"My darling," he wrote, "you do

not understand my love. It has gone
away up beyond the table -lands of
pleasure to the summits of the soul
where selfishness cannot live. Its one
desire is for your happiness. Noth-
ing could drive me from you, or cause
me to be less than your truest friend.
The one thing I could not bear would
be to make you my wife and find that
I failed to satisfy every part of your
nature. For a long time, my precious
child, I have seen that you were wa-
vering and in doubt. Now, before
you write to me again, look deep into
your heart, and in making your deci-
sion do not think of me. Only selfish
or weak souls suffer long. I should
find in life duties enough to prevent
me becoming a cynical or a sad man;
and in study, in travel, in friendship
fill the years with beauty. And I
should never think of you but with
gratitude — recalling you as the radi-
ant angel that threw open the barred
gates of my heart and filled it with
perfumes, and the light that only
shines from a nature that is pure and
noble, and imperial in its power to
bless."

One more week for her slow-form-
ing resolve to crystallize, and Blythe
wrote :

" Your letter has given me courage
to write what is in my heart. I must
give you up. I do not love you any
more. You will think that I never
did, or I could not be so weak as to
fall away from you now. I do not
know. It is only of late that I have
begun to study myself, and I cannot
tell whether I have loved you as much

as I can love, or whether it w^ a mis-
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take from the first, and I was simply
flattered by your beautiful words, and
beguiled by beautiful love. Only this
much is now clear to me — that when I
think of a future with you, it is with
sadness and unrest. I feel like one
launching out on a wild sea. I dread
your influence over me. I do not wish
to turn away from all the sweet teach-
ings of ;ny father and my mother and
my early youth. There could be no
harmony in our lives. You may be
right; but you are at the end of
things, I at the beginning. If ever I
xsomo to where you are, it must be by
my own slow steps. I cannot jump
such a space. Since you came South
the last time I have had one shock af-
ter another.

"I have tried to be faithful to you.
I know that you are noble, and noth-
ing shall ever make me doubt that you
are true. But I should not know how
to live with one who despises what I
feel dimly I ought to revere, and who
was always running a tilt against
things that a giant could not shake.
The world is so full of beauty! and
the good God who holds it in the hol-
low of his hand will in his own time
turn its evil into good.

"This letter will sound hard, and
cold, and cruel ; but I cannot help it.
I seem to have lost all feeling — but I
have suffered. I know the day would
come when you, so brilliant and ad-
vanced, would regret having a wife
like me — that is the one comfort.

"I have sinned toward you; but I
did not know myself. I know that
you will forgive me, and I pray that
you may be happy and forget me.

"Emma Blythe Herndon."

It was done. She took the letter to
the office and posted it herself, a cold
shudder quivering through her body,
as she dropped it into the box, as if a
little snake had slipped through her
fingers. Then she walked home, the
gray twilight folding itself about her,
her heart all desolate and empty, like
a room from which a dead body has
been taken to its grave.

She took her place at the tea-table,
cold, pale, and preoccupied. Her
mother pressed her to drink a glass of
iced tea that she had prepared for her;
the grandmother watched her keenly.
When she rose from the table, she
stood a moment leaning lightly on her
chair, and said,

"I don't wish any questions asked
about it, but I must tell you all that
I have broken my engagement with
Mr. Ellis."

She started out with a fleet step;
but turned when the incautious Jim-
mie waved his fork and called out,
" Hooray for you, Blythy ! I didn't
think you would bring that black rad-
ical into our family !"

" I don't suppose it's any use trying
to make any of you understand," she
burst out, the red color flaming over
her face, " but I will tell you that I do
not give him up because he is a radi-
cal. I am a radical myself!" cried
poor Blythe, in one last despairing ef-
fort of loyalty toward her lover — " at
least, just as much as I am anything.
I have examined the record of the
Democratic party, and I've no respect
for it — no, papa, not one bit. And I
don't want you ever to hint that I
gave him up because of his politics, or
because of his beini^ a Northern man.

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165

It is simply that we don't suit each
other — that's all there is about it."
And catching her breath in one quick
sob that she could not keep back,
Bljrthe went out of the room.

And all of them at the table smiled
at each other with the most heartfelt
satisfaction, and applauded the child's
good-sense in having come to her deci-
sion without any pressure from outside.

