She alone had received him after his disgrace, in that spirit
which at once whispers to the contrite heart of sorrow, forgiveness,
love, and hope. She had extended her little trembling
hand, and while the tear started to her large blue eye, had
pressed it to her fevered cheek, and murmured, in broken
accents, “you will not stay away from Rosy another night?”
and he had laid his head on her pillow and wept, though no
one but Rosy knew it.

There was a chord in his heart, the secret spring of which
this sick little sufferer alone had power to touch. Often, amid
noisy and contentious scenes, did this one tender and plaintive
note break in upon the discord; and thus it happened that, on
the evening in question, when Lydia, in the tumult of excited
feeling, was about to lay an impetuous hand upon the latch of
her mother's door, she was checked by a sudden and hasty caution
from Jack, who, immediately after a storm of angry
invective, exclaimed, in a more gentle tone, “Hush! Lyd,—
don't make a noise,—like enough Rosy's asleep,—she was
when I came away.”

This door, the upper part of which consisted of glass, and
thus answered the purpose also of a window, led directly into
a low, dimly lighted, and ill-furnished shop; and notwithstanding
Lydia's precautions, a little bell attached to the entrance tinkled
loudly as she entered. She paused a moment, until the sound
should have died away, and was then advancing into an inner
room, when she was met by her mother, whose quick ear had
caught the ever-welcome sound of the bell, and who was eagerly
hastening to wait upon the supposed customer.

“Why, Lyddy, is that you?” she exclaimed, her sober face
relieved by a sickly smile, as the parent prevailed over the
shop-keeper, and her disappointed hopes of a purchaser for her
goods gave place to maternal satisfaction at the sight of her
child.

Then, bestowing on her a more careful glance, she added, in
an anxious tone, the smile at the same time dying away from
her pale face, “What is the matter, child? How wet you are!
here, come into the back room—I've got a fire in the stove;”

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

and she stepped into a small apartment behind the stop, Lydia
following her with a languid step and quivering lip. It was a
mere box of a place, uncarpeted, scantily furnished, and with a
close, unwholesome atmosphere. The flames which were crackling
in the stove had evidently been but recently kindled, for
the mixture contained in a large kettle, placed directly over
them, had not commenced boiling, and the air in the room was
chilly. Lydia threw her bonnet on a table, seated herself in a
chair beside it, and fixed her eyes moodily in the direction of
the stove. Her mother stirred the mixture. Neither of them
spoke. At length a long sigh from Lydia broke the silence.
“Do tell me what has happened,” said Mrs. Hope; “something
has gone wrong, and I may as well know first as last;”
and as she spoke she stretched out her hand and gently closed
the door which led into a little sleeping-room beyond. Then,
as Lydia still continued silent, she added, “have you left your
place?”

“Not yet,” exclaimed Lydia, the self-control which had been
but ill-maintained before, now giving way entirely, and her
voice half-choked with sobs; “nothing so dreadful is the matter,
and I wish I had n't come here to-night; I don't see what
I did for,—only—only—” and here she covered her face with
her hands, and fell to weeping so bitterly that she found it
impossible to utter another word.

The poor mother looked distressed, and continued her operations
at the stove with a vacant air, her eye resting on her
child. A somewhat commonplace and practical character, and
constant familiarity with trouble, forbade any more marked
demonstration of anxiety. Her sympathy was none the less
keen, however, and from time to time she uttered interjectional
phrases, designed to call forth an explanation of this new sorrow,
and subdue its effects.

Not until the girl had indulged in a short but hearty fit of
weeping, did she pay any regard to the “Come, Lyddy!—now
don't Lyddy!” with which her mother from time to time addressed
her. At length, however, she lifted up her head, shook
it with a determined air, wiped the tears from her stained face,

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

and drawing near the stove, took off her shoes and placed her
wet feet upon the hearth. Encouraged by these favorable
symptoms, Mrs. Hope seated herself in an opposite chair, and
soon had the satisfaction of hearing from the now loosened and
voluble tongue of Lydia an explanation of her agitated state of
mind. Greatly relieved was she, also, to become assured
that this unusual agitation had sprung from causes far less
serious than her imagination had pictured.

Still the poor woman could not listen unmoved to a detailed
account of the injustice and abuse which her child had suffered,
nor could she fail to share the suspicion and dread which had
been excited in Lydia's mind by Jack's recent display of obstinacy
and self-will, a full report of which was unhesitatingly
poured into her ear.

Had Lydia been a heroine, had she even been a girl of
spirit, she would not have fled to her mother with this long list
of troubles. She would either have staid away from the abode
of poverty and sickness, or would have come hither with a
cheerful countenance. She would have drawn a veil over her
own grievances, and pondered deeply upon Jack's disposition
for bad company, before she had saddened her mother's heart,
and perhaps caused her a sleepless night, by expatiating upon
his violence and folly.

But Lydia was no heroine; she was only a tired, irritated
servant girl, whose fortunes and spirits were both under a
cloud; and so she came—as hundreds of us have done in our
turn—to pour all her grievances into a mother's ear, and lay
her weight of sorrows on a heart already sufficiently burdened
with its own.

“Well,” said Mrs. Hope, with a deep groan, “if you can't
stay at your place you must come home—that's all. We
can't be much worse off than we have been; and as to Jack,
why—if he will go to ruin, he will, and its no use to worry
about it.”

Such philosophy was not very consoling; still Lydia's load
of care seemed lighter, now that her mother had taken up the
burden; and recalling the one bright feature in her day's

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

experience, she proceeded to relate the incident of Mabel's interference,
at the same time drawing from her pocket the price of
her painful services, advanced to her from such an unexpected
quarter. But, greatly to her surprise and grief, her mother
refused to receive the money. “You will find plenty of use
for it yourself, before you get another place,” said the poor
widow, who inwardly shrunk from appropriating the wages of
Lydia's daily slavery. “You have n't a decent pair of shoes
to your feet,” added she, glancing at the worn and almost useless
slippers now drying on the stove.

“Oh, take it, mother, do take it!” exclaimed the mortified
and repentant Lydia, at once perceiving the effect of her own
selfish murmurings.

“Hark!” said Mrs. Hope, softly, without seeming to notice
her extended hand. They both listened. A low sound was
distinctly audible through the closed door of the bed-room.
Mrs. Hope made a motion to rise, and at the same instant
the shop-bell was heard to ring. Lydia started forward, saying,
eagerly, “I will see if Rosy wants anything, mother, while
you mind the shop.”

Let us follow Lydia into the bed-room. There is a taper
dimly burning there, an indulgence always craved by the sick
child, who propped up by pillows is reclining on the bed. It
would be difficult to guess her age; for though her little
wasted limbs and tiny hands would seem those of a young
child, there is no youthful glow in the pale and sunken face
resting on the pillow. Her hair is light, and has a golden
tinge; her transparent forehead is marked with deep blue
veins; there is a dark circle beneath her eyes; her features are
narrow and contracted; her thin lips pressed close together as
if sealed in that position by long and persevering efforts to
repress every indication of the pain which has, nevertheless,
set its seal on each line of her expressive face. There is no
beauty, no loveliness, no childish promise in that pinched and
narrow countenance, on which disease has stamped itself for
years. Only in the deep blue eyes, which like brilliant jewels
seem starting from their withered settings can one read aught

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

of hope; nor is it any earthly hope with which the soul seems
ever looking forth from those bright windows, on—on through
the mists of time, to some happy, though unknown land, where
the patient little sufferer may hope to rest.

Lydia opened the door so noiselessly, that the sound was
unheard by her sister, who had awaked from sleep with the
moan which had been heard in the next room, but who now
commenced singing, if that could be termed singing which consisted
merely of a low, warbling sound,—a few soft syllables,
chanted again and again,—to a tune of her own composing.
Her eyes were fixed on the opposite wall, and she did not observe
Lydia's entrance, until the latter stood close beside her.
She then turned her head slightly, unclasped her thin hands
and laid one of them on the hand of her sister, saying softly,
“Lyddy!”

Lydia sat down on the side of the bed. Who would have
believed, to see the pretty, well-grown young woman, and the
puny, sickly child, that there was a difference of but five years
in their ages! but so it was, for Rosy's little withered form
had already numbered thirteen summers.

“Have you been very sick to-day, Rose?” asked Lydia in
a low voice.

“O Lyddy,” said the child “I've had to sing all the time
when I have been awake.”

Lydia sighed, for Rose had told her in confidence, just
before she left home, that she never sang except when in
great pain.

“O, poor Rosy!” she exclaimed, in a tone of deep compassion.

“No, not poor,” said Rose, thoughtfully, “not poor;” and
fixing her eyes upon the opposite wall with that earnest gaze
which seemed to look far off into the future, she added—
“little pilgrim and I have kept each other company all day,—
the path is dark, Lyddy, but God's blessed angels keep watch
above the clouds, and the way grows brighter at the end, you
know.”

As Rosy spoke, Lydia's eyes unconsciously sought the

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

object to which the child's attention seemed riveted, as if striving
to discern in it the source of that rapt and serene joy,
which now lent a momentary glow to her sister's sunken features.
The feeble light of the taper shone directly upon a
small, but exquisite engraving, which, neatly and even richly
framed, was strangely incongruous with the meagre furniture
and time-stained walls of the apartment, being the only object
of taste or luxury which the room afforded. A portion of the
picture was in shadow, but the figure of a youthful traveller
was discernible in the foreground, above whose head rolled
many a dark and threatening cloud, while the path beneath
his feet was obscure and narrow. He trod with an assured
step, however, and an eye uplifted to the spot where, in the
clearer firmament, three cherub heads might be distinctly seen,
looking forth from above the silvery summits of those very
clouds, which at their base were so dark and fearful.

It was no new appeal which this little fellow pilgrim made
to the sympathizing heart of Rosy,—no fresh lesson of encouragement
and hope which she drew from the sight of the angelguard,
set above life's dreary pathway. For many a year, the
picture had accompanied her from one room to another, hanging
always opposite her bed, during the long weeks of illness
that had often confined her to her pillow. But its eloquence
was not exhausted yet. Every day, on the contrary, her spirit
drank deeper of its heavenly lesson, and became more and
more convinced of the reality of its blessed promises; while to
her lonely hours of pain, it acted as a soothing balm, none the
less effectual from the frequency of its application.

A moment's glance at the familiar picture was sufficient for
Lydia, whose mind was not open to the language of art, more
especially to those things which are spiritually discerned.
None could be blind to its sacred truths, however, as they were
seen reflected in the holy patience, the religious calm, which
overspread the pale face of Rosy; and a deep and humble
sense of contrition stole into the heart of Lydia, as she compared
her own fretful murmurings with the saint-like submission
of the child. “O Rose!” cried she, her self-reproach

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

bursting forth with a sudden vehemence which startled the
invalid girl,—“you make me quite ashamed of myself—indeed
you do! I wish I were half as good as you are. My
troubles are nothing to yours, and yet I make myself and
everybody else miserable; while you,—you make the best of
everything?”

Rose looked anxiously into her sister's face, and answered
soothingly—“O Lyddy! no wonder you get discouraged, you
have so much to do, and so many to please, while I only
have to be patient with myself. I have thought about you all
the week, and have wished—Oh, how I have wished,—I could
see you once in a while, and know how you were getting along,
and whether the boys were very naughty, and if you had to sit
up late every night for Mrs. Leroy. You are all tired out,
aint you Lyddy?” continued she, observing the languid, and
despairing attitude into which the weary girl had thrown herself.
“Here, lie down by me a few minutes and rest!”
Rose threw her arm over her sister, and as the latter laid
down beside her, she went on in a soft and soothing voice,—
“tell me all about them, Lyddy dear.”

“What shall I tell?” asked Lydia.

“Oh, everything, whatever troubles you most?”

But that Lydia could not do. The petty vexations of the
week, had sunk into insignificance in view of Rose's patient
endurance, nor could she relate to the sick child the deeper
wound she had suffered on her account, with all its unhappy
consequences.

“I will tell you,” said she, after a moment's hesitation, “of
some one I have seen to-day, who is as beautiful as—

“As Mrs. Leroy?” inquired Rose, interrupting her.

“Oh, yes indeed,” answered Lydia, in a tone which seemed
to disdain the comparison.

“But you thought her so pretty at first!”

