 31. Sporting at will, and molding sport to art, with that sad holiness, the human heart. New Timon. And now days and even weeks passed on, and no marked event took place in Mr. Graham's household. The weather became intensely warm, and no more walks and drives were planned. The lieutenant left the neighboring city, which was at this season nearly deserted by the friends of Mrs. Graham and her nieces, and Isabelle, who could neither endure with patience excessive heat or want of society, grew more irritable and fretful than ever. To Kitty, however, these summer days were fraught with interest. Mr. Bruce remained in the neighborhood, visited constantly at the house, and exercised a marked influence upon her outward demeanor and her inward happiness, which were changeable and fluctuating as his attentions were freely bestowed, or altogether suspended. No wonder the poor girl was puzzled to understand one whose conduct was certainly inexplicable to any but those initiated into his motives. Believing as he did, that Gertrude Wood in time show a disposition to win him back, he was anxious only to carry his addresses to Kitty, to such a point as would excite a serious alarm in the mind of the poor protege of the Grams, who dared to slight his proffered advances. Believing then as he did almost totally with reference to Gertrude, it was only in her presence, or under such circumstances, that he was sure it would reach her ears, that he manifested a marked interest in Kitty. And his behavior was, therefore, in the highest degree unequal, leading the warm-hearted Kitty to believe one moment that he felt for her almost the tenderness of a lover. And the next, to suffer under the apprehension of having unconsciously wounded or offended him by her careless gaiety or conversation. Unfortunately, too, Mrs. Gram took every opportunity to tease and congratulate her upon her conquest, thereby increasing the simple girl's confidence in the sincerity of Mr. Bruce's admiration. Nor were Mr. Bruce and Kitty the only persons who found occasion for vexation and anxiety in this matter. Gertrude, whose eyes were soon opened to the existing state of things, was filled with regret and apprehension on account of Kitty, for whose peace and welfare she felt a tender and affectionate concern. The suspicions to which Mr. Bruce's conduct gave rise, during the scenes which have been detailed, were soon strengthened into convictions. For on several occasions, after he had been offering Kitty ostentatious proofs of devotion, he thought proper to test their effect upon Gertrude by the tender of some attention to herself. More than intimating, at the same time, that she had it in her power to rob Kitty of all claim upon his favour. Gertrude availed herself of every opportunity to acquaint him with the truth, that he could not possibly render himself more odious in her eyes than by the use of such mean attempts to mortify her. But attributing her warmth to the very feeling of jealousy which she desired to excite, the selfish young man persevered in his course of folly and wickedness. As he only proffered his attentions and made no offer of his heart in hand, Gertrude did not in the least trust his professions towards herself, considering them merely as intended, if possible, to move her from her firm and consistent course of behaviour in order to gratify his self-love. But she saw plainly that, however light and vain his motives might be in her own case, they were still more so with reference to Kitty. And she was deeply grieved at the evident unconsciousness of this fact which the simple girl constantly exhibited. For strangely enough, Kitty, having quite forgotten that she had a few weeks back, looked upon Gertrude as a rival, now chose her for her bosom friend and confidant. Her aunt was too coarse and rough, bell too selfish and vain, to be entrusted with little matters of the heart. And though Kitty had no idea of confessing her partiality for Mr. Bruce, the transparency of her character was such that she betrayed her secret to Gertrude, without being in the least aware that she had done so. Though no one but Gertrude appeared to observe it, Kitty was wonderfully changed. The gay, laughing, careless Kitty had now her fits of musing. Her sunny face was subject to clouds that flitted across it and robbed it of all its brightness. Now her spirits were unnaturally free and lively, and now she wore a pensive expression, and stealthily lifting her eyes, fixed them anxiously on the face of Mr. Bruce, as of steadying his temper or his sentiments. If she saw Gertrude walking in the garden, or sitting alone in her room, she would approach, throw her arm around her, lean against her shoulder, and talk on her favourite topic. She would relate, with a mixture of simplicity and folly, the complementary speeches and polite attentions of Mr. Bruce, talk about him for an hour, and question Gertrude as to her opinion of his merits, and the sincerity of his avowed admiration for herself. She would intimate her perception of some fault possessed by him, who was in her eyes almost perfection, and when Gertrude coincided with her and expressed regret at the evident failing, she would exhaust a great amount of strength and ingenuity in her efforts to prove that they were both mistaken in attributing it to him, and that, if he had a fault, it was in reality quite the reverse. She would ask if Gertrude really supposed he meant all he said, and add that, of course, she didn't believe he did, it was all nonsense. And if Gertrude embraced the opportunity to avow the same opinion, and declared that it was not best to trust all his high-flown flatteries, poor Kitty's face would fall, and she would proceed to give her reasons for sometimes thinking he was sincere. He had such a truthful, earnest way of speaking. It was no use to throw out hints, or try to establish safeguards. She was completely infatuated. At last Mr. Bruce thought proper to try Gertrude's firmness by offering to her acceptance a rich ring. Not a little surprised at his presumption, she declined it without hesitation or ceremony, and the next day saw it on the finger of Kitty, who was eager to give an account of its presentation. And did you accept it, asked Gertrude, with such a look of astonishment that Kitty observed it, and evaded an acknowledgement of having done so, by saying with a blushing countenance, that she agreed to wear it a little while? I wouldn't, said Gertrude. Why not? Because in the first place I do not think it is in good taste to receive rich gifts from gentlemen, and then again, if strangers notice it, you may be subjected to unpleasant significant remarks. What would you do with it, asked Kitty? I should give it back. Kitty looked very undecided, but on reflection concluded to offer it to Mr. Bruce, and tell him what Gertrude said. She did so, and that gentleman, little appreciating Gertrude's motives, and believing her only desirous of making difficulty between him and Kitty, jumped at the conclusion that her heart was one at last, and that his triumph would now be complete. He was disappointed, therefore, when, on his next meeting with her, she treated him, as she had invariably done of late, with quail civility. Indeed, it seemed to him that she was more insensible than ever to his attractions, but hastily quitting the house, much to the distress of Kitty, who spent the rest of the day in thinking over everything she had done and said which could by any possibility have given offence. He sought his old haunt under the pear-tree, and gave himself up to the consideration of a weighty question. Seldom did Ben Bruce feel called upon to take serious views of any subject. Seldom was he accustomed to rally and marshal the powers of his mind, and deliberately weigh the two sides of an argument. Being as he did, with no higher aim than the promoting of his own selfish gratification, he had been wont to avail himself of every opportunity for amusement and indulgence, and even to bring mean and petty artifice to the furtherance of his plans. Possessed as he was, notwithstanding his narrow mind, with what is often called a good look-out, he was rarely cheated or defrauded of his rights. He knew the value of his money and position in life, and never suffered himself to be sacrificed to the designs of those who hoped to reap a benefit from his companionship. Self-sacrifice, too, was a thing of which he had no experience, and with which, as seen in others, he felt no sympathy. Now, however, a crisis had arrived when his own interests and wishes clashed, when necessity demanded that one should be immolated at the shrine of the other, and a choice must be made between the two. It was certainly a matter which claimed deep deliberation, and if Ben Bruce, for the first time in his life, devoted a whole afternoon to careful thought and an accurate measurement of opposing forces, the occurrence must be attributed to the fact that he was making up his mind on the most important question that ever yet had agitated it. Shall I, thought he, conclude to marry this poor girl, shall I, who am master of a handsome fortune, and have additional expectations, forgo the prospect they afford me of making a brilliant alliance, and condescend to share my wealth and station in society with this adapted child of the grams, who, in spite of her poverty, will not grant me a smile even, except at the price of all my possessions? If she were one atom less charming, I would disappoint her after all. I wonder how she'd feel if I should marry Kitty. I daresay I should never have the satisfaction of knowing, for she's so proud that she would come to my wedding, for, ah, I know, bend her slender neck as gracefully as ever, and say, Good evening, Mr. Bruce, as politely and calmly as she does now. Every time I go to the house, it provokes me to see how a poor girl like that carries herself. But as Mrs. Bruce, I should be proud of that manner, certainly. I wonder how I ever got in love with her. I'm sure I don't know. She isn't handsome—at least, mother thinks she isn't—and so does Belle Clinton. But then again, Lieutenant Osborn noticed her the minute she came into the room, and there's fan raves about her beauty. I don't know what I think myself. I believe she's bewitched me, so that I'm not capable of judging. But if it isn't beauty, it is because it's something more than mere good looks. Thus he soliloquized, and as every time he revolved to the subject, he commenced by dwelling upon the immense sacrifice he was making, and ended with reflections upon Gertrude's charms. It may well be supposed that he ultimately came to the conclusion that he should suffer less by laying his fortune at her feet than by the endeavour to enjoy the fortune without her. For a few days after he arrived at the Resolve on this point, he had no opportunity to address a word to Gertrude, who was now doubly anxious to avoid him, and spent nearly the whole day above stairs, except when, at Emily's request, she accompanied her for a short time into the parlor. And even then she took pains, under some pretext or other, to remain close by the side of her blind friend. About this time Mrs. Graham and Mrs. Bruce, with their families, received cards for a levée to be held at the house of an acquaintance nearly five miles distance. It was on the occasion of the marriage of a schoolmate of Isabelle's, and both she and Kitty were desirous to be present. Mrs. Bruce, who had a close carriage, invited both the cousins to accompany her, and as Mr. Graham's carry-all, when closed, would only accommodate himself and the lady, the proposal was gladly acceded to. The prospect of a gay assembly, and an opportunity for display, revived Isabelle's drooping spirits and energy. Her rich evening dresses were brought out, for the selection of the most suitable and becoming. And as she stood before the mirror, and tried on first one wreath and then another, and looked so beautiful in each, that it was difficult to make a choice. Kitty, who stood by, eagerly endeavouring to win her attention, and obtained her advice concerning the style and colour most desirable for herself, gave up in despair and ran off to consult Gertrude. She found her reading in her own room, but on Kitty's abrupt entrance she laid down her book, and gave her undivided attention to the subject which was under discussion. Gertrude, said Kitty, what shall I wear this evening? I've been trying to get Belle to tell me, but she never will speak a word or hear what I ask her, when she's thinking about her own dress. I declare she's dreadfully selfish. Who advises her? Asked Gertrude. Oh, nobody, she always decides for herself, but then she has so much taste, and I haven't the least in the world. So do tell me, Gertrude, what had I better wear tonight? I'm the last person you should ask, Kitty, I never went to a fashionable party in my life. That doesn't make any difference, I'm sure, if you did go, you'd look better than any of us, and I'm not afraid to trust your opinion, for I never in my life saw you wear anything that didn't look genteel. Even your gingham morning-gown has a sort of stylish air. Stop, stop, Kitty, you are going too far, you must keep within bounds if you want me to believe you. Well, then, said Kitty, to say nothing of yourself, for I know you're superior to flattery, Gertrude, somebody told me so. Who furnishes Miss Emily's wardrobe? Who selects her dresses? I have done so lately, but— I thought so, I thought so, interrupted Kitty, I knew poor Miss Emily was indebted to you for always looking so nice and beautiful. No indeed, Kitty, you are mistaken, I have never seen Emily better dressed than she was the first time I met her, and her beauty is not borrowed from art, it is all her own. Oh, I know she is lovely, and everybody admires her, but no one can suppose she would take pains to wear such pretty things, and put them on so gracefully, just to please herself. It is not done merely to please herself, it was to please her father, that Emily first made the exertion to dress with taste, as well as neatness. I have heard that, for some time after she lost her eyesight, she was disposed to be very