"The thought of this marriage has
long been obnoxious to me," said Mr.
Herndon ; " but I had given my word,
and besides, I knew opposition would
only make matters worse. I've found
out one thing about Blythe; if you
give her her head — let her do exactly
as she chooses — she is sure to bring
up all right."

"What a sad experience for the
poor child !" said the mother, with
tears in her eyes.

" It is I who have saved her !" said
the grandmother's solemn, exultant
voice; "my prayers have been answer-
ed;" and she clasped her hands over
her heart as if to still its agitated
beatings.

"I don't know how you could pray
for our dear girl's misery !" said Mrs.
Herndon, a little angrily.

"Oh, she will get over it," said the
grandmother. "I shall give her ray

solitaire," she added, solemnly :." and
oh. Archer, I do hope this will be a
lesson to you."

Mr. Herndon laughed, and patted
his wife on the cheek.

" Never fear, Lucy," he said, gently,
" she will get over it — not for a little
while, perhaps, but in time for the
Christmas parties."

And then Jimmie piped in with the
tender appreciation of youth :

" She is like the old hen in my First
Reader — *The old hen is ill. She is
too ill to scratch. But she is not so
ill as to die.'"

And so Blythe's love-affair was
lightly dismissed.

But later the grandmother crept
into Blythe's room. She was sitting
by the window, without a light. The
moonlight poured its flood upon her
pale gold hair, that floated all unbound
around her slight figure. Her eyes
were closed. Her face leaned against
the window-pane. And when her
grandmother tried to fit the ring on
her slim finger she pushed it back.
" Take it away," she said, drearily ; " I
do not want it. Oh, my heart is
sore !"

And the old lady went out and left
her alone with her grief.

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CHAPTER XXVIIL

GODS AND MEN, WE ARE ALL DELUDED THUS!

The long summer had passed drear-
ily enough to Roger Ellis, and a great
sorrow was in store for him. There
had not been the yellow-fever panic,
that usually empties the city as the
dreaded fall months approach; yet
fever is always lurking in the low
Southern country, where a city seems
to have been built especially to
provide it victims, and each year it
ends the tale of some doomed life.
And this year, unused to the hot
climate, pining for the hills, weakened
by a mental activity to which he had
been a stranger in all his idle, easy life,
poor little Civil Rights Bill was strick-
en down. For weeks the fever burn-
ed in his veins, and Mr. Ellis sorrow-
fully watched beside him, aided by one
of the good Sisters who choose so hard
a path to heaven.

How the sick child raved ! He fan-
cied himself back in Yariba, and with
incessant, untiring energy lived over
his old life. He would sing wild
snatches of song in a voice alternately
faint and shrill; sometimes repeating
one verse again and again in a high,
swinging melody, that will ring in
Roger Ellis's ears through many a
summer day to come.

The sun. shone like heated brass in
the heavens ; the earth seemed to swoon

beneath ; and Bill's talk was of moun-
tains and cool streams — of picking blue
flowers under the trees of Mount Sano,
and diving for moss in the clearest
waves of the spring.

He would have intervals of semi-con-
sciousness, in which he would beg Mr.
Ellis to talk to him.

"Tell me about, the railroads, and
the genii. Don't you r'member, Mr.
Ellis? you said it was your fairy
story."

And Ellis would try to recall some
of the old fanciful talk with which he
had striven to arouse Bill to intellectual
effort :

"Down in the depths of the earth,
genii dig metals, separate them, burn
them, torture them in a thousand
shapes; then they stretch them out
like ribbons across valleys, over plains,
through mountains — ^"

" Through the cold hearts of moun-
tains," said Bill, with a child's tenacious
memory.

" — Through the cold hearts of moun-
tains, until cities are knit like beads on
a string."

"Cities like beads," repeated the
weak little voice. " Oh, me, me, what
a great hot bead this one is !" and
he threw his restless arms against the
great palm -leaf fan that the quiet

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nun moved with tireless band at his
side.

"Mr. Ellis!"

"Well, Bill?"

" It's a long way, ain't it ?"

" What, my poor child ?"

" To go to all the beads — all in this
world. It's such a big world, you
know. I uster think Yariba was pret-
ty big. I've leanied a heap since
then," said Bill, with a faint smile of
pride.