“Did I? Well, I don't now; but never mind. Miss Mabel
does n't look one bit like her, though she is her sister;” and
warming with the subject, Lydia lifted her head from the pillow,
and leaning on her elbow with her eyes fixed upon Rosy,

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

entered upon a glowing panegyric of her new and kind young
friend.

Rose seemed to catch her enthusiasm as she proceeded, and
at length exclaimed with eager interest, as Lydia paused in
her animated description, “Tell me more; what did she say to
Alick? did he like her?”

Lydia, once embarked on the subject, gave a faithful narrative
of Mabel's visit, with the exception of those particulars
which related to her own difficulty with Mrs. Leroy and consequent
dismission.

“Fresh, bright and beautiful! and just from the country!”
said Rose meditatively,—“Oh, how I should like to see her!”

Lydia sighed as she thought how improbable it was that this
wish would ever be gratified.

“You will see her again?” said Rose in an inquiring tone.

“Perhaps so.”

“And you will remember everything she says, and does,
so as to tell me?”

“I will try.”

“Just from the country!” again soliloquized Rose. “How
I should like to see some one from the country.” Poor Rose
had never in her life been beyond the city streets, and the
country, to her imagination, was an earthly Paradise.

“Rose,” said Lydia, in a hopeful tone of voice, “you must
get better, so that next summer you and I can go up to the old
farm.”

Rose shook her head, and then as if a thought had suddenly
occurred to her mind, said in a quiet whisper, “Lyddy, where's
Jack?”

“Gone off with Bob Martin,” replied Lydia, some returning
bitterness mingling with her tone of voice,” and I may as
well go back alone,” continued she, making a movement to
rise from her place by Rose's side, “for like enough he won't
be home till morning.”

“Yes he will,” said Rose confidently; “he will come to give
me my drops at ten; he has never forgotten it since you went
away. Is it near that time now?”

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

“It can't be far from it,” said Lydia. “I will go and get
my bonnet and see if my shoes are dry.”

At this moment Jack's voice was heard in the shop, and just
as a church clock near by struck the hour of ten, he entered
Rose's room on tiptoe, holding in his hand a cup and phial.
Lydia had not yet left the room, but sat behind the bed, quite
out of sight, and Bob Martin himself could scarcely have been
more astonished than she was at the sight which now met her
eyes.

Could this be Jack, the noisy and oftentimes profane boy,
who now stood near the light, carefully measuring out and
counting the drops? Could it be his rough hand which was
tenderly passed beneath his sister's neck, while he gently
rested her head on his shoulder, and placed the medicine to
her lips? Above all, could it be his rude accents which were
now softened to the affectionate inquiry, “Do you feel any
better, Rosy?”

Yes, it was Jack; there could be no doubt of that, for as
Lydia followed him into the kitchen, after his labors as a nurse
were completed, he betrayed his ordinary self by the abrupt
and harsh manner in which he addressed her with, “Well, Lyd!
you here yet?”

“Of course I am,” said Lydia, half provoked, half grieved,
at his surly manner towards her; “did you snppose I had
gone back alone?”

“Jack!” called Rose from the next room.

He was instantly by her side.

“You'll go home with Lyddy?”

“Yes.”

“And then come back to me?”

“Yes.”

“That's a good boy.”

“Good night, Rose,” said Lydia, stooping over her bed to
kiss her, while Jack went to look for his cap. “I can't tell
when I shall see you again; give this to mother when I am
gone. Good night, darling;” and she left in Rose's hands the
bank-bills which her poor mother had declined receiving.

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

It was a very dreary walk back to the hotel—still raining,
and very wet under foot. Jack and Lydia proceeded rapidly
and in silence, the former somewhat in advance, while the latter
tried to pick her way so as to avoid the puddles in the side-walk.
Both were thoughtful; both perhaps a little mortified
at their recent ill humor; at all events, neither felt disposed
for conversation, and a hasty good-night from Lydia, and a
sulky response from her brother were all that passed between
them.

Perhaps the walk, with the mediations to which it gave
rise, left an impression upon Lydia's mind, for her sleep that
night was haunted by the vision of a dark and dreary road on
which she and Jack were travelling; sometimes Mabel seemed
to be with them, leading her little nephews by the hand; and
always the path was hard, and the sky overshadowed with
clouds. But they went on, it seemed to her, in safety, and
the way grew brighter as they went, while on every cloud an
angel rode triumphant, and every angel wore the face of
Rosy.

CHAPTER IX.

And oft though wisdom wake, suspicion sleeps
At wisdom's gate, and to simplicity
Resigns her charge, while goodness thinks no ill
Where no ill seems.
Milton.

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

Several weeks passed away, during which Mabel continued
to enjoy an almost uninterrupted round of gaiety. A
city belle, however, should, notwithstanding the precautions of
modern luxury, be possessed of a constitution insensible to
every injurious influence; and Mabel, despite her usual high
health, was not proof against the combined effects of excitement,
exposure, and fatigue. A sudden cold, accompanied by
feverish symptoms, compelled her, at length, to forego all
society, save that which her home afforded; and now for the
first time, perhaps, did she learn to estimate the full extent of
that solicitude of which she was the cherished object. Her
father's affectionate anxiety, her aunt's assiduous and patient
nursing, and Harry's brotherly attention and devotedness, far
outweighed the gratification derived from the numerous bouquets
and notes of condolence which covered her dressingroom
table; and during a few days of positive illness, and a
week of convalescence, she had an ample opportunity of appreciating
the value of those domestic blessings and privileges,
which had hitherto been obscured by the more brilliant pleasures
of fashion and the world.

This temporary and forced seclusion from society occurred,
too, at the time when Mabel was first beginning to be conscious
of the monotony which existed in those gay circles, which to
Louise constituted the world. A certain fondness for admiration,
and a natural gratification at the large share of it which

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

her position and charms excited, had served for a time to
blind her to the insipidity of the sources from whence it was
bestowed; and the attractions of dress, excitement, and display,
enlisted her interest so long as they continued to be
novelties. But she had too much freshness of feeling to find
any lasting pleasure in the same unvaried round of engagements,
especially as her intellect occasionally rebelled at the
endless repetition of ball-room nonsense, which constituted the
conversation of Mrs. Leroy's set.

The power of habit is strong, however, and she probably
would not have had the force of will to break through the
charmed ring of fashion, had not necessity laid its iron hand
upon her. Her cheerful and loving disposition now found the
means of both receiving and conferring pleasure in her home,
and her conscience more than once reproached her for previous
neglect of the spot, to which her presence, even as an invalid,
evidently had the power to impart sunshine.

Aunt Sabiah was like a new being, now that she had the
happiness of Mabel's society and the occupation of officiating
as a nurse. Mr. Vaughan went later to his office in the morning,
and passed his evenings with his family in the library,
where the numerous charts, which usually engrossed his mind
were never once unrolled. As for Harry, he seemed suddenly
relieved from his wonted press of convivial engagements, and
found time to read aloud to his aunt and Mabel, translate German
songs for the latter, and entertain himself and torment Sabiah
by rallying her upon the subject of the ill-shaped stockings
which constituted her favorite knitting work, and which,
although displaced in the parlor by some more elegant employment,
were gladly resumed in the retirement of an invalid's
room. Their distorted calves and shrivelled ancles afforded
Harry's fancy continual play, as to the sort of animal for whose
use they might be intended; and although he never called
forth any other than the invariable retort, that “it was a poor
leg that wouldn't shape its own stocking,” he seemed quite
contented to have the war of wits all to himself. So happy
was he, apparently, under this new order of things, that he

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

seldom left the house for any great length of time, except
when warned away by the arrival of Mrs. Leroy, who made
a daily visit of bustle and inquiry, and the rattling of whose
flounces was usually the signal for her brother to walk off,
whistling an opera air.

Louise was half provoked at the contentment with which
Mabel submitted to a week's imprisonment; more especially as
she felt herself in some degree called upon to enliven her
seclusion now and then with her presence, a species of self-sacrifice
which she found intolerably irksome. She always
contrived, however, to make some plausible apology for the
shortness of her visits, and came and went with such graceful
ease, and so many affectionate inquiries and complimentary
messages, that Mable was very naturally gratified by her
attentions, and far from disposed to question her sincerity.

But the very circumstance which repelled Mrs. Leroy,
opened a new source of happiness to her children, who now,
for the first time, began to enjoy the privileges of a grand-father's
house. Mabel sent for them occasionally during her
short illness; and though Harry thought it a bore to have
Alick poring over a book in the corner of the room, or staring
moodily out of the window, and aunt Sabiah was sure that
Murray's noise would throw Mabel into a fever-fit, these visits
served, on the whole, to establish natural relations between
the boys and the different members of the family, and to sow the
seeds of that future influence which each was destined to exercise
upon all the rest. How far this experience of domestic
joys, with the reflections and sentiments to which it gave rise,
might have served to divert Mabel's mind from the enjoyments
of gay life, and dispose her to serious and lasting considerations
of her own responsibilities and powers, it is impossible
to determine; for by the time she was restored to health, and
consequently to society, a new weight was added to the scale
of influence heretofore possessed by the outward world, and a
new sentiment engrossed both her intellect and heart, to the
exclusion of all rival claims.

Lincoln Dudley returned unexpectedly to the city, and

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

Mabel met him under circumstances calculated to encourage
and increase the romantic interest she had long cherished for
her brother's friend.

A birth-night ball was given by one of her young friends,
who, not content with urging Mabel's attendance, both by note
and message, came herself to protest against the disappointment
of being refused. Mabel had not been exposed to the
evening air since her illness, and the invitation was only accepted
with the proviso, on the part of her father, that she
should not dance. Louise declared that, under such conditions,
it would be better to stay at home; but Mabel, with her usual
amiability, was glad to gratify her friend on such easy terms.

She was surrounded by a gay group of flatteres, when she
first caught sight of a gentleman, who, leaning against a mantel-piece
with an easy and self-possessed air, appeared to be
leisurely scanning the assembly. Perhaps there was a magnetic
power in those dark, dreamy eyes, for, at the moment
when Mable glanced at the spot where he stood, they were
fixed upon her with a glance of scrutiny as well as admiration.
When she next observed him, however, he was conversing
in an animated manner with a sprightly lady, who
evidently found great pleasure in his conversation.

Had his previous criticism of Mabel been less marked, he
could scarcely have failed to engage her attention, he was so
very unlike any one she had ever met before. His personal
appearance was striking, for, although scarcely of the medium
height, his figure was well-formed and graceful, while his attitude
and manners denoted an independence, and a freedom from
conventional restraint, which distinguished him amid the company
as one who could venture to dispense with the minor rules
of etiquette. Nevertheless, he was courtly in his demeanor,
especially towards ladies, and had evidently the power of making
himself generally agreeable—for, as Mabel continued her
ob ervations, she could not fail to remark the eager reception
which his civilities met with from persons of various ages and
tast s.

He soon disappeared amid the crowd, however, and the

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

thoughts of the city belle were once more engrossed by the
little throng of admirers who were congratulating themselves
upon her reäppearance in society, and who remained true to
their allegiance, in spite of the music and dancing in an adjoining
saloon.

It was with some surprise, therefore, that she felt the light
touch of a fan upon her shoulder, and turning, found Mrs.
Leroy beside her, accompanied by the stranger, who had evidently
sought Louise for the purpose of obtaining an introduction
to her sister.

Either Louise, in her haste to return to the dance, failed to
pronounce his name in an audible tone, or a little confusion on
Mabel's part prevented her catching the sound distinctly; at
all events, she remained quite in ignorance of the fact that she
was making the acquaintance of Dudley.

The self-possessed serenity of his manners, however, quickly
restored her wonted composure; and she knew not how it was,
that before many minutes she found herself engaged in a conversation
wholly free from the restraint usually consequent
upon an abrupt and hasty introduction. Neither did she
attempt to account for the fact that, one after another, even the
boldest among her attendant beaux retreated to the ball-room
or elsewhere, leaving Dudley in full possession of the field.

She only knew that she was listening to one, who, in beauty
of language, originality of thought, and play of fancy, was, in
comparison with those who had just left her side, like a being
of a different order in nature; and, flattered at finding herself
the object of attraction to a superior mind, and inspired, perhaps,
by the glance of Dudley's eloquent eyes, she felt conscious
of mental aspirations which her intercourse with society had
never before awakened. Finding that she did not dance,
Dudley obtained a seat for her, and leaning against an opposite
window-frame in his wonted easy and half-indolent attitude,
continued to exert his own brilliant powers of conversation, at
the same time emboldening her, by his apparently careless
address, to do justice to that native grace and force of intellect
with which she was amply endowed.