careless, but having accidentally discovered that it was an additional cause of sorrow to him, she roused herself at once, and with Miss Alice's assistance, contrived always afterwards to please him in that particular. But you observe, Kitty, she never wears anything showy or conspicuous. No indeed, that is what I like, but Gertrude, hasn't she always been blind? No, until she was sixteen she had beautiful eyes, and could see as well as you can. What happened to her? How did she lose them? I don't know. Didn't you ever ask? No. Why not? How queer! I heard that she didn't like to speak of it. But she would have told you, she half worships you. If she had wished me to know, she would have told without my asking. Kitty stared at Gertrude, wondering much at such unusual delicacy and consideration, and instinctively admiring a forbearance of which she was conscious she should herself have been incapable. But your dress, said Gertrude, smiling at Kitty's abstraction. Oh yes, I had almost forgotten what I came here for, said Kitty. What shall it be, then, thick or thin, pink, blue or white? What has Isabelle decided upon? Blue, a rich blue silk. That is her favorite color, always, but it doesn't become me. No, I should think not, said Gertrude, but come, Kitty, we will go to your room and see the dresses, and I will give my opinion. Kitty's wardrobe having been inspected, and Gertrude having expressed her preference for thin and flowing material, especially in the summer season, a delicate white crepe was fixed upon. And now there was a new difficulty. Among all her headdresses, none proved satisfactory. All were more or less defaced, and none of them to be compared with a new and exquisite wreath which Isabelle was arranging among her curls. I cannot wear any of them, said Kitty. They look so mean by the sight of Isabelle's. But oh! exclaimed she, glancing in a box which lay on the dressing table. These are just what I should like. Oh, Isabelle, where did you get these beautiful carnations? And she took up some flowers, which were, indeed, a rare imitation of nature, and displaying them to Gertrude, added that they were just what she wanted. Oh, Kitty, said Isabelle, angrily, turning away from the glass, and observing what her cousin had in her hand. Don't touch my flowers, you will spoil them. And snatching them from her, she replaced them in the box, opened a drawer in her bureau, and having deposited them there, took the precaution to lock them up, and put the key in her pocket, an action which Gertrude witnessed with astonishment, not unmingled with indignation. Kitty, said she, I will arrange a wreath of natural flowers for you, if you wish. Will you, Gertrude, said the disappointed and provoked Kitty? Oh, that will be delightful. I should like it, of all things. And Isabelle, you cross-old miser, you can keep all your wreaths to yourself. It is a pity you can't wear two at a time. True to her promise, Gertrude prepared a headdress for Kitty, and so tastefully did she mingle the choicest productions of the garden, that when Isabelle saw her cousin arrayed under a more careful and affectionate superintendence than she often enjoyed, she felt, notwithstanding her own proud consciousness of superior beauty, a sharp pang of jealousy of Kitty, and dislike to Gertrude. It had been no small source of annoyance to Isabelle, who could not endure to be outshone, that Kitty had of late been the object of marked attention to Mr. Bruce, while she herself had been entirely overlooked. Not that she felt any partiality for the gentleman whom Kitty was so anxious to please, but the dignity conferred on her cousin by his admiration, the interest the affair awakened in her aunt, and the meaning looks of Mrs. Bruce, all made her feel herself of second-rate importance, and rendered her more eager than ever to supplant, in general society, the comparatively unpretending Kitty. Therefore, when Mrs. Graham complimented the letter on her unusually attractive appearance, and declared that somebody would this night be more charmed than ever, Isabelle curled her lip with mingled disdain and defiance, while the blushing Kitty turned to Gertrude, and whispered in her ear, Mr. Bruce likes white. He said so the other day, when you passed through the room dressed in your mauled muslin. CHAPTER XXXII No then that I have supported my pretensions to your hand in the way that best suited my character, Ivanhoe. Emily was not well this evening. It was often the case, lately, that headache, unwanted weariness, or a nervous shrinking from noise and excitement, sent her to her own room, and sometimes led her to seek her couch at an early hour. After Mrs. Graham and her nieces had gone downstairs to await Mr. Graham's pleasure and Mrs. Bruce's arrival, Gertrude returned to Emily, whom she had left only a short time before, and found her suffering more than usual from what she termed her troublesome head. She was easily induced to seek the only infallible cure, sleep, and Gertrude, seating herself on the bedside, as she was frequently in the habit of doing, bathed her temples until she fell into a quiet slumber. The noise of Mrs. Bruce's carriage, coming and going, seemed to disturb her a little. But in a few moments more she was so sound asleep that when Mr. and Mrs. Graham departed, the loud voice of the latter, giving her orders to one of the servants, did not startle her in the least. Gertrude sat some time longer without changing her position. Even quietly rising and arranging everything for the night, according to Emily's well-known wishes, she closed the door gently behind her, saw a book in her own room, and entering the cool and vacant parlor, seated herself at a table, to enjoy the now rare opportunity for perfect stillness and repose. Either her own thoughts, however, proved more interesting than the volume she held, or it may be the insects attracted by the bright lamp annoyed her, or the beauty of the evening won her observation, for she soon forsook her seat at the table, and going towards the open-glass doors, placed herself near them, and leading her head upon her hand, became absorbed in meditation. She had not long sat thus when she heard a footstep in the room, and turning, saw Mr. Bruce beside her. She started, and exclaimed, Mr. Bruce, is it possible? I thought you had gone to the wedding. No, there were greater attractions for me at home. Could you believe, Miss Gertrude, I should find any pleasure in a party which did not include yourself? I certainly should not have the vanity to suppose the reverse, replied Gertrude. I wish you had a little more vanity, Miss Gertrude. Perhaps then you would sometimes believe what I say. I am glad you have the candor to acknowledge, Mr. Bruce, that without that requisite one would find it impossible to put faith in your fair speeches. I acknowledge no such thing. I only say to you what any other girl but yourself would be willing enough to believe, but how shall I convince you that I am serious, and wish to be so understood? How shall I persuade you to converse freely with me, and no longer shun my society? By addressing me with simple truthfulness, and sparing me those words and attentions which I have endeavored to convince you are unacceptable to me, and unworthy of yourself. But I have a meaning, Gertrude, a deep meaning. I have been trying for several days to find an opportunity to tell you of my resolve, and you must listen to me now. For he saw her change colour, and look anxious and uneasy. You must give me an answer at once, and one that will, I trust, be favourable to my wishes. You like plain speaking, and I will be plain enough, now that my mind is made up. My relatives and friends may talk and wonder, as much as they please, at my choosing a wife who has neither money nor family to boast of. But I have determined to defy them all, and offer without hesitation, to share my prospects with you. After all, what is money good for, if it doesn't make a man independent to do as he pleases? And as to the world, I don't see but you can hold your head as high as anybody, Gertrude. So if you have no objection to make, we'll play at cross purposes no longer, and consider the thing settled. And he endeavored to take her hand. But Gertrude drew back, the colour flushed her cheeks, and her eyes glistened as she fixed them upon his face, with an expression of astonishment and pride that could not be mistaken. The calm, penetrating look of those dark eyes spoke volumes, and Mr. Bruce replied to their inquiring gaze in these words, I hope you are not displeased at my frankness. With your frankness, said Gertrude, calmly, no, that is a thing that never displeases me, but what have I unconsciously done to inspire you with so much confidence that while you defend yourself for defying the wishes of your friends you hardly give me a voice in the matter. Nothing, said Bruce, in an apologizing tone, but I thought you had laboured under the impression that I was disposed to trifle with your affections, and had therefore kept aloof and maintained a distance towards me which you would not have done had you known how much I was in earnest. But believe me, I only admired you the more for behaving with so much dignity, and if I have presumed upon your favour you must forgive me. I shall be only too happy to receive a favourable answer from you. The expression of wounded pride vanished from Gertrude's face. He knows no better, thought she, I should pity his vanity and ignorance and sympathize in his disappointment. And in disclaiming, with the positiveness which left no room for further self-deception, any interest in Mr. Bruce beyond that of an old acquaintance and sincere well-wisher, she nevertheless softened her refusal by the choice of the mildest language and terms the least likely to grieve or mortify him. She felt, as every true woman must under similar circumstances, that her gratitude and consideration were due to the man who, however little she might esteem him, had paid her the highest honour, and though her regret in the matter was somewhat tempered by the thought of Kitty, and the strangeness of Mr. Bruce's conduct towards her, now rendered doubly inexplicable. She did not permit that reflection even to prevent her from maintaining the demeanor not only of a perfect lady, but of one who, and giving pain to another, laments the necessity of doing so. She almost felt, however, as if her thoughtfulness for his feelings had been thrown away, when she perceived the spirit in which she received her refusal. Gertrude said he, you were either trifling with me or yourself. If you are still disposed to cook out with me, I desire to have it understood that I shall not humble myself to urge you further. But if, on the other hand, you are so far forgetful of your own interests as deliberately to refuse such a fortune of mine, I think it's a pity you haven't got some friend to advise you. Such a chance doesn't occur every day, especially to poor school mistresses, and if you are so foolish as to overlook it, I'll venture to say you'll never have another. Gertrude's old temper rose at this insulting language, be enthrobbed in her chafed spirit, and even betrayed itself in the tips of her fingers, which trembled as they rested on the table near where she stood, having risen as Mr. Bruce spoke. But though this was an unlooked for and unwanted rebellion of an old enemy, her feelings had too long been under strict regulation to yield to the blast, however sudden, and she replied in a tone which, though slightly agitated, was far from being angry. Allowing I could so far forget myself, Mr. Bruce, I would not do you such an injustice as to marry you for your fortune. I do not despise wealth, for I know the blessing it may often be, but my affections cannot be bought with gold. And as she spoke she moved towards the door. Stay, said Mr. Bruce, catching her hand. Listen to me one moment. Let me ask you one question. Are you jealous of my late attentions to another? No, answered Gertrude, but I confess I have not understood your motives. Did you think, asked he eagerly, that I cared for that silly kitty? Did you believe, for a moment, that I had any other desire than to show you that my devotion was acceptable elsewhere? No, upon my word, I never had the least particle of regard for her. My heart has been yours all the time, and I only dance to tendons upon her and hopes to win a glance from you. An anxious glance, if might be. Oh, how often I have wished that you would show one quarter of the pleasure that she did in my society. Would blush and smile as she did, would look sad when I was dull, and laugh when I was merry, so that I might flatter myself, as I could in her case, that your heart was one. But as to loving her—poo!