" Yes, Willy, it is a long way," said
Mr. Ellis, wishing now, sorrowfully,
that he had never taken the poor dy-
ing child from the woods and moun-
tains of his home.

"I reckon it takes all of a man's life
—till he is old and white-headed — to
see everything," said Bill; "and oh,
me, me !" — with the little sigh of wea-
riness that recurred so often in his
talk — "how tired anybody must get of
goin', goin', goin' — never stoppin' to
rest ! Don't you ever get tired, Mr.
Ellis ?"

" Yes, Bill ; God knows I do — tired
enough to wish to die rather than to
live."

"Am I goin' to die?" said Bill, in a
low, awed whisper.

"I don't know, my poor boy. I
hope not — ^I hope not ! I want you to
stay with me."

"I know," said Bill, looking up at
him with big, loving eyes, "you was
goin' to make a man of me."

" I uster think " — he went on after a
pause — " that when you got old, and
blind, and deaf, maybe — 'cause there's
a good many old men in Yariba like
that — that I could wait on you, and be
a sight o' comfort to you. I just tell

you the truth, Mr. Ellis, befo' I was
took sick, every night when I come to
bed I could see myself tall an' straight
as Mars' Van Tolliver; an' you, with
your hair all white, a-leanin' on me, an'
us a-walkin' in the sunshine."

Mr. Ellis turned his face away, and
his form shook with sobs.

"But I s'pose you'll have Miss
Blythe, won't you, Mr. Ellis?"

" I don't know. Bill. I think some-
times that she doesn't love me a great
deal ; not as much as you do."

" Of course I love you — I belongs to
you. An' ain't you the only person
that ever keered a button whether I
was alive or dead? Oh, Mr. Ellis,
don't let me die!" and Bill clung to
him with a frightened look in his eyes.

"I saw a dead baby once," he whis-
pered — " little Becky, they called her.
She was kind of foolish — never did
have sense — and everybody said it was
good for her to die an' go to heaven.
I wonder where heaven is !"

Mr. Ellis was silent. His eyes met
those of the nun, across the bed. A
look of deep pity dawned in her face.
She leaned forward and held a crucifix
befcJre Bill's eyes, murmuring a prayer.

" I dunno about it all," said the ob-
stinate little heathen. "I'll b'lieve
whatever Mr. Ellis says about it."

"Bill, child, you will soon know
more than I or any living man can tell
you."

« You don't think I'll go to hell?" he
said, with a quick convulsive shudder.

"jVb, Bill, don't be afraid of that.
If there is a heaven, it will open fast
enough to a poor child like yoti."

This was their last talkjSS?elii*i"n^
came back, and then the fatal signs

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of approaching death. Tho fever had
left hira. Exhausted and almost life-
less, his eyes followed Mr. Ellis about
tlie room with pitiful persistence. It
was night, and a cooling rain dashed
against the windows. Bill slumbered
lightly.

"Pray," said Mr. Ellis, fixing his sad
eyes on the nun's passionless face,
" pray — that he may not suffer at the
last."

At the morning's dawn he opened
his eyes gently, and with yearning, lov-
ing gratitude in their expression.

" Thank you, sir !" he said, faintly.
"You've been mighty good to me.
I'm sorry I couldn't grow up to be a
man. Tell Tom and mammy, and all
the boys good-bye."

The breath grew fainter — the eyes
dulled.

"Bill!" cried Mr. Ellis.

Both hands gropingly sought Rog-
er's.

"Good-bye— I'm not afraid. I'll—
tell — God — how good — "

And so saying, poor little Civil
Rights Bill passed out of a life that
had not been over kind, to another all
bordered with rolling clouds that faith
claims to penetrate, and see beyond
them a gloiy that is everlasting.

Ellis buried his dead; and came
back from the funeral, at which he had
been the one mourner, to find a letter
from Blythe awaiting him. He took
it up with a passionate throb of hope.
He read it.

The damp, warm wind blew in at
the open window. The moon rose;
and moon, and stars, and rising sun

looked in upon a man who sat by the
table, his face buried in his hands,
while the only sound was the tossing
of an open letter that the breeze blew
about on the floor.

