 26 But what's aware the wheeler-woe that heaven across her lot might throw, full well her Christian spirit knew, its path of virtue, straight and true, Joanna Belly. Not until her work of love was thus ended did Gertrude become conscious that the long continuance of her labours by night and day had worn upon her frame and utterly exhausted her strength. For a week after Mrs. Sullivan was laid in her grave, Dr. Jeremy was seriously apprehensive of a severe illness for Gertrude. But after struggling with her dangerous symptoms for several days, she rallied, and though still pale and worn by care and anxiety, was able to resume her classes at school and make arrangements for providing herself with another home. All homes had already been offered to her, several urgent invitations given, with a warmth and cordiality which made it difficult to decline their acceptance. But Gertrude, though deeply touched by the kindness thus manifested towards her in her loneliness and desolation, preferred to abide by her previously formed resolution to seek for herself a permanent boarding-place. And when the grounds on which she based her decision were understood by her friends, they approved her course, ceased to impertune her, and manifested a sincere wish to be of service by lending their aid to the furtherance of her plans. Mrs. Jeremy was at first disposed to feel her and wounded by Gertrude's refusal to come to them without delay, and consider herself established for any length of time that she chose to remain. And the doctor himself was so peremptory with his, come, Gertrude, come right at home with us, don't say a word, that she was afraid lest, in her weak state of health, she should be actually carried off without a chance to remonstrate. But after he had taken upon himself to give Jane orders about packing her clothes and sending them after her, and then locking up the house and going home herself, he gave Gertrude an opportunity to expass Juliet, and present her reasons for wishing to decline the generous proposal. All her reasoning upon general principles, however, proved insufficient to convince the warm-hearted couple. It was all nonsense about independent position. She would be perfectly independent with them, and her company would be such a pleasure that she need feel no hesitation in accepting their offer, and might be sure she would herself be conferring a favour, instead of being the party obliged. At last she was compelled to make use of an argument which had greatly influenced her own mind, and would, she felt sure, carry no little weight with it in the doctor's estimation. Dr. Jeremy, said she, I hope you will not condemn me a mode of which has, I confess, strengthened my firmness in this matter. I should be unwilling to mention it, if I did not know that you are so far acquainted with the state of affairs between Mr. Graham and myself as to understand, and perhaps in some degree sympathize with, my feelings. You know that he was opposed to my leaving them and remaining here this winter. And must suspect that, when we parted, there was not a perfectly good understanding between us. He hinted that I should never be able to support myself, and should be driven to a life of dependence. And since the salary which I receive from Mr. W. is sufficient for all my wants, I am anxious to be so situated, on Mr. Graham's return, that he will perceive that my assurance, or boast, if I must call it so, that I could earn my own living, was not without foundation. So Graham thought, without his sustaining power, you would soon come to beggary, did he? With your talents too. That's just like him. Oh, no, no, replied Gertrude. I did not say that, but I seemed to him a mere child, and he did not realize that, and giving me an education, he had, as it were, paid my expenses in advance. It was very natural he should distrust my capacity. He had never seen me compelled to exert myself. I understand, I understand, said the doctor. He thought you would be glad enough to come back to them. Yes, yes, just like him. Well now, said Mrs. Jeremy, I don't believe he thought any such thing. He was provoked, and didn't mind what he said. Ten to one he will never think of it again. And it seems to me it is only a kind of pride in Gertrude to care anything about it. I don't know about that, wife, said the doctor. If it is pride, it's an honorable pride, that I like, and I am not sure, but if I were in Gertrude's place, I should feel just as she does. So I shan't urge her to do any other ways than she proposes. She can have a boarding-place, and yet spend a good share of her time with us, what with running in and out, coming to spend days, and so on. And she doesn't need to be told that. In case of any sickness or trouble, our doors are always open to her. No indeed, said Mrs. Jeremy, and if you feel set about it, Gertrude dear, I am sure I shall want you to do whatever pleases you best. But one thing I do insist on, and that is, when you leave this house, which must look dreary enough to you now, this very day, go home with me, and stay until you get recruited. Gertrude, gladly consenting to a short visit, compromised the matter by accompanying them without delay. And it was chiefly owing to the doctor's persevering skill and care bestowed upon his young guest, and the kind and motherly nursing of Mrs. Jeremy, that she escaped the illness which had so severely threatened her. Mr. and Mrs. W., who had felt great sympathy for Gertrude, in consequence of the acquaintance they had had with the trying nature of her winter's absence, pressed her to come to their house, and remain until the return of Mr. Graham and Emily. But on being assured by her that she was quite unaware of the period of their absence, and should not probably reside with them for the future, they were satisfied that she acted within wisdom and judgment and at once providing herself with an independent situation. Mr. and Mrs. Arnold, who had been constant in their attentions, both to Mrs. Sullivan and Gertrude, and were the only persons, except the physician, who had been admitted to the sickrum of the invalid, felt that they had a peculiar claim to the guardianship and care of the doubly orphaned girl, and were not slow to urge upon her to become a member of their household and accept of their protection, limiting their invitation, as the W.s had done, to the time when Emily should be back from the South. Mr. Arnold's family, however, being large, and his house and salary small in proportion, true benevolence alone prompted this proposal, and on Gertrude's acquainting his economical and prudent wife, with the ample means she enjoyed from her own exertions, and the decision she had formed of procuring an independent home, she received the warm approbation of both, and found in the letter an excellent advisor and assistant. Mrs. Arnold had a widowed sister, who was in the habit of adding to her moderate income by receiving into her family, as borders, a few young ladies, who came to the city for purposes of education. Gertrude did not know this lady personally, but had heard her warmly praised, and she indulged the hope that through her friend, the clergyman's wife, she may obtain with her an agreeable and not too expensive residence. In this she was not disappointed. Mrs. Warren had fortunately vacant, at this time, a large and cheerful front chamber, and Mrs. Arnold, having recommended Gertrude, in the warmest manner, suitable terms were agreed upon, and the room immediately placed at her disposal. Mrs. Sullivan had bequeathed to her all her furniture, a part of which had lately been purchased, and was, in accordance with Willie's injunctions, most excellent, both in material and workmanship. And Mrs. Arnold, and her two eldest daughters, insisted that, in consideration of her recent fatigue and bereavement, she should consent to attend only to her school duties, and leave to them the task of furnishing her room with such articles as she preferred to have placed there, and superintending the packing away of all other movables, for Gertrude was unwilling that anything should be sold. It was a great relief to be thus spared the cruel trial of seeing the house her lost friend had taken so much pleasure and pride in, stripped and left desolate. And though, unfirst entering her apartment at Mrs. Warren's, a deep sadness crept into her heart at the sight of the familiar furniture, she could not but think, as she observed the neatness, care, and taste, with which everything had been arranged for her reception, that it would be a sin to repine and call one's self-wretched and alone in a world which contained hearts so quick to feel, and hands so ready to labour, as those that had interested themselves for her. On entering the dining-room the first evening after she took up her residence at Mrs. Warren's, she expected to me only strangers at the tea-table, but was agreeably disappointed at the sight of Fanny Bruce, who, left in Boston while her mother and brother were spending the winter in travelling, had now been several weeks in inmate of Mrs. Warren's house. Fanny was a schoolgirl, twelve or thirteen years of age, and having, for some summers past, been a near-neighbour to Gertrude, had been in the habit of seeing her frequently at Mr. Graham's, had sometimes begged flowers from her, borrowed books, and obtained assistance in her fancy work. She admired Gertrude exceedingly, had hailed with great delight the prospect of knowing her better, as she hoped to do at Mrs. Warren's, and when she met the gaze of her large dark eyes, and saw a smile of pleasure overspread her countenance at the sight of a familiar face, she fell emboldened to come forward, shake hands, and beg that Miss Flint would sit next to her at the table. Fanny Bruce was a girl of good disposition and warm heart, but she had been much neglected by her mother, whose chief pride was in her son, the same Ben of whom we have previously spoken. She had often been left behind in some boarding-house, while her pleasure-loving mother, an indolent brother, passed their time in journeying, and had not always been so fortunately situated as at present. A sense of loneliness, a want of sympathy in any of her pursuits, had been a source of great unhappiness to the poor child, who laboured under the painful consciousness that but little interest was felt by anyone in her improvement or happiness. Gertrude had not been long at Mrs. Warren's, before she observed that Fanny occupied an isolated position in the family. She was a few years younger than her companions, three dressy misses who could not condescend to admit her into their oblique, and Mrs. Warren's time was so much engrossed by household duties that she took but little notice of her. Her apparent loneliness could not fail to excite the compassion of one who was herself suffering from recent sorrow and bereavement. And although the quiet and privacy of her own realm were at this time grateful to Gertrude's feelings, pity for poor Fanny induced her to invite her frequently to come and sit with her, and she often so far forgot her own griefs as to exert herself in providing entertainment for her young visitor, who on her part considered it privilege enough to share Gertrude's retirement, read her books, and feel confident of her friendship. During the month of March, which was unusually stormy, Fanny spent almost every evening with Gertrude, and she, who at first felt that she was making a sacrifice of her own comfort and ease by giving another such constant access to her apartment, came at last to realize the force of Uncle True's prophecy. There, in her efforts for the happiness of others, she would at last find her own. For Fanny's lively and often amusing conversation drew Gertrude from the contemplation of her trials, and the interest and affection she awakened, saved her from the painful consciousness of her solitary situation. April arrived, and still no further news from Emily. Gertrude's heart ached with a vain longing to once more pour out her griefs on the bosom of that dear friend, and find in her consolation and encouragement and support. She longed to tell her how many times during the winter she had sighed for the gentle touch of the soft hand which was wont to rest so lovingly on her head, the sound of that sweet voice whose very tones were comforting. For some time Gertrude wrote regularly, but of late she had not known where to direct her letters, and since Mrs. Sullivan's death there had been no communication between her and the travellers. She was sitting at her window one evening, thinking of that group of friends whom she had loved with the daughters and the sisters' love, and who were now separated from her by or that great barrier death, when she was summoned below stairs to see Mr. Arnold and his daughter Anne. After the usual civilities and inquiries Mrs. Arnold turned to Gertrude and said, Of course you have heard the news, Gertrude. No, replied Gertrude, I have heard nothing special. What? exclaimed Mr. Arnold, have you not heard of Mr. Graham's marriage? Gertrude started up in surprise. Do you really mean so, Mr. Arnold? Mr. Graham married? When? To whom? To the widow Holbrook, a sister-in-law of Mr. Clinton's. She has been staying at Havana with a party from the north, and the Grams met her there. But Gertrude, asked Mrs. Arnold, how does it happen you had not heard of it? It is in all the newspapers, married in New Orleans, J. H. Graham, Esquire, of Boston, to Mrs. somebody or other Holbrook. I have not seen a newspaper for a day or two, replied Gertrude. Miss Graham's blindness, I suppose, prevents her from writing, said Anne. But I should have thought Mr. Graham would have sent wedding compliments. Gertrude made no reply, and Miss Arnold continued laughingly. I suppose his bride engrosses all his attention. Do you know anything of this Mrs. Holbrook? asked Gertrude. Not much, answered Mr. Arnold. I have seen her occasionally at Mr. Clinton's. She is a handsome, showy woman, fond of society, I should think. I have seen her very often, said Anne. She is a coarse, noisy, dashing person, just the one to make Miss Emily miserable. Gertrude looked distressed, and Mr. Arnold glanced reprovingly at his daughter. Anne, said he, are you sure you speak advisedly? Belle Clinton is my authority, father. I only judge from what I used to hear her say at school about her Aunt Bella, as she always used to call her. Did Isabel represent her aunt so unfavorably? Not intentionally, replied