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

Not until Mr. Leroy, who chanced to be present on this
occasion, came to inform her that the carriage was waiting, and
Louise also in readiness to depart, did she realize the length
of time in which she had been so agreeably entertained; and,
although the acquaintance of an evening only, she could not
conceal from herself the satisfaction she felt at Dudley's parting
assurance that he hoped to have the pleasure of soon seeing
her again.

Harry, contrary to expectation, had not made his appearance;
detained, as it proved, by some friends whom he met at
his club; and it was not until the next day at dinner that Mabel
had any opportunity to speak to him concerning the occurrences
of the evening. Her communications then were somewhat
involuntary, and only drawn from her by pointed questions on
his part. He compelled her at length, however, to acknowledge
the new acquaintance she had formed, and even drew her on
to give a somewhat minute description of the individual. After
amusing himself with her conjectures concerning him, and especially
her suspicion that he must be a poet, because he had
dark eyes, was guilty of long hair, and some little eccentricities
of dress, and was, moreover, very agreeable, he astonished her
with the abrupt remark, “In a word,—you have seen Lincoln
Dudley, and the satisfaction seems to be mutual.”

A glow of delighted surprise overspread Mabel's face at the
first part of Harry's announcement, while a quickly succeeding
blush betrayed her sensibility to Dudley's good opinion. Aunt
Sabiah at once became interested to learn Mabel's opinion of
one who had impressed her most favorably. Mr. Vaughan
had some curiosity concerning Harry's friend, and Harry himself
was disposed to ply Mabel with further questions.

But Mabel perseveringly evaded all inquiries, and at length
contrived to change the topic of conversation. It continued
none the less the subject of her thoughts, however.

There is, perhaps, no flattery to which a young girl is so
susceptible, as that of finding herself an object of interst to a
man some years her senior, possessed of a superior mind, and,
moreover, one of the most popular and influential members of

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

the society in which she moves. More especially is this the
case, when natural refinement of thought and feeling have
fitted her for the enjoyment of more elevated and intellectual
pleasures than those which are ordinarily furnished in the
world of fashion. Even Louise, and the frivolous set with
which she had entire sympathy, felt the honor which Mr.
Dudley's attentions were capable of conferring, and diligently
strove to attain them; for his social standing was as confirmed
as his abilities were acknowledged. How much more highly,
then, might Mabel be expected to appreciate the man, who
satisfied at once the demands of the most select circles, and
inspired that involuntary respect which youth is ever ready to
offer at the shrine of genius.

Dudley's genius, indeed, was of a most universal character.
Educated mostly abroad, passing rapidly from one school of
knowledge to another, viewing European society in all its
phases, and profiting by opportunities which are open to but
few, he had become cosmopolitan in his habits, artistic in his
tastes, completely versed in the knowledge of society, and
everywhere fitted to shine. Those who knew him best declared
him qualified for success in whatever profession he
might adopt; but, although now nearly thirty years of age, his
choice was yet undetermined.

Thus, at the time of his introduction to Mabel, he was still a
gentleman of leisure, enjoying a moderate income, which was
sufficient for the wants of one who, though fastidious and luxurious
in his mode of life, was not disposed to reckless extravagance,
and whose weight and influence in society were, strange
to say, wholly independent of wealth.

We shall soon see the effect which this uncommon influence
had power to produce upon the young and enthusiastic Mabel.

Her acquaintance with him ripened rapidly. His intimacy
with Harry, and the certainty of a cordial reception at Mr.
Vaughan's house, would alone have favored this. But, although
he frequently made one of their family circle at dinner,
and was received at all hours with the familiarity of a privileged
guest, these were not the only occasions which afforded

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

him the opportunity of exciting Mabel's interest, and winning
her confidence. She met him everywhere in society; and his
singular powers of fascination were never more successfully
exercised than when, amid the distractions of a crowded assembly,
he would now and then seek her side, and, for a longer or
shorter time, as the case might be, enchain her thoughts, enkindle
her imagination, or excite her merriment, by drawing
upon his seemingly inexhaustible stores of information, poetry,
wit, and satire. He never danced; and from the period of
Mabel's introduction to him her love of this amusement became
less engrossing. Not that he sought to win her from gayer
pleasures by the charm of his conversation, or strove to monopolize
any considerable portion of her time. On the contrary,
he had too much delicacy and tact to make his attentions conspicuous;
and his preference and admiration were only to be
inferred from the eagerness and self-gratulation with which
he availed himself of those accidental opportunities which
chance or good fortune might throw in his way.

But, while Mabel's general popularity continued undiminished,
and she was still the ornament and life of the ball-room,
her face was never animated by a more brilliant glow than
when, owing to a pause in the music, or a casual movement
among the company, she found herself released from her recent
partner in the dance, and brought within the magic influence
which Dudley's musical voice and eloquent eye had power to
exercise upon her imaginative spirit.

All the other events of the evening might well serve to
minister to her vanity and self-love, but these little episodes
had a deeper significance, and produced a more subtle and
lasting effect upon her heart and life.

A new ambition, as well as a new sentiment, had been suddenly
awakened; and the young girl, who a month before could
scarcely credit the triumph which had placed her beyond the
rivalry of fashionable competitors, now felt a deeper thrill of
gratified pride as she became conscious of those more ennobling
gifts, which caused her to be appreciated by a man of rare
cultivation and fastidious taste.

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

A fresh impulse was thus given to mental powers which had
hitherto lain dormant; and although the routine of her daily
life underwent little change, a close observer might detect many
an indication of the new direction which had been given to her
motives and aims, and the unwonted interest which was imparted
to every scene in which Dudley played a part.

And while the charm which his presence exercised in the
gayer circles effectually vanquished the hesitation with which
she resumed her round of fashionable engagements, the ascendency
of his empire over her thoughts was no less perceptible
in her moments of retirement and meditation. The topics on
which he had awakened her interest became the subject of
after thought; the books from which he had quoted, frequently
lay open upon her dressing-table, and the little apartment so
choicely furnished by Harry was frequently resorted to for the
more careful study of those works of art which possessed the
merit of having been selected by Dudley.

Mr. Vaughan, who had been over-anxious on account of his
daughter's health, felt too deep a satisfaction in her entire restoration
to complain of his deserted fire-side, and patiently betook
himself to the usual resource afforded by his papers and charts.
Harry, at first gratified by his friend's evident admiration of
his sister, began at length to weary of the subordinate part
which he filled in relation to them both, and occasionally, in
the domestic circle as well as the public assembly, would quietly
absent himself from their society, without being much missed
by either party. Miss Sabiah, whose prejudices were all in
Dudley's favor, forbore to utter any reproaches at the thoughtless
and unintentional neglect which sometimes fell to her lot,
and fostered her niece's growing preference by the unqualified
praise which she bestowed upon its object.

What wonder, then, that Mabel, unquestioned, unchecked,
and unwarned, lent herself without fear or doubt to the emotion
of the hour? What wonder if he, whom all the world
admired as the scholar, the poet, and the wit, became in her
eyes the noble, the generous, the true, and the disinterested
man which he should have been,—but which, alas! he was not?

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

With all his varied acquisitions,—his knowledge, taste,
culture and refinement,—with all his appreciation of the beautiful,
both in art and nature, and all the seeming fairness of a
reputation which knew no stain, there yet lurked within the
well-springs of his being a secret but fatal poison, dwarfing all
his higher purposes, and blighting all his nobler hopes.

Free from all outward forms of vice, he had, nevertheless,
no true love of virtue; bowing at the shrine of female loveliness,
he had no high faith in woman; and scorning the world in
which he lived, he had no power to rise above it.

Early distrust of all things good had palsied the noblest
gifts of nature; and the life which might have been a blessing
to mankind had thus far proved a failure.

And shall Mabel's trusting heart be exposed to this chilling
influence? Shall the young mind yearning for truth and
knowledge share the sophistries of a perverted intellect? Shall
the soul open to great and lasting impressions find all its generous
aspirations quenched in the cold reasoning of a falso
experience?

Ambition, self-love, pride of heart, a deceived imagination,
and a host of worldly allies, will urge her on in the dangerous
path which her feet seem doomed to tread. But one shall
meet them by the way, a childlike form, clad in holy faith,
who shall oppose them with the gentle might of an humble
heart, a pure life, and a whispered prayer. Unequal seems
the contest, but it is God who giveth the victory.

CHAPTER X.

A thousand pretty ways we'll find
To mock old Winter's starving reign;
We'll dress his withered cheeks in flowers,
And on his smooth bald head
Fantastic garlands bind.
Mrs. Barbauld.

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

About a fortnight after the period of Dudley's return to the
city, the patience of Miss Vaughan and the good nature of the
whole family were put to a somewhat severe test, by an instance
of Mabel's generous but inconsiderate hospitality.

Some children, at the same hotel where Mrs. Leroy resided,
were seized with a prevailing epidemic, and Mabel, hearing
her sister complain of a circumstance which threatened the
health of the boys, cordially urged their coming to their grand-father's,
to remain until the danger of infection should have
passed. The little fellows were delighted to exchange the
restrictions of the nursery for the freedom they enjoyed in Mr.
Vaughan's spacious house, and their mother was only too cager
to take advantage of a proposal which freed her from a most
unwelcome responsibility. They came at once, therefore,
accompanied by Lydia Hope, who, in spite of her abrupt dismissal,
still continued in Mrs. Leroy's service. Louise's temper
being always subservient to her selfish convenience,
Murray's pleadings had scarcely been needed to induce her to
retain in her employment a girl of such unquestioned capability
as Lydia; and although it was only by the exercise of great
self-control that the latter could receive her mistress' concession
in a becoming spirit of gratitude and humility, she felt
amply repaid for the effort, in the opportunity now afforded her
of spending some weeks in the home of her youthful benefactress.

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

This invasion of the domestic peace was, at first, endured
with a very good grace by the whole household; but Murray's
riotous behavior, and Alick's dogged obstinacy, soon gave rise
to difficulty and disturbance. Mr. Vaughan escaped the annoyance
by shutting himself up in his library, and Harry, after
amusing himself awhile by sharing the boys' noisy sports,
exciting their spirits, and often involving them in quarrelsome
disputes, would hurry out of the house, leaving others to reap
the fruits of the mischief which he had sown. Miss Sabiah
and the much tormented servants were the chief sufferers from
the introduction of these unruly and rebellious inmates; for
Mabel, when not engrossed with other objects, seldom failed to
find pleasure in the companionship of her young guests. It
was true, she was often called upon to quiet the disputes and
reconcile the disagreements which were continually arising,
but she had a happy, careless way of settling every vexed
question to the satisfaction of all parties; and by a mingling of
kindness and authority she contrived to exercise a certain
degree of government over her little nephews.

This restraining influence was due; in part, to the respect
which her consistent truthfulness inspired in children who had
hitherto been subjected to a system of artifice and bribery, and
still more to the cordial interest with which she occasionally
entered into their plans and participated in their enjoyments;
for, preöccupied as her mind might be, nothing could dispel
her earnest love of childhood and her sympathy in its pleasures.

Thus a long-talked-of sleigh-ride, to which the boys had been
looking forward from the commencement of the winter, was
anticipated with scarcely less zest by Mabel; and the snow-storm,
which was its precursor, was hailed by her, as well as
by the children, with unfeigned satisfaction.

It commenced falling at dusk, and the next morning the entire
city was decked in a rich garb of white, untrodden snow,
which certainly presented a tempting prospect to pleasure-seekers,
of all ages. Before noon, Broadway and the principal
avenues were thronged with sleighs of every shape and hue,
which, with their joyous occupants and eager, prancing horses,

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

gave to the scene the aspect of a Carnival; while among the
many rich and gorgeous equipages, none was to be seen more
graceful in its style, or more complete in its appointments
than that which contained the happy, blooming Mabel and her
triumphant and excited little companions.

They glided rapidly up and down the principal thoroughfares,
threading a swift course among the crowd of huge,
open omnibuses, gay with decorations and laden with passengers;
fashionable turn-outs, with liveried servants, and rich
draperies of fur; miniature boats, drawn by fast horses, and
driven by fast young men;—in a word, vehicles of all descriptions,
and every grade of pretension, thus suddenly introduced
upon the scene of action, and rivalling one another in beauty,
grotesqueness, display, or speed.