—Mrs. Grimm's poodle-dog might as well try to rival you, as that soft. Stop! Stop! exclaimed Gertrude, for my sake, if not for your own. Oh, how! She could say no more, but sinking into the nearest sea burst into tears, and hiding her face in her hands, as had been her habit in childhood, wept without restraint. Mr. Bruce stood by in utter amazement. At last he approached her, and asked in a low voice, What is the matter? What have I done? It was some minutes before she could reply to the question, then lifting her head, and tossing the hair from her forehead. She displayed features, expressive only, of the deepest grief, and said in broken accents, What have you done? Oh, how can you ask? She is gentle, and amiable, and affectionate. She loves everybody, and trusts everybody. You have deceived her, and I was the cause of it. Oh, how! How could you do it? A most disconcerted appearance did Ben present at her words, and hesitating was the tone in which she muttered. She will get over it. Get over what? said Gertrude, her love for you? Perhaps so. I know not how deep it is. But think of her happy, trusting nature, and how it has been betrayed. Think how she believed your flattering words, and how hollow they were all the while. Think how her confidence has been abused. How that fatherless and motherless girl, who had a claim to the sympathy of all the world, has been taught a lesson of distrust. I didn't think you would take it so, said Ben. How else could I view it, asked Gertrude? Could you expect that such a course would win my respect? You take it very seriously, Gertrude. Such flirtations are common. I am sorry to hear it, said Gertrude. To my mind, unversed in the ways of society, it is a dreadful thing to trifle thus with a human heart. Whether Kitty loves you is not for me to say. But what opinion, alas, will she have of your sincerity? I think your rather hard, Miss Gertrude, when it was my love for you that prompted my conduct. Perhaps I am, said Gertrude. It is not my place to censure. I speak only from the impulse of my heart. One orphan girl's warm defense of another is but natural. Perhaps she views the thing lightly and does not need an advocate. But, oh, Mr. Bruce, do not think so meanly of my sex as to believe that one woman's heart can be one to love and reverence by the author of another's betrayal. She were less than woman who could be so false to her sense of right and honor. Betrayal? Nonsense. You are very high-flown. So much so, Mr. Bruce, that half an hour ago I could have wept with you that you should have bestowed your affection where it met with no requital. And if now I weep for the sake of her whose ears have listened to false professions and whose peace has, to say the least, been threatened on my account, you should attribute it to the fact that my sympathies have not been exhausted by contact with the world. A short silence ensued. Ben went a step or two towards the door, then stopped, came back, and said, After all, Gertrude Flint, I believe the time will come when your notions will grow less romantic, and you will look back to this night and wish you had acted differently. You will find out in time that this is a world where people must look out for themselves. Immediately upon this remark he left the room, and Gertrude heard him shut the hall door with a loud bang as he went out. A moment after the silence then ensued was disturbed by a slight sound, which seemed to proceed from the deep recess in the window. Gertrude started, and as she went towards a spot, heard distinctly a smothered sob. She lifted a drapeured curtain, and there, upon the wide window seat, her head bent over and buried in the cushions, and her little slender form distorted into a strange and forelorn attitude such as might be seen in a grieved child, sat, or rather crouched, poor kitty ray. The crumpled folds of her white-craped dress, her withered wreath, which had half fallen from her head and hung drooping on her shoulders, her disordered hair, and her little hand clinging to a thick cord connected with the window curtain, all added to the appearance of extreme distress. Kitty cried Gertrude, at once recognizing her, although her face was hid. At the sound of her voice kitty sprung suddenly from her recumbent posture, threw herself into Gertrude's arms, laid her head upon her shoulder, and though she did not, could not weep, shook and trembled with an agitation which was perfectly uncontrollable. Her hand, which grasped Gertrude's, was fearfully cold. Her eyes seemed fixed, and occasionally, at intervals, the same hysterical sound which had at first betrayed her in her hiding-place, alarmed her young protector, to whom she clung, as of ceased with sudden fear. Gertrude supported her to a seat, and then, folding the slight form to her bosom, chafed the cold hands, and again and again kissing the rigid lips, succeeded at last in restoring her to something like composure. For an hour she laid us, receiving Gertrude's caresses with evident pleasure, and now and then returning them convulsively, but speaking no word, and making no noise. Gertrude, with the truest judgment and delicacy, refrained from asking questions, or recurring to a conversation the whole of which had been thus overheard and comprehended. The patiently waiting until Kitty grew more quiet and calm, prepared for her a soothing draught, and then, finding her completely prostrated, both in mind and body, passed her armor on her waist, guided her upstairs, and without the ceremony of an invitation, took her into her own room, where, if she proved wakeful, she would be spared the wonder and scrutiny of Isabel. Still clinging to Gertrude, the poor girl, to whose relief tears came at last, sobbed herself to sleep, and all her sufferings were for a time forgotten, in the oblivion in which childhood and youth find a temporary rest, and often a healing balm to pain. It was otherwise, however, with Gertrude, who, though nearly of the same age as Kitty, had seen too much trouble, experienced too much care, to enjoy, in times of disquiet, the privilege of sinking easily to repose. She fell under the necessity, too, of remaining awake until Isabel's return, that she might inform her what had become of Kitty, whom she would be sure to miss from the room which they occupied in common. She seated herself, therefore, at the window, to watch for her return, and was pained to observe that Kitty tossed restlessly on her pillows, and occasionally muttered in her sleep, as if distressed by uneasy dreams. It was past midnight when Mrs. Graham and her niece returned home, and Gertrude went immediately to inform the latter that her cousin was asleep in her room. The noise of the carriages, however, had awakened the sleeper, and when Gertrude returned, she was rubbing her eyes, and trying to collect her thoughts. Suddenly the recollection of the scene of the evening flashed upon her, and with a deep sigh she exclaimed, "'Oh, Gertrude, I have been dreaming of Mr. Bruce. Should you have thought he would have treated me so?' "'No, I should not,' said Gertrude, but I wouldn't dream about him, Kitty, nor think of him any more. We will both go to sleep and forget him.' "'It is different for you,' said Kitty, with simplicity. He loves you, and you do not care for him, but I, I hear her feelings overpowered her, and she buried her face in the pillow.' Gertrude approached, laid her hand kindly upon the head of the poor girl, and finished the sentence for her. "'You have such a large heart, Kitty, that he found some place there, perhaps, but it is too good a heart to be shared by the mean and base. You must think no more of him. He is not worthy of your regard.' "'I can't help it,' said Kitty. I am silly, just as he said.' "'No, you are not,' said Gertrude, encouragingly, and you must prove it to him.' "'How?' "'Let him see that, with all her softness, Kitty Ray is strong and brave, that she has ceased to believe his flattery, and values his professions at just what they are worth. "'Will you help me, Gertrude? You are my best friend. You took my part, and told him how wicked he had been to me. May I come to you for comfort when I can't make believe happy any longer to him, and my aunt and Isabel?' Gertrude's fervent embrace was assurance enough of her cooperation and sympathy. "'You will be as bright and happy as ever in a few weeks,' said she. "'You will soon cease to care for a person whom you no longer respect.'" Kitty disclaimed the possibility of ever being happy again. But Gertrude, though herself a novice in the ways of the human heart, was much more sanguine and hopeful. She saw that Kitty's violent outburst of sobs and tears was like a child's impetuous grief, and suspected that the deepest recesses of her nature were safe and unendangered by the storm. She felt a deep compassion for her, however, and many fears lest she would be wanting insufficient strength of mind to behave with dignity and womanly pride in her future intercourse with Mr. Bruce, and would also expose herself to the ridicule of Isabel and the contempt of her aunt by betraying in her looks and behaviour her recent trying and mortifying experience. Fortunately the first mentioned trial was spared her by Mr. Bruce's immediately absenting himself from the house, and in the course of a few days leaving home for the remainder of the summer. And as this circumstance involved both his own and Mrs. Graham's family in doubt and wonder as to the cause of his sudden departure, Kitty's outward trials consisted chiefly in the continued and repeated questionings from her aunt and cousin, to which she was incessantly exposed, as to her share in this sudden and unlooked-for occurrence. Had she refused him, had she curled with him, and why? Kitty denied that she had done either, but she was not believed, and the affair remained a strange and interesting mystery. Both Mrs. Graham and Isabel were aware that Kitty's refusing at the last moment to attend the wedding levée was owing to her having accidentally learned just before the carriage drove to the door that Mr. Bruce was not to be of the party. And as they rung from her the confession that he had passed a part of the evening at the house, they came to the very natural conclusion that some misunderstanding had arisen between the supposed lovers. Isabel was too well acquainted with Kitty's sentiments to believe she had voluntarily relinquished an admirer who had evidently been highly prized, and she also saw that the sensitive girl winced under every illusion to the deserter. One would have thought, then, that common affection and delicacy would have taught her to forebear any reference to the painful subject. But this was not the case. She made Mr. Bruce and his strange disappearance her almost constant topic, and on occasion of the slightest difference or disagreement arising between herself and Kitty, she silenced and distressed the latter by some pointed and cutting sarcasm relative to her late love affair. Kitty would then seek refuge with Gertrude, relate her trials, and claim her sympathy, and she not only found in her a friendly listener to her woes, but invariably acquired in her society greater strength and cheerfulness than she could elsewhere rally to her aid, so that she became gradually dependent upon her for the only peace she enjoyed. And Gertrude, who felt a sincere interest in the girl who had been on her account subjected to such cruel deception, and whose drooping spirits and pensive countenance spoke touchingly of her inner sorrow, spared no pains to enliven her sadness, divert her thoughts, and win her to those occupations and amusements in which she herself had often found a relief from praying care and vexation. A large proportion of her time was necessarily devoted to her dearest and best friend Emily. But there was nothing exclusive in Emily's nature, when not suffering from those bodily afflictions to which she was subject, she was ever ready to extend a cordial welcome to all visitors who could find pleasure or benefit from her society, and even the wild and thoughtless fanny never felt herself an intruder in Emily's premises. So sweet was a smile with which she was greeted, so forebearing the indulgence which was awarded to her waywardness. It can hardly be supposed, then, that Kitty would be excluded from her hospitality, especially after Emily, with a truly wonderful perception, became aware that she was less gay and happy than formerly, and had therefore an additional claim upon her kindness. Many a time, when Isabelle had been tantalizing and wounding Kitty beyond what her patients could endure, and Gertrude had been vainly saw elsewhere, a little figure would present itself at the half-open door of Miss Graham's room, and be sure to hear the sweetest of voices saying from within, I hear you, Kitty, come in, my dear, we shall be glad of your pleasant company. And once there, seated by the side of Gertrude, learning from her some little art in needlework, listening to an agreeable book, for Emily's more agreeable conversation. Kitty passed hours which were never forgotten, so peaceful were they, so serene, so totally unlike any she had ever spent before. Nor did they fail to leave an lasting impression upon her, for the benefit of her mind and heart. None could live in the familiar intercourse with Emily, listen to her words, observe the radiance of her heavenly smile, and breathe in the pure atmosphere that environed her very being, and not carry away with them the love of virtue and holiness, if not something of their essence. She was so unselfish, so patient, notwithstanding her privations, that Kitty would have been ashamed to repine in her presence, and there was a contagious cheerfulness ever pervading her apartment, which, in spite of Kitty's recent cause of unhappiness, often led her to forget herself, and break into her natural tone of buoyancy and glee, as week after week passed away, and her sufferings and regrets, which at first were so vehement and severe, began to wear off as rapidly as such hurricane sorrows are apt to do, and the process of cure went on silently and unconsciously. Another work at the same time progressed, to her equally salutary and important. In her constant intercourse, with the pure heart and superior mind of Emily, and her still more familiar intimacy with one who had sat at her feet and learned of her, Kitty imbibed an elevation of thought, and a worthiness of aim, quite foreign to her quantum character. The foolish child, whose heart was ensnared by the flatteries of Mr. Bruce, learned, partly through the example and precepts of her new counselors and friends, and partly through her own bitter experience, the vanity and emptiness of the food thus administered to her mind, and resolving, for the first time in her life, to cultivate and cherish her immortal powers. She now developed the first germs of her better nature, which expanding in later years, and through other influences, transformed the gay, fluttering, vain child of fashion, into the useful, estimable, and lovely woman. End of CHAPTER XXXII. CHAPTER XXXIII of The Lamplighter. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Brigid Gage. The Lamplighter by Maria Susanna Cummins, CHAPTER XXXIII. All slights, neglect, unmixed perhaps with hate, make up in number what they want and wait. These and a thousand griefs, my newest these, corrode our comfort and destroy our ease. Hanna Moore. Little did Gertrude imagine, while she was striving most disinterestedly to promote the welfare and happiness of Kitty, who had thrown herself upon her love and care, the jealousy and ill-will she was exciting in others. Isabelle, who had never liked one whose whole tone of action and life was a continual reproach to her own vanity and selfishness, and who saw in her the additional crime of being the favored friend of a youth of whose interesting boyhood she herself retained a sentimental recollection, was ready and eager to seize the earliest opportunity of rendering her odious in the eyes of Mrs. Graham. She was not slow to observe the remarkable degree of confidence that seemed to exist between Kitty and Gertrude. She remembered that her cousin had forsaken her own rum for that of the latter the very night after her probable quarrel and parting with Bruce, and her resentment and anger excited still farther by the growing friendship which her own coldness and unkindness to Kitty served only to strengthen and confirm. She hastened to communicate to Mrs. Graham her suspicion that Gertrude had, for purposes of her own, made a difficulty between Bruce and Kitty, fostered and widened the breach, and succeeded at last in breaking off the match. Mrs. Graham readily adopted Bell's opinion. Kitty, said she, is weak-minded and evidently very much under Miss Flint's influence. I shouldn't be surprised if you were right, Bell. Thus leaked together they endeavored to surprise or entrap Kitty into a confession of the means which had been taken by Gertrude to drive away her lover, and outwit herself. But Kitty, while she indignantly denied Gertrude's having thus injured her, persisted obstinately in refusing to reveal the occurrences of the eventful evening of the wedding levée. It was the first secret Kitty ever did keep, but her woman's pride was involved in the affair, and she preserved it with a care which both honor and wisdom prompted. Mrs. Graham and Bell were now truly angry, and many were the private discussions held by them on the subject. Many the vain conjectures which they conjured up, and as day after day they became more and more incensed against Gertrude. So they gradually began to manifest it in their demeanor. Gertrude soon perceived the insubility to which she was constantly subjected. For though, in a great degree independent of their friendship, she could not live under the same roof without their having frequent opportunities to wound her by their rudeness, which soon became marked, and would have been unendurable to one whose disposition was less thoroughly schooled than Gertrude's. With wonderful patience, however, did she preserve her equanimity. She had never looked for kindness and attention from Mrs. Graham and Isabel. She had seen from the first that between herself and them there could be little sympathy, and now that they manifested open dislike, she struggled to maintain, on her part, not only self-command and composure, but a constant spirit of charity. It was well that she did not yield to this comparatively light trial of her forbearance. For anew, unexpected, and far more intense provocation was in store for her. Her malicious persecutors incensed and irritated by an unlooked for calmness and patience, which gave them no advantage in their one-sided warfare. Now made their attack in another quarter, and Emily, the sweet, lovely, unoffending Emily, became the object against whom they aimed many of their shafts of unkindness and ill-will. Gertrude could bear injury, injustice, and even hard and cruel language when exercised towards herself only, but her blood boiled in her veins when she began to perceive that her cherished Emily was becoming the victim of mean and petty neglect and ill usage. To address the gentle Emily, in other words than those of courtesy, was next to impossible. It was equally hard to find fault with the actions of one whose life was so good and beautiful, and the somewhat isolated position which she occupied on account of her blindness seemed to render her secure from interference. But Mrs. Graham was coarse and blunt, Isabelle selfish and unfeeling, and long before the blind girl was herself aware of any unkind intention on their part, Gertrude's spirit had chafed and rebelled at the sight and knowledge of many a word and act, well calculated, if perceived, to annoy and distress a sensitive and delicate spirit. Many a stroke was worded off by Gertrude, many a neglect atoned for, before it could be felt. Many a nearly defeated plan, which Emily was known to have at heart, carried through and accomplished by Gertrude's perseverance and energy, and for some weeks Emily was kept ignorant of the fact that many a little office, formerly performed for her by a servant, was now fulfilled by Gertrude, who would not let her know that Bridget had received from her mistress orders which were quite inconsistent with her usual attendance upon Miss Graham's wants. Mr. Graham was at this time absent from home. Some difficulty and anxiety in business matters having called him to New York, at a season when he usually enjoyed his leisure, free from all such cares. His presence would have been a great restraint upon his wife, who was well aware of his devoted affection for his daughter, and his wish that her comfort and case should always be considered of first-rate importance. Indeed, his love and thoughtfulness for Emily and the enthusiastic devotion manifested towards her by every member of the household, had early rendered her an object of jealousy to Mrs. Graham, who was therefore very willing to find ground of offence against her, and in her case, as in Isabelle's, Kitty's desertion to what her aunt and cousin considered the unfriendly party was only a secondary cause of distrust and dislike. The misunderstanding with Mr. Bruce, and their unworthy suspicions of it having been fostered by Gertrude, aided and abetted by Emily, furnished, however, an ostensible motive for the indulgence of their animosity, and one of which they resolved to avail themselves to the utmost. Shortly before Mr. Graham's return home, Mrs. Graham and Isabelle were sitting together, endeavoring to wile away the tedious hours of a sultry August afternoon, by indulging themselves in an unlimited abuse of the rest of the household, when a letter was brought to Mrs. Graham, which proved to be from her husband. After glancing over its contents, she remarked with an air of satisfaction. Here is good news for us, Isabelle, and a prospect of some pleasure in the world, and she read aloud the following passage. The troublesome affair which called me here is nearly settled, and the result is exceedingly favorable to my wishes and plans. I now see nothing to prevent our starting for Europe, the latter part of next month, and the girls must make their arrangements accordingly. Tell Emily to spare nothing towards a full and complete equipment for herself and Gertrude. He speaks of Gertrude, said Isabelle sneeringly, as if she were one of the family. I'm sure I don't see any very great prospect of pleasure in travelling all through Europe with a blind woman and her disagreeable appendages. I can't think what Mr. Graham wants to take them for. I wish he would leave them at home, said Mrs. Graham. It would be a good punishment for Gertrude. But Mercy, he would have soon think of going without his right hand, as without Emily. I hope, if ever I am married, exclaimed Isabelle, it won't be to a man that's got a blind daughter, such a dreadful good person too, whom everybody has got to worship and admire and wait upon. I don't have to wait upon her, said Mrs. Graham. That's Gertrude's business. It's what she's going for. That's the worst of it. Blind girl has to have a waiting-maid, and waiting-maid is a great lady, who doesn't mind cheating your nieces out of their lovers, and even robbing them of each other's affection. Well, what can I do, Belle? I'm sure I don't want Gertrude's company any more than you do, but I don't see how I can get rid of her. I should thank you to tell Mr. Graham some of the harm she's done already. If you have any influence over him, you might prevent her going. It would be no more than she deserves, said Mrs. Graham, thoughtfully. And I am not sure, but I shall give him a hint of her behavior. He'll be surprised enough when he hears of Bruce's sudden flight. I know he thought it would be a match between him and Kitty. At this point in the conversation, Isabel was summoned to see visitors, and left her aunt in a mood pregnant with consequences. As Isabel descended the front staircase to meet with smiles and compliments, the guests whom in her heart she wished a thousand miles away on this intensely hot afternoon, Gertrude came up by the back way from the kitchen, and passed along a passage leading to her own room. She carried over one arm a dress of delicate white muslin, and a number of embroidered collars, sleeves, and ruffles. Together with other articles, evidently fresh from the ironing board. Her face was flushed and heated. She looked tired, and as she reached her room and carefully deposited her burden upon the bed, she drew a long breath, as if much fatigued, seated herself by a window, brushed the hair back from her face, and threw open a blind, to feel, if possible, a breath of cool air. Just at this moment Mrs. Prime put her head in at the half-open door, and seeing Gertrude alone entered the room, but stood fixed with astonishment on observing the evidences of her recent laborious employment. Then glancing directly opposite at the fruits of her diligence, she burst forth indignantly. My sakes alive, Miss Gertrude, I do believe you've been doing up them muslins yourself, after all. Gertrude smiled, but did not reply. Now, if that ain't too bad, said the friendly and kindhearted woman, to think you should have been at work down in that air-hot kitchen, and all the rest on us taken a spell of rest in the heat of the day. All warrant, if Miss Emily knew it, she'd never put on that white gown in this air-world. It hardly looks fit for her to wear, said Gertrude. I'm not much used to ironing, and have had a great deal of trouble with it. One side got dry before I could smooth out the other. It looks elegant, Miss Gertrude, but what should you be doing Bridget's work for? I want to know. Bridget always has enough to do, said Gertrude, evading a direct answer, and it's very well for me to have some practice. Knowledge never comes amiss, you know, Mrs. Prime. Taint no kind of an afternoon for spearments of that sort, and you wouldn't had done it, I'll venture to say, if you hadn't been afeard Miss Emily would want her things, and find out they weren't done. Times has changed in this house, when Mr. Graham's own daughter, that was once to the head of everything, has to have her clothes laid by to make room for other folks. Bridget ought to know better than to mind these up-starters when they tell her, as I heard Miss Graham yesterday, to let alone that heap of Muslims, and attend to something that was a more consequence. Arcady would have known better, but Bridget's a newcomer, like all the rest. Thanks I, to myself then, what would Miss Gertrude say, if she suspected as how Miss Emily was being neglected? But I'll tell Miss Emily, as sure as my name's Prime, just how things go, you shan't get so red in the face with ironing again, Miss Gertrude. If the kind of frock she likes to wear can't be done up at home, and yarn too, what's more, the washin' ought to be put out. There's money enough, and some of it ought to be spent for the use of the ladies, as is ladies. I wish to heart that Isabella could have to start round a little lively, to adieu her good. But, Lord, Miss Gertrude, it goes right to my heart to see all the vexatious things as is happenin' nowadays. I'll go right to Miss Emily this minute, and blow my blast. No, you won't, Mrs. Prime, said Gertrude persuasively, when I ask you not to. You forget how unhappy it would make her if she knew that Mrs. Graham was so wanting in consideration. I would rather iron dresses every day, or do anything else for our dear Emily, than to let her suspect even that anybody could willingly be unkind to her. Mrs. Prime hesitated. Miss Gertrude, said she, I thought I loved our dear young lady, as well as anybody could, but I believe you love her better still, to be so thoughtful, and wise like, all for her sake. And I wouldn't say nothing about it, only I think aside of you, too. You've been here ever since you was a little gale, and we all said lots by you. And I can't see them folks right over your head, as I know they mean to. I know you love me, Mrs. Prime, and Emily, too. So for the sake of us both, you mustn't say a word to anybody about the change in the family arrangements. We'll all do what we can to keep Emily from pain. And as to the rest, we won't care for ourselves. If they don't pet and indulge me as much as I've been accustomed to, the easiest way is not to notice it, and you mustn't put on your spectacles to see trouble. Lord, bless your heart, Miss Gertrude. Them folks is lucky to have you to deal with. It isn't everybody as would put up with them. They don't come much in my way, thank fortune. I let Miss Graham see right off, that I wouldn't put up with interference. Cooks is privileged to set up for their rights, and I scared her out of my premises pretty quick, I'll tell you. It's mighty hard for me to see our own ladies imposed upon. But since you say mum, Miss Gertrude, I'll try and hold my tongue as long as I can. It's a shame, though, I do declare. And Mrs. Prime walked off, muttering to herself. An hour after, Gertrude was at the glass, braiding up the bands of her long-care. When Mrs. Ellis, after a slight knock at the door, entered. Well, Gertrude, said she, I didn't think it would come to this. Why, what is the matter, inquired Gertrude anxiously. It seems we are going to be turned out of our rooms. Who? You, and I next, for all I know. Gertrude colored, but did not speak. And Mrs. Ellis went on to relate that she had just received orders to fit up Gertrude's room for some visitors, who were expected the next day. She was astonished to hear that Gertrude had not been consulted on the subject. Mrs. Graham had spoken so carelessly of her removal, and seemed to think it so mutually agreeable for Emily