Anne. She meant the greatest praise, but I never liked anything she told us about her. We will not condemn her until we can decide upon acquaintance, said Mr. Arnold, mildly. Perhaps she will prove the very reverse of what you suppose her. Can you tell me anything concerning Emily, asked Gertrude, and whether Mr. Graham is soon to return? Nothing, said Miss Arnold. I have seen only the notice in the papers. When did you hear from them yourself? Gertrude mentioned the day of her letter from Mrs. Ellis, the account she had given of a gay party from the North, and suggested the probability that the present Mrs. Graham was the widow she had described. The same, undoubtedly, said Mr. Arnold. Their knowledge of facts was so slight, however, that little remained to be said concerning the marriage, and other topics of conversation were introduced. But Gertrude found it impossible to give her thoughts to any other subject. The matter was one of such vital importance to Emily, that her mind constantly recurred to it, and she found it difficult to keep pace with Anne Arnold's rapidly flowing words and ideas. The necessity which at last arose, of replying to a question which she had not at all understood, was fortunately obviated by the sudden entrance of Dr. and Mrs. Jeremy. The former held in his hand a sealed letter, directed to Gertrude, in the handwriting of Mr. Graham. And as he handed it to her, he rubbed his hands, and, looking at Anne Arnold, exclaimed, No, Miss Anne, we shall hear all about these famous nuptials. Finding her visitors thus eager to learn the contents of her letter, Gertrude dispensed with ceremony, broke the seal, and hastily perused its contents. The envelope contained two or three pages closely written by Mrs. Ellis, and also a somewhat lengthy note from Mr. Graham, surprised as Gertrude was at any communication from one who had parted from her in anger. Her strongest desire was to hear particularly from Emily, and she therefore gave the preference to the housekeeper's document, that being most likely to contain the desired information. It ran as follows. New York, March 31st, 1852 Dear Gertrude, as there were plenty of Boston folks at the wedding, I dare say you have heard before this of Mr. Graham's marriage. He married the Witter Holbrook, the same I wrote you about. She was determined to have him, and she's got him. I don't hesitate to say he's got the worst of the bargain. He likes a quiet life, and he has lost his chance of that, poor man, for she's the greatest hand for company that ever I saw. She followed Mr. Graham up pretty well at Havana, but I guess he thought better of it, and didn't really mean to have her. When we got to New Orleans, however, she was there, and the long and short of it is, she carried her point and married him. Emily behaved beautifully. She never said a word about it, and always treated the Witter as pleasantly as could be. But dear me, how will our Emily get along with so many young folks as there are about all the time now, and so much noise and confusion? For my part, I ain't used to it, and don't pretend that I think it is agreeable. The new lady is civil enough to me, now she's married. I dare say she thinks it stands her in hand, as long as she's one of the family, and I've been in it so long. But I suppose you've been wondering what had become of us Gertrude, and will be surprised to find we've got so far as New York, on our way home. My way home, I should say, for I'm the only one that talks of coming at present. The truth is, I kept meaning to write while we were in New Orleans, but there was so much going on, I didn't get a chance. And after that horrid steamboat from Charleston here, I wasn't good for anything for a week. But Emily was so anxious to have you written to, that I couldn't put it off any longer than until today. Poor Emily isn't very well. I don't mean that she's downright sick. It's those spirits and nervousness, I suppose, more than anything. She gets tired, and worried very quick, and is easily startled and disturbed, which didn't used to be the case. I think likely it's the new wife, and all the nieces, and other disagreeable things. She never complains, and nobody would know but what she was pleased to have her father married again. But she hasn't seemed quite happy all winter. And now it troubles me to see how sad she looks sometimes. She talks a sight about you, and felt dreadfully not to get any more letters. To come to the principal thing, however, they are all going to Europe. Emily and all. I take it it's the new wife's idea. But whoever proposed the thing, it's all settled now. Mr. Graham wanted me to go, but I would not hear of such a thing. I would as soon be hung as venture on the sea again. And I told him so, up and down. So now he has written for you to go with Emily. And if you were not afraid of seasickness I hope you won't refuse, for it would be dreadful for her to have a stranger, and you know she always needs somebody, on account of her blindness. I do not think she has the least wish to go, but she would not ask to be left behind, for fear her father should think she did not like the new wife. As soon as they sail, which will be the last of April, I shall come back to the house, in D, and see to things there while they are away. I'm going to write a post-script to you from Emily, and I believe I will add nothing more myself, except that we shall be very impatient to hear your answer, and I must say once more that I hope you will not refuse to go with Emily. Yours very truly, Sarah H. Ellis. The post-script contained the following. I need not tell my darling Gertrude how much I have missed her, and longed to have her with me again, how I have thought of her by night and day, and prayed God to strengthen and fit her for her many trials and labours. The letter written to me soon after Mr. Cooper's death is the last that has reached me, and I do not know whether Mrs. Sullivan is still living. Write to me at once, my dear child, if you cannot come to us. Father will tell you of our plans, and ask you to accompany us to Europe. My heart will be light if I can take my dear Gertrude with me, but not if she leave any other duty behind. I trust to you my love to decide a right. You have heard of father's marriage. It is a great change for us all, but will I trust, result in happiness. Mrs. Graham has two nieces who are with us at the hotel. They are to be of our party to go abroad, and are, I understand, very beautiful girls, especially Belle Clinton, whom you have seen in Boston some years ago. Mrs. Alice is very tired of writing, and I must close with assuring my dearest Gertrude of the devoted affection of Emily Graham. It was with great curiosity that Gertrude unfolded Mr. Graham's epistle. She thought it would be awkward for him to address her, and wondered much whether he would maintain his severe and authoritative tone, or condescends to explain and apologize. Had she known him better, she would have been assured that nothing would ever induce him to do the latter, for he was one of those persons who never believed themselves in the wrong. The latter ran thus. Miss Gertrude Flint, I am married, and intend to go abroad on the twenty-eighth of April. My daughter will accompany us, and, as Mrs. Alice struts the sea, I am induced to propose that you join us in New York, and attend the party, as a companion to Emily. I have not forgotten the ingratitude with which you once slighted a similar offer on my part, and nothing would compel me to give you another opportunity to manifest such a spirit, but a desire to promote the happiness of Emily, and a sincere wish to be of service to a young person who has been in my family so long that I feel a friendly interest in providing for her. I thus put it in your powers, by complying with our wishes, to do away from my mind the recollection of your past behavior, and if you choose to return to us, I shall enable you to maintain the place and appearance of a lady. As we sail the last of the month, it is important you should be here in the course of a fortnight, and if you will write and name the day, I will myself meet you at the boat. Mrs. Alice, being anxious to return to Boston, I hope you will come as soon as possible. As you will be obliged to incur expenses, I enclose a sum of money sufficient to cover them. If you have contracted debts, let me know to what amount, and I will see that all is made right before you leave. Trusting to your being now come to a sense of your duty. I am ready to subscribe myself, your friend, J. H. Graham. Gertrude was sitting near a lamp whose light fell directly upon her face, which, as she glanced over Mr. Graham's note, flushed crimson with wounded pride. Dr. Jeremy, who was watching her countenance, observed that she changed colour. And during the few minutes that Mr. and Ms. Arnold stayed to hear the news, he gave an occasional glance of defiance at the letter, and as soon as they were gone, begged to be made acquainted with its contents, assuring Gertrude that if she did not let him know what Graham said, he should believe it a thousand times more insulting than it really was. He writes, said Gertrude, to invite me to accompany them to Europe. Indeed, said Dr. Jeremy, with a low whistle, and he thinks you'll be silly enough to pack up and start off at a minute's notice. Why, Gertrude, said Mrs. Jeremy, you'll like to go, shan't you, dear? It will be wonderful. Delightful nonsense! Mrs. Jerry, exclaimed the doctor, what is there delightful I want to know, and traveling about with an arrogant old tyrant, his blind daughter, upstart dashy wife, and her two fine lady-nieces, a pretty position Gertrude would be in, a slave to the whims of all that company. Why Dr. Jeremy interrupted his wife. You forget Emily. Emily, to be sure, she's an angel, and never would impose upon anybody, least of all her own pet, but she'll have to play second fiddle herself, and I'm mistaken if she doesn't find it pretty hard to defend her rights and maintain a comfortable position in her father's enlarged family circle. So much more than neat, then, said Gertrude, that someone should be enlisted in her interests to ward off the approach of every annoyance. Do you mean, then, to put yourself in the breach, asked the doctor? I mean to accept Mr. Graham's invitation, replied Gertrude, and join Emily at once. But I trust the harmony that seems to subsist between her and her new connections will continue undisturbed, so that I shall have no occasion to take up arms on her account, and on my own, I do not entertain a single fear. Then you really think you shall go? said Mrs. Jeremy. I do, said Gertrude, nothing but my duty to Mrs. Sullivan and her father led me to think of leaving Emily. That duty is at an end, and now that I can be of use to her, and she wishes me back, I cannot hesitate a moment. I see very plainly, from Mrs. Ellis's letter, that Emily is not happy, and nothing which I can do to make her so must be neglected. Only think, Mrs. Jeremy, what a friend she has been to me. I know it, said Mrs. Jeremy, and I dare say you will enjoy the journey. In spite of all the scarecrows the doctor sets up to frighten you. But still, I declare, it does seem a sacrifice for you to leave your beautiful room, and all your comforts, for such an uncertain sort of life as one has traveling with a large party. Sacrifice interrupted the doctor. It's the greatest sacrifice that I ever heard of. It is not merely giving up three hundred and fifty dollars a year of her own earning, and as pleasant a home as there is in Boston. It is relinquishing all the independence that she has been striving after, and which she was so anxious to maintain that she would not accept of anybody's hospitality for more than a week or two. No, doctor, said Gertrude warmly, nothing that I do for Emily's sake can be called a sacrifice. It is my greatest pleasure. Gertie always finds her pleasure in doing what is right, remarked Mrs. Jeremy. Oh, no, said Gertrude, my wishes would often lead me astray, but not in this case. The thought that our dear Emily was dependent upon a stranger for all those little attentions that are only acceptable from those she loves would make me miserable. Our happiness has for years been almost wholly in each other, and when one has suffered the other has suffered also. I must go to her. I cannot think of doing otherwise. I wish I thought, muttered Dr. Jeremy, that the sacrifice you make would be half appreciated. But there's Graham, all venture to say, thinking it will be the greatest favor in the world to take you back again. Perhaps he addresses you as a beggar. It wouldn't be the first time he's done such a thing. I wonder what would have induced poor Philip Amory to go back. Then, in a latter tone, he inquired, has he made any apology in his letter for past unkindness? I do not think he considered any to be needed, replied Gertrude. Then he didn't make any sort of excuse for his unjuntmanly behavior. I might have known he wouldn't. I declare, it's a shame you should be exposed to any more such treatment. But I always did hear that women were self-forgetful in their friendship, and I believe it. Gertrude makes an excellent friend. Mrs. Jerry, we must cultivate her regard, and sometime or other perhaps make a loud call upon her services. And if ever you do, sir, I shall be ready to respond to it. If there is a person in the world who owes a debt to society, it is myself. I hear the world called cold, selfish, and unfeeling, but it has not been so to me. I should be ungrateful if I did not cherish a spirit of universal love. How much more so if I did not feel bound, heart and hands, to those dear friends who have bestowed upon me such affection as no orphan ever found before? Gertrude, said Mrs. Jeremy, I believe that you were right in leaving Emily when you did, and that you were right in returning to her now. And if your being such a good girl as you are now is at all due to her, she certainly has a great claim upon you. She has a claim indeed, Mrs. Jeremy. It was Emily who first taught me the difference between right and wrong. And she is going to reap the benefit of that knowledge an you, said the doctor, in continuation of her remark. That's fair. But if you are resolved to take this European tour, you will be busy enough with your preparations. Do you think Mr. W. will be willing to give you up? I hope so, said Gertrude. I am sorry to be obliged to ask it of him, for he has been very indulgent to me, and