But to him the silence was filled
with sound: echoing like drum -taps,
hollow and clear, through his soul,
rang^the words consecrated long ago
to Blythe in the garden of roses ;

"Singing how down the vale of Menalus,

I pursued a maiden, and I clasped — a reed.
Gods and men, we are all deluded thus ! —
It breaks in our bosom — and then, we
Weed."

He made no attempt to change her
decision : he felt that it would be a use-
less pain. In his heart he vowed to
her an eternal service of friendship;
and then he took up his life, to make
of it what he could. It is not difficult
to foretell his future. Men who have
a talent for crusades always find
enouijh to do.

<■

For the wrong that needs resistance,
For the cause that lacks assistance,"

is the motto he has inscribed on his
banner; and, whether foolishly or
grandly, he will sacrifice himself as
long as a heart beats in his breast.
He may love again ; but, ah ! never
again one so fresh and fair as the
Southern girl whose love he won and
lost in a land of dreams.

And Blythe ? Young and beautiful
and sad-hearted, she sits by her win-
dow, and watches ghosts go by, and
tells herself that her romance is ended
before her life is well begun. Other
women than Blythe have made their

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169

sad little raoans, and have lived to
smile at them. But of one thing be
sure: never again will she know the
fresh, ethereal madness that, like the
Holy Ghost to the kneeling Virgin,
comes but once to the human heart,
and is called first lovo. Wider, deeper.

richer joys may wait for her in the
coming years, like undiscovered stars
that earthly eyes have not yet seen;
but I who write, alike with you who
read, can only guess at what the future
holds — for the story of her life is not
yet told.

^-^RCAN)>

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t^* IIari'RR & Brothkrs 9r/7/ j^;/// any of the foUowing books by mail {.excepting the larger works whose

weight excludes them from the mail\ postage prepaid, to any part of the United States,

on receipt of the price.

Sy Harpkr*s New Catalogue, 332 pp.^ %vo, being a descriptive list of about 3ocx> volutneSf with a Complete

Analytical Index, ««</ a Visitors' Guide to Harper & Brothers' Establishment giving an

iftterestiug description of the buildings in which their business is carried on, and of the

various processes in the manufacture of their books, sent by mail on receipt

ofNitte Cents in Postage Stamps.

Just Published or Nearly Ready:

SOIENTIFIO MEMOIRS. By Dr. J. W. Deapee.
THE STORY OF LIBERTY. By C. C. Coffin.
ILLUSTRATED HISTORY OF ANCIENT LIT-
ERATURE. By J. D. Quaokknbos.
LIKE UNTO LIKE.

CLASS-

PRIMER OF ENGLISH LITERATURE :
ICAL PERIOD. By Edgbnb Lawbencr.

THE BUBBLE REPUTATION. By Katuaeinb
Kino.

SELECTED POEMS OF MATTHEW ARNOLD.

THE ROMANCE OF A BACK STREET.

The Ceramic Art.

A Compendiam of the History and Manufacture of Pottery and Porcelain. By Jennie J.
Young. With 464 Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, f 5 00. {Just Ready,)

This work has been arranged npon so comprehen-
sive a plan that it must meet the requirements of ev-
ery one interested in ceramic art or any of its branch-
es. An nnnsually full and carefully compiled index
makes it invaluable as a book of reference. Potters,
artiste, and all who are attracted by the technology
and methods of the ceramic art, will be amply grati-
fied by the section devoted to materials, and to the
many processes by which vases and table wares be-
come in form and decoration entitled to be ranked
with works of art. The general principles of the art,
as they can be gathered from a comparative review
of distinctive national styles, are fully explained.
Their application to a critical estimate of the works
of the potter is also pointed out.

The historical part of the book covers more ground
than any previous work. While the earliest relics of
the potters of Egypt and the East, the famous old

The Story of Liberty.

wares of China and Japan, the mediteval wonders
of Spain, Italy, and France, are described at length,
due space is also given to the modern European fac-
tories, manufacturers, and artists. Many new points
have been made in writing of China, and the chapter
devoted to Japan throws over that country a flood of
light which will be welcome to all who have felt the
fascination of Oriental art. The narrative through-
out is enlivened by biographical sketches of eminent
potters and incidents in their lives, and by many his-
torical episodes in the careers of famous men and
women who exercised an influence upon the develop-
ment of the art.

