 10. There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother. Proverbs 18, 24. You find Mrs. Traveller decided contrast to the other lady, remarked Mrs. Dinsmore, as they drove down the avenue at Ion. Pray, which do you think is right in her religious views? There is no question in my mind as to which is the more attractive, said Mildred, or which seems to recommend her religion the most, by her looks and ways. Yet Mrs. Landreth's self-denial certainly appears commendable, but, oh, I confess that I am really puzzled, I must take time to consider. Well, I hope you won't pattern after Mrs. Landreth. No, never, Mildred exclaimed with energy. I know it cannot be right to make home uninviting and cheerless. My mother has taught me better than that, both by precept and example. There is a letter for you, my dear, Mr. Dinsmore said, handing his wife and niece from the carriage. From whom, she asked with interest. I have not opened it, but the address is in your sister Delia's hand. Ah, then it is just the one I want. At the tea table, Mrs. Dinsmore made an announcement. My nieces, Juliet and Reba Marston, are coming on a visit here. We may expect them to-night or to-morrow. To-night, said Mr. Dinsmore inquiringly, they come by the stage, eh? Yes, it passes at what hour? Eight. Pump to the servant in waiting. Tell Aunt Phoebe to have a hot supper ready at quarter past eight. Young ladies aunt, asked Mildred, looking up with a bright, policed face. Yes, eighteen and twenty. Company for you, I hope. Mildred slipped away to her own room shortly before the time for the arrival of the stage. She had a lesson to prepare, a letter to write, and thought her aunt would want to have her nieces to herself for the first hour or two. Besides, Mrs. Dinsmore had expressed an intention to send them to bed by times, but they might be fresh for the ball, which was to come off the next evening. On the stairway, Mildred met her three cousins, Adelaide, Louise, and Laura. Study hours just over, and we're going to the drawing room, they announced. We've got leave to stay up and see her cousins when they come. That's nice, she answered. I hope to see them in the morning. In the hall above, she passed Mithworth on her way from the school room to her own apartment. She was struck with a weary and sad expression of her face, and paused for an instant, half inclined to offer her sympathy, and asked if in anything she could be of service. But with a slight nod of recognition, the governess glided by, and the next moment Mildred heard her door close, and the key turned in the lock. Poor thing, I daresay she is homesick, thought Mildred, passing on into her own room, which she found as usual, very bright and cheery. A good fire, a table with an astral lamp, books and writing materials drawn up mirrored. An easy chair on the farther side, the one inviting to work, the other to repose. She had completely won Rachel's heart, and the young handmaiden took a special pride and pleasure in arranging everything to miss Milly's liking, and being always ready to wait upon her. Mildred sat down at the table and opened her books. Two hours for these, and my letter to mother, then to bed and to sleep, that I may be able to rise early and secure the two morning hours for study, before seeing those girls at breakfast. Was a thought in her mind? She set herself to her work with determined energy, but in vain she could not fix her tension. She conned the words again and again, but without taking in their meaning. Miss Worst's sad face kept coming between her and the printed page. She is very lonely, she needs a friend to comfort her, whispered the inward voice, but she might consider me an intruder, trying to pry into her private affairs, forcing a friendship upon her, which she has never sought, and she's so much older than I, was the answer in thought, and she's only a governess, Aunt Belle evidently considered her quite beneath her friendship, and might be displeased if I put her on inequality with myself. But Mildred blushed to find herself influenced by such emotion. She too might be a governess someday, and she would be nonetheless a lady. It was an honorable and useful calling, and it ought to be considered far more creditable to earn one's bread thus than to be willing to live upon the labor of others. No, she exclaimed half aloud, closing her book and pushing it from her. That shall not hinder me, but ought I to go? Dropping her face into her hands, she sent up a silent petition. Lord, show me! I desire to acknowledge thee in all my ways, and I know thou wilt fulfill thy gracious promise to direct my path. Then she tried to put herself in Miss Worst's place, how utterly lonely the poor governess was among them all, among and yet not of them. Mrs. Dinsmore would as soon have thought of sympathizing with an automaton, as with any of the human creatures employed in her service. Her domestics were comfortably fed and clothed. Miss Worst's liberal salary was always punctually paid, and what more could any of them ask? As Mildred mentally reviewed the events of the past weeks, she realized as never before how entirely apart from them all is one member the family circled been. Her presence ignored in their familiar chat, except when it related in some way to her duties. Her wishes, tastes, convenience, never consulted, no interest taken in her welfare, no inquiries regarding her health or happiness, or as to whether her letters, usually handed to her at the breakfast table when the others received theirs, brought good news or ill. Ah! now it came to Mildred's recollection that that morning's mail brought a letter for Miss Worst, and had she not looked a little paler than her want at dinner? And were there not traces of tears about her eyes? Her hesitation was at an end. She was quite sure that if bad news had come to her, she would be glad to have the sympathy of even a child or a dumb animal, and only waiting to ask for wisdom to do and say the right thing. She rose and went out into the hall. The stage had just driven up to the door, and the sounds coming from below told of the arrival of the expected guests, gay, girlish voices mingling with those of her aunt, uncle, and cousins. She lingered a moment, thinking how pleasant it would be should those girls prove congenial companions to her. Then going to Miss Worst's door, she tacked lightly on it. A step came slowly across the room, and the door opened. Excuse me, Mildred said, blushing and hesitating. I do not wish to intrude, but I thought you looked sad and had perhaps heard ill news. Might be homesick in need of a friend, even if it were one who had only sympathy to offer. Come in, won't you? It is very, very kind, I did not expect it, and—and I do want a friend—was answered in hurried, tremulous tones, as Miss Worst stepped back to allow her visitor to pass in, then close the door and set a chair for her near the fire. Our writing desk stood open on the table, and on finished letter lying upon it. I'm afraid I have disturbed you, Mildred said, glancing at them. You were busy? No, I found I could not say what I wished, or perhaps did not know what I wanted to say, the Governor's answer with a dreary sigh. Silence fell between them for some moments. Miss Worst, who had resumed her seat, gazing abstractedly into the fire, while Mildred was trying to think what to say, and silently asking to be directed, but she was not the first to speak. Does life ever seem to you a weary road to travel, Miss Keith? A burden that you would be glad to lay down forever, as the Governor's? But I forget, you were so young, so happy, that you can know nothing of such an experience. At your age I was gay and lighthearted too, as well I might be, at home in my thoughtless house, and abundantly supplied with comforts and luxuries, without thought or care of mine. Ah, times have sadly changed with me, and all who are nearest and dearest to me. But excuse me, I have no right to intrude my private griefs upon you. Please don't feel so, Mildred said, sympathetic tears spring into her eyes. I cannot tell you how sorry I am for you, how I would like to comfort you, and I know it is sometimes a relief and comfort, just to pour out our sorrows to a fellow creature. And oh, Miss Worth, I wish you knew what a comfort it is to tell them all to Jesus, she added low and feelingly. Is it, do you think he can hear, that he listens, that he cares? The look that accompanied the questions was half eager, half skeptical, and full of unexpressed longing. I have not the least out of it, Mildred answered with earnest conviction in her tones. God overall blessed forever. He is everywhere present. He has, as he himself declared, all power given unto him in heaven and in earth, and he is so full of love and compassion, that he deems nothing that concerns his children, one way or another, too small for his attention. He would not have even the little children turned away when the parents brought them to him, and he cares for the sparrows, or not two sparrows sold for a farthing, and one of them shall not fall to the ground without your father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows. But I am not one of his children, said the governess. I have paid no attention to these things, Ms. Mildred. I did not seek him in my days of prosperity, and I cannot expect him to care for me now in my adversity. But he is so loving and compassionate, so ready to forgive. He proclaimed himself, the Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious, long suffering and abundant in goodness and truth, keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin. Come now and let us reason together, saith the Lord, though your sins be a scarlet, they shall be as white as snow, though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. Jesus said, him that cometh to me I will know wise cast out. You say you want a friend, Ms. Worth, and there is none other that can compare with Jesus, in love and tenderness, in power and willingness to do all you need. A friend, repeated Ms. Worth absently, more as if thinking aloud than talking to her visitor. Yes, that is what I need, what I've been longing for, for days and weeks, more especially tonight but. And she turned her face abruptly toward Mildred, while her voice took a touching apathetic tone. I know not how or where to find the one you speak of, nor can I believe that he would receive me if I did, and he would care to help him come for me. Why should he? I don't know, except that he is so good, so kind, so loving, Mildred said, her eyes shiny. But dare you doubt his word, the word of him who tells us that he himself is the truth? Does he say that? Yes, I am the way and the truth in the life. Oh, believe his love, the love of Christ which passeth knowledge, here in his love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his son to be the propitiation for our sins. Ah, but am I included in that word, our? Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Whatsoever will, let him take the water of life freely. Could invitation be more comprehensive? No, I think not. But how, Miss Mildred, how shall I come? I was not religiously brought up and am very ignorant on these subjects. With the heart man believeth unto righteousness, believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and now shall be saved. But what am I to do? Let the wicked forsake his way and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him. Quoted Mildred, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon. Only believe, for by grace are ye saved through faith, and that not of yourselves. It is the gift of God, not of works, lest any man should boast. Do you not see that Christ has done it all, kept the love for us, borne its penalty in our stead, and now offers us the justification of our persons, the sanctification of our natures, and adoption into God's family all as a free gift, the purchase of his blood. We cannot merit it, we cannot buy it. It is without money and without price. All we can do is to accept the offered salvation, and forsaking every other hope and trust, lean wholly upon Jesus. Miss Worth seemed lost and sad for flexing thought, while Mildred's heart went up in silent petition on her behalf. Tell it me again, she said at length of the motion, and Mildred tried to make a clear statement then before. It is so simple, beautiful, God's plan of salvation, Mildred said in conclusion, only to give ourselves unreservedly to the Lord, and trust wholly in him. Jesus said, this is the work of God, that ye believe on him whom he has sent. And of his sheep he says, I give unto them eternal life, and they shall never perish, neither shall any pluck them out of my hand. Yes, but I want to friend now, for this life, its cares, troubles, trials, perplexities. Does he promise that? As the governess, with a wistful longing look. Oh yes, yes indeed, in very many places, Mildred said, the poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles. He shall deliver thee in six troubles, yea in seven there shall no evil touch thee. Call upon me in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me. Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee. Be careful for nothing, but in everything, my prayer and supplication with thanksgiving. Let your request be made known unto God. And the peace of God which path is all understanding, so keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Again, a few moments of profound silence, while misworth seemed to be thinking deeply, then turning to Mildred, I cannot express my sense of your kindness, she said, and she paused, hesitated, but went on hurriedly with emotion. I will seek this friend of whom you have been speaking, for I sorely need such in one. But you, she continued with increasing emotion, you so generously offered your sympathy, yet refrained with true delicacy, from showing the least curiosity in regard to my troubles. But it would be a relief to confide in you, to some extent, if, if you would care to listen. I should be much interested and very glad to be of service, Mildred answered gently, and I think I need not assure you that your confidence will be sacred. No, I'm quite certain of that, returned misworth, then went on to give a slight sketch of her past life, or rather some parts of it, for she did not deem it necessary, or wise, to tell of all the troubles which had fallen to her lot. Her father, she said, had been in the early part of her career, a very successful businessman, and in her childhood and youth she was surrounded with luxury. But reverses came, loss followed loss, till they were reduced to absolute poverty. Then her father died and the burden of her mother's support, as well as her own and that of the younger sister, fell upon her. There was an older sister who had been married for some years, but her husband was dissipated and worthless, and she had several little children to provide for as best she could. The mother and Delia, the young sister, lived with her, but misworth paid their board and clothed them. The letter received today was from Mrs. Marks, the married one, and drew a sad picture of toil, privation, and bitter disappointment. Her children were sick, her husband came home drunk every night to threaten and abuse her, and then the mother fretted continually over the reverses in her own ailments, fancy to reel, and Delia was dissatisfied because she could not dress like other girls in the school she attended. The letter wound up with a request for a loan, and a hint that the sum paid for board of the mother and sister was too small. Also a little note was enclosed from Delia, asking, indeed almost demanding, money for the purchase of a new dress. But of these, misworth said nothing. Mildred was full of genuine sympathy and showed it in a way that was very soothing and comforting. Yet after she was gone, the burden rolled back upon the heart of the poor, lonely governess. She sat long over the fire, hands clasped in her lap, head bowed upon her breast, vainly striving to solve the perplexing problem, how she was to meet all the demands upon her slender purse. Her disposition was noble and self-sacrificing. She would have willingly denied herself all superfluities and dress that her mother might not miss her custom luxuries. Delia go without finery, or Mrs. Marks and her children be overworked or underfed. But it would not do. Mrs. Dinsmer's governess must be many removes from Shabby and her attire. It was at the breakfast table the next morning that Mildred had her first sight of the newcomers. They were late in making their appearance, excusing themselves on the ground of fatigue from the journey of the previous day. Juliet, the elder of the two, was an extremely sentimental young lady, tall and thin with fair complexion, pale auburn hair and faded blue eyes. The other, Riba, a noisy, rattling, romping, pert young miss, with staring black eyes, black hair, straightened course, and a muddy skin, which she strove with very limited success to conceal with toilet powder and rouge. She prided herself on being a fast girl, a good shot with a pistol, and not afraid to mount the wildest horse that could be found. Her talk was of horses and dogs, race courses, and shooting matches, her sisters of bows, parties, and dress. Juliet had a great deal to say about her summer at Saratoga, and the gentleman she had met there, especially a certain titled foreigner, whom she spoke of as that charming, fascinating Count Delisle. It came out in the course of the morning that she had heard from him since her return home in the fall, and would not be surprised if he should follow her to Rosalind's. Pal won't like it if he does, remarked Riba. He thinks he's a fortune hunter, with nothing to recommend him but his title, and that very likely it is all a pretense, and I am inclined to think Pa's right and that the fellow's not even a foreigner. As if your opinion was of the least importance, sneered her sister. I consider both you and Pa extremely uncharitable to indulge in such suspicions. I've seen a good deal more of the Count than either of you, and he is a delightful man. Well, don't waste your time disputing, girls, interrupted Mrs. Dinsmore. You have yet to decide what you will wear tonight. They were in the dressing room, appropriated to the sisters during their stay. Mildred was with them, Mrs. Dinsmore having invited her in, that they might have the benefit of her taste. A quantity of finery was spread out upon the bed, table, and chairs, and presently the four were deep in consultation on the all-important subject. Mildred was gifted with artistic taste and dress, in great facility in giving form and shape to her conceptions by the use of scissors and needles. She was also very obliging, and having fallen today into the hands of those who were selfishly unscrupulous about imposing upon good nature, she was given little rest until the two girls were fully attired for the ball. They surveyed themselves with delight, and indeed both looked remarkably well for them. Juliet in white gauze over pale blue silk, and a few white blossoms from the greenhouse in her hair. Reba in black silk with black lace over skirt looped with scarlet ribbons, and hair trimmed with flowers of the same brilliant hue. She was in her wildest spirits, dancing and perwetting around the room, declaring that Mildred had laid her under lasting obligations. She had had no idea how handsome she was, and it would be strange if she didn't make a conquest before the evening was over. Juliet, hearing it all with a half-contemptuous smile, while contemplating the reflection of her own charms in the glass, with the self-satisfied thought that they far exceeded those of her sister. You're entirely welcome, said Mildred, and I am very glad you were satisfied with the result of my labors. Now I must go to Aunt Belle, for I promise to put the finishing touches on her toilet. We'll go too and show ourselves, said Reba, and all three tripped gaily down the stairs into Mrs. Dinsmore's dressing room. They found her wrist splendid in silk lace and diamonds. The costly gems depended from her ears, sparkled on her wrists at her throat on every link of her watch chain, and Mildred's task was to place a spray of them in her hair, already elaborately dressed by her waiting-maid. Oh, you are splendid, Aunt Belle, cried Reba, clapping her hands. I declare, I believe you look younger and prettier than either of us. Don't turn flatterer, child, said Mrs. Dinsmore, coloring with pleasure at the compliment, and giving her mirror a glance of unmistakable satisfaction. Oh, you needn't pretend you don't know it, laughed Reba. But now look at us and say if you're not proud of your nieces. If indeed, Mrs. Dinsmore said after a moment's critical survey, you were charming girls, both of you. Mildred, I think you deserve any amount of credit. Eh, what has she been about? Mr. Dinsmore asked, coming in from an adjoining room, superintending the toilet of these girls. Why, she is certainly a young lady of taste and a useful member of society, decidedly prettier in her neat home dress than they in all their finery. He added mentally, then allowed, Come, Millie, don't you begin to want to go along? It isn't too late yet to change your mind. We'll wait for you to dress. Thank you, she answered brightly, but I've not changed my mind and really feel quite sure that I shall enjoy myself better at home. Such odd taste, laughed Reba. But perhaps she does not expect to pass the time alone, draw Juliet with significant looks. Mildred repelled the insinuation of dignity. I expect no company but my books, she said, and certainly desire no other. She was entirely sincere, yet it did seem a little lonely as she sat by the fire in her own room after they had gone. But she turned resolutely to her books, soon grew interested, and after a couple of hours, spending close study, retired to bed. Only her uncle, Miss Worth, and the children met her at the breakfast table the next morning. Mr. Dinsmer explained that his wife and her nieces were sleeping off their fatigue, adding, The girls danced all night, and really it was near sunrise when we reached home. They must be very tired, Mildred said. Aunt Belle and you too, uncle. Yes, I think your plan was the wisest, after all. But what shall you do with yourself today? I fear you will be left quite to your own resources. I assure you I will be at no loss. She returned with a cheery smile. The first thing in order after breakfast was a ride, in which Adelaide, Louise, and Laura were her companions. A very enjoyable one, the morning being bright, clear, and not very cold. On their return as they cantered up the avenue, Adelaide exclaimed, There's the ion carriage at the door. What an early calm Mrs. Traveler's making. But it was only a servant with a note from Mildred, an urgent invitation to her to drive over to ion and spend the day. I send my carriage for you, wrote Mrs. Traveler, hoping it may not return empty. Uncle Eben is a careful driver, will bring you safely, I think, and carry you back when you feel that your visit must come to an end. I should drive over for you myself, but I'm confined to the house by a severe cold. No more welcome invitation could have come to Mildred. Full of delight, she hastened to her room to change her right-in-habit for something more suitable for the occasion. That was the work of but a few moments, and leaving a message for Mrs. Dinsmer, who had not risen, she was presently bowling briskly along the road leading to ion. She anticipated the delightful day and was not disappointed. It was passed principally in Mrs. Traveler's Boudoir, and without other companionship, and seemed to Mildred very much like a day at home with her mother. For this new friend was a woman of the same spirit, and very similar gifts and graces, and she received her young guest with truly motherly warmth and tenderness of greeting. Their talk was first of Mildred's far-off home in the dear one's flair, then of the better land and the dearest friend of all that either possessed, and while conversing of him and his wondrous love, their hearts were drawn very close together. Mrs. Traveler, Mildred said, breaking a pause in the conversation, there is someone I want you to help me pray for, one who wants just such a kind, loving, powerful, ever-present friend as Jesus. Yes, my child, I will. Mrs. Traveler responded with feeling. We will unite her prayers, and he will know whom we mean, though I am ignorant of it. He whose precious promise is, if two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done of them, of my father which is in heaven. It is a precious promise, Mildred said, tears spring into her eyes. And there are others. Oh, Mrs. Traveler, can you not guess whom? That I want to plead for. Some that I love who are very kind to me, but seem to care nothing at all about this friend, and to have no thought or concern for anything beyond this life. Yes, I know, Mrs. Traveler said, pressing the girls hand-tenderly in hers. And you may well believe that I have not known them all these years, without often asking my dear Lord to reveal himself to them in all his loveliness. And now I am very glad, very, very glad to have a helper in this. They sat silent then for some minutes, when the adorments of the room attracted Mildred's eyes, and reminded her of a question she had been longing to ask. Beginning with an account of her visit to Mrs. Landreth and the talk between them, in which Mrs. Traveler seemed interested, she went on to say with a smiling glance around the tasteful apartment. I feel sure that you do not think as she does, and that she is not writing her views or practice either. And yet I confess I am at a loss to know how to refute her arguments. So I have wanted to ask an explanation of your views. Do you think Mrs. Landreth a really good Christian woman? Yes, my dear, I do, Mrs. Traveler said. She is beyond question very self-denying and benevolent, but I think she forgets that we are to adorn the doctrine of God our Savior in all things, and so fails to recommend it as she might to others, particularly her husband and his nephew. I quite agree with your mother that it is a wife's duty to study the comfort and happiness of her husband in everything that she can without violating the plain commands of God. Mrs. Landreth and I take different views on the question of the best way to help the poor. She gives money, I let them earn it, pain them liberally for their work, this plan encourages industry and honest pride of independence, while the other teaches them to be willing to be idle pensioners on the bounty of their richer neighbors. Mine certainly seems a more self-indulgent way, she added with a smile. For my house is thus filled with pretty things, while Mrs. Landreth is left very bare of ornament, yet I think it is a better plan. I am sure it is, no dude responded with an energy and positiveness that brought a musical laugh from the lips of her friend. And, resumed Mrs. Travla, we differ quite as decidedly on the question of dress. She considering it a duty to spend as little as possible upon herself that she may have the more to give. I, thinking that those who have the means to do so, without stinking their charities or driving hard bargains with their tradesmen, should buy beautiful and expensive things in order to help and encourage manufacturers, and render themselves and their houses attractive. Surely God would not have implanted in us so strong a love for the beautiful, and given so much to gratify it, if he meant us to ignore and repress it. No, surely not, Mildred said thoughtfully. Oh, how good he is, how much he has given us to enjoy! There are so many beautiful sights and sounds in nature, so much to gratify the taste and smell, the perfume from your plants comes most pleasantly to my nostrils at this moment, and the sweet song of that mockingbird to my ear. And I do so love old oceans roar, and the rippling of running water. It does not seem like a slander upon the God of Love, to teach that he would have us spend all our time efforting means on those things that are utilitarian only. It certainly does, and yet are not some of these things, which some condemn as mere indulgences, really useful after all, the surroundings affect the spirits, and they unturn the health, and therefore the ability to work. Grander beautiful scenery has often an inspiring or soothing effect, and their pictured representations the same to some extent. And just so with a sweet and noble face, Mildred said, and what a lovely one that is, turning her eyes toward a painting on the opposite wall. Yes, returned her friend, I left to lie on my couch and gaze upon it, when not able to sit up, and it has been a comfort and help to me, in many an hour of pain and sadness. Ah, who shall say that an artist's work is a waste of time, when his pencil is devoted to the reproduction of the good and beautiful, or that his God's given talent is not to be improved? Then she drew Mildred's attention to other paintings and pieces of fancy work, to each of which she had a story attached, generally of a