I have been absent from school two weeks out of this winter already. But as there will want only a few months to the summer vacation, he will perhaps be able to supply my place. I shall speak to him about it tomorrow. Mrs. Jeremy now interested herself in the details of Gertrude's arrangements, offered an attic room for the storage of her furniture, gave up to her a dressmaker whom she had engaged for herself, and before she left a plan was laid out by following which Gertrude would be enabled to start for New York in less than a week. Mr. W., on being applied to, relinquished Gertrude, though deeply regretting, as he told her, to lose so valuable an assistant. And after a few days busily occupied in preparation, she bade farewell to the tearful Fanny Bruce, the bustling doctor and his kind-hearted wife, all of whom accompanied her to the railroad station. She promised to write to the Jeremy's, and they, on their part, agreed to forward to her any letters that might arrive from Willie. In less than a fortnight from the time of her departure, Mrs. Ellis returned to Boston and brought news of the safe conclusion of Gertrude's journey. A letter received a week after by Mrs. Jeremy, announced that they should sail in a few days. She was therefore surprised when a second epistle was put into her hands, dated the day succeeding that on which she supposed Mr. Graham's party to have left the country. It was as follows. New York, April 29th. My dear Mrs. Jeremy, as yesterday was the day on which we expected to sail for Europe, you will be somewhat astonished to hear that we are yet in New York, and still more so to learn that the foreign tour is now indefinitely postponed. Only two days since, Mr. Graham was seized with his old complaint, the gout, and the attack proved so violent as seriously to threaten his life. Although today somewhat relieved, and considered by his physician out of immediate danger, he remains a great sufferer, and a sea voyage is pronounced impracticable for months to come. His great anxiety is to be at home, and as soon as it is possible for him to bear the journey, we shall all hasten to the house in D. I enclose a note for Mrs. Ellis. It contains various directions which Emily is desirous she should receive, and as we did not know how to address her, I have sent it to you, trusting to your kindness to see it forwarded. Mrs. Graham and her nieces, who had been anticipating much pleasure from growing abroad, are of course greatly disappointed at the entire change in their plans for the summer. It is particularly trying to miss Clinton, as her father has been absent more than a year, and she was hoping to meet him in Paris. It is impossible that either Emily or myself should personally regret a journey of which we felt only dread. And were it not for Mr. Graham's illness being the cause of its postponement, we should both, I think, find it hard not to realize a degree of selfish satisfaction and the prospect of returning to the dear old place in D. where we hope to be established in the course of the next month. I say we, for neither Mr. Graham nor Emily, will hear of my leaving them again. With the kindest regards to yourself, and my friend the doctor, I am yours, very sincerely, Gertrude Flint. CHAPTER 27 I see her, her hair in ringlets fluttering free, and her lips that move with melody. Not she. There's a beauty that lovelier glows, though her coral lip with melody flows. I see her, to she of the ivory brow, and heaven-tinged orbs. I know her now, not she. There's another, more lovely still, with a chastened mind, and a tempered will. CAROLYN GILMAN Mr. Graham's country house boasted a fine old-fashioned entry, with a door at either end, both of which usually stood open during the warm weather, admitting a cool current of air, and rendering the neighborhood of the front entrance a favorite resort for the family, especially during the early hours of the day, when the warm sun had no access to the spot, and the shady yard, which sloped gradually down to the road, was refreshing and grateful to the sight. Here on a pleasant June morning, Isabelle Clinton and her cousin Kitty Ray had made themselves comfortable, each according to her own idea of what constituted comfort. Isabelle had drawn a large armchair close to the door sill, and scanced herself in it, and although she held in her hand a piece of worsted work, was gazing idly down the road. She was a beautiful girl, tall and finely formed, with a delicate complexion, clear blue eyes, and rich, light, flowing curls. The same lovely child, whom Gertrude had gazed upon with rapture, as leaning against the window of her father's house, she watched old true while he lit his lamp, had ripened into an equally lovely woman. Her uncommon beauty aided and enhanced by all the advantages of dress, which skill could suggest or money provide. She was universally admired, flattered, and caressed. At an early age deprived of her mother, and left for some years almost wholly to the care of servants. She soon learned to appreciate, at more than their true value, the outward attraction she possessed. And her aunt, under whose tutelage she had been since she left school, was little calculated to counteract in her this undue self-admiration. An appearance of conscious superiority which distinguished her, and the independent air with which she tapped against the doorstep with her little foot, might be safely attributed, then, to her conviction that Val Clinton, the beauty and the heiress, was looking vastly well, as she sat there, attired in a blue cashmere morning dress, richly embroidered, and flowing open in front, for the purpose of displaying an equally rich flounced cambrick petticoat. It can scarcely be wondered at that she was herself pleased and satisfied with an outward appearance that could not fail to please and satisfy the most severe critic. On a low step at her feet sat Kitty Ray, a complete contrast to her cousin in looks, manners, and many points of character. Kitty was one of those whom the world usually calls a sweet little creature, lively, playful, and affectionate. She was so small that her childish manners became her, so full of spirits that her occasional rudeness claimed pardon on that score. Too thoughtless to be always amiable or always wise, and for all other faults her warm-heartedness and generous enthusiasm must plead an excuse to one who wished, or even endeavored to love her as she wished and expected to be loved by everybody. She was a pretty girl, always bright and animated, mirthful and happy, fond of her cousin Belle, and sometimes influenced by her, though often, on the other hand, enlisting with all her force on the opposite side of some contested question. Unlike Belle, she was seldom well-dressed, for though possessed of ample means, she was very careless. On the present occasion her dark silk wrapper was half concealed by crimson flannel sack, which she held tightly around her, declaring it was a dreadful chilly morning, and she was half frozen to death. She certainly would go and warm herself at the kitchen fire, if she were not afraid of encountering that she-dragon, Mrs. Ellis. She was sure she did not see, if they must sit in the doorway. Why Belle couldn't come to the side door, where the sun shone beautifully? Oh, I forgot, though, added she, complexion. Complexion! said Belle, I'm no more afraid of hurting my complexion than you are. I'm sure I never freckle, or tan, either. I know that, but you burn all up, and look afright. Well, if I didn't, I shouldn't go there to sit. I like to be at the front of the house, where I can see the passing. I wonder who those people are, coming up the road. I've been watching them for some time. Kitty stood up, and looked in the direction to which Belle pointed. After observing the couple who were approaching for a minute or two, she exclaimed, Why, that's Gertrude Flint. I wonder where she's been. And who can that be with her? I didn't know there was a bow to be had about here. Bow, said Belle sneeringly. And why not a bow, Cousin Belle? I'm sure he looks like one. I wouldn't give much for any of her bow, said Belle. Wouldn't you, said Kitty, you'd better wait until you see who they are. You nearsighted people shouldn't decide in such a hurry. I can tell you that he is a gentleman you wouldn't object to be walking with yourself. It's Mr. Bruce, the one we met in New Orleans. I don't believe it, exclaimed Belle, starting up. You will soon have a chance to see for yourself, for he is coming home with her. He is? What can he be walking with her for? To show his taste, perhaps. I am sure he could not find more agreeable company. You and I don't agree about that, replied Belle. I don't see anything very agreeable about her. Because you are determined not to, Belle, everybody else thinks her charming. And Mr. Bruce is opening the gate for her as politely as if she were a queen. I like him for that. Do see, said Belle, she's got on that white cape bonnet of hers, and that checked gingham dress. I wonder what Mr. Bruce thinks of her, and he's such a critic in regard to ladies' dress. Gertrude and her companion now drew near the house. The former looked up, saw the young ladies in the doorway, and smiled pleasantly at Kitty, who was making strange grimaces, and giving significant glances over Belle's shoulder. But Mr. Bruce, who seemed much engaged by the society he was already enjoying, did not observe either of them. And they distinctly heard him say, as he handed Gertrude a small parcel he had been carrying for her. I believe I won't come in. It's such a bore to have to talk to strangers. Do you work in the garden mornings this summer? No, replied Gertrude. There is nothing left of my garden but the memory of it. Why, Miss Gertrude, said the young man, I hope these newcomers haven't interfered with. Here, observing the direction of Gertrude's eyes, he raised his own, saw Belle and Kitty standing opposite to him, and compelled now to recognize and speak with them, went forward to shake hands, trusting to his remarks about strangers in general, and these newcomers in particular, not having been overheard. Although overheard, the young ladies chose to take no notice of that which they supposed intended for unknown individuals. They were mistaken, however. Mr. Bruce knew perfectly well that the nieces of the present Mrs. Graham were the same girls whom he had met at the South, and was nevertheless indifferent about renewing his acquaintance. His vanity, however, was not proof against the evident pleasure they both manifested at seeing him again, and he was in a few minutes engaged in an animated conversation with them, while Gertrude quietly entered the house and went upstairs unnoticed. She saw Emily's room, to which she had always free access, and was giving an account of her morning's expedition to the village, and the successful manner in which she had accomplished various commissions and errands. When Mrs. Ellis put her head in at the door, and said, with a most distressed voice and countenance, hasn't Gertrude, oh, there you are, do tell me what Mrs. Wilkins said about the strawberries. I engaged three courts, hasn't she sent them? No, but I'm thankful to hear they're coming. I have been so plagued about the dinner. She now came in, shut the door, and seating herself, exclaimed, with something like a groan. I declare, Emily, such an ironing as our girls have got to do today. You never saw anything like it. There's no end to the fine clothes Mrs. Graham and those nieces of hers put into our wash. I declare it's a shame, rich as they are, they might put out their washing. I've been helping myself as much as I could, but as Mrs. Prime says, one can't do everything at once, and I've had to see the butcher, make puddings and blumange, and been worried to death all the time because I had forgotten to engage those strawberries. So Mrs. Wilkins hadn't sent her fruit to market when you got there? No, but she wasn't a great hurry getting it ready. It would have been gone in a very short time. Well, that was lucky. I don't know what I should have done without the berries, for I've no time to hunt up anything else for dessert. I've got just as much as I can do till dinner time. Mrs. Graham never kept house before, and don't know how to make allowances for anything. She comes home from Boston, expects to find everything in apple pie order, and never asks or cares who does the work. Mrs. Prime's voice was now heard, calling at the back staircase. Mrs. Ellis, Mrs. Wilkins' boy has fetched your strawberries, and the holes ain't off of one of them. He says they hadn't no time. That's too bad, exclaimed the tired, worried housekeeper. Who's going to take the holes off I should like to know? Katie is busy enough, and I'm sure I can't do it. I will, Mrs. Ellis. Let me do it, said Gertrude, following Mrs. Ellis, who is now halfway down the stairs. No, no, don't you touch too, Mrs. Gertrude, said Mrs. Prime. They'll only stain your fingers all up. No matter if they do, my hands are not made of white kid, they'll bear washing. Mrs. Ellis was only too thankful for Gertrude's help, and seating herself in the dining room, she commenced the task. In the meanwhile, Belle and Kitty were doing their best to entertain Mr. Bruce, who's sitting on the doorsteps and leaning back against the pillar of the pieza, from time to time cast his eyes down the entry, and up the staircase, in hopes of Gertrude's reappearance, and despairing of it at last, he was on the point of taking his departure, when his sister Fanny came in at the gate, and running up to the house, was rushing past the assembled trio and into the house. Her brother, however, stretched out his arm, caught her, and before he let her go, whispered something in her ear. Who is that wild Indian, asked Kitty Ray, as Fanny ran across the entry and disappeared. A sister of mine, answered Ben, in a nonchalant manner. Why, is she, inquired Kitty, with interest? I have seen her here several times, and never took any notice of her. I didn't know she was your sister. What a pretty girl she is. Do you think so, said Ben? Sorry I can't agree with you, I think she's a fright. Fanny now reappeared, and stopping a moment on her way upstairs, called out, without any ceremony. She says she can't come, she's busy. Who, asked Kitty, in her turn catching Fanny and detaining her, Miss Flint? Mr. Bruce colored slightly, and Belle Clinton observed it. What is she doing, inquired Kitty? Hulling strawberries. Where