“See!” cried Murray, springing to his feet in the enthusiasm
of his joy, “there's mamma, with Miss Vannecker, in Mr.
Earle's new sleigh. Drive faster, Donald!” shouted he to the
coachman, “drive faster, and see if we can't beat those gray
horses ahead!” and as they dashed gaily past Mrs. Leroy's
party, and, one after another, distanced all competitors, Mabel
was obliged to grasp the arm of the excited child, lest in the
exuberance of his spirits he should lose his balance and be
thrown from the sleigh.

“Look, aunt Mabel,” exclaimed the equally observing, but
more composed Alick, “look at that beantiful little white seashell
that seems to be cutting through foam; the wolf's robe,
the horse, and even the harness, as white as the snow itself.
Oh, that is the handsomest of all! Mr. Dudley is driving, and
he sees us, I am sure he does,—he is trying to catch up!”

“But he can't?” cried Murray, whose attention was attracted
by this new rival, “I'll bet he can't beat our bays, won't
you, aunt Mabel?”

“He will, though,” said Alick, who was carefully measuring
the chances.

Mabel's heightened color and kindling eye betokened the
interest with which she watched the race, but she was far
from sharing Murray's disappointment when the snow-white

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

steed gradually gained upon them; and if she experienced
any mortification at the consciousness of approaching defeat,
there certainly was no evidence of it in the brilliant smiles
with which she welcomed Dudley, as the little equipage finally
came alongside.

The latter, on his part, seemed indisposed to make any show
of success; but, satisfied with having thus achieved a parallel
position, continued, in spite of obstacles, to maintain it for some
minutes; a species of compromise which, flattering and agreeable
as it might be to Mabel, was far otherwise to her impetuous
little nephew, who, still anxious to achieve a victory, persisted
in exclaiming to the coachman, “Hurry up, Donald!—
whip 'em up!”

The man, however, who read a contradictory order in the
expression of his mistress' countenance, as she responded to
Dudley's congratulation upon the pleasures of the day, forbore
pressing his horses to the top of their speed,—a fact of which
Murray soon became conscious. “See here, Al!” exclaimed
he, after an interval which he had occupied in clumsily moulding
a snow-ball, for which a huge drift furnished the material,
“I'll make 'em go!” Then, watching an opportunity when
Mabel was most deeply engrossed with some object to which
Dudley had directed her attention, he raised himself upon the
front seat, and flung his missile at the head of one of the
horses. His aim proved as accurate as its effect was instantaneous.
The spirited and startled animal gave one wild
leap, then dashed suddenly forward; and the panie being thus
communicated to its mate, the pair were, in an instant more,
rushing madly down the wide avenue, clearing for themselves
a passage through the quickly-parting throng of vehicles, but
utterly beyond the control or guidance of the coachman.

Meanwhile, in another part of the city, and under circumstances
of a wholly different character, a pair of watchful,
thoughtful eyes were busily engaged in scanning the various
individuals and scenes which came within the scope of the observer's
vision. It was a limited prospect, of no very inviting nature;
but, such as it was, little Rose Hope had found in it

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

material for thought and study during many a long year. The
dingy shop, which constituted her mother's principal support,
was situated in a narrow street, and the floor of the sunken
building was considerably below the level of the sidewalk.
Thus, the cheerful sun, which rose behind the house, and set
behind that on the opposite side of the street, never found its
way into the close, cellar-like apartment where the Widow
Hope sold needles, tape, and various other articles of trifling
value, including candy of her own manufacture.

There were two windows to this room, both fronting the street.
One contained samples of the widow's scanty stock in trade,
arranged and re-arranged many times a year, for the purpose
of producing a more marked effect upon her patrons, but seldom
diminished by an active custom, or increased by dint of
surplus capital. A few cards of buttons, discolored by exposure,
or soiled by time; a few clay pipes, in an earthen mug,
which had long been deficient in a handle; with here and there
a paper of pins, a skein of coarse thread, or a last year's almanae,
sufficed to give the public an intimation of what might be
found within.

Besides these articles of positive significance, there were
some little attempts at ornament, which should not be omitted,
as they constituted the more marked tokens of Mrs. Hope's
establishment. These were two clumsy wooden figures,—the
one representing a parrot, gorgeous in green and yellow paint,
which, in aristocratic and proud disdain of its unworthy surroundings,
seemed to challenge the passer-by to remove it to a
more congenial sphere; the other, a laughing, portly, old sailor,
who, with his hands on his sides, and his feet in the position
for commencing a hornpipe, appeared resolved to be jolly, in
spite of circumstances.

But the parrot had maintained its dignity, and the sailor his
light-heartedness, for years, without this commendable perseverance
having won a purchaser for either.

These decorations were hung out as symbols for the public
generally; but for the immediate neighborhood, the opposite
and ungarnished window had a deeper and far more impressive

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

meaning; for here might invariably be seen the little arm-chair
of the invalid child, whose emaciated face was as familiar
as the day, to every individual who frequented the narrow
street.

Few were so indifferent, so thoughtless, or so hurried, as to
pass the widow's shop without bestowing a kindly glance upon
one who was the object of universal love and compassion.
Little children, on their way to school, paused a moment to
look smilingly up at the well-known window, assured of an
answering smile in return; old women pressed their faces
against the glass and spoke a word of inquiry or kindness;
and hard-faced men assumed a softened air while they exchanged
some friendly signal with Rosy. Or if, as was sometimes
the case, the arm-chair was vacant for a day, many an eye
missed the little invalid from her accustomed place, and peering
anxiously into the room beyond, wondered how it fared
with the child.

Thus, a good understanding had come to subsist between
Rose and the humble neighborhood in which she lived; and,
who shall measure the priceless value of that chain of tender,
though often unspoken friendships, which the force of human
sympathy had wrought from out the hard material of busy life?

More numerous than usual were the tokens of pleasure and
congratulation which greeted her on the morning after the
snow-storm. For some days past she had been absent from
the window, confined to her bed in the little room behind the
shop; but this bright morning found her better, and her re-appearance
was observed and hailed with general satisfaction.

The men who were removing the snow from the sidewalks,
paused now and then, and leaning on their shovels looked up,
as if to bespeak her approbation of their work; the women
who came out with their pitchers to meet the noisy milk-boy,
nodded a kindly good-morning, as they caught sight of her
welcome countenance; and the milk-boy himself, despite his
somewhat surly countenance, forbore the customary harsh cry
as he paused at the shop door, and patiently awaited the widow's
coming, whistling in the meantime a popular air, and glancing

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

good-naturedly up at Rosy, as he thrashed his arms to and fro
to keep himself warm.

These and many other familiar greetings were responded to
by Rose, with her usual touching smile; but now and then
some simple incident served to call up a deeper glow of animation
or pleasure. Such was the appearance of a little deaf
and dumb child, who was in the habit of daily presenting himself
at her window, tapping on the glass to attract attention,
then making various gesticulations of delight when Rose feigned
a sudden surprise at seeing him, and whose happiness on this
morning, reached its climax upon his being summoned within
to receive a bit of crisp, brown candy, which she had begged
for him from her mother. The little fellow was one of Rose's
most devoted friends; and, among those with whom she had
never exchanged a word, he had but one rival to her partiality.
This was a tall and rosy-faced youth, the driver of a heavy
team, which, punctual to a moment, might be regularly seen
emerging from beneath an opposite arch-way.

On the present occasion the passage was so much impeded
by snow as to create some doubt in Rosy's mind, whether the
young teamster might not be deterred from venturing forth to
his daily duties. But no; just as the clock struck eight, the
spirited leader appeared in sight, flinging the snow like powder
from his hoofs, and tossing his wavy mane as if in defiance of
obstacles. The sun, which never shone on Rosy's side of the
street, was reflected in glittering rays from the brazen knobs
that ornamented the head-piece and bridle of the noble animal
and which, thickly set and polished to the last degree, dangled
and glistened like a dandy's watch-chain. Not a whit less
proud were the step and bearing of the shaft-horse, a fit companion
and a perfect match to the tall and well-shaped leader;
and both, in truth, formed a striking contrast to the brokendown
and half-starved hacks which performed most of the
draught labor of the city. Rose had watched and hailed their
approach for so many successive days and months, that she had
come to feel a sort of ownership in the handsome pair; a sentiment
which acted, perhaps, as a bond of sympathy between her

[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]

and their smart young driver, who took no small pride in their
fine forms, glossy coats, and perfect training. There was something
healthy and cheery about the whole establishment, and
especially in the ruddy face of the teamster, who, standing upright
and firm, issued punctually from beneath the archway, a
fit type of honest labor coming forth to its daily toil.

The horses always made their exit with a slow and stately
pace, but the moment they gained the street the lad would
crack his long cart-whip, with a sound which made the neighborhood
ring, but which was a token of his coming intended for
Rosy's car, if one might judge by his cheerful smile and wave
of the hand in the direction of her window, while the horses,
which seldom suffered from the application of the lash, pricked
up their ears as if at the sound of music, and broke into a brisk
and voluntary trot.

To Rosy, who had no opportunity of seeing the costly equipages
which were thronging the great avenues of the city, and
the courteous salutations which were being exchanged in the
world of fashion, there was nothing more imposing than the
bearing of these working steeds, nothing more truly kind and
courtly than the demeanor of her assured friend, the healthy
and robust teamster.

The passage of this and many similar vehicles, however, of
clumsy construction, and moving on wheels in defiance of the
snow, soon had the effect of marring the purity and roughening
the surface of the streets in this, the business quarter of the city,
and the view became gradually less fair to the eye than even on
ordinary occasions. The day was wearing towards noon, and
Rosy's eyes, dazzled by the snow and weary from past sleeplessness,
were closed in momentary slumber, when she was
startled by a rushing noise, accompanied by the sound of bells
in rapid motion, and a sudden cry of alarm. In a moment
more a pair of unmanageable horses might be seen rushing
furiously down the street, dragging after them a light but richly
ornamented sleigh, gay with showy trappings and the rich
dresses of its occupants. It was in vain that the skilful coachman
endeavored to guide the frightened animals, which

[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]

bounded forward in uncontrolled terror, threatening the destruction
of the whole party. As they approached the widow's shop
their driver made a final effort to check their progress, by
turning them suddenly under the opposite arch-way, but the
attempt was ineffectual; they bounded aside, bringing one of
the runners of the sleigh upon a heap of bricks which lay, just
beyond the sidewalk, deceitfully covered with snow, and the
vehicle was at once overturned. Fortunately, however, for its
inmates, they were all, with the exception of the coachman, who
still clung to his reins, thrown upon a soft snow-bank in front
of the shop door, and thus escaped wholly uninjured.

A young lady, who was no other than Mabel, was upon her
feet in an instant, and, without pausing to shake the snow from
her garments, she hastened to the assistance of Murray, who,
half buried in snow, was screaming lustily, but making no effort
to rise. Alick, however, who had, from the first moment of
alarm, shown a manly degree of courage and composure, had
already dashed the snow from his own clothes and bounded off
to recover Mabel's muff, which was tossed to some little distance,
and the ostrich feather, which had escaped from Murray's
hat, and was borne by a gust of wind rapidly down the street.

“Why, what a splendid fall we have had, and how beautifully
we came down in the snow, didn't we, Murray?” exclaimed
Mabel, speaking in a gay tone for the encouragement
of her little nephew, and at the same time lifting him from his
soft resting-place to the side-walk; then, as he still continued
to cry so loudly as to attract the attention of a crowd of
people who were rapidly collecting around the scene of the
accident, she hastily lifted the latch of the widow Hope's door,
hesitating whether or not to seek shelter within. At the same
moment she caught sight of Rosy, looking eagerly from the
window and beckoning, as if inviting them to enter. This
hospitable indication decided her; and, leading Murray by
the hand, and calling to Alick to follow, she stepped quickly
into the shop,—too quickly, indeed, for, in her haste, she
failed to perceive the little step downward from the side-walk,
and would have fallen but for the support afforded by the

[figure description] Page 114.[end figure description]

door-latch, while Murray, startled by the loud ringing of the
shop bell, and stumbling at the unexpected descent, was thrown
head-foremost upon the floor. This inauspicious entrance
alarmed the widow Hope, whose slow movements now brought
her upon the scene, where her offers of assistance proved very
acceptable. The little party indeed, in spite of their recent
deliverance from danger, were in a somewhat deplorable condition.
Murray was, in reality, slightly bruised by his second
fall, and, although he could scarcely cry any louder than he had
done before, he made as much tumult as possible, and required
all Mabel's attention. It was almost unconsciously, therefore,
that the latter was relieved of her cloak, now dripping with the
fast melting snow, and it was not until the child was somewhat
quieted that she even thought of attempting to remove her
delicate gloves, which, thoroughly soaked, were clinging obstinately
to her half-frozen fingers. Her bonnet, also, was so
crushed as to be almost shapeless, Murray had lost a shoe,
and Alick, although he made no complaint, had grazed his knee
against the pavement, which he had struck in falling.