to share her apartment with her young friend, that Mrs. Ellis concluded the matter had been pre-arranged. Emily wounded and vexed, both on her own, and Emily's account. Gertrude stood for a moment, silent and irresolute. She then asked if Mrs. Ellis had spoken to Emily on the subject. She had not. Gertrude begged her to say nothing about it. I cannot bear, said she, to let her know that the little sanctum she fitted up so carefully has been unceremoniously taken from me. I sleep in her room more than half the time, as you know. But she always likes to have me call this chamber mine, that I may be sure of a place where I can read and study by myself. If you will let me remove my bureau into your room, Mrs. Ellis, and sleep on the couch there occasionally, we need not say anything about it to Emily. Mrs. Ellis assented. She had grown strangely humble and compliant within a few months, and Gertrude had completely won her goodwill. First by forbearance, and latterly by the frequent favors and assistance she had found in her power to render the overburdened housekeeper. So she made no objection to receive her into her room as an inmate, and even offered to assist in the removal of her wardrobe, work table, and books. But though yielding and considerate towards Gertrude, whom with Emily and Mrs. Prime, she now considered members of the oppressed and injured party to which she herself belonged, no words could express her indignation with regard to the late behavior of Mrs. Graham and Isabelle. It is all of a peace, said she, with the rest of their conduct. Sometimes I almost feel thankful that Emily is blind. It would grieve her so to see the goings on. I should have liked to box Isabelle's ears for taking your seat at the table so impudently as she did yesterday, and then neglecting to help Emily to anything at all. And there sat dear Emily, angel as she is, all unconscious of her shameful behavior, and asking her for butter, as sweetly as if it were by mere accident that you had been driven from the table, and she left to provide for herself. And all those strangers there, too. I saw it all from the china-closet. And then Emily's dresses and muslins. There they laid in the press-door, till I thought they would mildew. I'm glad to see Bridget has been allowed to do them at last, for I began to think Emily would one of these warm days be without a clean gown in the world. But there, it's no use talking about it. All I wish is that they'd all go off to Europe and leave us here to ourselves. You don't want to go, do you, Gertrude? Yes, if Emily goes. Well, you're better than I am. I couldn't make such a martyr of myself, even for her sake. It is needless to detail the many petty annoyances to which Gertrude was daily subjected, especially after the arrival of the expected visitors, a gay and thoughtless party of fashionables, who were taught to look upon her as an unwarrantable intruder, and upon Emily as a troublesome encumbrance. Nor with all the pains taken to prevent it could Emily be long-kept in ignorance of the light estimation in which both herself and Gertrude were regarded. Kitty incensed at the insubility of her aunt and Isabel, and indifferent towards the visitors, to whose folly and levity of character her eyes were now partially opened, hesitated not to express both to Emily and Gertrude her sense of the injuries they sustained, and her own desire to act in their defense. But Kitty was no formidable antagonist to Mrs. Graham and Bell, for her spirits greatly subdued, and her fears constantly excited by her cousin's sarcastic looks and speeches. She had become a sad coward, and no longer dared, as she would once have done, to thwart their schemes, and stand between her friends and the indignities to which they were exposed. But Mrs. Graham, thoughtless woman, went too far, and became at last entangled in difficulties of her own weaving. Her husband returned, and it now became necessary to set bounds to her own insolence, and what was far more difficult, to that of Isabel. Mrs. Graham was a woman of tact. She knew just how far her husband's forbearance would extend, just the point to which his perceptions might be blinded, and had also sufficient self-control to check herself in any course which would be likely to prove obnoxious to his imperious will. In his absence, however, she acted without restraint, permitted Bell to fill the house with her lively young acquaintances, and winked at the many open and flagrant violations of the law of politeness manifested by the young people towards the daughter of their absent host, and her youthful friend and attendant. Now, however, a check must be put to all in decorous proceedings, and unfortunately for the execution of the wife's wise precautions, the head of the family returned unexpectedly, and under circumstances which forestalled any preparation or warning. He arrived just at dusk, having come from town in an omnibus, which was quite contrary to his usual custom. It was a cool evening, the windows and the doors of the house were closed, and the parlor was so brilliantly lighted that he at once suspected the truth that a large company was being entertained there. He felt vexed, for it was Saturday night, and in accordance with old New England customs, Mr. Graham loved to see his household quiet on that evening. He was moreover, suffering from a violent headache, and avoiding the parlor, he passed on to the library, and then to the dining-room. Both were chilly and deserted. He then made his way upstairs, walked through several rooms, glanced indignantly at their disordered and slovenly appearance, for he was excessively neat, and finally gained Emily's chamber. He opened the door noiselessly and looked in. A bright wood fire burned upon the hearth, a couch was drawn up beside it, on which Emily was sitting, and Gertrude's little rocking chair occupied the opposite corner. The firelight reflected upon the white curtains, the fragrant perfume which proceeded from a basket of flowers upon the table, the perfect neatness and order of the apartment, the placid, peaceful face of Emily, and the radiant expression of Gertrude's countenance, as she looked up, and saw the father and protector of her blind friend, looking pleasantly in upon them, proved such a charming contrast to the scenes presented in other parts of the house, that the old gentleman, warmed to more than usual satisfaction with both of the inmates, greeted his surprised daughter with a hearty paternal embrace, and bestowing upon Gertrude an equally affectionate greeting, exclaimed as he took the armchair which the latter wheeled in front of the fire for his accommodation. Now, girls, this looks pleasant and home-like. What in the world is going on downstairs? What is everything up in arms about? Emily explained that there was company staying in the house. Ugg, company, grunted Mr. Graham, in a dissatisfied tone. I should think so. Been emptying rag bags about the chambers, I should say, from the looks. Gertrude asked if he had been to tea. He had not, and should be thankful for some. He was tired. So she went downstairs to see about it. Don't tell anybody that I've got home, Gertie, called he, as she left the room. I want to be left in peace, to-night at least. While Gertrude was gone, Mr. Graham questioned Emily as to her preparations for the European tour. To his surprise, he learned that she had never received his message communicated in the letter to Mrs. Graham, and knew nothing of his plans. Equally astonished and angry, he nevertheless restrained his temper for the present. He did not like to acknowledge to himself, far less to his daughter, that his commands had been disregarded by his wife. It put him upon thinking, however. After he had enjoyed a comfortable repast at which Gertrude presided, they both returned to Emily's room, and now Mr. Graham's first inquiry was for the evening transcript. I will go for it, said Gertrude, rising. Ring, said Mr. Graham, imperatively. He had observed at the tea-table that Gertrude's ring was disregarded, and wished to know the cause of so strange a piece of neglect. Gertrude rang several times, but obtained no answer to the bell. At last she heard Bridget step in the entry, and, opening the door, said to her, Bridget, won't you find the transcript and bring it to Miss Emily's room? Bridget soon returned, with the announcement that Miss Isabella was reading it, and declined to give it up. A storm gathered on Mr. Graham's brow. Such a message to my daughter, he exclaimed. Gertrude, go yourself, and tell the impertinent girl that I want the paper. What sort of behaviour is this, muttertee? Gertrude entered the parlour with great composure, and, amid the stairs and wonder of the company, spoke in a low tone to Bell, who immediately yielded up the paper, blushing, and looking much confused as she did so. Bell was afraid of Mr. Graham, and on her informing her aunt of his return. It was that lady's turn, also, to look disconcerted. She had fully calculated upon seeing her husband before he had access to Emily. She knew the importance of giving the desired bias to a man of his strong prejudices. But it was too late now. She would not go to seek him. She must take her chance, and trust a fortune to befriend her. She used all her tact, however, to disperse her friends at an early hour, and then found Mr. Graham smoking in the dining-room. He was in an unpleasant mood, as she told her niece afterwards, cross as a bear, but she contrived to conciliate rather than irritate him, avoided all discordant subjects, and was able the next morning to introduce to her friends an apparently affable and obliging host. This serenity was disturbed, however, long before the Sabbath drew to a close, as he walked up the church aisle before morning service, with Emily, according to his invariable custom, leaning upon his arm. His brow darkened at seeing Isabel complacently seated in that corner of the old-fashioned square pew, which all the family were well aware had for years been sacred to his blind daughter. Mrs. Graham, who accompanied them, winked at her niece. But Isabel was mentally rather obtuse, and was, consequently, subjected to the mortification of having Mr. Graham deliberately take her hand and remove her from the seat, in which he immediately placed Emily, while the displaced occupant, who had been so mean as for the last three Sundays to purposely deprive Ms. Graham of this old established right, was compelled to sit during the service in the only vacant place beside Mr. Graham, with her back to the palpit, and very angry was she at observing the smiles visible upon many countenances and the neighboring pews, and especially chagrin, when Fanny Bruce, who was close to her in the next pew, giggled outright. Emily would have been grieved if she had been in the least aware of the triumph she had unconsciously achieved. But her heart and thoughts were turned upward, and as she had felt no pang of provocation at Isabel's past encroachment, so had she no consciousness of present satisfaction, except as the force of habit made her feel more at ease in her old seat. Mr. Graham had not been at home a week before he understood plainly the existing state of feeling in the mind of his wife and Isabel, and the manner in which it was likely to act upon the happiness of the household. He saw that Emily was superior to complaint. He knew that she had never in her life complained. He observed, too, Gertrude's devotion to his much-loved child, and it stamped her in his mind as one who had a claim to his regard which should never be disputed. It is not, then, to be wondered at that when, with much art and many plausible words, Mrs. Graham made her intended insinuations against his youthful protégé. Mr. Graham treated them with indifference and contempt. He had known Gertrude from a child. She was high-spirited. He had sometimes thought her willful, but never mean or false. It was no use to tell him all that nonsense. He was glad for his part that it was all off between Kitty and Bruce, for Ben was an idle fellow, and would never make a good husband. And as to Kitty, he thought her much improved of late, and if it were owing to Gertrude's influence, the more they saw of each other the better. Mrs. Graham was in despair. It is all settled, said she to Isabel. It is no use to contest the point. Mr. Graham is firm as a rock, and as sure as we go to Europe, Emily and Gertrude will go, too. She was almost startled, therefore, by what she considered an excess of good luck, when informed, a few days afterwards, that the couple she had so dreaded to have of the party were in reality to be left behind. And that, too, at Miss Graham's special request. Emily scruples with regard to mentioning to her father the little prospect of pleasure the tour was likely to afford her, all vanished when she found that Gertrude, whose interest she ever had at heart, would be likely to prove a still greater sufferer from the society to which she would be subjected. Blind as she was, Emily understood and perceived almost everything that was passing around her. Quick of perception, and with a hearing rendered doubly intense by her want of sight, the events of the summer were, perhaps, more familiar to her than to any other member of the family. She more than suspected the exact state of matters betwixt Mr. Bruce in Gertrude, though the latter had never spoken to her on the subject. She imagined the matter in which Kitty was involved in the affair. No very difficult thing to be conceived by one who enjoyed the confidences which the simple hearted girl unconsciously, but continually made during her late intercourse with her. As Mrs. Graham's and Isabel's abuse of power became more open and decided, Mrs. Ellis and Mrs. Prime both considered the embargo upon free speech in Miss Graham's presence wholly removed, and any pain which the knowledge of their neglect might have caused her was more than compensated to Emily by the proofs that had called forth of devoted attachment and willing service on the part of her adopted child as she loved to consider Gertrude. Comely and without hesitation, as without excitement, did she resolve