are you going, Fanny, asked her brother, upstairs, do they let you go all over the house? Miss Flint said I might go up and bring down the birds. What birds? Her birds, I'm going to hang them in the sun, and then they'll sing beautifully. She ran off, and soon came back again with a cage in her hand, containing the little monias, sent by Willie from Calcutta. There, Kitty, cried Belle, I think those are the birds that wake us up so early every morning with their noise. Very likely, said Kitty, bring them here, will you, Fanny? I want to see them. Goodness, continued she, what little creatures they are. Do look at them, Mr. Bruce. They are so pretty. Put them down on the doorstep, Fanny, said Ben, so that we can see them better. I'm afraid you'll frighten them, replied Fanny. Miss Gertrude doesn't like to have them frightened. No we won't, said Ben. We are disposed to be very friendly to Miss Gertrude's birds. Where did she get them? Do you know, Fanny? Why, they are India birds. Mr. Sullivan sent them to her. Who is he? Oh, he is a very particular friend. She has letters from him every little while. What Mr. Sullivan, asked Belle, do you know his Christian name? I suppose it's William, said Fanny. Miss Emily always calls the birds little willies. Belle, exclaimed Kitty, that's your William Sullivan. What a favored man he seems to be, said Mr. Bruce, in a tone of sarcasm, the property of one beautiful lady and the particular friend of another. I don't know what you mean, Kitty, said Belle, tartly. Mr. Sullivan is a junior partner of my father's, but I have not seen him for years. Except in your dreams, Belle, suggested Kitty, you forget. Belle now looked angry. Do you dream about Mr. Sullivan, asked Fanny, fixing her eyes on Belle as she spoke? I mean to go and ask Miss Gertrude if she does. Do, said Kitty, I'll go with you. They ran across the entry, opened the door into the dining-room, and both put the question to her at the same moment. Taken thus by surprise, Gertrude neither blushed nor looked confused, but answered quietly. Yes, sometimes. But what do you, either of you, know of Mr. Sullivan? Why do you ask? Oh, nothing, answered Kitty, only some others do, and we are inquiring round to see how many there are. And she shut the door and ran back in triumph to tell Belle she might as well be frank, like Gertrude, and plead guilty to the weakness. It looked so much better than blushing and denying it. But it would not do to joke with Belle any longer. She was seriously offended, and took no pains to conceal the fact. Mr. Bruce fell awkward and annoyed, and soon went away, leaving the two cousins to settle their difficulty as they best could. As soon as he had gone, Belle folded up her work and walked upstairs to her room with great dignity, while Kitty stayed behind to laugh over the matter, and improve her opportunity to make friends with Fanny Bruce. For Kitty was not a little interested in the brother, and labored under the common, but often mistaken idea, that in cultivating the acquaintance of the sister, she should advance her cause. Perhaps she was somewhat induced to the step, by her having observed that Gertrude appeared to be an equal favorite with both. She therefore called Fanny to sit beside her, put her arm round her waist, and commenced talking about Gertrude, and the origin and extent of the intimacy, which seemed to exist between her and the Bruce family. Fanny, who was always communicative, willingly informed her of the circumstances which had attached her so strongly to a friend, who was some years her senior. And your brother, said Kitty, he has known her some time, hasn't he? Yes, indeed, I suppose so, answered Fanny carelessly. Does he like her? I don't know, I should think he would. I don't see how he can help it. What did he whisper to you when you came up the steps? Fanny could not remember at once, but on being reminded of the answer she had given, she replied promptly. Oh, he bade me ask Ms. Gertrude if she wasn't coming back to see him again, and tell her he was tired to death waiting for her. Kitty pouted and looked vexed. I want to know, said she, if Ms. Flint has been in the habit of receiving company here and being treated like an equal. Of course she has, answered Fanny with spirit. Why shouldn't she? She's the most perfect lady I ever saw, and mother says she has beautiful manners, and I must take pattern by her. Oh, Ms. Gertrude, called she, as Gertrude, who had been to place the strawberries in the refrigerator, crossed to the back part of the long entry. Are you ready now? Yes, Fanny, I shall be in a moment, answered Gertrude. Ready for what, inquired Kitty? To read, said Fanny, she is going to read the rest of Hamlet to Ms. Emily. She read the first three acts yesterday, and Ms. Emily let me sit in her room and hear it. I can't understand it when I read it myself, but when I listen to Ms. Gertrude, it seems quite plain. She's a splendid reader, and I came in today on purpose to hear the play finished. Kitty's last companion, having deserted her, she stretched herself on the entry sofa and fell asleep. She was awakened by her aunt, who returned from the city a short time before dinner, and finding her asleep in her morning wrapper, shook her by the arm, and said, in a voice which the best intentions could never render otherwise than loud in course. Kitty Ray, wake up and go dress for dinner. I saw Belle at the chamber window looking like a beauty. I wish you'd take half the pain she does to improve your appearance. Kitty yawned, and after delaying as long as she chose, finally followed Mrs. Graham's directions. It was Kitty's policy, after giving offense to her cousin Belle, to appear utterly unconscious of the existence of any unkind feelings. And though Belle often manifested some degree of sulkiness, she was too dependent upon Kitty's society to retain that disposition long. They were soon, therefore, chatting together as usual. Belle, said Kitty, as she stood arranging her hair at the glass. Do you remember a girl we used to meet every morning on her way to school, walking with a paralytic old man? Yes. Do you know? I think it was Gertrude Flint. She has altered very much, to be sure, but the features are still the same, and there certainly never was but one such pair of eyes. I have no doubt she is the same person, said Belle, composedly. Did you think of it before? Yes, as soon as Fanny spoke of her knowing Willie Sullivan. Why, Belle, why didn't you speak of it? Lore, Kitty, I don't feel so much interest in her as you and some others do. What others? It was now Belle's turn to be provoking. Why, Mr. Bruce, don't you see he is half in love with her? No, I don't see any such thing. He has known her for a long time, Fanny says so. And, of course, he feels a regard and respect for a girl that the Gramps make so much account of. But I don't believe he'd think of such a thing as being in love with a poor girl like her with no family connections to boast of. Perhaps he didn't think of being. Well, he wouldn't be. She isn't the sort of person that would suit him. He has been in society a great deal, not only at home but in Paris, and he would want a wife that was very lively and fond of company, and knew how to make a show with money. A girl, for instance, like Kitty Ray. How ridiculous, Belle, just as if people couldn't talk without thinking of themselves all the time. What do I care about Ben Bruce? I don't know that you care anything about him, but I wouldn't pull all the hair out of my head about it as you seem to be doing. There's the dinner, Belle, and you'll be late, as usual. End of Chapter 27. Chapter 28 of The Lamplighter. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Bridget Gage. The Lamplighter by Maria Susanna Cummins. Chapter 28. She hath a natural, wise sincerity, a simple truthfulness, and these have lent her a dignity as moveless as the center. Lowell. Twilight of this same day found Gertrude and Emily seated at a window which commanded a delightful Western view. Gertrude had been describing to her blind friend the gorgeous picture presented to her vision by the masses of rich and brilliantly painted cloud, and Emily, as she listened to the glowing description of nature, as she unfolded herself at an hour which they both preferred to all others, experienced a participation in Gertrude's enjoyment. The glory had now faded away, save a long strip of gold which skirted the horizon, and the stars as they came out, one by one, seemed to look in at the chamber window with a smile of recognition. In the parlor below there was company from the city, and the sound of mirth and laughter came up on the evening breeze. So mellowed, however, by distance, that it contrasted with the peace of the quiet room, without disturbing it. You had better go down, Gertrude, said Emily. They appear to be enjoying themselves, and I love to hear your laugh mingling with the rest. Oh, no, dear Emily, said Gertrude. I prefer to stay with you. They are nearly all strangers to me. As you please, my dear, but don't let me keep you from the young people. You can never keep me with you, dear Emily, longer than I wish to stay. There is no society I love so well. And so she stayed, and they resumed their pleasant conversation, which, though harmonious and calm, was not without its playfulness and occasional gleams of wit. They were interrupted by Katie, whom Mrs. Graham sent to announce a new visitor, Mrs. Bruce, who had inquired for Emily. I suppose I must go down, said Emily. You'll come, too, Gertrude. No, I believe not, unless she asked for me. Did she, Katie? Mrs. Graham was only after mentioning Miss Emily, said Katie. Then I will stay here, said Gertrude, and Emily, finding it to be her wish, went without her. There was soon another loud ring at the doorbell. It seemed to be a reception evening, and this time Gertrude's presence was particularly requested to see Doctor and Mrs. Jeremy. When she entered the parlor, she found a great number of guests assembled, and every seat in the room occupied. As she came in alone and unexpected by the greater part of the company, all eyes turned upon her. Contrary to the expectation of Belle and Kitty, who were watching her with curiosity, she manifested neither embarrassment nor awkwardness, but glancing leisurely at the various groups until she recognized Mrs. Jeremy, crossed the large saloon with characteristic grace, and as much ease and self-possession as if she were the only person present. After greeting that lady with her usual warmth and cordiality, she turned to speak to the doctor, but he was sitting next to Fanny Bruce in the window seat and was half concealed by the curtain. Before he could rise and come forward, Mrs. Bruce nodded pleasantly from the opposite corner, and Gertrude went to shake hands with her. Mr. Bruce, who formed one in a gay circle of young ladies and gentlemen, collected in that part of the room, and who had been observing Gertrude's motions so attentively as to make no reply to a question put to him by Kitty Ray. Now rose and offered his chair, saying, "'Ms. Gertrude, do take the seat.' "'Thank you,' said Gertrude, "'but I see my friend the doctor on the other side of the room. "'He expects me to come and speak to him, "'so don't let me disturb you.' "'Dr. Jeremy now came halfway across the room to meet her, "'and taking her by both hands "'led her into the recess formed by the window, "'and placed her in his own seat next to Fanny Bruce. "'To the astonishment of all who knew him, "'Ben Bruce brought his own chair "'and placed it for the doctor opposite to Gertrude. "'So much respect for age had not been anticipated "'from the modern-bred man of fashion.' "'Is that a daughter of Mr. Graham?' "'asked a young lady of Belle Clinton, who sat next to her. "'No, indeed,' replied Belle, "'she is a person to whom Ms. Graham gave an education, "'and now she lives here to read to her, "'and to be sort of a companion. "'Her name is Flint.' "'What did you say that young lady's name was?' "'asked a dashing lieutenant, "'leaning forward and addressing Isabelle. "'Miss Flint.' "'Flint, ah, she's a gentile-looking girl. "'How peculiarly she dresses her hair.' "'Very becoming, however, to that style of face,' "'remarked the young lady, who had first spoken. "'Don't you think so?' "'I don't know,' replied the lieutenant. "'Something becomes her. "'She makes a fine appearance.' "'Bruce,' said he, as Mr. Bruce returned, "'after his unusual effort at politeness. "'Who is that Miss Flint? "'I have been here two or three times, "'and I never saw her before.' "'Very likely,' said Mr. Bruce, "'she won't always show herself. "'Isn't she a fine-looking girl?' "'I haven't made up my mind yet. "'She's got a splendid figure, but who is she?' "'She's a sort of adopted daughter of Mr. Graham's, "'I believe, a protege of Miss Emily's.' "'Ah, poor thing, an orphan?' "'Yes, I suppose so,' "'said Ben, biting his lip. "'Pity,' said the young man. "'Poor thing, but as you say, Ben, she's good-looking, "'particularly when she smiles. "'There is something very attractive about her face.'" There certainly was to Ben. For a moment after, Kitty Ray missed him from the room, and immediately aspired him standing on the pieza and leaning through the open window to talk with Gertrude, Dr. Jeremy, and Fanny. The conversation soon became very lively. There seemed to be a war of wits going on. The doctor, especially, laughed very loud, and Gertrude and Fanny often joined in the merry peal. Kitty and Jurida as long as she could, and then ran boldly across to join the party, and hear what they were having so much fun about. But it was all an enigma to Kitty. Dr. Jeremy was talking with Mr. Bruce concerning something which had happened many years ago. There was a great deal about a fool's cap with a long tassel and taking afternoon naps in the grass. The doctor was making queer allusions to some old pear tree and traps set for thieves and kept reminding Gertrude of circumstances which attended their first acquaintance with each other and with Mr. Bruce. Kitty was beginning to feel that as she was uninitiated in all they were talking about, she had placed herself in the position of an intruder and was there upon looking a little embarrassed and ill at ease. When Gertrude touched her arm and kindly making room for her next to herself, motioned to her to sit down, saying as she did so. Dr. Jeremy is speaking of the time when he, or he and I, as he chooses to have it, went fruit-stealing