These causes of discomfiture, trifling as they were, created
no little excitement in the contracted limits which the shop
afforded; and for some minutes a general confusion prevailed,
of which Rose was a silent spectator, her infirmities disabling
her from being of any service. A chair was at length procured
from the back room for Mabel, who, disencumbered of
bonnet and cloak, soon made herself quite at home, with Murray
sitting on her knee, and now gradually becoming soothed
and quiet. Alick declined a low seat which was offered him,
and, stationing himself directly opposite Rose, stood gazing at
her with unmistakable wonder and curiosity.

Mabel's only anxiety now was for the safety of the coachman,
who soon, however, appeared at the door unharmed, but
presenting a rueful countenance, as he informed her that his
master's sleigh lay an utter wreck upon the sidewalk.

“No matter, Donald,” answered Mabel promptly, “since we
are all safe.”

[figure description] Page 115.[end figure description]

“But what shall be done, Miss Mabel?” inquired the man;
“how will you get home?”

“What has become of the horses?” asked Mabel, with difficulty
restraining a smile at the man's utterly disconcerted
countenance.

“They are just at the end of the street, Miss, at a poor kind
of a livery, but there isn't a sleigh to be had hereabouts—none,
sartain, that would be fit for you and the young gentlemen.
I'm afeard Mr. Harry will be a good deal disappinted, Miss,
when he sees what a smash-up we've had down yonder.”

“O, never mind that,” said Mabel, good-naturedly; “you
did the best you could, Donald. Mr. Harry will be only too
glad to see us home in safety.” And having learned that the
horses were uninjured, and quite sobered from their recent
fright, she suggested that Donald should lead them back to
their stable, inform the family of what had occurred, and return
with the carriage for herself and the boys.

The man hesitated,—expressed a fear that it would take a
long time to accomplish this, especially as wheels would not
run well on the snow; and at the same time, looked around
the dark shop, as if he considered it a very unworthy place of
refuge for his young mistress; but Mabel, understanding the
look, declared herself quite content to remain in her present
quarters during whatever time might be required; “That is,”
continued she, turning with true courtesy to Mrs. Hope, “if
our good friend will give us permission to stay so long.”

The pale, rigid features of the widow assumed an expression
that might be pronounced sincere, if not positively cordial,
as, in answer to this appeal, she expressed in a few words
her desire to accommodate, and make them as comfortable as
possible in so poor a place.

Thus assured, Mabel dismissed the man, calling to him, however,
just as he was leaving the shop, and adding, “Donald,
tell Lydia that I should like to have her come in the carriage;
and ask her to bring a pair of shoes for Murray, and my cloth
cloak.”

“Mother,” exclaimed Rose, drawing a deep breath the

[figure description] Page 116.[end figure description]

moment the door was closed, and speaking as if giving vent to
suppressed feeling, “Mother, is is her! it's Miss Mabel!”

Mabel turned and looked at the sick child in utter astonishment
at this unexpected recognition.

“Aunty,” said Alick, approaching Mabel's side and speaking
in a whisper, “I shouldn't wonder if that girl was Rose—
Lydia's sister Rose.”

“What makes you think so?” asked Mabel, speaking aloud
and glancing at Rose as she spoke.

“I know it is,” answered Alick, confirming the remark by a
confident nodding of his head; “she's just so little, and sick
and good, and sits all day in an arm-chair with a pillow in it.”

Mabel rose and moved her seat nearer to that of Rose, at
the same time displacing Murray from her knee. “Alick
thinks,” said she, laying her hand on the arm of Rose's chair,
“that this is little Rose Hope; and I begin to think so, too,”
added she, observing the ray of pleasure which overspread
Rosy's face at her words.

The fact certainly needed no other confirmation than that
expressed in the little invalid's countenance, as she discovered
the recognition to be mutual. “Only think,” exclaimed she to
her mother, who was incredulously surveying her visitors, “of
my seeing Miss Mabel! What will Lyddy say? O,Mother!
what will she say when she comes in the carriage!”

Mabel, amused and gratified at the child's enthusiasm, hastened
to express her own sense of the good fortune which had
brought her to the shop of Lydia's mother, and won that
mother's heart by the friendly interest with which she spoke of
her daughter's capability and faithfulness.

Meantime Alick, contrary to his usual custom with strangers,
entered into eager conversation with Rose, betraying, in a
rapid series of questions, a knowledge of the sick child's tastes,
habits, and character, which, together with his unwonted sociability,
astonished Mabel, who was unaware of the interest
which Lydia's description of her sister had awakened in the
mind of the thoughtful boy.

“Is that your slate?” asked he, glancing at one which lay

[figure description] Page 117.[end figure description]

on the wide window-sill, and whose well-worn frame and scanty
bit of pencil attested the frequency of its use; “and is this
what has been sold to-day?” he added, pointing to a neat list
of figures in one corner. Then, having received an affirmative
reply to both inquiries, he continued, “That's your big Bible—
it's a real old one, is'nt it? But here's a cunning little
book,” and he eagerly seized her “Daily Food,” which was
seldom absent from her side, and opening at the first page
commenced reading, but seemed disappointed in its contents,
as he quickly threw it aside and looked about him for other
objects of interest.

“Don't trouble the little girl, Alick,” interposed Mabel, who
was struck with Rose's pallor and evident feebleness; “you
must remember she is sick and will not like to be tired with
questions.”

“O, no, no! he will not tire me,” said Rose, disclaiming such
a possibility with an earnestness which seemed to beseech Mabel
not to repress his curiosity.

Alick's eye now fell upon a rough wooden box, upon which
he pounced with an eagerness that denoted a knowledge of its
contents. “These are the jack-straws, ar'n't they?” said he,
looking inquiringly in Rose's face, as he vainly tried to remove
the cover.

Rose assured him that he was right, and taking the box from
his hand, she slid aside its ingenious fastening, and emptied the
neat little articles upon the window-sill for his easier inspection.

Alick had jack-straws of his own, but they did not compare
with Rosy's in variety, number, or neatness of finish. “Here's
the bow!” exclaimed he, as if he recognized a familiar object,
“it's finished, and it's a beauty! But where is the arrow?
hasn't Jack made the arrow yet?”

“Yes, he made one last evening,” answered Rose; “but it
was too slender, and it got broken; I guess he'll make another
to-night.”

Murray's attention was by this time attracted. He had
hitherto stood at a distance, out of humor and disdainful, but
he now came forward a few steps, and leaning on Mabel's

[figure description] Page 118.[end figure description]

knee, stood on tiptoe and peered over Alick's shoulder at the
toys. Rose perceived the motion, and, gently drawing aside,
made room for him between herself and the window. Alick
was disposed to keep him at a distance and engross the enjoyment
of the jack-straws, but yielded at once to Rose's gentle
remonstrance, “Let Murray see, too, Alick.”

CHAPTER XI.

No mortal doth know
What he can bestow,
What light, strength, and comfort do after him go;
Lo! onward I move,
And, but Christ above,
None guesses how wondrous the journey will prove.
Gambold.

[figure description] Page 119.[end figure description]

A brisk conversation, consisting for the most part of questions
and answers, was now maintained between the three children;
Rose every now and then stealing a glance at Mabel,
who was observing the little trio with evident interest. Mrs.
Hope had returned to some employment in the kitchen, which
had been interrupted by the arrival of her visitors, and Mabel
sat quietly watching the progress of this singular intercourse
between the children, responding to Rose's occasional glances
by a smile of approval and encouragement. She would gladly
have taken part in the conversation and expressed in some
way her sympathy with Rosy's misfortunes, but she found herself
disconcerted at the first attempt, being utterly at a loss
how to treat a child whose serious gravity inspired a respect
scarcely warranted by her years, and the patient contentment
of whose countenance forbade the pity which her infirmities
would otherwise have awakened. So she left it to the boys to
draw out the singular characteristics of their novel acquaintance,
an office for which they proved themselves amply competent.

Rose explained to them the use of various articles of which
the jack-straws furnished models, interesting the boys by the
clearness of her descriptions, and astonishing Mabel by the
intelligence they displayed. Things which could never, by

[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]

any possibility, have come within the sick child's observations—
gardening utensils, carpenters and joiners' tools, and even complicated
pieces of machinery, were explained and their purposes
illustrated, with a force and accuracy which fascinated
the attention of Alick, and even imparted information to Mabel,
while Murray stood leaning on Rose's knee in a listening attitude,
his eyes fixed reverently on the face of their youthful
entertainer, who sat winding his long glossy curls around her
thin and wasted fingers.

It was certainly an incongruous group thus assembled in the
widow's shop. The sons of wealth, in gay attire and radiant
with health and vitality, drinking in knowledge at the feet of
one who, reared in poverty, wasted by disease, and isolated
from the world, formed a no less striking contrast to her youthful
listeners, from the superiority of her mental powers.

Perhaps Mabel felt conscious of the mortifying deficiencies
in her sister's children, for she asked herself, for the first time,
how it happened that the boys had never been sent to school,
and had been suffered to remain in such deplorable ignorance.

That they were not destitute of intellect, however, was evident
from the interest which they both manifested in Rosy's
engaging conversation; and the subjects to which the jackstraws
had given rise, might have engrossed the whole period of their
stay, had not their attention been at length attracted by another
object.

A sudden movement caused Alick to hit his head against a
sharp corner, and looking up he espied Rosy's engraving,
which, removed from the little bed-room, hung against the
window frame. He immediately claimed acquaintance with
it. “Your picture!” cried he, “the picture of little pilgrim
and the angels! Let me see it—do! Lydia has told me
about that;” and he stretched forth his hand to snatch it from
the nail where it hung. It was beyond his reach, however,
and Mabel, after asking Rose's consent, assisted him in taking
it down, and placing it in an upright position on the window
sill.

As she did so she observed the chaste richness of its oval

[figure description] Page 121.[end figure description]

frame; and when she resumed her seat, and for the first time
saw the picture in a good light, she was struck with the exquisite
finish of the engraving, and the simple beauty of the subject.

“Where did you get it?” asked Alick, who, like Mabel,
perceived at once how inconsistent it seemed to be with its
surroundings.

“It was brought to the hospital while I was there trying to
be cured. It belonged to a young gentleman; and a lady, who
was one of the directresses, brought it there for me to see.
She left it for a week hanging at the foot of my bed, and then
it was that the doctor said I never could be cured, and might
as well come home again. I had got very fond of the picture,—
it told me stories and kept me company, and so, because I
loved it, and because I never could be cured, the gentleman
(I think it was the lady's son,) sent word for me to keep it
always.”

“Was n't he good?” exclaimed Alick, with feeling, at the
same time looking anxiously into the face of Rose, from whose
eyes, as she recalled the past, one or two tears had escaped
and were slowly trickling down her cheeks.

“What tells a story?” asked Murray, pulling at Rose's
sleeve—“Can the picture speak?”

“It speaks to me,” answered Rose, smiling sweetly through
her tears. “I can't tell you all it says, but some of the stories
are very plain to be seen,—don't you think so?”

“I do n't,” answered Murray, with a dissatisfied air, while
Alick carefully examined the picture.

“Why, you see,” said Rose, “that is little pilgrim going a
journey, and those three angels go with him.” Here Rose
paused, and looked inquiringly and diffidently into the face of
Mabel, as if seeking encouragement to continue the story.
Mabel answered by rising so as to obtain a better view, while
she herself listened attentively to Rose's description of her
picture.

Rose went on. “That is Hope,” said she, pointing to a
cherub figure peering above the clouds, with its hand outstretched,
and its eye fixed upon a light spot in the distance,

[figure description] Page 122.[end figure description]

which seemed intended to represent the glow of a brilliant
sunset.