to adopt a course which should at once free Gertrude from her self-sacrificing service? That she encountered much opposition from her father may well be imagined, but he knew too well the impossibility of any pleasure to be derived to herself from a tour in which mental pain was added to outward deprivation, to persist in urging her to accompany the party, and concluding at last that it was, after all, the only way to reconcile opposing interests, and the Emily's plan was perhaps the best that could be adopted under the circumstances, decided to resign himself to the long separation from his daughter and permit her to be happy in her own way. He had seen, during the previous winter at the south, how entirely Emily's infirmity unfitted her for traveling, especially when deprived of Gertrude's attendant eyes. He now realized how totally contrary to her taste and habits were the taste and habits of his new wife and her nieces, and unwilling to be convinced of the folly of his sudden choice, and the probable chance of unhappiness arising from it. He appreciated the wisdom of Emily's proposal and felt a sense of relief in the adoption of a course which would satisfy all parties. CHAPTER XXXIV A course of days composing happy months. Wordsworth. Mrs. Warren's pleasant boarding-house was the place chosen by Emily for her own and Gertrude's winter home, and one month from the time of Mr. Graham's return from New York, his country-house was closed. He, with his wife, Isabelle, and Kitty, were on their way to Havre. Mrs. Ellis gone to enjoy a little rest from care with some cousins at the eastward, and Mrs. Prime established as cook in Mrs. Warren's household, where all the morning she grumbled at the increase of duty she was here called upon to perform, and all the evening blessed her stars that she was still under the same roof with her dear young ladies. Although ample arrangements were made by Mr. Graham and all sufficient means provided for the support of both Emily and Gertrude, the latter was anxious to be once more usefully employed, and therefore resumed a portion of her school duties at Mr. W's. Much as Emily loved Gertrude's constant presence, she gladly resigned her for a few hours every day, rejoiced in the spirit which prompted her exertions, and rewarded her with her encouragement and praise. In the undisturbed enjoyment of each other's society, and in their intercourse with a small but intelligent circle of friends, they passed a season of sweet tranquility. They read, walked and communed as in times long past. Together they attended lectures, concerts, and galleries of art. As they stood before the works of a master's hand, whether in the sculptured marble or the painted canvas, and Emily listened while Gertrude with glowing eyes and a face radiant with enthusiasm, described with minuteness and accuracy the subject of the pieces, the manner in which the artist had expressed in his work the original conception of his mind, the attitudes of figures, the expression of faces, the coloring of landscapes, and the effect produced upon her mind and heart by the thoughts which the work conveyed. Such was the eloquence of the one, and the sympathizing attention of the other. There as they stood there in striking contrast, forgetful of all around, they were themselves a study, if not for the artist, for the observer of human nature, as manifested in novel forms, and free from effectation and worldliness. Then, too, as in their daily walks, or gazing upon the glories of a brilliant winter's night, Gertrude, and raptured at the work of the great master of the universe, poured out without reserve her soul's deep and earnest admiration, dilated upon the gorgeousness of a clear sunset, or in the sweet hour of twilight, sat watching the coming on of beautiful night and lighting of heaven's lamps. Then would Emily, from the secret fountains of her largely illumined nature, speak out such truths of the inner life as made it seem that she alone were blessed with the true light, and all the seeing world sat in comparative darkness. It was a blissful and an improving winter which they thus passed together. They lived not for themselves alone, the poor blessed them, the sorrowful came to them for sympathy, and the affection which they both inspired in the family circle was boundless. Gertrude often recurred to it, in her afterlife, as the time when she and Emily lived in a beautiful world of their own. Spring came and passed, and still they lingered there, loath to leave a place where they had been so happy. And nothing at last drove them from the city, but a sudden failure in Emily's health, and Dr. Jeremy's peremptory command that they should at once seek the country air as the best restorative. When it came to her anxiety about Emily, Gertrude began to feel much troubled at Willie Sullivan's long silence. No word from him for two or three months. Willie could not have forgotten or meant to neglect her. That was impossible, but why this strange suspension to their correspondence? She tried, however, not to feel disturbed about it, and gave all her care to Emily, who now began indeed to require it. They went to the seaside for a few weeks, but the clear and bracing atmosphere brought no strength to the blind girl's feeble frame. She was obliged to give up her daily walks. A continued weariness robbed her step of its elasticity, and her usually equal spirits were subject to an unwanted depression. While her nervous temperament became so susceptible that the utmost care was requisite to preserve her from all excitement. The good doctor came frequently to see his favorite patient, but finding on every visit that she seemed worse instead of better, he at last ordered her back to the city, declaring that Mrs. Jerry's front chamber was as cool and comfortable as the little stivied-up apartments of the crowded boarding-house at Nahant, and there he should insist upon both her and Gertrude's taking up their quarters, at least for a week or two, at the end of which time, if Emily had not found her health, he hoped to have leisure to start off with them in search of it. Emily thought she was doing very well where she was, was afraid she should be troublesome to Mrs. Jeremy. Don't talk about trouble, Emily. You ought to know Mrs. Jerry and me better by this time. Come up tomorrow. I'll meet you at the cars. Goodbye. And he took his hat and was off. Gertrude followed him. I see, doctor. You think Emily is not so well. No, how should she be? What would the sea roaring on one side and Mrs. Fellow's babies on the other? It's enough to wear away her strength. I won't have it so. This isn't the place for her. And do you bring her up to my house tomorrow? The babies don't usually cry as much as they have today, said Gertrude, smiling. And as to the ocean, Emily loves dearly to hear the waves rolling in. She sits and listens to them by the hour together. New she did, said the doctor. She ain't do it. Bad for her. It makes her sad, without her knowing why. Bring her up to Boston, as I tell you. It was full three weeks after the arrival of his visitors, before the popular physician could steal away from his patients to enjoy a few weeks' recreation and traveling. For his own sake, he would hardly have thought of attempting so unusual a thing as a journey. And his wife, too, loved home so much better than any other place that she was loathe to start for parts unknown. But both were willing, and even anxious, to sacrifice their long-indulged habits for what they considered the advantage of their young friends. Emily was decidedly better, so much so as to view with pleasure the prospect of visiting West Point, Catskill, and Saratoga, even on her own account. And when she reflected upon the probable enjoyment the trip would afford Gertrude, she felt herself endowed with new strength for the undertaking. Gertrude needed change of scene and diversion of mind almost as much as Emily. The excess of he of the last few weeks, and her constant attendance in the Invalid's room, had paled the roses in her cheeks, while care and anxiety had weighed upon her mind. The late improvement in Emily, however, and the alacrity with which she entered into the doctor's plans, relieved Gertrude of her fears, and as she moved actively about to complete the few preparations which were needed in her own and her friend's wardrobe, her step was as light and her voice as gladsome as her fingers were busy and skillful. New York was their first destination, but the heat and dust of the city were almost insufferable, and during the one day which they passed there, Mr. Jeremy was the only member of the party who ventured out of the hotel. Except on occasion of a short expedition which Mrs. Jeremy and Gertrude made in search of dress caps, the former lady's stock being still limited to the old yellow and the lilac and pink, neither of which she feared would be just the thing for Saratoga. The doctor, however, seemed quite insensible to the state of the weather. So much was he occupied with visits to some of his ascolpean brethren, several of whom were college classmates whom he had not seen for years. He passed the whole day in the revival of old acquaintances and associations, and a number of these newly found but warm-hearted friends having presented themselves at the hotel in the evening to be introduced to Mrs. Jeremy and her traveling companions. Their parlor was enlivened until a late hour by the happy and cheerful conversation of a group of elderly men who, as they recalled the past, and dwelt upon the scenes and incidents of their youthful days, seemed to renew their boyish spirits. So joyous was the laughter and excitement with which each anecdote of former times received as it fell from the lips of the spokesman, an office which each filled by turns. Dr. Jeremy had been a great favour among his circle, and almost every narrative of college days, save those which he himself detailed, bore reference to some exploit in which he had borne a spirited and honourable part, and the three female auditors, especially Gertrude, who was enthusiastic in her own appreciation of the doctor's merits, listened triumphantly to this corroborative testimony of his worth. The conversation, however, was not of a character to exclude the ladies from participating in as well as enjoying it, and Gertrude, who always got unfamously with elderly men, and whom the doctor loved dearly to draw out, contributed not a little to the mirth and good humour of the company by her playful and amusing sallies, and the quickness of repartee with which she responded to the adroit, puzzling, and sometimes ironical questions and jokes of an old bachelor physician, who from the first took a wonderful fancy to her. Emily listened with delighted interest to a conversation which had for her such varied charms, and shared with Gertrude the admiration of the doctor's friends, who were all excited to the warmest sympathy for her misfortune. Momus' Jeremy, proud, smiling, and happy, looked so complacent as she sat and scanced in an armchair, listening to the encomiums pronounced on her husband's boyhood, that Gertrude declared, as they separated for the night, that she had almost come to the conclusion that the old yellow was becoming to her, and her new caps altogether superfluous. Upon hearing that Dr. Jeremy's party were going up the Hudson the next morning, Dr. Grisworth of Philadelphia, who had many years before been a student of our good doctors, expressed his satisfaction in the prospect of meeting them on board the boat, and introducing to Gertrude his two daughters, whom he was about to accompany to Saratoga to meet their grandmother, already established at Congress Hall for the summer. It was midnight before Gertrude could compose her mind, and so far quiet her imagination, which always lively, was now keenly excited by the next day's promise of pleasure, as to think of the necessity of fortifying herself by sleep, and Emily was finally obliged to check her gaiety and velocity by positively refusing to join in another laugh or listen to another word that night. Thus condemned to silence, she sunk at once to slumber, unconscious that Emily, usually an excellent sleeper, had in this instance acted solely for her benefit, being herself so strangely wakeful that morning found her unrefreshed, and uncertain whether she had once during the night been lulled into a perfect state of repose. Gertrude, who slept soundly until awakened by Miss Graham, started up an astonishment on seeing her dressed and standing by the bedside, a most unusual circumstance, and one which reversed the customary order of things, as Gertrude's morning kiss was want to be Emily's first intimation of daylight. Six o'clock, Gertie, and the boat starts at seven, the doctor has already been knocking at our door. How soundly I have slept! exclaimed Gertrude. I wonder if it's a pleasant day. Beautiful! replied Emily, but very warm. The sun was shining in so brightly that I had to close the blinds on account of the heat. Gertrude made haste to repair for lost time, but was not quite dressed when they were summoned to the early breakfast prepared for travellers. She had also her own and Emily's trunks to lock, and therefore insisted upon the others preceding her to the breakfast-hall, where she promised to join them in a few moments. The company assembled at this early hour was small, consisting only of two parties besides Dr. Jeremy's, and a few gentlemen, most of them businessmen, who, having partaken of their food in a business-like manner, started off in haste for their different destinations. Of those who still lingered at the table when Gertrude made her appearance, there was only one whom she particularly observed during the few moments allowed her by Dr. Jeremy for the enjoyment of her breakfast. This was a gentleman who said at some distance from her, idly balancing his teaspoon on the edge of his cup. He had concluded his own repast, but seemed quite at his leisure, and previous to Gertrude's entrance had won Mrs. Jeremy's anima-ed versions by a slight propensity he had manifested to make a more critical survey of her party than she found wholly