and Mrs. Bruce is orchard and were unexpectedly discovered by Mr. Bruce. You mean, my dear, interrupted the doctor that Mr. Bruce was discovered by us? Why, it's my opinion he would have slept until this time if I hadn't given him such a thorough waking up. My first acquaintance with you was certainly the greatest awakening of my life, said Ben, speaking as if to the doctor, but looking meaningly at Gertrude. That was not the only nap it cost me. How sorry I am, Miss Gertrude, that you've given up working in the garden as you used to. Pray, how does it happen? Mrs. Graham has had it remodeled, replied Gertrude, and the new gardener neither needs nor desires my services. He has his own plans and it is not well to interfere with the professor of an art. I should be sure to do mischief. I doubt whether his success compares with yours, said Ben. I do not see anything like the same quantity of flowers in the room that you used to have. I don't think, said Gertrude, that he is as fond of cutting them as I was. I did not care so much for the appearance of the garden as for having plenty of flowers in the house, but with him it is the reverse. Kitty now addressed some remark to Mr. Bruce on the subject of gardening and Gertrude, turning to Dr. Jeremy, continued in earnest conversation with him until Mrs. Jeremy rose to go. When approaching the window, she said, Dr. Jerry, have you given Gertrude her letter? Goodness me, exclaimed the doctor, I came near forgetting it. Then feeling in his pocket, he drew forth an evidently foreign document. The envelope literally covered with various colored post office stamps. See here, Gertrude, genuine Calcutta, no mistake. Gertrude took the letter and as she thanked the doctor, her countenance expressed pleasure at receiving it. A pleasure, however, somewhat tempered by sadness. For she had heard from Willie but once since he learned the news of his mother's death. And that letter had been such an outpouring of his vehement grief that the sight of his handwriting almost pained her as she anticipated something like a repetition of the outburst. Mr. Bruce, who kept his eyes upon her and half expected to see her color change and look disconcerted on the letter being handed to her in the presence of so many witnesses, was reassured by the composure with which she took it and held it openly in her hand while she bade the doctor and his wife good evening. She followed them to the door and was then retreating to her own apartment when she was met at the foot of the stairs by Mr. Bruce, who had noticed the movement and now entered from the pieza in time to arrest her steps and ask if her letter was of such importance that she must deny the company, the pleasure of her society in order to study its contents. It is from a friend of whose welfare I am anxious to hear, said Gertrude gravely. Please excuse me to your mother if she inquires for me. And as the rest of the guests are strangers I shall not be missed by them. Oh, Miss Gertrude, said Mr. Bruce, it's no use coming here to see you. You are so frequently invisible. What part of the day is one most likely to find you disengaged? Hardly any part, said Gertrude, I am always a very busy character. But good night, Mr. Bruce, don't let me detain you from the other young ladies. And Gertrude ran upstairs, leaving Mr. Bruce uncertain whether to be vexed with himself or her. Contrary to Gertrude's expectations, her letter from William Sullivan proved very soothing to the grief she had felt on his account. His spirit had been so weighed down and crushed by the intelligence of the death of his grandfather and finally of his second and still greater loss that his first communication to Gertrude had alarmed her. From the discouraged, disheartened tone in which it was written, she had feared lest his Christian fortitude would give way to the force of this double affliction. She was therefore much relieved to find that he now wrote in a calmer strain that he had taken to heart his mother's last entreaty and prayer for a submissive disposition on his part. And that, although deeply afflicted, he was schooling himself to patience and resignation. But he did not in this letter dwell long upon his own sufferings under bereavement. The three closely written pages were almost wholly devoted to fervent and earnest expressions of gratitude to Gertrude for the act of kindness and love which had cheered and comforted the last days of his much-regretted friends. He prayed that heaven would bless her and rewarded her with disinterested and self-denying efforts and closed with saying, you are all there is left to me, Gertrude. If I loved you before, my heart is now bound to you by ties stronger than those of earth. My hopes, my labors, my prayers are all for you. God grant we may someday meet again. For an hour after she had finished reading, Gertrude sat lost in meditation. Her thoughts went back to her home at Uncle Trues and the days when she and Willie passed so many happy hours in close companionship. Little dreaming of the long separation so soon to ensue. She rehearsed in her mind all the succeeding events which had brought her into her present position and was only startled at last from the reverie she was indulging in by the voices of Mrs. Graham's visitors who were now taking leave. Mrs. Bruce and her son lingered a little until the carriages had driven off with those of the guests who were to return to the city and as they were making their farewells on the doorstep directly beneath Gertrude's window she heard Mrs. Graham say, Remember, Mr. Bruce, we dine at two. And, Miss Fanny, we shall hope to see you also. I presume you will join the walking party. This, then, was an arrangement which was to bring Mr. Bruce there to dinner at no very distant period and Gertrude's reflections, forsaking the past, began to center upon the present. Mr. Bruce's attentions to her had that day been marked and the professions of admiration he had contrived to whisper in her ear had been still more so. Both these attentions and this admiration were on-saw and undesired. Neither were they in any degree flattering to the high-minded girl who was superior to coquetry and whose self-respect was even wounded by the confident and assured manner in which Mr. Bruce made his advances. As a youth of seventeen, she had marked him as indolent and ill-bred. Her sense of justice, however, would have obliterated this recollection, had his character and manners appeared changed on the renewal of their acquaintance some years after. This was not the case, however, for the outward polish bestowed by fashion and familiarity with society could not cloud Gertrude's discernment. And she quickly perceived that his old characteristics still remained high-end and rendered more glaring by an ill-concealed vanity. As a boy, he had stared from Gertrude from impudence and inquired her name out of idle curiosity. As a youthful coxcomb, he had resolved to flirt with her because his time hung heavy on his hands and he could think of nothing better to do. But to his surprise, he found the country girl, for such he considered her, never having seen her elsewhere, was quite insensible to the flattery and notice which many a city-bell had coveted, appeared wholly indifferent to his admiration, and that when he tried rallyery, he usually proved the disconcerted party. If he saw her, as he was frequently in the habit of doing, when she was at work among the flowers, he found it impossible to distract her attention from her labors or detain her after they were completed. If he joined her in her walks and with his wanted self-conceit, made her aware of the honor Lyce opposed him self-concerning. She either maintained a dignity which worded off his fulsome adulation or if he ventured to make her the object of direct compliment, received it as a jest and retorted with a playfulness and wit which often left the opaque wits of poor Ben in some doubt whether he had not been making himself ridiculous, and this, not because Gertrude was willing to wound the feelings of one who was disposed to admire her, but because she perceived that he was far from being sincere, and she had an honorable pride which would not endure to be trifled with. It was something new to Mr. Bruce to find any lady thus indifferent to his merits and proved such an awakening to his ambition that he resolved, if possible, to recommend himself to Gertrude and consequently improved every opportunity of gaining admittance to her society. While laboring, however, to inspire her with a due appreciation of himself, he fell into his own snare. For though he failed in awakening Gertrude's interest, he could not be equally insensible to her attractions. Even the comparatively dull intellect of Ben Bruce was capable of measuring her vast superiority to most girls of her age, and her vivacious originality was a contrast to the incipity of fashionable life which at length completely charmed him. His earnestness and perseverance began to annoy the object of his admiration before she left Mr. Graham's in the autumn, and she was glad soon after to hear that he had accompanied his mother to Washington, as it ensured her against meeting him again for months to come. Mr. Bruce regretted losing sight of Gertrude but amidst the gaiety and dissipation of southern cities contrived to waste his time with tolerable satisfaction. He was reminded of her again on meeting the Grand Party in New Orleans, and it is some credit to his understanding to say that in the comparison which he constantly drew between her and the vain daughters of fashion, she stood higher than ever in his estimation. He did not hesitate to tell her so, on the morning already mentioned, when with evident satisfaction he had recognized and joined her, and the increased devotion of his words and manner, which now took a tone of truth in which they had before been wanting alarmed Gertrude and led to a serious resolve on her part to avoid him on all possible occasions. It will soon be seen how difficult she found it to carry out this resolution. On the day succeeding the one of which we have been speaking, Mr. Graham returned from the city about noon and joining the young ladies in the entry unfolded his newspaper, and handing it to Kitty, asked her to read the news. What shall I read, said Katie, taking the paper rather unwillingly. The leading article, if you please. Kitty turned the paper inside and out, looked hastily up and down its pages, and then declared her inability to find it. Mr. Graham stared at her in astonishment, then pointed in silence to the wished-for paragraph. She began, but had scarcely read a sentence before Mr. Graham stopped her, saying impatiently, don't read so fast, I can't hear a single word. She now fell into the other extreme, and drawled so intolerably that her auditor interrupted her again, and bade her give the paper to her cousin. Bell took it from the pouting Kitty and finished the article. Not, however, without being once or twice compelled to go back and read more intelligibly. Do you wish to hear anything more, sir, asked she. Yes, won't you turn to the ship news and read me the list by the steamer? Bell, more fortunate than Kitty, found the place, and commenced. At Canton, April 30th, ship Ann Maria, ray, D-I-S-C-G, what does that mean? Discharging, of course, go on. S-L-D-A-B-T-13th, spelt Bell, looking dreadfully puzzled all the while. Stupid, muttered Mr. Graham, almost snatching the paper out of her hands. Not knowing how to read ship news. Where's Gertrude? Where's Gertrude Flint? She's the only girl I ever saw that did know anything. Won't you speak to her, Kitty? Kitty went, though rather reluctantly, to call Gertrude and told her for what she was wanted. Gertrude was astonished, since the day when she had persisted in leaving his house. Mr. Graham had never asked her to read to him. But obedient to the summons, she presented herself and taking the seat which Bell had vacated near the door, commenced with the ship news, and without asking any questions, turned to various items of intelligence, taking them in the order which she knew Mr. Graham preferred. The old gentleman, leaning back in his easy chair and resting his gouty foot upon an ottoman opposite to him, looked amazingly contented and satisfied. And when Bell and Kitty had gone off to their room, he remarked, this seems like old times, doesn't it, Gertrude? He now closed his eyes, and Gertrude was soon made aware by his deep breathing that he had fallen asleep. Seeing that as he sat, it would be impossible for her to pass without waking him. She laid down the paper and was preparing to draw some work from her pocket. For Gertrude seldom spent her time in idleness when she observed a shadow in the doorway and, looking up, saw the very person whom she had yesterday resolved to avoid. Mr. Bruce was staring in her face with an indolent air of ease and confidence which she always found very offensive. He had in one hand a bunch of roses which he held up to her admiring gaze. Very beautiful, said Gertrude, as she glanced at the little branches covered with a luxurious growth of moss rose buds, both pink and white. She spoke in a low voice, fearing to awaken Mr. Graham. Mr. Bruce, therefore, softening his to a whisper, remarked as he dangled them above her head. I thought they were very pretty when I gathered them, but they suffer from the comparison, Miss Gertrude. And he gave a meaning look at the roses in her cheeks. Gertrude, to whom this was a stale compliment coming from Mr. Bruce, took no notice of it. But, rising, advanced to make her exit by the front door, saying, I will go across the pièce of Mr. Bruce and send the lady's word that you are here. Oh, pray don't, said he, putting himself in her way. It would be cruel. I haven't the slightest wish to see them. He so effectually prevented her that she was unwillingly compelled to retreat from the door and resume her seat. As she did so, she took her work from her pocket, her countenance in the meantime expressing vexation. Mr. Bruce looked his triumph and took advantage of it. Miss Gertrude, said he, will you oblige me by wearing these flowers in your hair today? I do not wear gay flowers, replied Gertrude, without lifting her eyes from the piece of muslin on which she was employed. Supposing this to be on account of her mourning, for she wore a plain black dress, he selected the white buds from the rest and presenting them to her. Begged that, for his sake, she would display them in