“And what does he say?” asked Murray.

“Oh, he says, `keep up a good heart, little pilgrim.' ”

“And what is that one's name?” inquired Alick, pointing
to another on the right, whose head was thrown back, while
both eye and hand were turned heavenward in an attitude of
rapt devotion.

“That is Faith,” replied Rose, and he says, `trust in God.' ”

“But that is the prettiest,” said Murray eagerly, placing his
finger on the central figure, whose eyes were downward bent,
and whose hand was pointing earthward, while the countenance
was illumined with the benignant smile of a pure benevolence.

“Yes, that is the prettiest,” said Rose, “and the best; that
is Charity, or Love, for it goes by both names.”

“We'll call it Love, then,” said Alick, “won't we?”

“Yes,” said Rose, “that is Love.”

“And what does Love say to Pilgrim?” continued Alick.

“Oh, a great many things,” answered Rose. “It tells him
to lend a helping hand to everybody he meets on the way, and
do all the good he can, and be patient, and gentle, and kind.”

“And is he? Does he do it?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“How do you know?”

“Can't you see?” asked Rose—“it is all told in the picture.”

The boys looked intently—so did Mabel—but neither
detected the proofs which seemed so evident to Rosy. Mabel
kept silent, but the boys confessed their ignorance.

“Don't you see,” said Rose, after a pause, “all the flowers
that have sprung up behind him as he goes; the path is dark,
and overhung with brushwood, so that he cannot see a step
before him on the road; but look where his feet have worn
that little track, and you will see all along beside it the flowers
that he has strewn there. Some have taken root and grown
up tall; there is a rose that has nearly climbed to the top of

[figure description] Page 123.[end figure description]

that high tree. How sweet it will smell to the next traveller
that comes along that way! “Those are his virtues,” added
Rose, after another pause, during which her listeners stood
carefully scanning the objects she had pointed out; “it was
Charity that went with him and helped him strew the flowers,—
don't you see he has a basket in his hand? that contains
the roots and seeds, and Charity shows him the best places to
plant them in, and how to make them grow.”

“He's got a cane,” said Murray—“what does he carry a
cane for?”

Rose looked up at Mabel and smiled. “That is the staff
of faith,” said she, “he leans on it when he is tired.”

“Where is he going?” asked Alick. “Is it a long journey.”

“Not very long; some people find it very short. He is
going to that city in the distance; do n't you see it with the
light shining on its walls and towers? That is the Eternal
City, Alick—the city of our God,” added she, solemnly, laying
her thin hand on Alick's arm; “we are all travelling on
the same road as pilgrim,—and we must try to strew flowers
behind us as we go.”

Children are always much impressed with anything in the
nature of an allegory. They wholly understand the actual
story, while they often catch a dim conception of its hidden
meaning. Murray was only capable of comprehending the
former, but Alick caught an idea, faint indeed, but still impressive
in its character, of the lesson which Rose's story had partially
revealed to his untaught soul; and Mabel, who, in spite
of good principles and high aspirations, was a child in religious
experience, felt awed by the simple teachings of virtue, and
subdued by the sublime power of truth. Thus Rose herself
had unconsciously planted seed by the wayside; and who shall
tell when and how such seed may spring up into everlasting
life?

There was a silence in the little company for a short time
after Rose had finished; then Murray yawned, as children
will yawn when they have been agreeably entertained and
find the entertainment suddenly withdrawn. “How soon are

[figure description] Page 124.[end figure description]

we going home?” asked he of Mabel, “I'm hungry.”

“Hush!” said Mabel softly, unwilling to make further claim
upon the widow's hospitality by the expression of any new
wants; we shall go soon; it is time for Donald to be here
now;” then bethinking herself of the best mode of repaying
those attentions which she had already received, she proposed
to make some purchases from the widow's stock. It was difficult
to make a selection of articles in any degree appropriate
to her station in life, Mrs. Hope's goods being intended for the
accommodation of her own humble neighborhood. With the
children's assistance, however, she contrived to expend, in
trifling purchases, all the money she had in her purse; and
Murray had just received into his arms the gorgeous, but
long-neglected parrot, when the shop door was suddenly thrown
open, and Lydia entered with a flushed and excited countenance.

She was laden with shawls and wrappers, which, in addition
to the articles sent for by Mabel, had been despatched by her
anxious aunt, and was so breathless with haste and astonishment
that Mabel strove in vain to obtain from her an intelligent
reply to her inquiries, what had become of the coachman
and horses, and why she herself had come thither on foot.

The half-laughing, half-crying girl, overjoyed at the safety
of Mabel and the children, and excited to the last degree by
the circumstance of their having taken refuge in her mother's
shop, could only embrace Rose and the boys by turns, uttering,
meanwhile, interjectional phrases, expressive of her own and
Miss Sabiah's fears, and the prompt action of Mr. Dudley,
whose name was strangely mingled with her exclamations.

Finding it impossible to calm her, Mabel hastily opened the
shop door, to satisfy herself whether or not the carriage was
in sight, and as she did so, encountered Dudley at the very
threshold. She blushed with pleased surprise, not having in
the least understood Lydia's broken communication, and the
color deepened in her cheeks when he seized her hand with an
eagerness that betrayed his anxiety on her account,—an anxiety
which evidently had not been wholly quieted by Donald's

[figure description] Page 125.[end figure description]

assurance of her safety. His fears were wholly allayed, however,
at the sight of her smiles, and she now learned that the carriage
awaited them at some little distance, Mr. Dudley having judged
it imprudent to venture on wheels into the narrow, crowded
street, encumbered as it was with snow.

He also informed her, in few words, that he had pursued her
sleigh as long as he could keep the frantic horses in sight, and
then, not being able to recover their track, had, after a fruitless
search, hastened to Mr. Vaughan's house, hoping that, though
the frightened animals were beyond the coachman's control,
instinct would guide them thither. He arrived there but a
few moments in advance of Donald, and having learned from
him the welcome tidings of her safety, resolved still further to
assure himself of it by accompanying him on his return to the
spot where she had found shelter.

“What a wretched place you have been obliged to wait in!”
exclaimed he, looking down into the low, dark shop, and seeming
to shrink from its close atmosphere.

“We have been hospitably, and even agreeably, entertained
here,” answered Mabel; “the boys and I have made the
acquaintance of a sick child, who proves to be the sister of
their nurse; she is an interesting little creature,—do come in
and see her, Mr. Dudley.”

“The room seems to be pretty well stocked already, in proportion
to its dimensions,” answered Dudley, smiling, “especially
as you pronounce it to be a sick-room; and in view of the
latter fact, Miss Mabel, I feel bound in conscience to hurry
you away from this miserable place. I have made myself
responsible to Miss Vaughan for your safe return, and a heated,
distempered air may sometimes prove as fatal as a pair of
runaway horses.”

Mabel made haste to repel this suggestion, assuring Dudley
that the child's illness was chronic, and not of a contagious
character, and that the room, though naturally close, from its
low, damp situation, was otherwise comfortable, and in all
respects neat.

He smiled complacently at the warmth with which she

[figure description] Page 126.[end figure description]

defended her place of refuge from unjust aspersions, and, as if
to satisfy her that he had no fears on his own account, stepped
within the door, and still holding it ajar, awaited her pleasure.

As there was no motive for further delay, the little party
were not long in making ready to depart; especially as Mabel
had previously resumed her cloak and bonnet, now restored by
Mrs. Hope's care to their original appearance, and Lydia had
recovered her composure and partially equipped the boys for
their return home. Mabel was much touched at the deep feeling
evinced by Rose, as she spoke her simple farewell, expressing
in a few words how happy the visit had made her, and
pressing Mabel's hand to her lips with mingled respect and
fervor. “I will come again, Rose,” said Mabel, in a low voice.

She would gladly have said more, being anxious to testify
in some way the tender sympathy she felt for the little invalid.
But Dudley stood looking on; he would mentally accuse her
of affectation or parade; so she contented herself with the
promise to repeat her visit, and with a lightly spoken good-by,
took her friend's offered arm to accompany him to the
carriage, leaving the boys to follow with Lydia.

“The fresh air is really delightful,” exclaimed she, as the
clear, wintry breeze, tempered by the warmth of a noon-day
sun, fanned her cheek, which was slightly feverish with the
excitement of the morning.

“If I may be allowed to advise,—and you will pardon whatever
there may be of selfishness in the suggestion,” said her
companion,—“I should declare a walk home preferable to a
drive, under existing circumstances.”

The sight of the carriage, which they had now reached,
served to enforce Dudley's opinion. The wheels were so
clogged with snow that it was evident they could move but
slowly, and in a lumbering manner, through the streets, and as
Alick also expressed a preference for walking, it was decided
that Murray and Lydia should proceed in the carriage, and
the others continue up Broadway on foot.

Although the hour passed in the widow's humble dwelling
had been replete with interest, the sudden change from the

[figure description] Page 127.[end figure description]

confined atmosphere and narrow limits of the shop to the bracing
air, active exercise, and brilliant spectacle afforded by the
crowded street, had a corresponding effect upon the spirits of
Alick and Mabel. The former, whose movements were usually
slow and languid, trod with a light step, as if rejoicing in an
unwonted share of liberty, which he was, in truth, experiencing,
since it was rarely that he went out on foot, except for a short
and monotonous walk with Lydia. Availing himself of the
license afforded on the present occasion, he would now and
then pause to survey at his leisure whatever object attracted
his attention, and then bounding forward, overtake his somewhat
careless protectors, who, engrossed with each other, left
him at liberty to do as he pleased; a freedom of which, however,
he took no undue advantage. Mabel, meanwhile, flattered
by Dudley's marked interest in her safety, and rejoicing
in the exuberance of youthful spirits, excited the increased
admiration of her companion by the variety of her conversation
and her natural and eager enjoyment of the gay, wintry
scene. It was, in truth, the simple and unperverted freshness
of this child of nature which had captivated the experienced
man of the world. The inborn dignity, grace, and animated
sweetness of manner, which had fitted her to take at once a
distinguished place in society, might have existed independently
of that child-like enthusiasm which was, perhaps, the most
interesting feature of her character; but this latter trait had at
once been discerned by Dudley, and, cautious as he was of
yielding to impressions, its charm had completely fascinated
him. So true it is, that a mutual attraction often exists between
contrasts.

The prevailing character of the incidents in which their walk
invited them to participate, was that of mirth and laughter;
but an opportunity soon occurred for the further and more
complete development of Mabel's ready and universal sympathies.
At just that point in Broadway where the crowd was
most dense, and their movements the most hurried, our party
suddenly encountered a little boy, ragged, dirty, and bending
beneath the weight of an old basket filled with half-burnt coals.

[figure description] Page 128.[end figure description]

The little urchin was directly in the path of the throng of foot
passengers, who were hurrying up and down the side-walk, and
in endeavoring to avoid a collision, he stumbled and fell upon
one knee, striking his burden heavily upon the pavement.
The time-worn and shattered basket had hardly held together
before, and now, as he lifted it to resume his progress, it gave
way entirely, and its whole contents were scattered in the deep
snow which bordered the side-walk. Some of the passers-by
laughed, some looked compassionately over their shoulders,
and one or two paused for an instant, out of curiosity, to see
whether the boy would attempt to repair the misfortune.

“Oh! poor little fellow;” exclaimed Mabel, who reached
the spot at the moment of the accident, and whose compassion
was at once excited by the expression of blank dismay which
overspread his childish face at the sight of his lost and wasted
property.

The boy, hearing a kindly voice, and seeing the shadow of
some person who evineed a pitying interest by coming to a full
stop, looked up from the wreck on which his gaze had been
hitherto fixed, and met the glance of Mabel's eye with such a
look of appeal as went straight to her heart. It was an innocent
countenance, and a sad one, and told a story of want and
disappointment somewhere.

“It's a pity!” said Mabel, glancing from the face of the boy
to the spilt coal and useless basket; and, as the mournful eyes,
now fast filling with tears, still spoke a touching entreaty, a
moisture gathered in her own, and her hand, as usual, sought
her pocket.

Alick, who had been lingering behind, now came up, and,
with childhood's quick instinct, reading the whole story, exclaimed
eagerly and confidently, “Oh, Aunt Mabel, do give
him some money!”