struggle with poverty and want on the part of the one of whose talent and skill it was a specimen. These tales were told in no boastful spirit, yet Mildred learned from them a valuable lesson on the best youth of wealth, and how much good might be done with it, in the way of lending a helping hand to those who needed assistance, or lift them out of otherwise hopeless poverty, and how it could be accomplished without sacrificing a praiseworthy pride of independence. End of Chapter 11, Recording by Amy Chapter 12 of Mildred at Rosens by Martha Finley This liper fox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Amy Chapter 12 O credulity, securities blind nurse, the dream of fools, Mason Mrs. Dinsmer carried out her plan of filling her house with company during the holidays. They were mostly young people, and the time was spent in a constant round of festivities. In these Mildred bore some share, for she thought it right that she should do her part in entertaining her own guests. Nor did her conscience forbid her innocent recreation at proper times and seasons, though she could not consent to make mere amusement the business of her life. Some half dozen or more of the neighbouring gentry were invited for the whole fortnight, while others came for an evening, a day, or two or three days, and on Christmas Eve and New Year's night, large parties were given. It was on the latter occasion that Mildred noticed among the guests, for the first time a handsome man, apparently about thirty years of age, who was an entire stranger to her. His broadcloth and linen were of the finest, a magnificent solitaire diamond adorned the little finger of his right hand. He wore an imperial and heavy mustache, and something foreign in his look and manner, as well as the fact that he seemed to be paying assiduous court to Juliet, suggested to Mildred the probability that he was the Count Delisle, of whom she had heard her make such frequent mention. She was not long left in doubt as to that. For the next moment Reba whispered his name in her ear, adding, Juliet is in the seventh heaven, of course. There is something sinister in the expression of his face, thought Mildred, turning away. I do not like it, yet it is strangely familiar, too. Or can I possibly have seen it before? His attention had been attracted to her, and he inquired of Juliet. Who is that pretty girl in pink and white? Pretty, returned Miss Marsden, with a scornful tosser for the head. I cannot say that I admire her style. She is a Miss Keith, a sort of faraway niece of Uncle Dinsmore, a northern girl, and poor, I imagine, for her father is a country lawyer with a large family. Juliet was absolutely ignorant of Mr. Keith's circumstances, but it suited her plans to make it appear that she was no heiress, quite her own inferior in the matter of wealth, whatever she might be in looks. Do not be offended, my angel. He whispered, bending over her, and speaking with a slightly foreign accent, which she had again and again extolled to Reba, as perfectly delicious. I meant not that she was half so beautiful or charming as yourself. Ah, count, you are a sad flutterer, she returned with a simper. No, no, pardon the contradiction, Miss Juliet, but the truth is never fluttery. A penny for your thoughts, Miss Keith, said a voice at Mildred's side. Ah, good evening, Mr. Landworth, she answered, turning toward the speaker. You are welcome to them, gratis. I am wondering where I have seen Miss Marsden's admirer before tonight, or if it is only a resemblance real or fancied to someone else that I see in him. I cannot tell, indeed, he said vertically, watching the man for a moment, but there is something in his face that would make me sorry to see him ingratiating himself with the lady friend of mine. Excuse me, but I must ask you to move, as we are going to dance, and want this sofa behind you put out of the way, said Reba, coming up to them with two servants. Certainly, Mildred said, taking Mr. Landworth's offered arm. They passed down the room and out into the conservatory beyond. Are you engaged for the first set, he asked? No, nor for any other, she answered with a smile. I do not dance, Mr. Landworth. It is not too late to begin, he remarked persuasively. No, it is too soon. You don't think it wrong, he queried, as in surprise. Here in your home, is it worth? It's different, is it not, from attending a ball? Yes, but I might grow so fond of it as to want to go to balls. I think it's safest for me to avoid the temptation. Since reforming as they returned to the drying room, and Ms. Worth, who had been sent for to play the piano, was just entering by another door. She had kept apart from the guests, spending almost all her time in her own room, so that Mildred had seen very little of her for some days past. She noticed, in the instant of her entrance, that she was looking pale and worn, then that her powers suddenly increased to gasliness, as on stepping in, she came, suddenly, face to face with Juliet and the Count, in the nearest set, standing side by side. He, too, started slightly and turned pale for a moment, as his eyes met those of the governess, but neither spoke, and pushing hastily past him, she sat down at the instrument. She felt herself reeling in her seat, and thought she should fall to the floor, everything seemed to be turning round, but conquering her emotion by great effort, she ran her fingers over the keys and dashed off into a lively dancing tune. Her head was in a whirl, mist swam before her eyes, so that she could not see the notes, but her fingers flew so fast, that the dancers were soon panting for breath in their efforts to keep pace with the music. Not so fast, not so fast, cried several voices, but though for an instant she slackened her speed, the next she was rattling on as before. Set after set had been danced, Juliet and the Count taking part in them all, and now he led her panting to his seat. I not like those tunes so well as some other, he remarked. May I claim the privilege to speak to the player that she choose something else, and not play quite so rapid? Oh yes, certainly, smiled Juliet sweetly. Miss Worth was turning over her music in search of a waltz someone had called for, one a voice spoke at her side, a voice that made her start in shiver, though she did not look round. Your execution was one little bit too rapid for us, it said in an ordinary tone, then in a whisper the lips close to her ear, meet me half an hour after the company disperses, behind the clump of evergreens at the foot of the avenue. Yes, she answered, almost under her breath, and without so much as turned in her head, she saw as in a nightmare a white hand, too large to be a woman's, with a solitary diamond sparkling on the fourth finger, busyed among the sheets of music before her, then it vanished, her strained ear catching the faint echo of the retreating step. She kept her eyes on her notes, her fingers wandering mechanically over the keys, calling forth low, soft strains of music, while the dances passed out into the refreshment room. She kept it up unceasingly until they returned, then changed to a waltz in obedience to directions, as couples began taking their places on the floor. How long it lasted she did not know, it seemed an age of suffering to her, before she found herself again alone in the solitude of her own room. As she entered the clock on the mantel struck two, she glanced it in, sank into a chair by the fire. Half an hour she sighed, shivering and crouching over the blaze, put an age to wait, and yet I'm afraid not long enough to let them all get to bed and sleep. What if I should be seen? She dropped her face into her hands with a low groan. It was some minutes before she lifted it again, for another glance at the clock, a waned, weary, haggard face, full of dread and distress, but with no tears in the burning eyes. Slowly the moments dragged themselves along, till at last the minute hand pointed to the half hour. When she rose, wrapped herself in a dark large shell, putting it over her head, listened at her door for a moment to make sure that all was quiet, then glided softly down the stairs, let herself out at a back door and creeping along close to the wall of the house, then in the shadow of the trees that lined the avenue, gained at length the clump of evergreens at its farther end. A biting north wind swept the horrid frozen ground and rustled the dry leaves at her feet, as she stood leaning against a tree in an intensely listening attitude. It seemed to pierce to her very vitals and shuddering and trembling with the cold and nervous dread, she drew the shawl more closely about her, while straining her eyes through the gloom to catch a glimpse of him whom she had come to meet, for there was no light save that shining in the winter sky. She had waited but a moment when a stealthy step drew near and a tall form wrapped in a cloak stood before her. Here first, he said in a cautious whisper, yes, she answered in the same low key and with a sudden catching of her breath, oh, why are you here? For my own advantage, he answered half defiantly, and in a threatening tone, you'd better have a care how you betray me. I have no desire to do so, she returned with a weary sigh, but you must go, and at once he will ruin me if you stay, you must see that. Poo, I see no such thing, and must as a word you have no right to use to me. Keep your mouth shut and all will go well. What is your object in coming here? Plain enough, I should think, he answered with a sneer. You were deceiving that silly girl and intend to marry her simply for her money. Exactly. Who needs money more than I? And how long will it take you to squander it? Depends on how much there is. He returned with a sardonic laugh. And you look at the gaming table, I presume. She said bitterly, you're acting most dishonorably toward the girl. She would not look at you if she knew. But I'm an American born citizen, eh? Well, am I any of the words for that? Not for that, not of my esteem. But you know, you know that is not all, nor the worst by a great deal. She cried in a tone of suppressed agony. And you ask me to stand by and see you deceive this girl to her ruin, never stretching out a finger for her help. I cannot do it, I will not. Go, go, you must. You must never show your face here again. Be quiet, he said angrily, for in her excitement she had raised her voice to a dangerously high pitch. And look at home, he went on. Remember that you were partly responsible for my ruin, and that you too are sailing under false colors. But not to the injury of anyone, not with any evil intent, she answered clasping her hands beseechingly. And if you drive me from here, Harry, you'll be taken the brat out of our mother's mouth. It is surely enough that you do nothing for her support yourself. I'll help with that when I've secured this girl and her money, he said with an evil laugh. Just you keep quiet and all will go well. Keep my secret and I'll keep yours. She leaned back wearyly against the tree, clasping her hands more tightly over her throbbing heart. Tears sprang to her eyes, her lips trembled, but no sound came from them. Well, he cried impatiently. Harry, she said very low and tremulously, I've been reading a good deal lately in an old book, one whose teachings we used to respect in our innocent childhood. And it tells me that the way of transgresses is hard, that though hand joined in hand, the wicked shall not be unpunished, that there is such a thing as sending away your day of grace. And it says, Seek ye the Lord while he may be found, call ye upon him while he is near. O Harry, turn from your wicked ways before it is forever too late. There is mercy even for you if you will turn now. Spellbound with astonishment, he had heard her thus far in absolute silence, but now he interrupted her with a savage oath. I didn't know you'd turned pious, he sneered, and I didn't come here to be preached to. If you know what's good for you, you'll keep quiet. That's all I have to say. And now I'm off. I can't stand your catching my death of cold. He was turning away, but she grasped a fold of his cloak. Harry, she said in a choking voice. They used to be fond of each other. I was very proud of my handsome brother, and we've been parted for five years. That's true, Gertie, he said in a softened tone, turning back and throwing an arm about her waist. Let's kiss and be friends. Harry, she whispered cleanly to him. Do you know anything of—of him? No one don't want to, he answered savagely. You're not full enough to care for him now? Women are fools, was all she said in reply. And they parted. He disappeared in the direction of the road, and she creeping back to the house, regaining the shelter for room, fortunately without meeting anyone on the way. She was tired, oh, so tired, her strength scarcely sufficient to bring her to the desired haven. But even there she could not rest. She did not undress or lie down, but crouched beside the fire. Her hands clasped about her knees, her head bowed upon her breast, while the monotonous ticking of the clock told off the weary seconds, and the smoldering embers burned out, leaving nothing but the cold ashes on the hearth. The cold grey dawn of the winter morning was stealing in at the windows, as at last, sign heavily, the governess lifted her head with the returning consciousness of her surroundings. How dreary it all looked, in the dim uncertain light, the disordered room, the fireless hearth, fit emblem, as it seemed, of the cold almost dead heart within her. Life was like a desert at that moment, a rough weary road where thorns and briars constantly pierced her tired feet. Why should she stay? Why not lie down and rest in a quiet grave? She rose slowly, stiff from the constrained posture, and dragged herself across the room. Opening her wardrobe door, she took from the shelf a vial labeled Laudanum. She held it a moment in her hand. It is only to go to sleep, she said, half-allowed, to go to sleep and never wake again. Never? Off I could be sure, sure of that. And the smoke of their torment ascended up forever and ever, where their worm doth not, and the fire is not quenched. With a shutter she put it hastily back, locked the door and threw herself upon the bed. Oh God, forgive me, she cried. Keep me, keep me, or I shall do it yet. And then, forever and ever, no space for repentance, no coming back. At length, tired nature found temporary relief in the heavy, dreamless slumber of utter exhaustion. Hours passed, and still she slept on, hearing not, nor heeding the sounds of her turning