agreeable. "'Do pray,' said she to the doctor, sent the waiter to ask that man to take something himself. I can't bear to have anybody looking at me so when I'm eating. He isn't looking at you, wife. It's Emily that has taken his fancy. Emily, my dear, there's a gentleman over opposite, who admires you exceedingly.' "'Is there,' said Emily, smiling, I am very much obliged to him. May I venture to return the compliment?' "'Yes, he's a fine-looking fellow. The wife here doesn't seem to like him very well.' At this moment Gertrude joined them, and as she made her morning salutation to the doctor and his wife, and gaily apologized to the former for her tardiness. The fine color which mantled her countenance, and the deep brilliancy of her large dark eyes, drew glances of affectionate admiration from the kind old couple, and were perhaps the cause of the stranger's attention being at once transferred from the lovely and interesting face of Emily to the more youthful, beaming, and eloquent features of Gertrude. She had hardly taken her seat before she became aware of the notice she was attracting. It embarrassed her, and she was glad when, after a moment or two, the gentleman hastily dropped his teaspoon, rose and left the room. As he passed out, she had an opportunity of observing him, which she had not ventured to do while he sat opposite to her. He was a man considerably above the middle height, slender but finely formed, and of a graceful and dignified bearing. His features were rather sharp, expressive, and even handsome. His eyes, dark, keen, and piercing, had a most penetrating look, while his firmly compressed lips spoke of resolution and strength of will. But the chief peculiarity of his appearance was his hair, which was deeply tinged with gray, and in the vicinity of his temples, almost snowy white. This was so strikingly in contrast with the youthful fire of his eye, and the easy lightness of his step, that instead of seeming the effect of age, and giving him a title to veneration, it rather enhanced the contradictory claims of his otherwise apparent youth and vigor. What a queer-looking man, exclaimed Mrs. Jeremy, when he had passed out. An elegant-looking man, isn't he? said Gertrude. Elegant rejoined Mrs. Jeremy. What, with that gray head? I think it's beautiful, said Gertrude, but I wish he didn't look so melancholy. It makes me quite sad to see him. How old should you think he was? asked Dr. Jeremy. About fifty, said Mrs. Jeremy. About thirty, said Gertrude, and both in the same breath. A wide difference, remarked Emily. Doctor, you must decide the point. Impossible! I wouldn't venture to tell that man's age within ten years at least. Wife has got him old enough, certainly. I'm not sure, but I should set him as low even as Gertrude's mark. Age never turned his hair gray, that is certain. Speculation was now given that passengers for the boat must be on the alert, and all speculation upon the probable age of the stranger—a fruitless kind of speculation, often indulged in, and sometimes a source of vain and endless discussion—was suddenly and peremptorily suspended. CHAPTER 35 His mean is lofty, but his gaze too well a wandering soul betrays. His full dark eye at times is bright, with strange and momentary light. And off his features and his air a shade of troubled mystery wear. A glance of hurried wildness fraught, with some unfathomable thought. Mrs. Hemons. To most of our traveling public, a little trip from Boston into New York State seems an everyday affair, scarce worth calling a journey. But to Dr. Jeremy it was a momentous event, calling the good physician out of a routine of daily professional visits, which, during a period of twenty years, had not been interrupted by a week's absence from home, and plunging him at once into that whirl of hurry, tumult, and excitement, which exists on all our great routes, especially in the summer season, the time when the American populace takes its yearly pleasure excursion. The doctor was, by nature and habit, a social being, never shrinking from intercourse with his fellow men, but rather seeking and enjoying their companionship on all occasions. He knew how to adapt himself to the taste of young and old, rich and poor, and was well acquainted with city life in all its forms. In the art of traveling, however, an art to be acquired by practice only, he was totally unversed. He had yet learned the adroit use of those many springs, which touched at the right moment, and by a skillful hand, soften the obdurate hearts of landlords, win the devoted attendance of waiters, inspire railroad conductors and steamboat officials with a spirit of accommodation, and convert the clamorous, noisy hackman into quiet, obedient and humble servants at command. In Dr. Jeremy's traveling days, the stage-coach was the chief vehicle of convenience and speed, the driver was a civil fellow, each passenger a person of consequence, and each passenger's baggage a thing not to be despised. Now, on the contrary, people moved in masses, a single individual was a man of no influence, a mere unit in the great whole, and his much-valued luggage, that which seemed in his eyes a mark for the heaviest knocks and bruises. Dr. Jeremy was appalled at this new state of things, and quite unable to reconcile to it either his taste or temper. To him the modern landlord resembled the keeper of an intelligence office, who condescendingly glances at his books to see if he can furnish the humble suppliant with a situation, and often turns him away mortified and disappointed. The waiters, whom the honest and unsophisticated doctor scorned to bribe, were an impudent lady set of varvats, conductors and steamboat masters, lordly tyrants, and the hackman, a swarm of hungry, buzzing, stinging wasps, let loose on wharves and in the depots for the torment of their victims. Thus were these important members of society stigmatized, and loudly were they railed at by our traveler, who invariably, at the commencement and close of every trip, got wrought up to a high pitch of excitement at the wrongs and indignities to which he was subjected. It was astonishing, however, to see how quickly he cooled down, and grew comfortable and contented, when he was once established in car or steamboat, or had succeeded in obtaining suitable quarters at a hotel. He would then immediately subside into the obliging friendly and sociable man of the world, would make acquaintance with everybody about him, and talk and behave with such careless concern that one would have supposed he considered himself fixed for life, and was, moreover, perfectly satisfied with the fate that destiny had assigned to him. Thankful, therefore, were the ladies of his party when they were safe on board the steamboat. A circumstance upon which they were still congratulating themselves and each other, while they piled up their heavy shawls and other extra garments in and out of the way corner of the cabin. When the doctor's voice was again heard calling to them from the other end of the long saloon, Come, come, wife, Gertrude, Emily, what are you staying down in this stivied-up place for? You'll lose the best part of the view. And coming towards them, he took Gertrude's arm, and would have hurried her away, leaving Mrs. Jeremy and Emily to follow when they were ready. But Gertrude would not trust Emily to ascend the cabin stairs under any guardianship but her own, and Mrs. Jeremy immediately engaged the doctor in an animated discussion as to the advisability of his adopting a straw hat which the thoughtful wife had brought from home in her hand and which she was eager to see enjoyed. By the time the question was settled, and Emily, at Gertrude's persuasion, had been induced to exchange her thin mantilla for a light travelling cloak which the latter was sure she would require, as there was a fresh breeze stirring on the river. The boat had proceeded some distance, and when our party finally gained the head of the stairs and looked about them for seats on the deck, not a single vacant bench, or accommodation of any sort was to be seen. There was an unusually large number of passengers, nearly all of whom were collected at the stern of the boat. Dr. Jeremy was obliged to leave his ladies, and go off in search of chairs. Don't let us stay here, whispered Mrs. Jeremy to Gertrude and Emily. Let's go right back before the doctor comes. There are beautiful great rocking chairs down in the cabin, without a soul to sit in them, and I'm sure we ain't wanted here to make up a company. I hate to stand with all these people staring at us, and crowing to think they've got such nice places. Don't you, Emily? Miss Jeremy was one of the people who were constantly forgetting that Emily could not see. But Gertrude was not. She never forgot it, and as she stood with her arm lightly passed around her friend's waist to prevent the motion of the boat from throwing her off her balance. It was no wonder they attracted attention. The one so bright, erect, and strong, with youth and health, that she seemed to fit protect her for the other, who in her sweet and gentle helplessness leaned upon her so trustingly. I think, when we get seated in the shade, we shall find it cooler here than it is below, said Emily, and reply to Mrs. Jeremy's urgent proposition that they should make their escape in the doctor's absence. You always prefer the coolest place, I believe. So I do, but I noticed there was a good draw of air in the lady's saloon, and here the good woman's argument was interrupted by the cordial salutation of Dr. Griesworth, who previously seated with his back towards them, had turned at the sound of Emily's flute-like voice, which once heard, and variably left an impression upon the memory. When he had finished shaking hands, he insisted upon giving his seat to Mrs. Jeremy, and at the same instant, another gentleman, who, owing to the throng of passengers, had hitherto been unnoticed by her party, rose and bowing politely, placed his own chair for the accommodation of Emily, and then walked quickly away. It was the stranger whom they had seen at breakfast. Gertrude recognized his keen, dark eye, even before she perceived his singular hair. And as she thanked him, and placed Emily in the offered seat, she felt herself colour under his earnest glance. But Dr. Griesworth immediately claimed her attention for the introduction to his daughters, and all thought of the retreating stranger was banished for the present. The Miss Griesworths were intelligent looking girls. The eldest, lately returned from Europe, where she had been travelling with her father, was considered a very elegant and superior person, and Gertrude was charmed with the lady-like cordiality with which they both made her acquaintance, and still more with the amiable and sympathizing attentions which they paid to Emily. By the time that Dr. Jeremy returned with the solitary chair which he had been able to obtain, he found Gertrude and Dr. Griesworth comfortably accommodated through the skillful agency of the latter, and was thus enabled to sink at once into his seat, and subside into that state of easy unconcern which admirably became his pleasant, genial temperament. Long before the boat reached West Point, where the Jeremy's were to go on shore, it was plain to be seen that an excellent understanding subsisted between Gertrude and Miss Griesworths, and that time only was wanting to ripen their acquaintance into friendship. Gertrude was not one of those young persons who consider every girl of their own age entitled to their immediate intimacy and confidence. She had her decided preferences, and, though invariably civil and obliging, was rarely disposed to admit new members into her sacred circle of friends. She was quick, however, to recognize a congenial spirit, and such a one once found, was claimed by her enthusiastic nature, and engrafted into her affections as something of kindred birth. Nor was the readily adopted tie easily loosened or broken, whom Gertrude once loved, she loved long and well, faithful was she in her efforts to serve, and prompt in her sympathy to feel for those whose interest and happiness friendship made dear to her as her own. Perhaps Ellen Griesworth divined this trait of her character, and appreciated the value of so steady and truthful a regard, for she certainly tried hard to win it. And her father, who had heard Gertrude's history from Dr. Jeremy, smiled approvingly as he witnessed the pains which his high bread and somewhat aristocratic daughter was taking to render herself agreeable to one whose social position had in it nothing to excite her ambition, and whose person, mind and manners, constituted her sole recommendation. They had been for about an hour engaged in the enjoyment of each other's society, and in the view of some of the most charming scenery in the world. When Netta Griesworth touched her sister's arm, and glancing towards another part of the boat, said, in an undertone, Ellen, do invite Mr. Phillips to come back and be introduced to Miss Flint. See how lonesome the poor man looks. Gertrude followed the direction of Netta's eye, and saw the stranger of the morning at some distance from them, slowly pacing up and down, with a serious and abstracted air. He has not been near us for an hour, said Netta. I am afraid he has got the blues. I hope we have not frightened your friend away, said Gertrude. Oh, no indeed, replied Ellen. Although Mr. Phillips is but a recent acquaintance, we have found him so independent, and sometimes so whimsical, that I am never astonished at his proceedings, or mortified at being suddenly forsaken by him. There are some people you know, for whom it is always sufficient excuse to say, it is their way. I wish he would condescend to join us again, however. I should like to introduce him to you, Miss Flint. You wouldn't like him, said Netta. Now, that is not fair, Netta, exclaimed her sister, to try and prejudice Miss Flint against my friend. You mustn't let her influence you, added she, addressing Gertrude. She hasn't known him half as long as I have, and I do not dislike him by any means. My little, straightforward sister never likes odd people, and I must