The section devoted to America contains full de-
tails of the potteries of the Peruvians, Brazilians,
Central Americans, Mound-builders, Pueblos, and In-
dians, and also of the modern potters and artists of
the United States, down to the present year.

By Charles Carleton Coffin, Author of "The Boys of 76." Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth.
(Nearly Ready.)

Villages and Village Life.

With Hints for their Improvement. By Nathaniel Hillter Eglestox. Post 8vo,
Cloth, $1 75.
" This is the work of a man who possesses a genuine
love of the country and of country life, and who writes
from personal experience of the rural enjoyments he
describes. But while he writes with a truly poetic
sense of the beauties and pleasures of the country, he
gives due weight to the practical side of rural life,
and treats of village improvements,'* trees and tree-

planting,' *conntry dwelling-houses,' * drainage,' •ven-
tilation,' 'roads and bridges,' Uhe preservation of
woodlands,' * the village library,' and kindred topics ;
so that, besides being a most delightful book, it is a
practical guide for those who wish to adorn or im-
prove a country residence, or assist in making a vil-
lage at once beautiful and healthful."

Harper &' Brother^ List of New Books.

Draper's Scientific Memoirs.

Scientific Memoirs, being Experimental Contributions to a Knowledge of Radiant Energy.
By John William Draper, M.D., LL.D., President of the Faculty of Science in the
University of New York, Author of *' A Treatise on Human Physiology," "History of the
Intellectual Development of Europe," ** History of the American Civil War," &c. With
a Portrait. 8vo, Cloth, $3 00. {Just Ready,)

The Primrose Palh.

A Chapter in the Annals of the Kingdom
Chronicles of Carlingford," **Agnes," &c.
The refinement of its hnmor and the pictoreeque-
ness of its descriptive settiDg caunot Tail to be appre-
ciated. • • • There is not a character without iudivid-
uality from one end of the book to the other.— il^Ae-
vusum, London. ,

Very few modem novelists have written more or
better than Mrs. Oliphant Her plots are always well

The Atlantic Islands.

of Fife. By Mrs. Oliphant, Author of "The
8vo, Paper, 60 cents.

matured and artistically developed. There is not a
poor character nor a dull chapter in this ^iorj^^Alha-
ny JoumaL

A charming novel from the pen of Mrs. Oliphant,
to whom thauks are due for some of the most finished,
refined, and agreeable novels of the day. ^Portland
Press,

The Atlantic Islands as Resorts of Health and Pleasure. By S. G. W. Benjamin, Author
of ** Contemporary Art in Europe," &c. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $3 00.

The author has given us some of the liveliest and
most interesting descriptions of island scenery and
island life that have recently appeared in print. * * *
His pages abound with bits of local history, and there
are numerous amusing anecdotes of his adventures
with the islanders which make his narrative interest-
ing even to those who never expect to make the jour-
neys he recommends. * * * The abundant information
it offers regarding the islands which it mentions, their
history, the peculiar features of their scenery, the va-
rious statistics of population, and tlie condition of the
industries carried on upon their shores, will have an
interest for many, while the illustrations profusely

distributed through each chapter add much to the
general attractiveness of the text— JV. F. Times.

Mr. Benjamin has the instincts of a true traveller.
He sees everything, and he remembers everything.
—Boston Transcript.

It gives very vivid and entertaining descriptions of
the scenery, social life, business and commerce, cli-
mate and accommodations for visitors, In all the chief
groups of islands on both the eastern and western
side of the Atlantic. — Zion's Herald^ Boston.

Very intelligently and pleasingly written, and af-
fords valuable information to the invalid or the pleas-
ure Beeker.-'Saturday Evening OazettSf Boston.

A Legacy. Written and Edited by the Author of "John Halifax."

A Legacy : Being the Life and Remnins of John Martin, Written and Edited by the Author
of "John Halifax, Gentleman." 12mo, Cloth, f l 50.

Among the many tributes that are offered to suc-
cess, it is instructive to find one like this volume of
Miss Mulock laid at the feet of failure. It is impossi-
ble to read such a history as that of John Martin with-
out feeling drawn into deeper sympathy with that im-

mense class of men and women whom we see every-
where about us toiling, suffering, struggling, and hop-
ing, those whose lives go to make up the truth of the
bitter proverb, "The many fail, the one succeeds."—
iV. 1'. Times,

The China Hunters Club.