life in the household. There were very late after their long night of revelry. Breakfast was not on the table till ten o'clock, and even then no one answered the summons but the master of the house in Meldred. The children had taken their morning meal two hours before. An unexpected pleasure this, milley, my dear, was Mr. Dinsmore's greeting. What, uncle? You did not surely expect me to be still in bed. Well, no, but I thought you'd be looking fagged and worn, instead of which your face is fresh and fair as a rose just washed with dew, and as bright as the morning. And why not, if sufficient rest will do it? She returned laughingly. I retired at twelve, and had my eight hours of sound refreshing sleep. Ah, you are a wise little woman, too sensible to let late hours rob you of health and good looks, and make you old before your time. What is it Solomon says, early to bed and early to rise? Oh, uncle, what a joke. There's no use in your pretending that you don't know any better than that, she answered merrily. Well, perhaps I do, but he certainly says something about lying late in bed. Several things. One occurs to me now. Love not sleep, lest thou come to poverty. Open thine eyes, and thou shalt be satisfied with bed. But it cannot mean that we should not take needful rest. Oh, no, of course not. There's nothing gained by that. But where is Ms. Worth? She has not joined us since the house has been so full of guests. I think she takes her meals with the children and the nursery. Ah, yes, I presume so, but I'd forgotten it, and it struck me that she might be ill. I thought she was looking badly last night. Did you notice it? Yes, I did. I won't inquire about her, Mildred said, remembering with a paying-as-self approach how ghastly a face the governess had worn on taking her seat at the piano. She might be very ill, unable to call for help neglected by the sleepy maids, and she herself had been up for two hours and not to have gone to her door to inquire. She went immediately on leaving the table, her alarming anxiety increased in the way of the other, by the information, gleaned from one of the servants, that Ms. Worth had not been present of the nursery breakfast. Mildred rapped lightly, then louder, and receiving no answer tried the door. It opened, and she stole softly in. Ms. Worth lay on the outside of the bed, still dressed as she had last seen her, in the dry room at the piano, and sleeping heavily. Her face was very pale and distressed, and she moaned now and then as if in pain. She had nothing over her, but a heavy dark shawl lay on the floor beside the chimney. Mildred picked it up and spread it over her, drew down the blinds to shut out the glare of the sun, rang for the maid, and while waiting for her, moved quietly about the room, putting things in their places. It is very cold here, for the fire is quite out and must be made up at once. She was spread meeting the girl at the door and motioning her to make no noise. Go bring up wood and kindling. The governess sick, Miss Millie, queried the servant, sending a curious glance in the direction of the bed. I don't know, Dinah, perhaps only tired, for she was up very late last night, but she is asleep and must not be disturbed, and Mildred motioned her imperatively away. It was not till an hour later that Ms. Worth stirred, and woke to find a cheerful fire blazing on the hearth, and Mildred beside it quietly knitting. She put down her work hastily, rose and came forward, as she perceived the governess's eyes fixed upon her in a sort of perplexed surprise. Excuse the intrusion, Mildred said, but I thought you seemed ill and was afraid you might need help. I hope your sleep has refreshed you, and that you will let me order the breakfast that you are keeping hot for you in the kitchen. Thank you. I cannot understand such kindness to me, Ms. Worth said huskily. I was very tired, not sick, I think, and I suppose the sleep has done me good. And you will eat something? I will try, since you were so good. The effort was but indifferently successful, yet Ms. Worth steadily refused to acknowledge herself on the sick list and insisted that she was able to work and must do so, and Mildred went away feeling troubled and anxious. Left alone, Ms. Worth took out her writing materials, then resting her elbows on the table, her face in her hands, sat thus for a long time without moving, a heavy sigh now and then escaping her. At last she took up her pen and wrote rapidly for several minutes, and snatching up the paper she tore it into fragments and threw them into the fire. Another sheet shared the same fate, and seemingly giving it up in despair, she rose and walked the floor. Oh, if I only knew what to do, what to say, she moaned, if he would but hear reason, if he would but forsake his evil courses, and yet, oh, if I had a friend, just one wise true friend to advise and help me. But I dare not breathe my terrible fears to any mortal, and who is there that would care to listen? Her eye fell on the Bible line there on the table, and with the sight came the recollection of the text smiltered her quoted to her. She almost heard a gentle tender voice saying, come unto me, and I will give you rest, and fallen on her knees she cried to him. Lord Jesus, I do come. I give myself to thee, and oh, I beseech thee, in that great mercy and loving kindness, to help me in this my hour of perplexity and distress. Strange what a blessed calm succeeded the storm. She rose from her knees, wondrously soothed and quieted. She had found a friend who had pledged his word to help her, and who had all power in heaven and in earth. What needs she fear? If God be for us, who can be against us? There might be trouble in store for her, great in sore trouble, but he would help her through. There was a sound of gay young voices in the halls without and on the stairway, a carriage had driven to the door, and opened barouche, and presently she sought going down the avenue, and that Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore and the three young ladies were in it. The older children were away from home, as she knew, spending a few days at a neighbouring plantation. The younger ones were probably in the nursery. She watched the carriage still as lost to sight far down the road, then was turning from the window with a thought in her mind that it would be a blessing to Juliet Marsden, as well as herself, if it were taking her home to her father's care, when she caught sight of a horseman coming from the opposite direction. She stood still, scanning him narrowly as he turned in at the gate, and came cantering up the avenue. As he drew near, she recognised him with a start of surprise, terror mingling with it at first, but changing instantly to joy that he had assuredly missed the object of his visit. It was her scoundrel brother, yet despite of all the distress and anguish of mind he was causing her. She was conscious of a thrill of sisterly pride in his handsome face and form, and the greys and ease of his horsemanship. But she must seize his unhopeful opportunity, there were motives she could urge which escaped her thoughts in the previous night. And that might, perhaps, have weighed with him, and much now depended upon prompt action on her part. She flew down the stairs and admitted him herself, before he had had time to ring. Unfortunately, no servant had had perceived his approach. He looked at her in extreme surprise. How was this? He inquired with an ill-natured sneer. Have you been promoted to the office of porter? Hush! She answered in an imperative whisper. Come in here, and she let the weight into a little parlour close at hand. Excuse the impertinence, madam, but I did not come to see you. He said angrily as he followed her in. I am well aware of that fact. She said in a calm tone of quiet firmness, as she turned and faced him. Nevertheless, I believe I am the one, and the only one you will see, and it is well, for I have something of importance to say. Where is Miss Marsden? He demanded. Gone for a drive and all the other ladies with her, Mr. Dinsmer also. The last of the guests left an hour since, and we may chat for a good while, without much fear of interruption. Suppose I don't choose? He returned, straightening himself with a defiant air. Harry, you must hear me. She said, landed a tainting hand upon his arm, for he was moving toward the door. That's a strong word, and one you've no right to use to me. He answered moodily, yet yielding to her determined will. She pointed to a chair, and he sat down. Speak and be done with it, he said. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she forced him back. Are you mad, Harry, that you venture to return to this country? She asked in an undertone, her voice trembling with excitement. Can you forgotten the danger that hangs over you? It's trifling. Considering the change his five years had made, he said with effected nonchalance, but his cheek pale. Don't deceive yourself, don't trust that. I recognized you at the first glance. She said with the earnestness of one determined to convince. Well, one of my own family would, of course. Be more apt to do so than anyone else. And I was never known in this part of the country. No, but people travel about a great deal. Northerners come south frequently, especially in winter. And you may, any day, come face to face with some old acquaintance, who will recognize you and have you arrested. And then she hit her face and shuddered. Oh, Harry, she cried, I shall live in terror till I know you are safe on the other side of the ocean. I'll go on all haste when I've secured my prize. He said coldly, keep it up, she entreated. You've no right to drag an innocent girl down to infamy with you. Better go and make an honest living by the labor of your hands. I wasn't brought up to that. An infinitely preferred to live by my wits, he answered with an evil smile. And they'll have to help me to the means to pay my passage to those foreign shores you so highly recommend. So this would surely bring more than enough for that, she said, pointing to the glittering gem on his finger. Paced, my dear, nothing but paced, he left. Clever imitation, isn't it? Ah, Harry, a fair type of its own right here, she said sorrowfully. Thanks for the compliment. He answered with a bitter laugh. Well, after all, it is a compliment, taken in the sense that I'm as clever an imitation of what Miss Marston takes me for, as this is of a real diamond. And perhaps she's as good a judge of the first article as you are of the other. Harry, cried his sister, are you utterly heartless? Have you no pity at all for that poor silly girl? Poo, Gertrude, I have to look out for myself, and other people must do the same. I tell you it is a case of necessity, he answered doggedly. No, she said. There cannot be a necessity for wrongdoing, and if persisted in, it must end at last in terrible retribution, both in this world and the next. She added in low tremulous tones. I'll risk it, he said with an oath. And as to the girl, why she'd break her silly heart if I should forsake her, he added with an unpleasant laugh. You've no idea how deeply in love she is. You are mistaken. She has no heart to break, and loves nobody half so well as herself. She will never be the woman to stand by and comfort you in adversity. Therefore, you will be doing a foolish thing to make her your wife, even though you consult your own interest alone. At that, he only laughed, saying that if the girl's money was all he wanted, he didn't care whether she stood by him or not after he once got it into his possession. She renewed her warnings and entreaties, urging every motive she could think of to induce him to give up his wicked designs upon Juliet Marsden, and forsake all his evil courses, but in vain. His heart was fully set in him to do evil, and neither love of his mother and sisters, nor pity for the deluded girl could move him. Nor did fear of punishment deter him. He was no coward, he said, glorying in his shame and showing himself utterly devoid of wisdom. For the fear of the Lord that is wisdom, and depart from evil, is understanding. And the Bible calls those who make a mock at sin, despise instruction, and hate to depart from evil. At length there was a sound of approaching wheels upon which she exclaimed in a relieved tone. There, you'd better go. Won't help either you or me for us to be caught together. No, she assented, rising hastily. I must go. Oh, Harry, think of what I've been saying, and don't rush headlong to destruction. There, I've had enough of it, he retorted angrily. I'll do as I please, and do you keep yourself quiet. End of Chapter 13, Recording by Amy Chapter 14 of Mildred at Rosens by Martha Finlay This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Amy Chapter 14. How poor a thing is pride. The beauty you or a prize, so time or sickness, can change to loathe deformity. Your wealth, the prey of thieves. Massed. The most open-handed hospitality, having ever been the rule at Rosens, it was no difficult matter for Count Delisle to get himself invited to stay to tea and spend the evening. In fact, it was long past midnight, when he at last took leave of Juliet and went away. The thud of his horse's hoofs as he galloped down the avenue brought a pale, haggard face to an upper window. But the dim light of the stars revealed nothing, saved the nearest outline of the steed and his rider, and that but for an instant. The watcher turned away, signed to herself. I cannot see him, but it must be he. Hastily crossed the room and stole noiselessly into the hall beyond. The hour spent by him and Dalliams with Juliet, they had had the drying room to themselves since ten o'clock, had been to her, his much-tried sister, a time of bitter anguish and fierce mental conflict. How could she permit this wickedness, yet how prevent it when the only way to do so was by exposing him, her brother? It seemed a terribly hard thing to do, for she loved him, and his disgrace was hers, and that of the whole family. She was sorely tempted to leave Juliet to the fate she seemed to be drawing upon herself by her egregious folly, that of becoming the wife of a spendthrift, and one whose vices had led him to commit a crime against the laws of the land, the penalty of which was a term of years in the penitentiary. It would be a sad fate, but perhaps not undeserved by a girl who would rush into it in opposition to the known wishes and commands of her parents. Harry had unguardedly admitted to his sister that he had no hope of winning the consent of either Mr. or Mrs. Marsden, that