contrast with her dark silken braids. I am much obliged to you, said Gertrude. I never saw more beautiful roses, but I am not accustomed to be so much dressed and believe you must excuse me. Then you won't take my flowers? Certainly I will, with pleasure, said she, rising, if you will let me get a glass of water and place them in the parlor, where we can all enjoy them. I did not cut my flowers and bring them here for the benefit of the whole household, said Ben, in a half-offended tone. If you won't wear them, Miss Gertrude, I will offer them to somebody that will. This, he thought, would alarm her, for his vanity was such that he attributed her behavior wholly to coquetry, and as instances of this sort had always served to enhance his admiration, he believed that they were intended to produce that effect. I will punish her, thought he, as he tied the roses together again and arranged them for presentation to Kitty, whom he knew would be flattered to receive them. Where's Fanny today? asked Gertrude, anxious to divert the conversation. I don't know, answered Ben, with a manner which implied that he had no idea of talking about Fanny. A short silence ensued, during which he gazed idly at Gertrude's fingers as she sat sewing. How a ton of you are to your work, said he at last. Your eyes seemed nailed to it. I wish I were as attractive as that piece of muslin. I wish you were as inoffensive, thought Gertrude. I do not think you take much pains to entertain me, added he, when I've come here on purpose to see you. I thought you came by Mrs. Graham's invitation, said Gertrude. And didn't I have to court Kitty for an hour in order to get it? If you obtained it by artifice, said Gertrude, smiling, you do not deserve to be entertained. It is much easier to please Kitty than you, remarked Ben. Kitty is very amiable and pleasant, said Gertrude. Yes, but I'd give more for one smile from you then. Gertrude now interrupted him with, ah, here is an old friend coming to see us. Please let me pass, Mr. Bruce. The gate at the end of the yard swung to as she spoke, and Ben, looking in that direction, beheld approaching the person whom Gertrude seemed desires to go and meet. Don't be in such a hurry to leave me, said Ben. That little crone, whose coming seems to give you so much satisfaction, can't get here this half hour at the rate she is traveling. She is an old friend, replied Gertrude. I must go and welcome her. Her countenance expressed so much earnestness that Mr. Bruce was ashamed to persist in his incivility, and rising permitted her to pass. Miss Patty Pace, for she it was who was toiling up the yard, seemed overjoyed at seeing Gertrude. And the moment she recognized her, commenced waving in a theatrical manner, a huge feather fan, her favorite mode of salutation. As she drew near, Miss Patty took her by both hands, and stood talking with her some minutes, before they proceeded together up the yard. They entered the house at the side door, and Ben, being thus disappointed of Gertrude's return, sailed out into the garden, in hopes to attract the notice of Kitty. Ben Bruce had such confidence in the power of wealth and high station in fashionable life, that it never occurred to him to doubt that Gertrude would gladly accept his hand and fortune, if it were placed at her disposal. No degree of coldness, or even neglect on her part, would have induced him to believe that an orphan girl, without assent in the world, would forego such an opportunity to establish herself. Many a prudent and worldly wise mother, had sought his acquaintance. Many a young lady, even among those who possessed property in rank of their own, had received his attention with favor, and believing as he did, that he had money enough to purchase for a wife any woman whom he chose to select. He would have laughed at the idea, that Gertrude would presume to hold herself higher than the rest. He had not made his mind up to such an important step, however, as the deliberate surrender of the many advantages of which he was the fortunate possessor. He had merely determined to win Gertrude's good opinion and affection, and although more interested in her, than he was aware of himself, he at present made that his ultimate object. He felt conscious that as yet, she had given no evidence of his success, and having resolved to resort to some new means of winning her, he, with a too common selfishness and baseness, fixed upon a method which was calculated, if successful, to end in the mortification, if not the unhappiness of a third party. He intended, by marked devotion to Kitty Ray, to excite the jealousy of Gertrude, and it was with the view to furthering his intentions, that he walked in the garden, hoping to attract her observation. Oh, it was a shameful scheme, for Kitty liked him already. She was a warm-hearted girl, a credulous one, too, and likely to become a ready victim to his duplicity. End of chapter twenty-eight. Chapter twenty-nine of The Lamplighter. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Bridget Gage. The Lamplighter by Maria Susanna Cummins. Chapter twenty-nine. Is this the world of which we want to sight? Are these the beings who are called polite? Hannah Moore. A half hour before dinner, Mrs. Graham and her nieces, Mr. Bruce, his sister Fanny, and Lieutenant Osborne, as they sat in the large parlor, had their curiosity much excited by the merriment which seemed to exist in Emily's room, directly above. It was not noisy or rude, but strikingly genuine. Gertrude's clear laugh was very distinguishable, and even Emily joined frequently in the outburst, which would every now and then occur, while still another person appeared to be of the party, as a strange and most singular voice occasionally mingled with the rest. Kitty ran to the entry two or three times, to listen, and hear, if possible, the subject of their mirth, and at last returned with the announcement that Gertrude was coming downstairs with the very queen of witches. Presently Gertrude opened the door, which Kitty had slammed behind her, and ushered in Miss Patti Pace, who advanced with measured, mincing steps to Mrs. Graham, and stopping in front of her, made a low curtsy. "'How do you do, ma'am?' said Mrs. Graham, half inclined to believe that Gertrude was playing off a joke upon her. "'This, I presume, is the mistress,' said Miss Patti. Mrs. Graham acknowledged her claim to that title. "'A lady of presence,' said Miss Patti to Gertrude, and an audible whisper, pronouncing each syllable with a manner and emphasis peculiar to her. Then turning towards Belle, who was shrinking into the shadow of a curtain, she approached her, held up both hands in astonishment, and exclaimed, "'Miss Isabella, as I still enjoy existence, and radiant too, as the morning. Bless my heart, how your youthful charms have expanded.'" Belle had recognized Miss Pace the moment she entered the room, but with foolish pride was ashamed to acknowledge the acquaintance of so eccentric an individual, and would have still feigned ignorance, but Kitty now came forward, exclaiming, "'Why, Miss Pace, where did you come from?' "'Miss Catherine,' said Miss Pace, taking her hands in an ecstasy of astonishment. Then you knew me, blessings on your memory of an old friend. "'Certainly, I knew you in a minute. You're not so easily forgotten, I assure you. Belle, don't you remember Miss Pace? It's at your house, I've always seen her.' "'Oh, is it she?' said Belle, with a poor attempt to conceal the fact that she had any previous knowledge of a person who had been a frequent visitor at her father's house, and was held in high esteem by both her parents. "'I apprehend,' said Miss Paddy to Kitty, in the same loud whisper, that she carries a proud heart. Then without having appeared to notice the gentleman who were directly behind her, she added, "'Sparks, I see Miss Catherine young Sparks. Whose? Yours or hers?' Kitty laughed, for she saw that the young men heard her and were much amused, and replied without hesitation. "'Oh, mine, Miss Paddy, mine, both of them.' Miss Paddy now looked round the room, and missing Mr. Graham, advanced to his wife, saying, "'And where, madame, is the bridegroom?' Mrs. Graham, a little confused, replied that her husband would be in presently, and invited Miss Pace to be seated. "'No, mistress, I am obliged to leave you. I have an inquiring mind, and with your leave will take a survey of the apartment. I love to see everything that is modern.' She then proceeded to examine the pictures upon the walls, but had not proceeded far before she turned to Gertrude, and asked, still loud enough to be distinctly heard, "'Gertrude, my dear, what have they done with the second wife?' Gertrude looked surprised, and Miss Pace corrected her remark, saying, "'Oh, it is the counterfeit that I have referenced to. The original I am aware departed long since. But where is the counterfeit of the second Mr. Graham? It always hung here, if my memory serves me.' Gertrude whispered a reply to this question, and Miss Pace then uttered the following soliloquy, that Garrett, well, tis the course of nature, what is new, obliterates the recollection, even of the old. She now linked her arm in Gertrude's, and made her the companion of her survey. When they had completed the circuit of the room, she stopped in front of the group of young people, all of whom were eyeing her with great amusement, claimed acquaintance with Mr. Bruce, and asked to be introduced to the member of the ward department, as she styled Lieutenant Osborne. Kitty introduced her with great formality, and at the same time, presented the lieutenant to Gertrude, a ceremony which she felt indignant that her aunt had not thought proper to perform. A chair was now brought, Miss Patty joined their circle, and entertained them until dinner time. Gertrude again saw Emily's room. At the table, Gertrude seated next to Emily, whose wants she always made her care, and with Miss Patty on the other side, had no time or attention to bestow on anyone else, much to the chagrin of Mr. Bruce, who was anxious she should observe his assiduous devotion to Kitty, whose hair was adorned with moss rose buds, and her face with smiles. Bill was also made happy by the marked admiration of her young officer, and no one felt any disposition to interfere with either of the well-satisfied girls. Occasionally, however, some remark made by Miss Pace irresistibly attracted the attention of every one at the table, and extorted either the laughter it was intended to excite, or a mirth which, though perhaps ill-timed, it was impossible to repress. Mr. Graham treated Miss Patty with the most marked politeness and attention, and Mrs. Graham, who was possessed of great suavity of manners when she chose to exercise it, and who loved dearly to be amused, spared no pains to bring out the old lady's conversational powers. She found, too, that Miss Patty was acquainted with everybody, and made most appropriate and amusing comments upon almost every person who became the topic of conversation. Mr. Graham at last led her to speak of herself and her lonely mode of life, and Fanny Bruce, who sat next, asked her bluntly why she never got married. Ah, my young miss, said she, we all wait our time, and I may take a companion yet. You should, said Mr. Graham, now you have property, Miss Pace, and ought to share it with some nice, thrifty man. Mr. Graham knew her weak point. I have but an insignificant trifle of worldly wealth, said Miss Pace, and am not as youthful as I have been, but I may suit myself with a companion, notwithstanding. I approve of matrimony, and have my eye upon a young man. A young man, exclaimed Fanny Bruce, laughing. Oh, yes, Miss Francis, said Miss Patty, I am an admirer of youth, and of everything that is modern. Yes, I cling to life, I cling to life. Certainly, remarked Mrs. Graham, Miss Pace must marry somebody younger than herself, someone to whom she can leave all her property, if he should happen to outlive her. Yes, said Mr. Graham, at present you would not know how to make a will, unless you left all your money to Gertrude here. I'd rather think she would make a good use of it. That would certainly be a consideration to me, said Miss Pace. I should dread the thought of having my little saving squandered. Now I know there's more than a sufficiency of pauper population, and plenty that would be glad of legacies, but I have no intention of bestowing on such. Why, sir, nine-tenths of them will always be poor. No, no, I shouldn't give to such. No, no, I have other intentions. Miss Pace, asked Mr. Graham, what has become of General Pace's family? All dead, replied Miss Petty promptly. All dead, I made a pilgrimage to the grave of that branch of the family. It was a melancholy and touching scene, continued she, in a pathetic tone of voice. There was a piece of grassy ground belted about with an iron railing, and in the center a beautiful white marble monument, in which they were all buried. It was pure as alabaster, and on it was inscribed these lines, Pace. What were the lines, inquired Mrs. Graham, who believed her ears had deceived her? Pace, ma'am, Pace, nothing else. Salamez was the subject, a universal titter pervaded the circle, and Mrs. Graham, perceiving that Kitty and Fanny would soon burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter, made the move for the company to quit the table. The gentleman did not care to linger, and followed the ladies into the wide entry, the refreshing coolness of which invited everyone to loiter there during the heat of the day. Miss Patty and Fanny Bruce compelled the unwilling Gertrude to join the group there assembled, and Mrs. Graham, who was never disposed to forego her afternoon nap, was the only member of the family who absented herself. So universal was the interest Miss Patty excited that all private dialogue was suspended, and close attention given to whatever topic the old lady was discussing. Belle maintained a slightly scornful expression of countenance, and tried, with partial success, to divert Lieutenant Osborne's thoughts into another channel. But Kitty was so delighted with Miss Pace's originality that she made no attempt at any exclusive conversation, and with Mr. Bruce sitting beside her and joining in her amusement, looked more than contented. Dress and fashion, two favorite themes with Miss Patty were now introduced, and after discoursing at some length upon her love of the beautiful, as witnessed in the Mantua-making and millinery arts, she