By the Youngest Member. Illustrated.

Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 76.

Gives a vast deal of Information about the kinds
of pottery used by the American forefathers and fore-
mothers. * * * The chapters are a succession of stories
connected with old pottery, discussions that abound
In pleasant Information and amusement; and the
book, a pleasant summer or winter companion, gives
just the sort of Information many want about ceramic
art without being techuical.— Journal of Commenx^
N.Y.

A fascinating book.— Hartford Daily Times.

The writer has so skilfully used her technical infor-
mation that t he ordinary reader will need to be told
that he Is enjjaged in obtaining new and valuable In-
formation Instead of loitering about in quaint New

England homes for the mere pleasure of studying the
people and their ways. * * * It is a volume of the first
importance to all American collectors. — If ar(/x7rd
Courant.

The grace and liveliness of the author's style are
qualities which lie upon the surface, and we are not a
little impressed by her exhaustive acquaintance with
what may be called the anecdotlcal record of the pot-
ter's art. Under the guise of recounting tbe proceed-
ings and discussions of a club of amateurs, she has
managed to infuse a good deal of human interest into
a somewhat didactic theme. * * * The capital merit of
the book Is the effective exhibition of the historical
and literary aspects of ceramics.— iS\ F. Swi,

The Student's Ecclesiastical History.

The History of the Christian Church during the Firet Ten Centinies : from its Foundation
to the Full Establishment of the Holy Roman Empire and the Papal Power. By Philip
Smith, B.A., Author of the "Student's Old Testament History," and the "Student's New
Testament Histoiy." With Illustrations. 12mo, Cloth, $1 75. Uniform with the jS^t»-
dent's Series.
This valuable work should be in the hands of all I terest is fully maintained by the pleasing and nnaf-
who are interested in the subject The reader's in- 1 fected manner adopted.— iiocAr, London.

Harper of Brothers' List of New Books.

English Men of Letters. Edited by John Morley.

SAMUEL JOHNSON. By Leslie Stephen. 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents.

We have come across few writers who have bad
a clearer insight into Johnson's character, or who
have broaght to the study of it a better knowledge
of the time in which Johnson lived and the men
whom he knew.— iSa^urda^ BevieWf London.

Mr. Stephen has a genuinely sympathetic mind and a
critical attitude of great catholicity. * • • In going along
with him one feels a sense of security.— ^. Y. World,

To give an intelligent idea of the Great Bear of
£nglit*h literary history in less than two hundred
short pages was no easy task, but Mr. Stephen has
done It— The yation, N. Y.

The new series opens well with Mr. Leslie Stephen*s
sketch of Dr. Johnson. It could hardly have been
done better.— Pa2I Mall Gazette^ London.

Mr. Leslie Stephen has sncceeded admirably in his
task. No writer could be more competent to supply
what is wanting in Boswell, a comprehensive sketch
of his hero's position in the literature of the ISth cen-
tury, and he has also shown great Judgment and dex-
terity in his illustration of Johnson's personal oddities
and his powers as a t&\keT,—Examiner^ London.

Interesting and graphic— S'pec^ator, Loudon.

It is not too much to say of this little work what
its author snys of Johnson in his " Lives of the Poets,**
that his aim was simply to give a vigorous summary
of the main points of his hero's life, a pithy analysis
of his character, and a short criticism of his produc-
tions. Mr. Leslie Stephen has, in this case, fully at-
tained his aim.— y. Y, Evening Express.

EDWABD GIBBON. By James Cotter Morison. 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents.

To write an interesting life of Gibbon is certainly
to do a creditable thing. And this Mr. Morison has
done.— .V. Y. World.

A judicious fairness and a philosophical cast of
thought give a critical value to Mr. Morison's mono-
graph that will be appreciated by its readers.— CAris-
tian Intelligencerj N. Y.

A most interesting biography of the great historian,
as well as a most complete and impartial criticism.-
y. Y. Express.