they were, in fact, so violently opposed to his suit, that he dared not visit their daughter in her own home, but he had exultantly added that he was perfectly certain of his ability to persuade Juliet to elope with him, and meant to do so sooner or later. Well, should he accomplish that and escape to Europe with his price, his family probably would not suffer any ill consequence. No one here knew his real name, or had the slightest suspicion that Ms. Worth was in any way connected with him, but she felt morally certain that in case Mrs. Dinsmer discovered the truth, her situation at Roselands was lost. She would be sent away without a recommendation, then it might be months before she could get employment elsewhere, and that meant beggary to herself and those nearest and dearest to her. Surely no motive of self-interest urged her to stretch out her hand to save Juliet Marsden from falling into the snare spread for her on wary feet. Yet pity for the girl, a strong sense of justice, and more than all, a desire to do the will of her new found friend, prevailed over all selfish considerations, and she fully determined to give the warning, though in a way to risk as little as possible, and for the last half hour she had watched and waited for the opportunity. Juliet came up the stairs with a light, quick step, and as she passed underneath the lamp, swung from the ceiling, its rays, falling full upon her, gave to Ms. Worth a moment's distinct view of her face. It was an expression of exultant joy, the cheeks were flushed, the eyes glittering, the lips smiling. He has offered himself and has been accepted. Was Ms. Worth's conclusion? There is no time to be lost. And stepping forward, she stood directly in Juliet's path, confronting her with calm, pale face and determined air. What is the meaning of this? asked Juliet, recoiling and regarding the governess with mingled anger and hot air. Will you be good enough to step aside and allow me to pass on to my own apartments? Excuse me, Ms. Marston, but I must have a word with you. Returned the person addressed in low, distinct tones, and not moving a hair's breadth from the position she had taken. Indeed, was a scornful rejoinder, and pray, who may you be that take such errors upon yourself? My aunt's governess, if I am not mistaken, a person with whom I can have nothing in common. Keep your communications for those in your own station in life. Will you step out of my way? Not yet, not till I've discharged my duty to you, Ms. Marston. I must speak a word of warning. I cannot see you rushing headlong to destruction, without crying out to you to beware, and I have no motive for you, and I have no motive for doing so, but pity for you. Juliet's astonishment was unbounded. What could the creature mean? What indeed but to insult her? Pity for me, she cried with a withering scorn. You, a poor dependent governess, pity me, me, the daughter of a wealthy Kentucky planter, and an heiress in my own right. Keep your compassion for such as wanted. I will, none of it. And she would have pushed past, Ms. Worth, but the latter laid a hand on her arm, not roughly, but with determination. It is of count to lie I would speak to you, she said almost under her breath. No, I call that back, for he has no right to either the name or the title. How dare you, cried Juliet with flashing eyes, shaking off the detainee hand and drawing herself up to her full height. What do you know of him? Far more than you do, returned the other calmly. I have known him all his life, and I tell you, he is not what you suppose. Not what he gives himself out to be, but a man without fortune or title, an American by birth and education, and seeking you merely for your wealth. I don't believe a word of it. It's all a pack of lies that you've invented, because you are envious of me. Stand out of my way and don't presume to speak to me again on this subject, nor any other. So sane, the angry girl swept proudly past the humble governess, whom she regarded as a meanie on an impertinent meddler in her affairs, and gaining her apartment shut and locked herself in with a noise that roused her sleeping sister. The impudent creature, she muttered. Who, queried Reba, starting up in bed, have you actually discovered that pause right in your count a mercenary adventurer? Nonsense! No, I've learned no such thing. What then? Who is the impudent creature you are unathematyzing? Aunt Belle's governess. She actually waylaid me in the hall and forced me to stand still and listen while she uttered a warning against him, pretending that he was an old acquaintance of hers. I shall complain to Aunt and have her turned adrift for her impertinent. Better not, laughed Reba, but would only tend to rouse suspicion against him. It must be very late. I advise you to wake up your maid and get ready for bed. The encounter had left Miss Worth in quite as unamiable a frame of mind as that of her antagonist. For the insulting arrogance of Juliet's manner had sorely wounded her pride. It was hard to take such treatment from one who was her superior in nothing but the accident of wealth, and in fact decidedly inferior in the higher gifts of intellect and education. I washed my hands of the whole affair. I will leave her to her own fate, Miss Worth said to herself, as she turned in at her own door again and secured it after her. With that, she endeavored to dismiss the whole matter from her mind. She was exceedingly weary and must have rest, and presently everything was forgotten in a heavy, dreamless sleep. But with the first moment of wakefulness, the burden again pressed heavily. She could not be indifferent to her brother's wrongdoing, nor to the danger of his discovery, arrest, and punishment for his former crime. But the holidays were over, and she must return to her duties in the school room. Perhaps it was well for her that it was so, since it compelled her to give her thoughts to other subjects. Still taking her meals in the nursery, she saw nothing of the lady-guests, till Mildred came in the afternoon with a recitation. Mildred was quietly and steadily pursuing the course of study, which she had laid out for herself, mingling to some extent in the employment and pastimes of those about her, but contriving to retire but times almost every night, and by early rising, to secure the morning hours for the improvement of her mind, a season safe from interruption by her aunt and her nieces, as it was always spent by them in bed. In fact, there was so utter absence of congeniality between Mildred and the other two girls, that they were generally better content to remain apart. And as Mrs. Dinsmer preferred the companionship of her own nieces, because of both the ties of kindred and harmony of taste and feeling, Mildred was left to follow her own inclinations with little hindrance from them. But though continuing her studies, Mildred, because she felt that the governess was entitled to the full benefit of the holiday rest, had not, during the past two weeks, gone to her for assistance or with recitations, she was glad that she might now do so with propriety. For since the episode of the previous morning, she had not been able to forget Mildred's pale distressed countenance, and was really very anxious about her. She felt quite sure that there was some deeper trouble than mere physical pain, and had a longing desire to give sympathy and relief, a desire untainted by a touch of prying curiosity, and that strengthened so greatly during this afternoon's interview that she was fined to give expression to it, doing so with extreme delicacy intact. It was when the business part of their interview was over, and Mildred had closed her books and risen to leave the room. For a moment Ms. Wearth was silent, her features working with emotion. You were very kind, she said at last. I wish I might confide fully in you, but you were too young, too young and free from care to understand might. She broke off abruptly and with a groan, dropped her face upon her folded arms on the table at which they had been sitting. Perhaps so, Mildred said in gently compassionate tones, I could almost wish for your sake that I were older. Ms. Wearth lifted her head, and with almost startling suddenness and a feverish eagerness in her tones, asked Ms. Mildred, where is Ms. Juliet Marston today? She has passed a greater part of it in bed, I believe. Mildred answered in utter surprise, has her lover been here since he left her last night? The Count? No. Can you tell me if she's to go out tonight, and where, and who is to be her escort? I see you are wondering at my curiosity, and it is only natural that you should, but believe me, it is not the idle inquisitiveness that it must seem to you. She went on rapidly in an anguished accents. For I have a reason, there is much at stake, I have tried to be indifferent, to say to myself that it is nothing to me. If that vain, silly girl should be with a fate her folly deserves, but I cannot, I must try to save her, and him. Oh, if I could but save him! And again she heard her face, while sobbed shook her from head to foot. Him! Mildred cried in increased amazement. What is he to you? No, no, I do not ask that. I have no wish to pry into your secrets. Ms. Wearth lifted her head, and wiped away her tears. Thank you for withdrawing that question, she said in a broken voice. I cannot answer it, but this much I will tell you in the strictest confidence. I have known him in other days, and he is not what he professes to be, and it would be ruined, ruined to her. Is that so? Mildred said with a startled look. Then surely you will warn her? I have done so, Ms. Keith, though it was like drawing my eye teeth to do it. But my sacrifice was unappreciated, my motives were misconstrued, I was treated with scorn and contempt, and have said to myself, I have a just right to be angry and indignant, and shall leave her to her fate. But you will tell my uncle, he might be able to prevent the mischief, by setting a watch upon them, and forbidding them and the house. No, no, I cannot betray him, cried Ms. Wearth in a startled, terrified tone, and you, you will respect my confidence, Ms. Keith? Certainly, but surely he will not suffer Juliet to be sacrificed. I have warned her, return the governance coldly, and since she refuses to heed, on her own head be the consequences. It was Mildred's turn to be troubled and perplexed. She stood for a moment in anxious thought. Will you not make one more effort? She said at length. Would you not save him from this wrongdoing? May not the consequences be dreadful to him too? May not her father take a terrible revenge, as men sometimes do, on the deceivers and betrayers of their daughters? Ms. Wearth started, and her wane cheek turned a shade paler. I had not thought of that, she said drawing a long breath. Oh, what shall I do? They consulted together, but with no more definite result than a mutual agreement to keep a strict watch upon the movements of Juliet and her pseudo-nobleman. Mildred was again about to withdraw, when Ms. Wearth stopped her. Pardon me, Ms. Keith, she said, but you have not answered my questions. They all go to the theatre tonight, and as I happen to know, Mr. Landrath is to escort Ms. Juliet. Not the count, but she will meet him there, I am sure of it. You do not go, Ms. Mildred? To the theatre? Oh, no. Then I must go myself and watch them. Surely that is not necessary, reasoned Mildred. Uncle, Aunt, Reba, all close at hand. Ah, perhaps not, ascended the governess. Possibly it were wise to lead the task to them. Mildred went to her own room to ponder and pray over the matter, for she was sorely perplexed and not a little anxious for Juliet. She asked help and direction for herself in Ms. Wearth, and that the latter might be led to do her duty, however difficult and painful. Greatly she wondered what was the tie between her and the spurious count, till it flashed upon her that his familiar look was a strong likeness to the governess. Then she knew it was that of relationship. Her own duty in the affair formed a serious question in her mind. Much she wished Ms. Wearth's communication had not been made in confidence and that she were free to carry it to her uncle, who would, in that case, be sure to interfere effectually to save Juliet from falling a prey to the schemes of this false designing man. She could not break her word to the governess, but at length, recalling the fact that she had heard Reba say her father was suspicious of Count Delisle, she determined to repeat that to her uncle, and thus put him on his guard against the villain, and his probable plot to inveigle Juliet into a clandestine marriage. It was not a pleasant thing for Mildred to do. She would much rather not interfere, but Juliet must be saved at all risks, and neither she nor Reba had seemed to make a secret of their father's sentiments. She went at once and searched for Mr. Dinsmer, but learned that he was closeted with a gentleman on business. Then the summons came for her to drive out with her aunt. T was ready when they returned. After that, she was occupied with company in the drawing room, then in assisting Juliet and Reba to make their toilet for the evening. Thus the times would buy when the carriage had driven away with its load of theater-goers. She retired to her own room, without having had the least opportunity for word in private with Mr. Dinsmer. Juliet had scarcely taken her seat in Mr. Dinsmer's box, when a sweeping glance around the theater showed her Count Delisle occupying another at no great distance. She telegraphed him behind her fan, and during the interval between the first and second acts, he joined them. When Juliet re-entered the carriage, which was to convey her home, she carried within her glove a tiny note written on fine, tinted, highly scented French paper, which she had adroitly slipped into her hand, unobserved by any of her companions. Under cover of the darkness, she transferred it to her bosom, and the first moment that she found herself alone in her dressing room, it was hastily drawn forth and read at a glance. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes shone, as with a triumphant smile, she refolded and laid it safely by. On leaving the room to go down to her late breakfast the next morning, she carried it with her, for not for any consideration, which she risked having it seen by other eyes and her own. She was very late, and a good deal flurried in consequence. Her thoughts were busy, too, with the important steps she had determined to take that night. In her absence of mind she must have been guilty of some carelessness for on returning to her room after dawdling for an hour over her meal in company with her aunt and sister. She was horrified to find that the note was missing. In vain she searched her pockets, shook out the folds of her dress, hunted everywhere, even retracing her steps all the way to the breakfast parlor and looking under and around the table. It was hopelessly lost, and she did not make any adieu or inquiry about it. She was exceedingly fretted and troubled, but must conceal her anxiety, only hoping that it had fallen into some place where it would be undiscovered until she and the Count had made good their escape from Rosens and placed themselves beyond successful pursuit. Fortunately, as she esteemed it, no one had bit witness to her perturbation or her quest. Reba and their aunt, having, upon leaving the table, retired together to the boudoir of the latter. Dyer would have been Juliet's anger and alarm, could she have known what had actually become of her missing treasure. Misworth, in passing between the schoolroom and her own apartment, caught sight of a bit of paper lying on the floor at the head of the stairway, and stooping picked it up. There was neither seal nor superscription upon the outside. Therefore there seemed nothing wrong or dishonorable in opening it, for indeed, how otherwise was she to learn to whom it belonged in order to restore it. One glance told who the writer was, for she was no stranger to his peculiar chirography, to whom it was addressed and what it signified. My angel, one o'clock a.m. tomorrow, signal, cry of an owl beneath your window, carriage and waitin' be on the hedge, your adorer. That was all, but it needed not another word to let her, whose eyes now scandit an indignant sorrow fully into their plans. She sent a quick glance around to satisfy herself that she was unseen. Then crushing the missive in her hand, went on her way deeply thankful that Juliet had lost and that she had found it. Yet she was sorely perplexed and anxious, so disturbed that it was no easy magic to give the necessary attention to her pupils. What should she do? Appeal again to Juliet? It seemed utterly useless. But this thing must be prevented, yes, even though it cost her the loss of her situation. But Harry, she shuddered and turned sick and faint at the thought that he might be taken, identified and put on trial for the crime committed years ago. He must be saved at all risks. She would go out meet and warn him, ere he had quite reached Rosalinds. He would be furious, perhaps in his rage do her some bodily harm, but he must be saved. She would give this note to Mr. Dinsmore, she decided, telling him where she had found it, that she had been well acquainted with the writer in former years and recognized the hand. That would be sufficient to lead him to prevent Juliet's leaving the house, and if she could succeed in warning Harry away, going and returning unobserved, all would be well. But her plans miscarried. Mr. Dinsmore, as she learned on seeking an interview, had left home after an early breakfast, taken hastily in his private room, and would not probably return until the next day. Here was an unexpected difficulty. What now was she to do? She was slowly mounting the stairs in half despairing mood when a pleasant girlish voice addressed her from the hall below. Ms. Worth, Pomp has just got back from the city with the mail, and here's a letter for you. Mildred bounded up the stairs with the last words, put the letter into the eagerly outstretched hand of the governess, and hurried on to her own room to revel in the delights of a long epistle from her mother and sisters. She was not half through it when there came a wrap upon her door, and with brows knitting with vexation at the unwelcome interruption, she rose to open it. She started back with an exclamation of surprise and terror, as Ms. Worth tottered in with a face white, even to the lips, and sank speechless into the nearest chair. What is it? What is it? cried Mildred. Hastening to bring a glass of water and hold it to her lips. The governess swallowed a mouthful, seemingly with some difficulty, then putting it aside with her hand. Don't be alarmed, she whispered. I shall be over it in a minute. But it was such a shock. Oh, how could he? How could he be so wicked? She ended with a burst of weeping. Mildred's sympathies were fully aroused, laying her precious letter carefully away for future perusal. She gave herself to the task of soothing and comforting the poor, distracted woman. Ms. Worth told her story brokenly, still concealing the nature of the tie that connected her with the pseudo-count. Her letter, from her sister, Mrs. Marks, told of the return to America of the escaped Grease brother, that he had paid them a fine visit weeks ago and gone again. Then you're not with her, and that shortly after his departure there'd come to them a young, pretty, Italian peasant woman who claimed to be his wife, shown and proof thereof some trinkets which they recognized as having belonged to him, a marriage certificate, and a baby boy who was his image. Ms. Worth simply stated to Mildred the facts in regard to the notes she'd picked up, and that her letter had brought certain intelligence that Julia's admirer had already a living wife. Oh, dreadful! cried Mildred. Now surely you will warn her once more? Yes, I will, though doubtless she will refuse to believe it of him, but she will not. She cannot be so infatuated as to go on an elope with him without foolproof that the story of his marriage is false. I do not know that. She is so supremely silly, but Ms. Mildred, I must see her alone, and how am I to manage it? I have only today. Mildred looked thoughtful. I don't see how yet, but I must contrive to make an opportunity for you, she said, and after a little more talk about ways and means, mingled with some words of sympathy and hope. From the younger to the older girl, they parted. Mildred going down to luncheon, miss Worth to her own room. Half an hour later, Mildred joined her there with a face that told of good news before she opened her lips. Aunt Dinsmore thinks Uncle may be home tonight, she said, and I noticed Julia did not seem pleased to hear it. She asked how soon, and Aunt said probably not before half past one or two o'clock, as the train gets into the city about midnight, and he must drive over from there. Then Aunt proposed that we four ladies should take a drive this afternoon, and Reba and I accepted her invitation at once, but Julia declined, saying she was tired and would find more enjoyment in a novel on the sofa. She stays at home to make her preparations, said Miss Worth. Just what I think, and this will be your opportunity, returned Mildred, said Aunt Fortunet. Now I must go and leave you to improve it, the carriage will be at the door in a few moments. Miss Worth sat down by her window to watch for it, and as soon as it had driven quite out of sight, went quietly to Juliet's door and knocked. There was no answer, though she could hear someone moving softly about the room. She waited a moment, then wrapped again a little louder than before. Still no notice was taken, the quiet foot falls in slight rustle of silk and garments continuing as before. But she persisted, repeating her knocks at sure intervals, and with increasing force till at length, the key was turned hastily in the lock, and the door thrown open, showing Juliet's fair face crimson with passion. Will you cease that racket? She began, and starting back at sight of the pale, determined face. You, she cried, is it you? How dare you! And she would have slammed the door on the face of her unwelcome visitor. But Miss Worth was too quick for her, and holding it forcibly open, slipped in, pushed it to, turned the key, and facing the girl, who stood spellbound with astonishment and fury, said, I will not apologize for my seemingly rude behavior, since you have compelled me to it, and it is only for your own sake that I intrude upon you. Leave this room instantly, was the passionate rejoinder. Instantly do you hear, stamping her foot with rage? Not till I have done my errand, and cleared my skirts of your ruin, if you are still so infatuated as to rush upon it, return the governess quietly, folding her arms and placing her back against the door. I've already told you the man who seeks your hand is a deceiver, a spurious nobleman, a mere fortune-hunter. Stop! cried Juliet, interrupting her with fury in her tones, and again stamping her foot. Stop and leave this room, or I will summon the servants to put you out. No, you will not do that, Miss Worth returned, with a contemptuous smile. You will not want them to hear what I have to tell of your adore, or rather the adore of your wealth. And I will not go till I have finished what I came to say. You think to rob me of him, it's near Juliet, but you are mistaken. You are too old and ugly. If you ever fancied you, it is all past. He can never do so again. But I can't believe you were ever really pretty, for you is ugly a sin now. Thank you, the governess answered with irony. I rejoice to learn that you think sin ugly, for it is a sin for you to allow this man to play the lover to you, and it would be an incredible sin for you to marry him, not only because of the entire disapproval of your parents, but—she had a strong emphasis—because he already has a wife. For a moment Juliet was struck dumb with astonishment, but recovering herself. I don't believe it, she cried, her cheeks crimsoning, her eyes flashing. I don't believe a word of it, and if I did I'd marry him all the same, she added, grinding her teeth. I would, for I love him. I love him, and you needn't tell me he's a villain. Marry him. The ceremony would be a mere farce, and you are not a wife, for you could not be that, while she lives, who is his lawful wedded wife. Miss Worth spoke with slow distinctness, her eyes fixed severely upon Juliet's face. The latter started back as if stoned, then resuming her haughty defiant air. How dare you! she repeated. What is he to you, and what proof can you bring of all that you assert against him? What he is to me does not concern you, said Miss Worth. My knowledge of his marriage was gained today by a letter from his sister. But if I should show it to you, you would, of course, ask how you were to know that he was the man referred to, or that she was a reliable witness. No, I can prove nothing. But if you are wise, you will require proof that he is, a man who has the right to offer you his hand, who can make you his lawful wife, and whom to marry will not be ruined. Then I am not wise, now go. I obey you, since my errand is now done. Return the governess with a stately vow, as she unlocked the door and threw it wide open. Stepping into the hall, she faced her antagonist again for an instant. If you will persist in this madness, on your own head be your ruin. My skirts are clear, she said, and swept proudly away. It cost Milford quite an effort to give due attention to Reba's chatter and the small talk of her aunt during the hour or more of their drive, her thoughts being very full of the interview, then in progress between Miss Worth and Juliet. On reaching home, she repaired directly to the room of the former to hear an account of it. This the governess gave in detail, concluding with, You see, Miss Keep, it is just as I expected. She will not hear reason. She will take no warning. She is fully bent upon carrying out this mad freak, and if we save her, it will be in spite of herself. Yes, I am here but little time to consider how we shall do it, said Milford. What is your plan? To go myself, a little before his appointed hour, to meet and warn him away, while you remain in the house and on the watch, to prevent her from leaving it to join him. Are you willing to undertake that, Miss Milford? Yes, to the best of my ability. I will rouse the whole house, if necessary, to prevent her from getting away with him. Thank you, Miss Worth said earnestly. Miss Keep, I am very sorry to have to call upon you for this assistance, for it will involve the loss of your night's rest. But Mr. Dinsmer, being unfortunately away, don't speak of it, interrupted Milford impulsively. It is a very small sacrifice in my part, for I am well and pretty strong again, but you look wretchably ill. Now, remind me, I shall be better when this is over, Miss Worth answered with a faint smile. I will leave you to lie down and rest, Milford said, rising to go. And can't you sleep through the early part of the night, if I am on guard and ready to wake you at midnight? But governess shook her head. I cannot sleep till this is over. But it will tend to lull Juliet's suspicions, if you will retire at your usual early hour, and let me call you when the appointed hour draws near. It is a wise thought, and we will do so, Milford said. And now I must go and dress for dinner. Try not to be so very anxious. I do believe it will all turn out well. She added, hopefully, as she left the room. Chapter 16 of Milford at Rosens by Martha Finley This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Amy. Chapter 16 Muse not that I thus suddenly proceed. For what I will, I will, and there's an end. Shakespeare There were guests from the neighborhood at both dinner and tea, some of whom remained during the evening. Juliet was unusually gay and sprightly, but to Milford, who watched her furtively, her unwanted mirthfulness seemed to cover other and deeper feelings. There were signs of agitation, perhaps unnoticed by a casual observer, a nervous tremor, a hectic flush in her cheek, a slight start at some sudden noise, or an unexpected address. She was thrumming on the piano and shrieking out an air from a popular opera at the top of her voice. When at ten o'clock, Milford slipped quietly away to her own room. Merely exchanging her evening dress for a neat dressing-gown, Milford threw herself upon a couch to await Miss Worth's summons, and contrary to her expectations, presently fell into a sound sleep. She was awakened by a touch on the shoulder and started up to find the governess standing by her side. Will you come now? She asked in low, agitated tones. It is half past twelve and I must start out at once. Yes, I'm quite ready, Milford answered, and wrapping a shawl about her shoulders followed the lead of the governess. A window on the landing of the principal staircase, down which Juliet would be likely to pass, was on the same side of the house with the one under which the signal was to be given. There could be no better post of observation, and