But alas, the purse was empty; the money had all been
spent at the widow's shop! The consciousness of this did not
flash upon Mabel, until she had drawn the little silver reticule
from her pocket and exposed her destitution; then blushing
with mortification and disappointment at having encouraged the

[figure description] Page 129.[end figure description]

child's hopes, to dash them the next instant, she turned to Dudley,
supposing that the act had awakened his observation, and
would induce him to supply her deficiencies by a prompt contribution
on his part. But the case seemed not to have touched
his sympathies, at least not in such a way as to conduce to the
boy's benefit. He stood at the distance of a step or two,
quietly surveying the scene with an interested and amused air,
and, although manifesting no impatience, seemed to be viewing
Mabel's proceedings as those of a capricious child indulging a
wayward impulse.

Mabel could not be sure whether he perceived her embarrassment;
but it being very evident that he felt no disposition
to charity, she was reluctantly compelled to restore her purse
to her pocket, and leave the child to bear his misfortune as he
best might, with no other encouragement than that conveyed
in a kind word. “My money is all gone,” said she; “I am
sorry,—perhaps some other lady will give you a sixpence.”

She spoke confusedly, and with evident regret, which increased
to actual pain as the little fellow replied, with sad simplicity,
“It's very hard to find a lady that'll give me a sixpence.”

Grieved as she felt for the little fellow, there was nothing
more to be said or done, and the next moment she was continuing
her walk, exchanging salutations with gay friends, and
listening to Dudley's conversation.

Alick staid behind a moment, to scan the boy's face with his
ever-curious eyes, and solace his disappointment, if possible, by
saying, “She has spent all her money,—I have not got any
either—it's too bad.”

“Your compassion is awake I see, Miss Vaughan, like
every other amiable emotion,” said Dudley, as they proceeded
up the street. “You are new to scenes like that younder, but
you will soon, I fear, become accustomed to them, if you go out
frequently in New York, especially on foot.”

“Oh, I have seen a great many miserable objects already,”
said Mabel; “enough to make my heart ache; but that little fellow
interested me particularly, he had such a plaintive look;”

[figure description] Page 130.[end figure description]

and Mabel sighed, as her thoughts again recurred to the unspoken
appeal which had moved her so forcibly.

“That boy had rather a beautiful countenance,” said Dudley;
“he reminded me of a most exquisite group I saw in Florence
last winter, Picciotti's Beggars. I wish you could see that
piece of statuary, Miss Vaughan—I am sure you would appreciate
it; it is his masterpiece—a wonderful work of art! I
was struck immediately with that boy's resemblance to the
younger of the two beggars.”

“He was not a beggar!” exclaimed Alick, who had joined
them unobserved, and caught Dudley's last word only. “He
didn't ask for anything!”

“There are various kinds of begging,” responded Dudley,
replying to Alick's remark, though not looking at him, or appearing
to observe from what quarter the suggestion had proceeded,
for he seldom took much notice of children. “That is
the most specious, certainly, which addresses itself to the eye
and not the ear. That stroke was capitally executed, however,”
added he, laughing good humoredly; “it would have
done credit to one of the junior members of the Ravel troupe.
It is astonishing how quickly those little practitioners become
adepts in their art.”

“Why, you surely do not think—” exclaimed Mabel, in
surprise—

“That that was an accident done on purpose?” said Dudley,
in continuation of her query, and smiling at her genuine astonishment;
“perhaps so—perhaps not;” and he shrugged his
shoulders expressively. “At all events,” continued he, as if
hesitating to pronounce decisively in the present instance, “we
will not be severe upon him, since your judgment is evidently
in his favor, Miss Vaughan; but these artifices to excite sympathy
are no doubt very common. Modern institutions are
partially responsible for it; they cry out against street begging,
and street cunning rises up in its stead. Ah, they manage
these things much better abroad! a few bajocchi will disperse an
Italian rabble, and there is the end of it; but here, society is
to be reörganized, poverty put down, and I don't know what

[figure description] Page 131.[end figure description]

not. Very well; I am willing to give philanthropists a fair
chance for my part—but if they will put restrictions on our
benevolence, the poor must take the consequences, I suppose,
if they starve.”

And having thus involved what had previously seemed
a simple appeal to charity, into a complicated case of political
economy, Dudley gracefully and easily waived any
further consideration of the difficult question, by resuming
his analysis of the merits of Picciotti's Beggars, and leading
Mabel's thoughts into the wide field of beauty and of art.
Here he was completely at home; and, with his wonderful
gift at description, and his unrivalled and varied powers of entertainment,
he completely enchained her attention for the
remainder of the walk.

That evening, however, as she stood in front of a brilliant
fire which was burning in the dining room, and heard the cold
wind whistle round the corner of the house, she thought again
of the little boy and the spilt coals. He might be an impostor,
the very prince of rogues, but, despite her reason, instinct and
good heart whispered otherwise, and, do what she would to
restrain them, painful visions rose before her of dreary garrets,
where half-starved children and despairing mothers crouched
beneath scanty coverings, and cried and shivered with the cold.

Mabel's experience and knowledge would not warrant her in
deciding the comparative claims of beggars and philanthropists;
but one thing at least was certain, misused as her bounty might
have been by the boy, it's bestowal would have left a blessing
with the giver. As it was, she could only sigh for the poverty
which was beyond her reach, and soothe her regret with the
newly awakened idea, that a too liberal distribution of money
was dangerous, and might defeat the best interests of society.
Not that she could persuade herself that it would have done
harm in the present case, for she felt an honest conviction of
the truthfulness of her first impressions. Who shall say, however,
that her heart warmed as readily towards the next child
of misfortune that came in her path? or, that the spirit of distrust
once awakened in her hitherto unsuspecting bosom could

[figure description] Page 132.[end figure description]

be easily laid to rest? Rosy was right in saying, that we need
in life's pathway an angel guide, to teach us where to plant the
flowers of charity. Alas for earth's youthful pilgrims, when a
cold and worldly calculation banishes the gentle spirit of human
love and sympathy! More fatal still, when the sister spirits of
faith and hope give place to gloomy doubts and discouraging
suspicions.

CHAPTER XII.

Who scoffs these sympathies,
Makes mock of the divinity within;
Nor feels he gently through his breathing soul
The universal spirit.
R. H. Dana.

[figure description] Page 133.[end figure description]

Among the engagements of the following week, there was
one of a somewhat different character from the gay assemblies
which constituted the chief social enjoyment of Mabel's circle.
This was a party given on occasion of some family anniversary,
by a lady of high position, whose wealth, accomplishments, and
superior cultivation, gave her an undisputed preëminence in the
eyes both of people of consequence and of those who considered
themselves such.

Even Mr. Vaughan was induced to accept an invitation to a
house where he would be sure to meet many guests of his own
age, and no small number of persons distinguished in the literary
and political world. Louise was not willing to lose the
honor of being present at an entertainment where the company
would undeniably be the most select the city afforded. Harry,
while he voted these old Knickerbocker affairs pretty slow concerns,
declared it an object to see things done up in good shape
once in a while; and Mabel, for all these reasons combined,
and, perhaps, also from the knowledge that the hostess was a
near connection of Dudley's, looked forward to the evening
with unusual interest.

Miss Sabiah was seldom included in the numerous invitations
received by her brother's family, not from any intentional
slight, but because she had systematically avoided becoming
generally known as an inmate of the household, and had nervously
shrunk from being found in the drawing-room on reception
days. She would never have dreamed, however, of

[figure description] Page 134.[end figure description]

mingling in society; and was satisfied, for her part, with the simple
enjoyment derived from the sight of her favorite Mabel, richly
attired, and appearing on each new occasion more beautiful in
the eyes of her aunt. Therefore, on the evening in question,
she experienced no small satisfaction from the survey of a
superb dress, worn for the first time by Mabel, and her elation
reached its height as she observed the ill-concealed envy which
it awakened in Louise, who entered the dressing-room just as
her sister's toilette was completed. It was no wonder that the
partisan spirit of the aunt was gratified, for Mabel certainly
outshone herself.

She wore a white flounced silk, each flounce being bordered
with a pattern of delicately wrought green leaves and half-blown
roses, and the graceful garland of flowers on her hair
was in perfect harmony with the Parisian fabric. The waist
fitted closely to the throat, where a collar of point lace was
fastened with a brilliant spray of diamonds; and sleeves of the
same delicate material as the collar, lightly draped her wellrounded
arms.

Louise, whose little, fairy-like form never looked so well as
in the light and gossamer fabrics in which she floated or
whirled through the dance, felt a sharp pang of jealousy, as
she noted the almost regal figure of her sister, set off to advantage
by the closely-fitting and heavy material which would
have severely tested a less exquisite shape than Mabel's.

“I hate to go to these half-and-half parties,” said she, in a
sharp and irritable tone, as she drew out the folds of her velvet
dress to give it a more graceful flow, and straitening her
figure at the mirror, tried to believe herself just the right
height, and Mabel a little too tall. “One has to dress up as
if afraid of the rheumatism, and no wonder, for if ever people
do take cold, it is from standing round in corners, as we shall
do to-night. It will be shockingly stupid. I've half a mind
not to go;” and although she could not resolve to stay away
from an entertainment which anybody else thought worth attending,
Louise contrived by her ill-humor to make herself
and every one about her so uncomfortable, that her friends

[figure description] Page 135.[end figure description]

were glad at last to arrive at their destination, and to see her
established in one of the corners she had spoken of, where,
with Victoria Vannecker, and a little knot of companions, she
amused herself with making comments upon the company.

The assembly was not large, and there was no music, but,
as Harry had foreseen, everything was conducted in good taste,
and spacious and superb as were the house and furniture,
nothing gave evidence of extraneous ornament, or an attempt
at display.

Some of the company had evidently been their hostess'
guests at dinner, and coffee was passed round promiscously at
quite a late hour.

This circumstance, and the fact that the size and number of
the rooms thrown open afforded opportunity for the dispersion
of the visitors into little knots, gave the whole assemblage
the air of a somewhat overgrown tea-party. A few
elderly gentlemen, grouped together on the hearth-rug and
occasionally sipping their coffee, were holding a political discussion;
and a similar association of literary friends were
laughing heartily at a series of amusing anecdotes related by
one of their number. A travelled lady and a boyish artist
were examining a book of etchings together; and a group of
youths and girls, scarcely beyond childhood, had taken possession
of the music room, and while one played the piano, the
rest were having a merry dance.

These, and various other social scenes, were indicative of
the different ages, tastes, and characters, which were blended
in the company; and although nonsense, scandal and ill-natured
criticism, were not without their representatives, they instinetively
felt themselves out of their sphere, and kept in the background;
while the assembly, as a whole, was eminently distinguished
for harmony, elegance, good breeding, and refinement.

Mabel felt, from the first moment of her entrance, the total
dissimilarity between this and most of the fashionable parties
which she frequented; but, unlike Louise, at once recognized
its superiority. Nor, although the youthful circle which claimed
her as its ornament could assemble here but a small number

[figure description] Page 136.[end figure description]

of its members, did she find herself by any means destitute of
acquaintances.

Dudley's partiality had not only awakened her ambition for
cultivated society, but had, to some degree, gratified this preference,
and already, through his introduction, had she been
brought into occasional intercourse with persons of distinction,
taste, and learning.

Politicians, artists, noted travellers, titled foreigners, and
literary lions in every department, were included in Lincoln
Dudley's extensive circle of friends; and more than one individual
of some distinction among the present company, now
seized the opportunity to revive and strengthen his knowledge
of the beautiful girl, whose naturalness of manner, freshness
of feeling, and exuberance of thought and fancy, had
increased the admiration inspired by her personal charms.

But, although this species of homage was an undoubted
triumph, there was no evidence of gratified pride in the demeanor
of Mabel, whose sparkling eye and intelligent smile
denoted an eager interest and an animated pleasure in the
conversation of a select group, of which she was the central
attraction. Conscious, as she could not fail to be, of her power
of pleasing, she, nevertheless, employed it without affectation
or artifice; and in whatever estimation her success might be
held, no one could fail to acknowledge that it was fairly won.

Unwilling as Dudley was to yield allegiance to any single
object, and often as he absented himself from her neighborhood,
to pay his addresses elsewhere, an irresistible attraction
drew him back, and a short interval only would elapse, before
his clear tones would mingle again in the conversation of the
little group, to which his racy and eloquent, or occasionally
abrupt and ironical, contributions invariably imparted additional
zest; nor did the consciousness of his vicinity fail to
give an added glow to Mabel's features, and a renewed lustre
to her eye.