A condensed but singularly interesting narrative.
The merits and defects of Gibbon's historical style
are tersely set forth.— xV. Y. Tribwie,

In these chapters the immortal work is weighed
with excellent judgment, and its merits and demerits
are set forth with discernment. To young readers
this book of Mr. Morison's is especially to be com-
mended, for it will kindle in them a desire to read the
noble history, such a marvel of knowledge at once
wide and minute, so full of vigorous, skilful, and spir-
ited narrative, written in a style which, if it is some-
times tumid and lacking in suppleness, ease, and va-
riety, yet shows, as few other books show, how much
splendor and mfvjesty of diction there are in our Eng-
lish tongue.— X F. Mail

Well written and comprehensive.- £o«ton Journal.

SIB WALTEB SCOTT. By Richard II. Hdtton. 12mo, Cloth, 75 cents.

The tone of the volume Is excellent throughout.—
A thenceum, London.

Mr. Button has made a very interesting story, and
at the same time has given ns some valuable criti-
cisms. The chapter on the Waverley novels, for in-
stance, is extremely interesting, and may be safely
taken as a sort of index or guide to those stoiies.
The struggles of Scott with adversity, and the clos-
ing scenes of his life, were never dealt with in a more
sympathizing spirit. Mr. Button has done a distinctly
good piece of work, and everybody will be glad not only
to read his essay, but to keep it.— Tlte Week^ London.

Other volumes

We could not wish for a more suggestive introduc-
tion to Scott and his poems and novels. * * * Mr. But-
ton has caught and thrown boldly on the page the
main lineaments, and the ardor of sympathetic ad-
miration with which he has imaged his subject has
enabled him to produce a speaking likeness. *■ • • The
writer starts with a vivid conception of the main out-
lines of Scott's character, and so disposes his materi-
als that each successive chapter adds to the individ-
uality of the poTtrtiit— Examiner, London.

Mr. Bntton's description of Scott as a man is excel-
lent.— Pa^Z MaU Gazette, London.

in preparation.

Liddell and Scott's GrecbEnglisli Lexicon.

A Greek-English Lexicon. Compiled by Hknrt George Liddkll, T>.D., Dean of Christ
Church, and Robert Scott, D.D., Dean of Rochester, late Master of BalHol College. Sixth
Edition, Revised and Augmented. 4to, Sheep, f 11 00. Abridged Edition, Small 4to, Half
Leather, $2 35.

Illustrated History of Ancient Literature,

Oriental and Classical : Accompanied with Engravings and Colored Maps. By Johx D.
QuACKENBOs, A.M., M.D., Author of ** Illustrated School History of the World." I2mo,
Cloth. (^Nearly Beady. )

Annual Record of Science and Industry for 1877.

Prepared hy Prof. Spencer F. Baird, Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, with the
Assistance of some of the most Eminent Men of Science in the United States. Large 12mo,
Cloth, $2 00. (Uniform with the volumes for 1871, 1872, 1873, 1874, 1875, and 1876.)

The information presented by the different contril>-
ntora is ample in detail, exact in statement, clear In
lUastration, and for the most part free from uuintelll-
gible technicalities, and with the popular character
suited to the desigu of the work.— y. Y. Trilnine,

The book gives a practical and concii*e history of the
progress of science and the work of the scientists in
all their varied duties during the past year. The mof>t
eminent men treat of the various de4)nrtmeDt8, with
which they are i&mi\i&r,— Boston Post.

POPULAE ASTEONOMY.

By SIMON NEWCOMB, LL.D.,

PROFESSOR, U. S. NAVAL OBSERVATORY, AUTHOR OF " THE A B C OF FINANCE."

WITH ONE HUXDBED AND TWELTE ENGaiTIXOS, AND FITE HAPS OF THE STABS.

8vo, Cloth, ^4 OO.

The great reputation which the anthor of thia work
has merited and enjoys, both iu tliis country and in
Europe, is a safficient guarantee of its excellence. * * *
He has d\Velt especially upon those topics which have
Just now a popular and philosophic interest, carefully
employing such language and such simple explana-
tions as will be intelligible without laborious study.
Technical terms have as much as possible been avoid-
ed. Such as were employed of necessity, and many
that occur elsewhere, have been fully explained in a
copious glossary at the end of the book. With its
abundant aid, the render cannot fail to derive both
pleasure and entertainment from the study of what is
the most ancient as well as the most elevating and in-
spiring of all the natural sciences. •• * Professor New-
comb, throughout his whole volume, preserves his
well-known character as a writer who, iu treating of
scientific subjects, flilly understands the art of biing-
ing them within the range of popular comprehension.
Although his book is a valuable addition to scientific
literature, it is fully calculated to hold the attention
of the general reader.— JV: Y. Times,