confess that Mr. Phillips is somewhat eccentric, but he interests me all the more on that account, and I feel positive he and you would have many ideas and sentiments in common. How can you say so, Ellen, said Netta? I think they are totally different. You must consider Netta's remark very complimentary, Miss Flint, said Ellen good-naturedly. It would not be quite so much so if it had come from me. But you wished me to become acquainted with your oddity, remarked Gertrude, addressing herself to Netta. I suspect you act on the principle that one's misfortunes should be shared by one's friends. Netta laughed. Not exactly, said she. It was compassion for him that moved me. I can't help pitying him when he looks so homesick, and I thought your society would brighten him up and do him good. Ah, Netta Netta, cried her sister. He has excited your sympathy, I see. A few days more, and I shouldn't be surprised if you went beyond me in your admiration of him. If so, take care, you transparent creature, not to betray your inconsistency. Then turning to Gertrude, she said, Netta met Mr. Phillips yesterday for the first time, and has not seemed very favourably impressed. Father and I were passengers in the same steamer in which he came from Liverpool a few weeks ago. He had an ill turn in the early part of the voyage, and it was in a professional way that Father first made his acquaintance. I was surprised at seeing him on board the boat today, for he mentioned no such intention yesterday. Gertrude suspected that the agreeable young lady might herself be the cause of his journey, but she did not say so. Her native delicacy and the slight knowledge she had of the parties forbade such an illusion, and the conversation soon taking another turn. Mr. Phillips was not again adverted to. Though Gertrude observed, just before the boat stopped at West Point, that Dr. Jeremy and Dr. Griceworth, having left their party, had joined him, and that the trio were engaged in a colloquy which seemed to possess equal interest to them all. At West Point, Gertrude parted from her new friends, who expressed in earnest hope that they should again meet in Saratoga, and before the bustle of going on shore had subsided, and she had found on the narrow pier a safe place of refuge for Emily and herself. The boat was far up the river, and the Miss Griceworths, quite undistinguishable, among the crowd that swarmed the deck. Our travellers passed one night only at West Point. The weather continued extremely hot, and Dr. Jeremy, perceiving that Emily drooped under the oppressive atmosphere, was desirous to reach the summit of Catskill Mountain before the Sabbath, which was now near at hand. One solitary moonlit evening, however, suffice to give Gertrude some idea of the beauties of the place. She had no opportunity to observe it in detail. She saw it only as a whole, but thus presented to her vision and all the dreamy loveliness of a summer's night. It left on her fresh and impressive mind a vague sentiment of wonder and delight at the surpassing sweetness of what seemed rather a glimpse of paradise than an actual show of earth. So harmonious was the scene. So calm, so still, so peaceful. Emily, darling, said she, as they stood together in a rustic arbor, commanding the most striking prospect both of the river and the shore. It looks like you. You ought to live here, and be the priestess of such a temple. And, locking her hand in that of Emily, she poured into her a ton of ear the holy and elevated sentiments to which the time and the place gave birth. To pour out her thoughts to Emily was like whispering to her own heart, and the response to those thoughts was as sure and certain. So passed the evening away, and an early hour in the morning found them again steaming up the river. Their first days experience, having convinced them of the danger of delay, they lost no time in securing places on deck. For the boat was as crowded as on the previous morning. But the shores of West Point were hardly passed from their view, before Gertrude's watchful eye detected in Emily's countenance the well-known signs of her weariness and ability. Sacrificing, without hesitation, the intense pleasure she was her self-deriving from the beautiful scenes through which the boat was at the moment passing, she at once proposed that they should seek the cabin where Miss Graham might rest in greater stillness and comfort. Emily, however, would not listen to the proposal, would not think of depriving Gertrude of the rare pleasure she knew she must be experiencing. The prospect is all lost upon me now, Emily, said Gertrude. I see only your tired face. Do go and lie down. If it be only to please me, you hardly slept at all last night. Are you talking of going below? exclaimed Mrs. Jeremy. I, for one, shall be thankful to, as it's comfortable again, and we could see all we want to from the cabin windows, can't we, Emily? Should you really prefer it? inquired Emily. Indeed I should, said Mrs. Jeremy, with such emphasis that her sincerity could not be doubted. Then if you will promise to stay here, Gertrude, said Emily, I will go with Mrs. Jeremy. Gertrude assented to the plan, but insisted upon first accompanying them to find a vacant berth for Emily, and see her under circumstances which would promise repose. Dr. Jeremy, having, in the meantime, gone to inquire about dinner, they at once carried their plan into effect. Emily was really too weak to endure the noise and confusion on deck, and after she had lain down in the quiet and nearly deserted saloon, Gertrude stood smoothing back her hair and watching her pale countenance, until she was accused of violating the conditions of their agreement, and was at last driven away by the lively and good-natured doctor's lady, who declared herself perfectly well able to take care of Emily. You'd better make haste back, said she, before you lose your seat. And mind, Gertie, don't let the doctor come near us. He'll be teasing us to go back again, and we've no idea of doing any such thing. Saying which, Mrs. Jeremy untied her bonnet strings, put her feet up in the opposite chair, clapped her hands at Gertrude, and baited her be gone. Gertrude ran off laughing, and a smile was still on her face when she reached the staircase. As she came up with her usual quick and light step, a tall figure moved aside to let her pass. It was Mr. Phillips. He bowed, and Gertrude, returning the salutation, passed on to the place she had left, wondering how he came to be again their travelling companion. He could not have been on board previously to her going below with Emily. She was sure she would have seen him. She should have known him among a thousand. He must have taken the boat at Newburgh. It stopped there while she was in the cabin. As these reflections passed through her mind, she resumed her seat, which was placed at the very stern of the boat, and with her back to most of the company, gazed out upon the river. She had sat thus for about five minutes, her thoughts divided between the scenery and the interesting countenance of the stranger. When a shadow passed before her, and looking up, prepared to see and address Dr. Jeremy, she betrayed a little confusion at again encountering a pair of eyes whose earnest, magnetic gaze had the power to disconcer and bewilder her. She was turning away, somewhat abruptly, when the stranger spoke. Good morning, young lady. Our paths still lie in the same direction I see. Will you honour me by making use of my guidebook? As he spoke, he offered her a little book containing a map of the river and the shores on either side. Gertrude took it and thanked him. As she unfolded the map, he stationed himself a few steps distant, and leaned over the rallying, in an apparently absent state of mind. Nor did he speak to her again for some minutes. Then suddenly, turning towards her, he said, You like all of this very much? Very much, said Gertrude. You have never seen anything so beautiful before in your life. He did not seem to question her. He spoke as if he knew. It is an old story to you, I suppose, said Gertrude. What makes you think so? asked he, smiling. Gertrude was disconcerted by his look, and still more by his smile. It changed his whole face so. It made him look so handsome, and yet so melancholy. She blushed, and could not reply. He saved her the trouble. That is hardly a fair question, is it? You probably think you have as much reason for your opinion as I had for mine. You were wrong, however. I never was here before. But I am too old a traveller to carry my enthusiasm in my eyes, as you do, added he, after a moment's pause, during which he looked her full in the face. Then seeming, for the first time, to perceive the embarrassment which his scrutiny of her features occasioned, he turned away, and a shadow passed over his fine countenance, lending it for a moment an expression of mingled bitterness and pathos, which served at once to disarm Gertrude's confusion at his self-introduction and subsequent remarks, and render her forgetful of everything but the strange interest with which this singular man inspired her. Presently, taking a vacant chair next to hers, he directed her attention to a beautiful country residence on their right, spoke of its former owner, whom he had met in a foreign land, and related some interesting anecdotes concerning an adventurous journey which they had taken together. This again introduced other topics, chiefly connected with wanderings in countries almost unknown, even in this exploring age, and so rich and varied was the stranger's conversation, so graphic were his descriptions, so exuberant and glowing his imagination, and so powerful his command of words, and his gift to expressing and giving force to his thoughts, that his young and enthusiastic listener sat entranced with admiration and delight. Her highly raw and intellectual nature sympathized fully with the fervor and poetry of a mind as sensitive as her own to the great and wonderful, whether in nature or art, and her fancy and interest thus taken by storm. Her calm and observant entertainer had soon the satisfaction of perceiving that he had succeeded in disarming her diffidence and embarrassment, for as she listened to his words and even met the occasional glance of his dark eyes, her animated and beaming countenance no longer showed signs of fear or distrust. He took no advantage, however, of the apparent self- forgetfulness with which she enjoyed his society, but continued to enlarge upon such subjects as naturally presented themselves, and was careful not to disturb her equanimity by again bestowing upon her the keen and scrutinizing gaze which had proved so disconcerting. By the time therefore that Dr. Jeremy came in search of his young charge, conversation between her and the stranger had assumed so much ease and freedom from restraint that the doctor opened his eyes in astonishment, shrugged his shoulders, and exclaimed, This is pretty well, I declare. Gertrude did not see the doctor approach, but looked up at the sound of his voice. Conscious of the surprise it must be to him to find her talking so familiarly with a complete stranger, she colored slightly at his abrupt remark, but observing that her companion was quite unconcerned, and even received it with a smile, she felt herself rather amused than embarrassed. For strangely enough, the latter feeling had almost entirely vanished, and she had come to feel confidence in her fellow traveler, who rose shook hands with Dr. Jeremy to whom he had the previous day been introduced, and said with perfect composure, Will you have the kindness, sir, to present me to this young lady? We have already had some conversation together, but do not yet know by what name we may address each other. Dr. Jeremy, having performed the ceremony of introduction, Mr. Phillips bowed gracefully, and looked at Gertrude in such a benignant, fatherly way that she hesitated not to take his offered hand. He detained hers a moment while he said, Do not be afraid of me when we meet again, and then walked away, and paced slowly up and down the deck until passengers for Catskill were summoned to dinner, when he, as well as Dr. Jeremy and Gertrude, went below. The doctor tried to rally Gertrude a little about her gray-headed bow, declaring that he was yet young and handsome, and that she could have his hair dyed any color she pleased, but he could not succeed in annoying her in that way, for her interest in him, which she did not deny, was quite independent of his personal appearance. The bustle, however, of dinner and going on shore at Catskill, banished from the good doctor's head all thought of everything except the safety of himself, his ladies, and their baggage. Fit cause indeed for anxiety to a more experienced traveler than he, for so short was the time allotted for the boat to stop at the landing and deposit the passengers, and such was the confusion attending the operation of pushing them on shore and flinging their baggage after them, that when the panting engine was again set in motion, the little crowd collected on the wharf resembled rather a flock of frightened sheep than human beings with a free will of their own. Emily, whose nervous system was somewhat disordered, clung tremblingly to Gertrude, and Gertrude found herself, she knew not how, leaning on the arm of Mr. Phillips, to whose silent exertions they were both indebted for their safety in disembarking. Mrs. Jeremy, in the meantime, was counting up the trunks, while her husband, with his foot upon one of them, and a carpet bag in his left hand, was loudly denouncing the steamboat, its conductors, and the whole hurrying, scurrying, yanky nation. Two stagecoaches were waiting at the wharf to take passengers up the mountain, and before Dr. Jeremy had turned his back upon the river, Emily and Gertrude were placed in one of them by Mr. Phillips. Who, without asking questions, or even speaking at all, took this office upon himself, and then went to inform the doctor of their whereabouts. The doctor and his wife soon joined them. A party of strangers occupied the other seats in the coach, and after some delay they commenced the afternoon's drive.