here Milford seated herself upon the broad sill, while her companion, parting from her with a whispered word of mingled thanks, caution and entreaty, glided down the stairs and let herself out at a side door, using extreme caution to make no noise. Then she gained the avenue and beyond that the road. Here she paused and hesitated. She was not sure from which direction her brother would come, but she must make a choice. She did so and crept onward, keeping a narrow footpath that ran parallel with the road in between it and a hedge that enclosed the lawn and adjacent orchard. Left thus alone, Milford sat still, her heart beating fast with excitement and timidity, for the house was dark and silent, almost as aggrieved. But she bethought herself of him, to whom the night shineth at the day, and darkness and light are both alike, and with the thought grew quiet and calm. She was in the path of duty and need fear no evil, because he was with her. Yet the waiting time seemed long. How would it end? If Miss Worth were successful, only in her stealthy return, otherwise probably with the signal, then a struggle between Juliet and herself. She had begun to breathe more freely with the thought that the time for that must have passed, and was straining her ear to catch the faint sound of Miss Worth's approach. When the loud hoot of an owl from the shrubbery beneath, the window broke the silence with a suddenness that nearly startled her from her seat, and set her heart to throbbing wildly again. She pressed her hand against her side to still it, while she bent forward, listening intently, for some answering sound from above. A moment of utter stillness, then a slight creak, as if a door opened with extreme care, followed by other slight sounds, as though someone were stealing softly down the hall, and Mildred slipped from her perch and back into the shadow of the wall, almost holding her breath for what was to come. The stealthy step drew nearer. Something was gliding past her, when, with a quick movement, she stepped before and threw her arms around it, a tall, slight figure muffled in a cloak. There was a low, half-stifled cry, then a struggle for release. Unhand me, muttered Juliet in a tone of intense, but suppressed fury, as there no limit to your insolent interference. Juliet, it is I, whispered Mildred, not relaxing her hold in the least. I only want to save you from falling a prey to a villain who is after your money, would ruin you to get it, for he already has a wife. I don't believe a word of it. Let me go. Let me go, I say. In wrenching herself free, she dealt Mildred a blow that sent her staggering against the wall. But she recovered herself instantly, and sprang after Juliet, who was gliding down the stairs, toward the lower hall. She caught hers, they reached the hall below. Juliet, Juliet, are you mad? She panted. Will you forsake all you love, all that life holds dear for that scoundrel? What business is it of yours? demanded Juliet fiercely, and trying with all her strength to shake her off. I tell you, I will not be prevented by you or anybody. Let go of me, I say, or I will do you a mischief. I will not let you go, returned Mildred. Come back, or I will call aloud and rouse the house. What would have happened, it is impossible to tell, had not helped come at that precise moment. A carriage had driven up to the front entrance, the rumble of its wheels sending the cowardly villain in the shrubbery, flying to the adjacent woods. The girls, in the excitement of their struggle, had not heard its approach, but the sudden opening of the front door, and the sound of Mr. Dinsmer's step and voice as he entered, accompanied by his body-servant, to whom he was giving some order, as to the disposal of his luggage, caused them to lose their hold of each other. Juliet darted up the stairs, while Mildred dropped into a chair, her strength completely forsaking her, with the withdrawal of the necessity for its exertion. Who is here? demanded Mr. Dinsmer, his ear catching the rustle of Juliet's garments, and the sound of Mildred's heavy breathing. So on, strike a light instantly. It is I, uncle, panted Mildred, bursting into hysterical sobs. You, Mildred! he exclaimed in utter astonishment as he recognized the voice. My child! What on earth are you doing here at this time of night? All in the dark, too. What has gone wrong? Are you sick? So on has struck a match, and succeeded in lighting the hall lamp, and with Mr. Dinsmer's last question, its rays fell full upon Mildred's face, showing it pale, agitated, and with eyes brimming with tears. Why? You were as white as a sheet, he exclaimed, laying his hand affectionately on her shoulder. Child! Child! What is the matter? In a few rapid, rather incoherent sentences, she gave him an inkling of the state of affairs, to which he returned a volley of questions, and without waiting for an answer to any of them. Out into the shrubbery solon, he commanded, call Ajax and Pump to help, catch the rascal if you can, and bring him to me. Then to Mildred, repeating his queries, Where is Juliet? he asked. Where is Miss Worth? How does she come to know about the villain, or his plot to carry off Juliet? What is he to her? I don't know, sir, what he is to her, said Mildred. But she says she has known him all his life, and a letter she received today told her of his marriage, that he has a living wife. He has? The scoundrel, cried her listener. Yes, sir, and of course on learning that, Miss Worth was more than ever determined to frustrate his plans. Well, what more, and where is this precious fool of a Juliet? I wish all girls were blessed with your common sense, child. She ran upstairs as you came in, sir. And may have come down by the back stairway, and made off with the rascal after all, he exclaimed in alarm. Run up to her room, Millie, and see if she is there, while I look about below here. Mildred went at once, though she would much rather have been excused, for the errand was no pleasant one. She was very reluctant to meet Juliet again at that moment. But fortunately it was spared the necessity, as, on nearing the door of Juliet's sleeping-room, she distinctly heard her voice in conversation with Reba. She hurried down again with her report, which her uncle received with Graham's satisfaction. That is well, he said. Now I'll join in the search for the scoundrel, and I promise you that if we catch him, he'll not get away unhurt. But where is Miss Worth, child? You have not answered that question yet. As he spoke, a side door opened, and a tall, black-robed figure glided in. Miss Worth! he exclaimed, catching sight of her face. Yes, she said in a horse whisper, leaning back against the wall and looking ready to faint. You were ill, he said. Let me help you into the library and give you a glass of wine. She hardly seemed to hear him. Her eyes were fixed in eager, terrified questioning upon Mildred's face. Juliet is in her room, the latter hastened to say. Thank God for that, she said, in quivering tones. And he is gone, I suppose. No one has seen him as far as I know. At that moment one of the men put his head in at the door. Can't find the rascal, Massa. Wrecking he done gone, Clare off to place. Quite likely, but as he may return, you are to be on the watch until sunrise. Was it reply? You didn't meet him? Mildred asked, drawing near the governess, and speaking in an undertone. No, I must have taken the wrong road. Mr. Dinsmore, I owe you an explanation. Shall I be given now? The voice was very low, very tremulous, but the sad eyes were lifted unflinchingly to his stern face. As you please, he said, his feet were softening a little, at sight of her distress. You look hardly able to make it now, and some hours later we'll answer just as well. Indeed, I think we would all do well to go to our beds as soon as possible. But stay a moment. He stepped into the dining room, and returned with a glass of wine, which he offered to the governess, saying, You look ready to faint, drink this, it will do you good. No, no, never! she cried, shuddering and recoiling as from a serpent. It has been the ruin of those I love best. Very well, he said coldly. Mildred, will you take it? No, thank you, uncle. I do not need it. I would rather not, the young girl answered pleasantly. Silly girl, he said, draining the glass himself. Well, good night, ladies, or rather, good morning. Miss Worth, I will see you in the library directly after breakfast. So, saying, he left them. What a blessing that it has turned out so well, Mildred said to her companion. Has it, creates a governess, and a bewildered tone of putting her hand to her head? I feel as though the earth were reeling beneath my feet. I cannot think. Let me help you to your room. A few hours rest will make all right again with you, I trust. Mildred said compassionately. Don't allow yourself to feel anxious or distressed, she went on as she assisted her up the stairs. I am sure uncle will not be hard with you, when he learns how free from blame you are. Juliet has been saved, and he seems to have escaped, and will not be likely to try it again. Ah, if I could have met and warned him, sighed the governess. Surely it is better as it is, since he has got away without reason, Mildred. For might he not have been angry and abusive? True, too true, she murmured, catching at the balusters to keep from falling. Yes, it is better so, but my brain reels, and I cannot think. Mildred was alarmed. What can I do for you? she asked. Nothing, nothing. But help me to my bed, thank you. I shall be better when I have slipped off this horrible fatigue and weakness. Oh, such a tramp, and weary waiting as it was, out in the cold and darkness on a lonely road. She gasped shudderingly, as she sank down upon her bed. It seemed as if I should drop down and die before I could get back to the house. Am I terror for him? That was the worst of all. I don't think he deserves your love and care for him. Mildred said, her indignation waxing hot against the worthless villain. Perhaps not, she sighed. But he loved me once, and he was a noble fellow then. And I, ah, he told me I had helped to ruin him. But it wasn't true, Mildred said in a tone of indignant inquiry. Miss Worth did not seem to hear. I shall do now, she said presently. And you need rest. Do go to your bed, Miss Mildred. Perhaps I shall sleep if left alone. Perceiving that she could be of no further assistance, Mildred went not unwillingly. For she too was quite worn out with fatigue and excitement. It was eight o'clock when she woke, but she was ready for the summons to breakfast, which was not served that morning until near nine. Juliet did not make an appearance at the meal. She was indisposed, Riva reported, and would take a cup of tea in her own room. The best place for her, commented Mr. Dinsmore shortly. What do you mean by that? queried his wife, who had heard nothing of the occurrences of the past night. Just what I say, and I hope she will have the grace to stay there till her father comes for her, as I requested him to do by this morning's mail. Mr. Dinsmore, will you explain yourself? exclaimed his wife in a tone of exasperation. I will not require many words, he answered dryly. She would have eloped with another woman's husband last night if she had not been hindered. Another woman's husband echoed Riva in astonishment and dismay. I did not know it was so bad as that. Dreadful, impossible! cried Mrs. Dinsmore, dropping her knife and fork, and bursting into tears. Don't tell me a niece of mine could do such a thing as that. Mr. Dinsmore, it's a cruel joke. No joke at all, he said, but the simple, unvarnished truth. Though, of course, she refused to believe that the man was married. And who is the wretch? cried his wife, grinding her teeth. If you had been a man, you would have shot him down. I'm no murderer, madam, was the biting retort. And in my opinion, a cow-hiding would much better be fit, so cowardly as scoundrel. I should have administered that with hearty good will. Could I have laid hands on him? I wish you had, she exclaimed with passionate vehemence. I'm glad you wrote for Mr. Marston, and I hope he will come at once and take that shameful girl away before she does anything more to bring disgrace on the family. Riva, why did you let her do so? I, Aunt Belle, am not in her confidence, and was as ignorant and innocent as yourself in regard to the whole thing. Who did hinder her? Am I not to hear the whole story? Demanded Mrs. Dinsmore, turning to her spouse again. I presume it will all be unfolded to you in time, was the cool reply. I've not heard it fully myself yet. Mildred here, and he looked pleasantly at her, knows more about it than I do, and to her, I believe, are thanks or due for preventing the mischief. To miss Worth, Uncle, much more than to me, Mildred said, blushing and feeling decidedly uncomfortable under the surprise scrutinizing glances of her aunt and Riva. It was she who found it all out, tried to persuade Juliet to give it up, and when she failed in that, told me, told you, interrupted Mrs. Dinsmore with indignation. Why did she not come to me instead? I was the proper person by all odds. Mildred was at a loss for a reply that should not damage the cause of the governess. But Mr. Dinsmore came to her relief. I presume, my dear, it was to save you from the mortification of hearing of your niece's contemplated folly, and her from that of having you made acquainted with it. CHAPTER XVII Do not insult calamity, it is a barbarous grossness to lay on. The weight of scorn when heavy misery, too much already weighs men's fortunes down, Daniel. Returning to her room to don her writing habit, directly after breakfast, Mildred met Miss Worth on her way to the library to keep her appointment with Mr. Dinsmore. How pale and ill you look, exclaimed Mildred. You would not wonder if you knew how I shrink from this interview, sighed the governess. I think you need not, Mildred answered kindly, and gave her the substance of the conversation at the table, in regard to the past night's occurrences, adding that her uncle's explanation of her probable motives had entirely appeased Miss Dinsmore's anger, and presumably he did not himself hold her in great disfavor. How very good in you to tell me, Miss Keith, the governess said, grateful tears springing to her eyes. But I must not delay another moment, lest I keep him waiting. She hastened on into the library, and was relieved to find it tenantless. Unpunctuality would not have helped her cause, and though the moments of waiting tried her already overstrained nerves, she