deliberately left her seat, and going towards Belle, the only one of the company who seemed desirous to avoid her, began to examine the material of her dress, and finally requested her to rise and permit her to further inspect the mode in which it was made. Declaring the description of so modern and finished a masterpiece of art would be a feast to the ears of some of her junior acquaintances. Belle indignantly refused to comply, and shook off the hand of the old lady, as if there had been contamination in her touch. Do stand up, Belle, said Kitty, in an undertone. Don't be so cross. Why don't you stand up yourself, said Belle, and show off your own dress for the benefits of her low associates? She didn't ask me to, replied Kitty, but I will, with the greatest pleasure, if she will condescend to look at it. Miss Pace continued she gaily, placing herself in front of the inquisitive Miss Patty. Do admire my gown at your leisure, and take a pattern of it if you like. I should be proud of the honor. For a wonder, Kitty's dress was pretty and well worthy of observation. Miss Patty made many comments, especially on the train, as she denominated its unnecessary and inconvenient length. And then, her curiosity being satisfied, commenced retreating towards the place she had left, first glancing behind her to see if it was still vacant, and then moving towards it with a backward motion, consisting of a series of curtsies. Fanny Bruce, who stood near, observing that she had made an exact calculation how many steps would be required to reach her seat, placed her hand on the back of the chair, as if to draw it away, and encouraged by a look and smile from Isabelle, moved it slightly, but still enough to endanger the old lady's safety. On attempting to regain it, Miss Patty stumbled and would have fallen, but Gertrude, who had been watching Fanny's proceedings, sprung forward in time to fling an arm around her, and place her safely in the chair, casting at the same time a reproachful look at Fanny, who much confused, turned to avoid Gertrude's gaze, and in doing so, accidentally trod on Mr. Graham's gouty toes, which drew from him an exclamation of pain. Fan, said Mr. Bruce, who had observed the latter accident only, I wish you could learn politeness. Who am I to learn it from? Asked Fanny, pertly. You? Ben looked provoked, but forebored to reply. Well, Miss Pace, who had now recovered her composure, took up the word and said, politeness, a lovely but rare virtue, perceptively developed, however, in the manners of my friend Gertrude, which I hesitate not to affirm would well become a princess. Belle curled her lip and smiled disdainfully. Lieutenant Osborne, said she, don't you think Miss Devereux has beautiful manners? Very fine, replied the Lieutenant, the style in which she receives company on her reception day is elegance itself. Who are you speaking of, inquired Kitty, Mrs. Harry Noble? Miss Devereux, we were remarking upon, said Belle, but Mrs. Noble is also very stylish. I think she is, said Mr. Bruce. Do you hear, Fanny? We have found a model for you. You must imitate Mrs. Noble. I don't know anything about Mrs. Noble, retorted Fanny. I'd rather imitate Miss Flint. Miss Gertrude, said she, with a seriousness, which Gertrude rightly believed was intended to express regret for her late rudeness. How shall I learn politeness? Do you remember, asked Gertrude, speaking low and giving Fanny a look full of meaning? What your music master told you about learning to play with expression? I should give you the same rule for improvement in politeness. What is that? said Mr. Graham. Let us know, Fanny. What is Gertrude's rule for politeness? She only said, answered Fanny, that it was the same my music master gave me last winter. And what did he say? Inquired her brother, with a tone of interest. I asked Mr. Herman, said Fanny, how I should learn to play with expression. And he said, you must cultivate your heart, Miss Bruce. You must cultivate your heart. This new direction for the attainment of a great accomplishment was received with countenances that indicated as great a variety of sentiment as there was difference of character among Fanny's audience. Mr. Graham bit his lip and walked away, for his politeness was founded on no such rule, and he knew that Gertrude's was. Bell looked glorious disdain. Mr. Bruce and Kitty puzzled and half amused. While Lieutenant Osborne proved himself not quite callous to a noble truth, by turning upon Gertrude a glance of admiration and interest, Emily's face evidenced how fully she coincided in the opinion thus unintentionally made public, and Miss Patty unhesitatingly expressed her approbation. Miss Gertrude's remark is undeniably a verity, said she, the only politeness which is trustworthy is a spontaneous offering of the heart. Perhaps this goodly company of masters and misses would condescend to give ear to an old woman's tale of a rare instance of true politeness and the fitting reward it met. All professed a strong desire to hear Miss Patty's story, and she began. On a winter day some years ago, an old woman of many foibles and besetting weaknesses, but with a keen eye and her share of worldly wisdom, Miss Patty paced by name, started by special invitation for the house of one worshipful Squire Clinton, the honored parent of Miss Isabella, the fair damsel yonder. Every tall tree in our good city was spangled with frostbuck, more glittering far than gems that sparkle in Gulkanda's mine, and the sidewalks were a snare to the feet of the old and the unwary. I lost my equilibrium and fell. Two gallant gentlemen lifted and carried me into a neighboring apothecary's emporium, restored my scattered wits, and revived me with a fragrant cordial. I went on my way with many a misgiving, however, and scarcely should I have reached my destination with bones unbroken. Had it not been for a night with a rosy countenance, who overtook me, placed my old arm within his own more strong and youthful one, and protected my steps to the very end of my journey. No slight courage, either, my young misses, did my noble escort need to carry him through what he had undertaken. Paint to your imaginations a youth fresh and beautiful as a sunbeam, straight as an arrow, a perfect Apollo indeed, linked to the little bent body of poor Miss Patty Pace. I will not spare myself, young ladies, for had you seen me then, you would consider me now vastly ameliorated and outward presentment. My double row of teeth were stowed away in my pocket, my frizzette was pushed back from my head by my recent fall, and my gogs, the same my father wore before me, covered my face, and they alone attracted attention and created some excitement. But he went on unmoved, and in spite of many a captivating glance and smile from long rows of beautiful young maidens whom we met, and many a sneer from the youths of his own age, he sustained my feeble form with as much care as if I had been an empress and accommodated his buoyant step to the slow movement which my infirmities compelled. Ah, what a spirit of conformity he manifested, my night of the rosy countenance. Could you have seen him, Miss Catherine, or you, Miss Francis? Your palpitating hearts would have taken flight forever. He was a paragon indeed. Wither his own way tended, I cannot say, for he moved in conformity to mine, and left me not until I was safe at the abode of Mistress Clinton. I hardly think he coveted my old heart, but I sometimes believe it followed him, for truly he is still a frequent subject of my meditations. Ah, then that was his reward, exclaimed Kitty. Not so, Miss Kitty, guess again. I can think of nothing so desirable, Miss Patty. His fortune in life, Miss Catherine, that was his reward. It may be that he cannot yet estimate the full amount of his recompense. How so, exclaimed Fanny? I will briefly narrate the rest. Mistress Clinton encouraged me always to converse much in her presence. She knew my taste, and was disposed to humor me, and I was pleased to be indulged. I told my story, and enlarged upon the merits of my noble youth, and his wonderful spirit of conformity. The squire, a gentleman who estimates good breeding, was present, with his ears open, and when I recommended my knight with all the eloquence I could command, he was amused, interested, pleased. He promised to see the boy, and did so. The noble features spake for themselves, and gained him a situation as clerk, from which he has since advanced in the ranks. Until now, he occupies the position of partner, and confidential agent, in a creditable, and wealthy house. Miss Isabella, it would rejoice my heart to hear the latest tidings from Mr. William Sullivan. He is well, I believe, said Isabella, sulkily. I know nothing to the contrary. Oh, Gertrude knows, said Fanny. Gertrude knows all about Mr. Sullivan. She will tell you. All turned, and looked at Gertrude, who with face flushed, and eyes glistening with the interest she fell in Miss Patty's narrative, stood leaning upon Emily's chair. Miss Patty now appealed to her, much surprised, however, at her having any knowledge of her much-admired, and well-remembered young escort. Gertrude drew near, and answered all her questions without the least hesitation or embarrassment, but in a tone of voice so low, that the others, most of whom felt no interest in Willie, entered into conversation, and left her and Miss Patty to discourse freely concerning a mutual friend. Gertrude gave Miss Pace a brief account of the wonder, and curiosity which Willie and his friends had felt concerning the original author of his Good Fortune, and the old lady was so entertained and delighted at hearing of the various conjectures and doubts which arose on the reception of Mr. Clinton's unexpected summons, and of the matter being finely attributed to the agency of Santa Claus, that her laugh was nearly as loud, and quite as heartfelt, as that of the gay party near the doorstep, whom Kitty and Fanny had excited to unusual merriment. Miss Pace was just taxing Gertrude with interminable compliments, and messages of remembrance to be dispatched in her next letter to Willie, when Mrs. Graham presented herself, refreshed both in dress and countenance since her nap, and arrested the attention of the whole company by exclaiming in her abrupt manner and loud tones. What? Are you all still here? I thought you were bound for a walk in the woods. Kitty, what has become of your cherished scheme of climbing Sunset Hill? I proposed it, Aunt, an hour ago, but Belle insist it was too warm. I think the weather is just right for a walk. It will soon be growing cool, said Mrs. Graham, and I think you had better start. It is some distance if you go round through the woods. Who knows the way, asked Kitty. No one responded to the question, and on being individually appealed to, all professed total ignorance, much to the astonishment of Gertrude, who believed that every part of the woody ground and hill beyond were familiar to Mr. Bruce. She did not stay, however, to hear any further discussion of their plans, for Emily was beginning to suffer from headache and weariness, and Gertrude, perceiving it, insisted that she should seek the quiet of her own room, to which she herself accompanied her. She was just closing the chamber door, when Fanny called from the staircase. Miss Gertrude, ain't you going to walk with us? No, replied Gertrude, not to-day. Then I won't go, said Fanny, if you don't. Why don't you go, Miss Gertrude? I shall walk with Miss Emily by and by, if she is well enough. You can't accompany us, if you like, but I think you would enjoy going to Sunset Hill much more. Meantime, a whispered consultation took place below, in which someone suggested that Gertrude was well acquainted with the path which the party wished to follow through the woods. Bell opposed to her being invited to join them. Kitty hesitated between her liking for Gertrude and her fears regarding Mr. Bruce's allegiance. Lieutenant Osborne forebore to urge what Bell disapproved, and Mr. Bruce remained silent, trusting to the final necessity of her being invited to act as guide, in which capacity he had purposely concealed his own ability to serve. This necessity was so obvious that as he had foreseen, Kitty was at last dispatched to find Gertrude and make known their request. End of Chapter 29. Chapter 30 of The Lamplighter. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Bridget Gage. The Lamplighter by Maria Susanna Cummins. Chapter 30. There are haughty steps that would walk the globe, or necks of humbler ones. Miss L. P. Smith. Gertrude would have declined and made her attendance upon Emily an excuse for non-compliance, but Emily herself, believing that the exercise would be beneficial to Gertrude, interfered, and begged her to agree to Kitty's apparently very cordial proposal, and on the letters declaring that the expedition must otherwise be given up, she consented to join it. To change her slippers for thick walking boots occupied a few minutes only. A few more were spent in a vain search for her flat hat, which was missing from the closet where it usually hung. What are you looking for? said Emily, hearing Gertrude once or twice open and shut the door of the large closet at the end of the upper entry. My hat, but I don't see it. I believe I shall have to borrow your sunbonnet again, and she took up a white sunbonnet, the same she had worn in the morning, and which now lay on the bed. Certainly, my dear, said Emily. I shall begin to think it's mine before long, said Gertrude gaily, as she ran off. I wear it so much more than you do. She found Fanny waiting for her. The rest of the party had started, and for some distance down the road, nearly out of sight. Emily now called from the staircase. Gertrude, my child, have you thick shoes? It is always very wet in the meadow beyond the Thornton Place. Gertrude assured her that she had, but fearing that the others were less carefully equipped, inquired of Mrs. Graham whether Belle and Kitty were insured against the dampness. Possibly the mud they might encounter. Mrs. Graham declared they were not, and was at a loss what to do, as they were now quite out of sight, and it would be so much trouble for them to return. I have some very light India rubbers, said Gertrude. I will take them with me, and Fanny and I shall be in time to warn them before they come to the place. It was an easy matter to overtake Belle and the Lieutenant, for they walked very slowly, and seemed not unwilling to be left in the rear. The reverse, however, was the case with Mr. Bruce and Kitty, who appeared purposely to keep in advance. Kitty hastening her steps from her reluctance to allow an agreeable tata-tat to be interfered with, and Ben, from a desire to occupy such a position as would give Gertrude a fear opportunity to observe his devotion to Kitty, which increased the moment she came in sight, whose jealousy he was desirous to arouse. They had now passed the Thornton Farm, and only one field separated them from the meadow, which covered with grass and fair to the eye, was nevertheless in the center of a complete quagmire, and only passable, even for the thickly shot, by keeping close to the wall, and thus skirting the field. Gertrude and Fanny were some distance behind, and already nearly out of breath, with a pursuit in which the others had gained so great an advantage. As they were passing the farmhouse, Mrs. Thornton appeared at the door, and addressed Gertrude, who for seeing that she should be detained some minutes, bait Fanny run on, acquaint her brother and Kitty with the nature of the soil in advance, and beg them to weigh at the bars, until the rest of the party came up. Fanny was too late, notwithstanding the haste she made, for they were half across the meadow when she reached the bars, proceeding, however, in perfect safety. For Mr. Bruce was conducting Kitty by the only practicable path, close under the wall, proving to Gertrude, who in a few moments joined Fanny, that he was no stranger to the place. When they were about half way across, they seemed to encounter some obstacle, for Kitty stood poised on one foot, and clanging to the wall, while Mr. Bruce placed a few stepping stones across the path. He then helped her over, and they went on, their figures soon disappearing in the grove beyond. Isabelle and the lieutenant were so long making their appearance, that Fanny became very impatient, and urged Gertrude to leave them to their fate. They at last turned the corner near the farmhouse, and came on, Belle maintaining her leisurely pace, although it was easy to be seen that the others were waiting for her. Are you lame, Miss Clinton, called out Fanny, as soon as they were within hearing? Lame, said Belle, what do you mean? Why, you walk so slow, said Fanny, I thought something must be the matter with your feet. Belle disdained any reply to this, and tossing her head, entered the damp meadow, in close conversation with her devoted young officer, not daining even to look at Gertrude, who, without appearing to notice her haughtiness, took Fanny's hand, and turning away from the direct path to make the circuit of the field, said to Belle, with an unruffled ease and courtesy of manner. This way, if you please, Miss Clinton, we have been waiting to guide you through this wet meadow. Is it wet? asked Belle, in alarm, glancing down at her delicate slipper. She then added, in a provoked tone, I should have thought you would have known better than to bring us this way, I shan't go across. Then you can go back, said the pert Fanny, nobody cares. It was not my proposition, remarked Gertrude mildly, though with a heightened color, but I think I can help you through the difficulty. Mrs. Graham was afraid you had worn thin shoes, and I brought you a pair of India rubbers. Belle took them, and without the grace to express any thanks, said, as she unfolded the paper in which they were wrapped. Who's are they? Mine, replied Gertrude. I don't believe I can keep them on, muttered Belle. They'll be immense, I suppose. Allow me, said the Lieutenant, and taking one of the shoes, he stooped to place it on her foot, but found it difficult to do so, as it proved quite too small. Belle, perceiving this to be the case, bent down to perform the office for herself, and treated Gertrude's property with such angry violence that she snapped the slender strap, which passed across the instep, and even then only succeeded in partially forcing her foot into the shoe. Meantime, as she bent forward, Fanny's attention was attracted by a very tasteful, broad-brimmed hat, which she were gently set on one side of her head, and which Fanny at once recognized as Gertrude's. It was a somewhat fanciful article of dress that Gertrude would hardly have thought of purchasing for herself, but which Mr. Graham had selected, and brought home to her the previous summer, to replace a common garden hat, which he had accidentally crushed and ruined. As the style of it was simple and in good taste, she had been in the habit of wearing it often in her country walks, and usually kept it hung in the entry closet, where it had been found and appropriated by Belle. It had been seen by Fanny in Gertrude's room at Mrs. Warren's. She had also been permitted to wear it on one occasion when she took part in a charade, and could not be mistaken as to its identity. Having heard Gertrude remark to Emily upon its being missing, she was astonished to see it adorning Belle. And as she stood behind her, deliberately pointed, made signs to Gertrude, opened her eyes, distorted her countenance, and performed a series of pantomimic gestures expressive of an intention to snatch it from Miss Clinton's head, and place it on that of its rightful owner. Gertrude's gravity nearly gave way. She shook her head at Fanny, held up her finger, made signs for her to forebear, and with a face whose laughter was only concealed by the deep white bonnet which she wore, took her hand, and hastened with her along the path, leaving Belle and Beau to follow. Fanny said she, you must not make me laugh so. If Miss Clinton had seen us, she would have been very much hurt. She has no business to wear your hat, said Fanny, and she shan't. Yes she shall, replied Gertrude. She looks beautifully in it. I am delighted to have her wear it, and you must not intimate to her that it is mine. Fanny would not promise, and there was a sly look in her eye which prophesied Miss Chiff. The walk through the woods was delightful, and Gertrude and her young companion, and the quiet enjoyment of it, had almost forgotten that they were members of a gay party, when they suddenly came in sight of Kitty and Mr. Bruce. They were sitting at the foot of an old oak. Kitty earnestly engaged in the manufacture of an oak wreath, which she was just fitting to her attendant's hat. While he himself, when Gertrude first caught sight of him, was leaning against the tree in a careless, listless attitude. As soon, however, as he perceived their approach, he bent forward, inspected Kitty's work, and when they came within hearing, was uttering a profusion of thanks and compliments, which he took care should reach Gertrude's ears, and which the blushing, smiling Kitty, received with manifest pleasure. A pleasure which was still further enhanced by her perceiving that Gertrude had apparently no power to withdraw his attention from her, but that on the contrary, he permitted her rival to see herself at a distance, and continued to pour into her own ear little confidential nothings. Poor, simple Kitty, she believed him honest, while he bought her heart with counterfeits. Miss Gertrude said, Fanny, I wish we could go into some pine woods so that I could get some cones to make baskets and frames of. There are plenty of pines in that direction, said Gertrude, pointing with her finger. Why can't we go and look for cones, said Fanny? We could get back by the time Belle Clinton reaches this place. Gertrude professed her willingness to do so, and she and Fanny started off, having first tied their bonnets to the branch of a tree. They were gone some time, for Fanny found plenty of cones and made a large collection of them, but was then at a loss how to carry them home. I have thought, said she at last, I will run back and borrow Brother Ben's handkerchief, or if he won't let me have it, I'll take my own bonnet and fill it full. Gertrude promised to await her return, and she ran off. When she came near the spot where she had left Kitty and Mr. Bruce, she heard several voices and loud left her. Belle and the lieutenant had arrived, and they were having great sport about something. Belle was standing with the white cape bonnet in her hand. She had bent it completely out of shape, so as to give it the appearance of an old woman's cap. Had adorned the front with whiteweed and dandelions, and finally pinned on a handkerchief to serve as a veil. It certainly looked very ridiculous. She was holding it up on the end of the lieutenant's cane, and endeavoring to obtain a bid for Miss Flint's bridal bonnet. Fanny listened a moment with an indignant countenance, then advanced with a bound, as if just running from the woods. Kitty caught her frock as she passed, and exclaimed, Why Fanny, are you here? Where's Gertrude? Oh, she's in the pine-woods, replied Fanny, and I'm going right back. She only sent me to get her hat. The sun's so warm where we are. I guess, said Belle, her Paris hat. Please give it to her with our compliments. No, that isn't hers, said Fanny. That is Miss Emily's. This is hers. And she laid her hand upon the straw-headdress, which the gentleman had bent a moment before, been assuring Belle was vastly becoming. And without ceremony, snatched it from her head. Belle's eyes flashed angrily. What do you mean, said she, you saucy little creature? Give me that hat. And she stretched out her hand to take it. I shan't do any such thing, said Fanny. It's Gertrude's hat. She looked for it this afternoon, but concluded it was either lost or stolen, and so borrowed Miss Emily's cape bonnet. But she'll be very glad to find it, and I'll carry it to her. I'd rather think, said she, looking over her shoulder as she ran off, I'd rather think Miss Emily would be willing you should wear her bonnet home if you'll be careful and not bend it. A few moments of embarrassment and anger to Belle laughed her from Kitty and Mr. Bruce, and concealed amusement on Lieutenant Osborne's part. And Gertrude came hastily from the woods with a hat in her hand, Fanny following her, and taking advantage of Belle's position with her back towards her to resume her pantomimic threats and insinuations. Miss Clinton, said Gertrude, as she placed the hat in her lap, I'm afraid Fanny has been very rude in my name. I did not send her for either hat or bonnet, and she'll be pleased to have you wear this as often as you like. I don't want it, said Belle scornfully. I'd no idea it belonged to you. Certainly not, I am aware of it, said Gertrude, but I trust that will not prevent your making use of it for today at least. Without urging the matter further, she proposed that they should hasten onto the top of the hill, which they could not otherwise reach before sundown, and set the example by moving forward in that direction. Fanny accompanying her, and busying herself as she went with stripping the decorations from Emily's despised bonnet. Belle tying an embroidered handkerchief under her chin, and Mr. Bruce swinging on his arm the otherwise neglected hat. Belle did not recover her temper for the evening. The rest found their excursion agreeable, and it was nearly dark when they reached the Thornton farm on their return. Here Gertrude left them, telling Fanny that she had promised to stop and see Jimmy Thornton, one of her Sunday school class, who was sick with a fever, and refusing to let her remain, as her mother might not wish her to enter the house, where several of the family were sick. About an hour after, as Gertrude was walking home in some haste, she was joined near Mr. Graham's house by Mr. Bruce, who, with her hat still hanging on his arm, seemed to have been awaiting her return. She started on his abruptly joining her, for it was so dark that she did not at once recognize him, and supposed it might be a stranger. Miss Gertrude, said he, I hope I don't alarm you. Oh, no, said she, reassured by the sound of his voice. I did not know who it was. He offered his arm, and she took it, for his recent devotion to Kitty had served in some degree to relieve her of any fear she had felt, lest his attentions carried meaning with them. And concluding that he liked to play beau-general, she had no objection to his escorting her home. We had a very pleasant walk this evening, said he. At least I had. Miss Kitty is a very entertaining companion. I think she is, replied Gertrude. I like her frank, lively manners much. I am afraid you found Fanny rather poor company. I should have joined you occasionally, but I could hardly find an opportunity to quit Miss Kitty. We were so much interested in what we were saying. Fanny and I are accustomed to each other, and very happy together. Do you know we have planned a delightful drive for tomorrow? No, I was not aware of it. I suppose Miss Ray expects I shall ask her to go with me. But supposing, Miss Gertrude, I should give you the preference and ask you, what should you say? That I was much obliged to you, but had an engagement to take a drive with Miss Emily, replied Gertrude promptly. Indeed, said he, in a surprised and provoked tone, I thought you would like it. But Miss Kitty, I doubt not, will accept. I will go in and ask her, for they had now reached the house. Here is your hat. Thank you, said Gertrude, and would have taken it, but Ben still held it by one string and said, then you won't go, Miss Gertrude? My engagement with Miss Emily cannot be postponed on any account, answered Gertrude, thankful that she had so excellent a reason for declining. Nonsense, said Mr. Bruce, you could go with me if you chose, and if you don't, I shall certainly invite Miss Kitty. The weight he seemed to attach to this threat astonished Gertrude. Can it be possible, thought she, that he expects thus to pick and annoy me? And she replied to it by saying, I shall be happy if my declining proved the means of Kitty's enjoying a pleasant drive. She has found the variety and has few opportunities here to indulge her taste. They now entered the parlor. Mr. Bruce sought Kitty in the recess of the window, and Gertrude, not finding Emily present, stayed but a short time in the room. Long enough, however, to observe Mr. Bruce's exaggerated devotion to Kitty, which was marked by others beside herself. Kitty promised to accompany him the next day, and did so. Mrs. Graham, Mrs. Bruce, Belle, and the Lieutenant went also in another vehicle, and Emily and Gertrude, according to their original intention, took a different direction, and driving White Charlie in the old-fashioned buggy, rejoiced in their quiet independence. End of chapter 30.