The book has the great merit of a simplicity that
never wearies the reader's attention. It presents the
newest as well as the old discoveries, and is free from
the errors which mar most of the treatises on astron-
omy that are designed for non-professional use. Or-
dinary readers will appreciate the circumstance that
no mathematical formulas are employed. * * * In each
division of the work the history of discovery is made
to subserve the purpose of explanation. • • • Step by
step the reader is led toward the theories of Coperni-
cus, Kepler, and Newton, and is shown why and how
their hypotheses best explained the facts of observa-
tion, which have been already detailed. A great ad-
vantage is thereby gained over ordinary treatises of
astronomy which present the recent knowledge first,
and either give the facts unsupported, or press their
acceptance by means of the stern logic of geometry.
In Professor Newconib's work the great truths grow
slowly, and cau be measured as they grow. — -tV. Y,
Tribune.

Professor Newcomb carefully avoids the temptation
held out to him by many parts of his subject to write
for eft'ect ; he keeps always faithfully to his purpose,
setting forth, with respect to every subject discussed,
the history of the investigations made, the positive,
certain results attained, and the conjectures which
astronomers have founded upon these results, togeth-
er with the reasoning on which each conjecture rests
and the objections that exist to its acceptance. He
is, in a word, singularly conscientious and perfectly
frank; but the subject itself is so full of wonders that
even when treated in this calm, scientific spirit, its
discussion is entrancingly interesting, and Professor
Newcomb's work, written as it is in a perfectly clear,
simple, and direct style, is likely, we think, to become
more than ordinarily popular.— X Y. Evening Post,

This is one of those books which deserve and are
sure to receive a hearty welcome : a full and accurate
rimmi of the subject treated, prepared and brought
down to date by one who is a master of the science,
and at the same time a clear and vigorous writer. It;
is a book which ought to be in the library of every in-
telligent person as a standard authority, safely to be
referred to on any topic within its scope; and yet it
is not heavy or dull, but, for the most part, as readable
and interesting as a work of fiction. • • • The work is
neither abstruse and dry, nor, on the other hand, is it
puerile and fanciful, as sometimes happens when aor-
vans attempt to popularize their favorite sciences and
write down to what they conceive to be the level of
the common intelligence. The plan is logical, the due
proportions of different portions of the subject are ob-
served, and the style is clear, forcible, and sufficiently
picturesque and stimulating to keep the attention with-
out effort.— Professor Cuaslbs A. Youmo, in the Inde^
pendent^ N. Y.

Any person of average intelligence can take this
volume, and in a month or two become an intelligent
observer of the worlds around us.— C/tmftan Intelli-
gencer^ N. Y.

The author is a master of all the theories and lore
of his beloved science, and he has at command the
unrivalled instruments, of the United States Naval
Observatory at Washington. He is an unwearied
investigator and professional enthusiast (in the best
sense of the word), and writes an English which all
people can understand. Parade and pedantry are
wholly absent from this work. — ^"i F. Journal of
ComTnerce.

The problem of adapting the facts and principles of
a most intricate science to the understanding of the
ordinary reader has been earnestly undertaken and
successfully solved in this work. * * * The entire vol-
ume bespeaks the well-known ability of its author,
and furnishes a new title to his world-wide reputa-
tion. — Boston Transcript

It is only rarely that a great mathematical astrono-
mer condescends to write books for the people ; and
if he does, in four cases out of five, what he writes is
unintelligible to all but a very few. Investigatore sel-
dom have either the disposition or ability to commu-
nicate what ihey know to the world in general. To
this rule, however, there are happy exceptions; and
among them must be counted Professor Newcomb,
whose Popular Astronomy is undoubtedly the best
work of its kind in the English language. Its arrange-
ment is logical, its statements are accurate, its reason-
ings clear, and its style simple, perspicuous, and sufll-
ciently picturesque. Throughout the book it is every-
where evident that great care has been taken to se-
cure exact and perfect truthfulness of representation :
facts are kept distinct from fancies, and theories and
speculations stand for just what they hx%,— Sunday
School TimeSy Philadelphia.

Published by HAKPER & BROTHERS, New York.

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