was thankful that they had fallen to her lot rather than to his. She had slept little, waking early, not greatly refreshed, and tormented with anxiety in regard to her brother's whereabouts, the likelihood to renew his attempt to carry off Juliet, and danger of arrest on the old charges. This, in addition to the care that came upon her every day, the ever-recurring question how she was to meet necessary expenses for herself and those dependent upon her. Almost too weary to stand, yet too restless to remain quiet, she dropped into a chair for a moment, then rose and taste the floor, at last pausing beside the fire, and standing there with a right elbow in the mantle, her forehead in the open palm of her hand, her eyes cast down while painful thought surged through her brain. Thus Mr. Dinsmore found her, so absorbed in her meditations, that she was not aware of his entrance, until he coughed slightly to attract her attention, and she came out of her reverie with a start. Excuse me, sir, but I was not aware that I was no longer alone. Blimey enough, he said, and let me compliment you on being more punctual than myself, but you are not looking well or happy. No, sir, and I think you will hardly wonder that I do not when you have heard what I am here to tell. Be seated, he said, waving his hand toward an easy chair, while taking possession of its fellow, and let me hear what it is. She seemed at a loss where to begin her story, and to help her he remarked interrogatively, or presumably of no objection, to explaining the cause of your mysterious nocturnal ramble. No, she said, I went to warn that man away from the house. Ah, yes, that may have been the better plan as I was absent from home, but what puzzles me is to understand how you knew of his coming. I had picked this up in the hall, she said, handing him the little note. But how could it tell you so much, since it gives neither the name of the writer nor that of the person addressed? The man's writing is perfectly familiar to me, she explained her in a shade paler she spoke. I have known him intimately for years, and had learned from him his designs upon Miss Marsden. An intimate acquaintance of yours, he explained in astonishment. Not one to be proud of, certainly. May I ask a further explanation? It is a matter of some consequence to know with what style of persons the instructress of my children associates. I know it. You have a perfect right to ask, she stammered, a crimson blush suffusing her cheek, hot tears rushing into the downcast eyes. Oh, may you never know, Mr. Dinsmore, what it is to have those nearest and dearest bring shame and disgrace upon you. A relative? He asked. Is he not a foreigner? She shook her head sorrowfully, and after a moment to struggle for composure, told him what the man was to her, how he had been led astray by love for the wine cup, and the evil influence of an older villain that he had left his country years ago, traveling his family knew not whether, and how unexpectedly she had recognized him in the pseudo count of whom Juliet had become enamored, how she had intrigued him to go away, and failing to persuade him, had made a fruitless appeal to Juliet, disclosing his real character and aims, but only to be scouted at and condemned as an envious rival, and had sought for him with the purpose of calling in his aid to save the willful girl from the destruction she courted, and failing to find him had enlisted Mildred in the cost. Miss Marsden is a born simpleton, he commented impatiently, while Miss Worth, she owes a great deal to your good sense and right feeling. I too am obliged to you. I sympathize with you and the trial of having such a brother, and do not see that you have been at all to blame in this unfortunate matter, but rather the contrary. However, Mrs. Dinsmer is not always entirely reasonable in her views and requirements, and it is altogether likely would object longer receiving your services as governance to her children, if she knew of your relationship to this man. We will therefore keep that matter to ourselves. So saying, he dismissed her in the subject together, with a wave of his hand, and she withdrew with one burden somewhat lightened. For some days nothing special occurred at Rosen's. Juliet kept her own apartments, for the most part alone, or with no companionship but that of her maid. For Reba's strongly expressed disgust and indignation of her folly had sent her into a fit of the pouts, so that they had small relish for each other's society. And Mrs. Dinsmer, angry with her for the disgrace she had so nearly brought upon the family, would not go near her, nor allow any of the children to do so. Mildred, too, stayed away, partly in obedience to a hint from her aunt, and partly because she did not suppose her company would be acceptable. She and Juliet had never been kindred spirits. Meanwhile, Miss Worth still took her meals in the nursery with the younger children, doing so of choice, attended faithfully to her duties in the school room, but was seldom seen at other times. Her light often burned far into the night, and day by day she grew thinner and paler, her cheeks more sunken, her eyes more hollow, her steps slower and more languid. Mildred alone seemed to note the change, but to her kind inquiries, the government always answered that she was well, and that in a tone that did not encourage further inquiry or remark. Mr. Marsden was slow in responding to Mr. Dinsmer's summons, but at length the letter was received, announcing his intention of starting on his journey, two days after date, and requesting Mr. Dinsmer to keep a vigilant watch over Juliet until his arrival. It had come by the mail, which arriving in the city the previous night, was brought to Rosens by pump in the morning. Mr. Dinsmer opened it at the breakfast table, read it to himself, and with a satisfied smile passed it on to his wife for her perusal, while he opened the newspaper and leisurely glanced over its contents. Ah! he exclaimed presently with some excitement. Here is a bit of news. Listen! he read it aloud. Yesterday a gentleman from Philadelphia, visiting in our city, met in the street, and recognized an old acquaintance. Juan Henry Worth, formerly of Philadelphia, who, some five years ago, fled thence to escape trial on a charge of forgery. Worth was of a respectable family. His father had been a man of very considerable wealth, but had failed shortly before the commission of the crime. Brought to ruin, it is said, by the excesses of this son. The young man has been leading a gay life of late, and he assumed character for French noblemen, calling himself the Count Delisle. The gentleman above referred to promptly reported his case to the police. He was arrested and is now safely lodged in prison, once he will be sent north in a few days for trial. So it's all true that he was a scoundrel, cried Mrs. Dinsmer, and his name is Worth. He's Miss Worth's brother. I know it, I'm sure of it, and that accounts for her knowing all about him. The wicked deceitful thing to hide it as she has done, and to impose herself, the sister of a convict, on me as governess to my children. I never heard of anything so shameful. I'll give her notice that once and— Why, my dear, what absurd folly! exclaimed Mr. Dinsmer impatiently, angry with her for her unreasonable displeasure, and with himself for having inadvertently read out the name. What difference does it make? What difference, Mr. Dinsmer, are you crazy? You may consider poppers and convicts proper associates for your children, but they're not for mine, and that woman shall go. She was neither a popper nor a convict, he said, nor in the least responsible, so far as I have been able to learn, for the wrongdoer of this man, whom, by the way, you do not know to be her brother, and if he is, I should think a woman's heart would feel for her in the terrible sorrow and disgrace of having such a relative. Popper, what is a convict? asked Laura. One legally proved guilty of a crime, he said, and, my dear, the term does not yet apply to the man himself, much less to your governess, as he has not yet been brought to trial. It's all the same, she sneered, for having to doubt of his guilt. There, you needn't smile as if I said a foolish thing. I wish you would not do a foolish thing in sending away one so well qualified for her duties and faithful in their performance, as Miss Worth, merely because she is so unfortunate as to bear the same name, possibly being nearly related to a scamp. Dear me, Popper, I think Mama's quite right, remarked Louise with a toss of her head. I'm sure I don't wish to be taught by such a person. When your opinion is desired, Louise, it will be called for, said her father severely. In the meantime, you may reserve it. Well, I mean to ask Miss Worth if that man is her brother, muttered the child solemnly. You will do no such thing, returned her father. I will not have a word said to her about it. At that, his wife smiled significantly. It might be as well to show that paragraph to Juliet, she said, rising from the table. Suppose you give me the paper. Do so, by all means, he replied, handing it to her. Mildred, here's something for Miss Worth. Will you see that she gets it? It, too, was a newspaper, and Mildred hoped compassionately as she carried it upstairs that it did not contain the item of distressing news for Miss Worth that her uncle had read from the other. Mrs. Dentimer had proceeded her by several minutes, and her voice, speaking in cold, cutting tones, came to the girl's ear from the upper hall, as she set her foot upon the first stair. You must be aware that your services are no longer acceptable here, she was saying. In fact, you would never have been given the situation, had I known of this disgraceful connection, and I must say I'm justly indignant at the gross deception that has been practiced upon me. She must be speaking to Miss Worth. Oh, what cruel words, thought Mildred. She had reached the landing and turned into a sun the short flight above, cut sight of the speaker and the person addressed. Miss Worth stood leaning against the wall, one hand clutching at the ball astray for support. Her face deathly pale, and her lips trembling. Mrs. Dentimer standing a few feet from her, gathering her dainty skirts close to her person, as if fearful of contamination, her aristocratic nose high in the air, her countenance expressing scorn, contempt and righteous indignation. What have you to say for yourself? she demanded. Nothing, but that I am guiltless of any intentional wrong, the governess replied, lifting her head and speaking in a tone of quiet despair, and that I have faithfully performed my duties to the best of my ability. You don't deny, then, that this scoundrel, this felon, madam, interrupted the governess, her eyes flashing while bright red spot burned in each cheek. He is not that, for he has never been convicted of, nor so much as brought to trial for any crime. Insolence, exclaimed Mrs. Dentimer. Well, if he hasn't been yet, he soon will be and get his desserts I sincerely hope. I'm picking up the newspaper, which seemed to have dropped from Ms. Worth's nervous hand. She swept on towards Juliet's apartment. In another moment had disappeared within them, shutting the door after her. The fire had died out of Ms. Worth's eye, the red had left her cheek, and she was swaying from side to side, only her hold on the ball astray to keeping her from falling. Mildred sprang toward her. Lean on me, she said. Let me help you to your room. Don't be so troubled. The Lord will take care of you and yours, if you put your trust in him. She did not know whether or not her words were heard and understood. The poor woman answered only with a heavy sigh and whispered, Thank you, I shall be better soon. But oh, what will become of them all? My mother, my poor mother, he was her pride, her idol. Sympathetic tears streamed over Mildred's cheeks, and she assisted her to her room. I'm to go away, Ms. Mildred, she said, turned off in disgrace for what is no fault of mine, no fault but my bitter, bitter sorrow. God help me and those dependent on me. He will, Mildred answered, chokingly. He's so kind, so full of compassion. His tender mercies are over all his works. She stayed a little while trying to administer consolation, and putting the paper into Ms. Worth's hands, merely saying that it had come by that morning's mail, she went away. Finding Rachel busy in her room, she stepped back into the hall and stood for a few moments at the window there. Looking out into the avenue below, where Mr. Dinsmore was mounting his horse to make his daily morning round of the plantation. Suddenly there was a sound in Ms. Worth's room as of a heavy body falling to the floor. Mildred ran to her door, and rushing in without the ceremony of knocking, found the poor governess stretched, apparently lifeless upon the floor, the newspaper lying by her side. Mildred's eye as she stooped over the prostrate form was caught by a paragraph that was heavily marked. But the present was no time to examine it, and pushing the paper aside, she hastened to loosen the clothing of the fainting woman, at the same time giving directions to two or three servants who had been attracted by the noise of the fall, and followed her into the room. Throughout that window, Minerva, some cold water fanny, quick, quick, and you, Rachel, run to my room for my smelling salts. Oh, Miss Milly, has she done gone dead? Asked Fanny, fearfully as she sprinkled the water upon the still white face. No, no, it's only a bad faint, Mildred answered, but her own heart quaked with fear as she spoke. The pinched features were so deathlike, and their fixedness and pallor, and in spite of every effort they remained so, till, nearly wild with terror, Mildred bathed the servants some and other assistance. Call Mrs. Brown, she said, ask on if we shall not send for the doctor. They hurried away to do her bidding, while she renewed her exertions, sending up silent, importunate petitions the wild to her heavenly friend. They were answered. Miss Worth sighed deeply, opened her eyes and lifted them to the young face bent over her, with a look of such hopeless, heart-breaking anguish that the girl burst into sobs and tears. What is it? What is it? She said. He, he was my husband, and I loved him. Came in a horse whisper from the colorless lips, and with the last word she swooned again. She's lost her reason, thought Mildred. Poor, poor thing. Oh, perhaps it may be better for her if she never comes to herself again. End of Chapter 17, Recording by Amy