“Do you see that magnificent girl yonder?” said an elderly
painter of repute, to one whom he knew to be a lover of his
art. “I will paint her picture, before the winter is over. I

[figure description] Page 137.[end figure description]

promise you I shall accomplish the point, and obtain a sitting.
How superb she would be as Corinne crowned in the temple!”

“There is talent there,” exclaimed a first-rate lawyer, significantly
glancing at Mabel, with whom he had been conversing.
“She has beat me in an argument, just now, good-naturedly,
and without pedantry, too, and before I knew what
she was at.”

“I would not trust myself against her before a jury, independently
of argument,” replied the gentleman to whom the
remark was addressed.

“Your sister is a young lady to be proud of,” said a somewhat
taciturn old bachelor, who, standing near Louise, had
been silently observing Mabel. “I see she is amiable, as well
as agreeable, and dispenses her smiles with equal favor upon
all.”

“Rather too much so, I should think,” said Louise, with a
short laugh, “judging from some of her friends. Pray, who is
that Father Noah whom she seems to find so interesting?”

“That thin gentleman in the long-bodied coat? I forget his
name,—a clergyman, I believe.”

Louise now turned to Miss Vannecker, and exclaimed, in a
low and half-confidential tone: “It is very ridiculous for Mabel
to stand there, directly in the centre of the room, and talk to
everybody that chooses to be introduced to her. She'll make
some most absurd acquaintances!”

A little later in the evening, when Mabel was listening, in a
reverential manner, to the conversation of the interesting clergyman,
Louise and Miss Vannecker paused as they were
crossing the room, and the former remarked abruptly to her
sister: “You have chosen a conspicuous place for holding your
court, this evening, my dear; the news-papers to-morrow will
describe the assembly room, and say the centre ornament was
a flower-piece of exquisite form, consisting of successive tiers
of rose-wreaths, surmounted with a garland?”

“Besides,” added Miss Vannecker, as if taking it for granted
that Louise's remark was designed to be censorious, “it is

[figure description] Page 138.[end figure description]

very unbecoming to stand directly beneath the gas-light.” And
having thus rebuked her vanity, they passed on.

Mabel blushed and looked somewhat disconcerted, but innocent
of any intention at display, maintained a dignified composure,
and, covering her vexation with a smile, confirmed the
good opinion already formed of her by her new friend.

Dudley chanced to be standing near, and overheard the
rude speeches of Louise and her companion. Always courteous
himself, he could not endure rudeness in others, especially
when its motive was as palpable as in the present instance;
for his knowledge of Louise's character, at once suggested to
his discerning mind the jealousy by which she was actuated.

Anxious, therefore, to free Mabel from the slight embarrassment
which he detected in spite of her assumed serenity, he
availed himself of the first opportunity to invite her to visit
the conservatory, which contained a choice collection of plants.
Mabel, relieved by the proposal, the thoughtful delicacy of
which she fully appreciated, gladly accepted his offered arm
for the purpose.

Dudley was just enough of a botanist and florist to make his
observations upon flowers attractive and charming; he forbore
the use of scientific terms, called them all by their simple and
expressive names, and, without sentimentality, understood and
expatiated on the poetic and touching language which they
were capable of conveying.

There might be minds to which these gifts of nature appealed
with deeper significance, but few who could more gracefully
express the gratification afforded by them to a refined sense of
the beautiful.

While admiring, however, his knowledge of every species of
plant, including the rarest exotics, and sympathizing in most
of his preferences, Mabel was astonished at his indifference to
many of her favorites, especially among the common wild
flowers of our fields and woods. She could not resist paying
the tribute of affection to these wayside friends, and in answer
to his inquiry—which of all the summer blossoms she preferred?
she answered frankly, “If you ask me which I love the best,

[figure description] Page 139.[end figure description]

I must confess, though you will wonder to hear me say so,—
the dandelion—the friendly, yellow dandelion.”

Dudley smiled incredulously.

“I truly mean so,” said Mabel, earnestly; “it comes so early
and stays so long. It is earth's golden star of promise, speaking
of warmth, and sunshine, and summer. It has such sweet
associations, too. Why, did you never,” exclaimed she, forgetting
for the moment that she was addressing the polished man
of the world,—“did you never sit on the grass and make long
chains of the hollow stems, and sigh to think how frail they
were?”

“Never,” replied Dudley with decision.

“Nor tear them to shreds with idle fingers, and float them
in the brook to watch how they would curl? Nor pluck the
downy seed-vessels, on your way from school, and blow on
them three times to see if your mother wanted you?”

“Never,” replied Dudley again, in a tone which intimated
that his childish reminiscences included no such follies.

“Then you cannot imagine,” said Mabel, her enthusiasm a
little damped by his manner, “how many happy hours I associate
with their common, familiar faces.”

“I suppose not; but I nevertheless love flowers for the sake
of association,” said Dudley; and, stooping down, he picked
up a sprig of mignonette, which she had held in her hand a
moment before and then thrown negligently away.

Mabel blushed as she observed the action, and if at the same
moment she did not feel absolutely ashamed of her love for
dandelions, she was ready to confess it a childish folly, for
which she had no right to expect the sympathy of grown
people.

In the criticism of works of art Dudley was even more
skilled than in the analysis of the floral kingdom; and he next
directed Mabel's attention to a number of paintings and statues
which adorned the spacious hall adjoining the conservatory.
Under his tutelage Mabel had already acquired some little
skill in judging of an artist's merit, and almost fancied that she
could distinguish between the works of rival schools. She was

[figure description] Page 140.[end figure description]

still so unsophisticated, however, as always to bestow her first
thoughts on the subject, rather than the execution of a piece;
and her attention was at once attracted by an ancient-looking
picture, representing an angel-messenger bearing to Heaven
the tidings of a sinner's repentance. The seraphic beauty of
the countenance, the joy, love, and holy triumph which it depicted,
inspired in Mabel an emotion of religious awe. She
gazed at it a moment in silence, then turned from it to her
companion, with a look which bespoke her admiration.

“Miserable thing!” observed he, without appearing to notice
the sentiment it had awakened in Mabel. I never can see it
without smiling at the absurd discussion it has caused. You
must know that my honored cousin—he here lowered his
voice expressively and looked over his shoulder to see if any
of the family were within hearing—has the vanity, or the
credulity, to believe that picture a work of one of the old masters.
No one, with the slightest knowledge of paintings, could
cherish such a supposition for a moment. It is unquestionably
a counterfeit, or at most a mere copy.”

Whether copy or counterfeit it had its value, as was evident
from the emotion it had awakened in Mabel; but she had no
further opportunity to examine it. The seraph face having
been pronounced the guilty medium of a deception, she was
hurried away from it by Dudley, who assured her that it was
a daub—a mere imposture, not worth a moment's study.

So, also, in passing judgment on the statues. Two figures
of Mercy and Truth absorbed Mabel's notice, and were, in
many respects, the finest in the collection; but Dudley could
see nothing in the former but a most remarkable distortion in
the little finger; and the latter, unless his eye was more incorrect
than usual, betrayed a slight disproportion in the size of
the throat.

No one could dispute, however, the accuracy with which he
pointed out the exquisite finish observable in the painting of a
Dutch kitchen, the work of a celebrated artist, or the justice
with which he commented upon the remarkable lightness of limb
portrayed in a favorite bronze Mercury. For the true

[figure description] Page 141.[end figure description]

enjoyment of art, Dudley evidently considered it necessary to comprehend
it in detail. He had no conception of the highest
power which it is capable of exercising, restricting its influence,
as he did, to the enlightened and aristocratic few, and wholly
ignoring its agency in ennobling and elevating the masses.

The conversation naturally passed from art to artists; and
as Dudley had an intimate acquaintance with many persons
of this profession, he was able to impart much curious and interesting
information concerning the labors and struggles, the
triumphs and failures of genius.

They now occupied a position where the company, most of
whom were promenading the hall, passed successively under
their review; and, forsaking abstract topics, he proceeded to
entertain her for some time with his comments upon various
individuals—their peculiar characteristics, family histories, or
public services.

She listened with interested and often amused attention, but
at length her eye wandered to the farther end of the hall; and
Dudley, observing the direction of her earnest gaze, perceived
at once the object that had attracted her notice. An elderly
lady, accompanied by a stout and stately military gentleman,
had entered the hall at its farther extremity, and was slowly
approaching the spot where they stood. She was considerably
above the ordinary height of woman, with an erect and imposing
figure, while her manner and bearing at once commanded
respect by their composed and serene dignity. There was
nothing forbidding, however, in her mild and benignant face,
shaded and softened by the snowy flutings of her widow's cap,
and her features were such as must in youth have rendered
her preëminently beautiful. Nor had time had power to dispossess
her of personal charms, although she had numbered
nearly threescore years and ten. Her skin was still fair, her
eye bright, and her silver hair, which was smoothly parted on
her forehead, escaped from her cap in the form of a few soft
and shining curls, which hung over either cheek. Her step,
too, was firm—almost elastic—and her hand rested lightly
on the arm of the portly officer

[figure description] Page 142.[end figure description]

Mabel's eye followed her with curiosity not unmixed with
respectful admiration, as moving leisurely up the hall she
acknowledged the courtesies of numerous friends, and at length
approached the spot which Dudley had chosen as a favorable
point of observation.

“Here comes the salt of the earth, miss Vaughan,” said he,
in a tone of irony; she is leaning on an arm, too, of the highest
respectability.”

“They are a noble-looking couple,” said Mabel with warmth,
at the same time turning to him with an inquiring eye, as if
she would gladly hear more concerning them.

“That woman,” continued Dudley, “is generallissimo of the
forces of modern innovation—the chief of a battalion of amazonian
philanthropists who carry all before them; she will
drag us before a court-martial,” exclaimed he, feigning a sudden
alarm as she drew near. “How shall we escape? We
shall be caught, tried, convicted, and sentenced in less than five
minutes.”

“She seems to carry only peaceable weapons,” said Mabel
with a smile; “and allowing it were otherwise, what have we
done to expose ourselves to an attack?”

“We are fair subjects for it,” replied Dudley; “yourself
especially. Do you not see that she is on the recruiting service?”

The venerable lady of whom Dudley ventured to speak so
lightly had just encountered some young girls, who were crossing
the hall, and as she stood for a moment conversing with
the more sprightly of the two, her hand rested tenderly on
the head of the other, a slight, fair-haired creature, who looked
up at her aged friend with a countenance full of affectionate
respect.

It had seemed to Mabel, as she saw the evident affection the
old lady inspired, that nothing would delight her more than
to be honored with her friendship; and although Dudley's
manner somewhat damped her enthusiasm, she could not resist
watching every motion of one whose appearance seemed to
rebuke ridicule.

[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]

“You see,” continued he, “Madam Percival is supreme
among her subalterns. Her energies are unparalleled, and her
valor invariably places her in the front rank of every quixotic
enterprise. She carries a current coin of golden opinions, and
her credit is unlimited. It is astonishing what capital can be
made now-a-days out of the sufferings of the poorer classes.”

Mabel still continued silent, revolving her companions words,
and waiting to hear more.

“She wears the same uniform as ever, I see,” said Dudley,
after a pause—“black satin and brussels lace, and has the
same military escort; the gentleman with her is her step-son,
General Percival, of the regular army. They have appeared
together on parade for these twenty years. It tells vastly well
for family concord and unanimity under trying relations; I
have heard, however, that there was great difficulty in settling
the family estate.”

Dudley lowered his voice, as he concluded, for the subject
of his remarks was now within a few steps of them, and, as if
in confirmation of his fears, had fixed her eye upon him intelligently.

“Shall you venture to meet the charge, and be victimized?”
asked Dudley, in an understone, and at the same time looking
about him, as if for a place of refuge.

“I have no fears,” answered Mabel, “I am not the object
of her notice.”

“You will allow me, then,” said he, with ready tact, “to
hand you some refreshment;” and he darted off in pursuit of
a servant, who was passing with a tray of ices, thus avoiding
the necessity of the apparently dreaded recognition.

There was such a mingling of humor and satire throughout
this conversation, that Mabel could not possibly determine
whether a single word of it was spoken in earnest; nor was
she convinced that Dudley's anxiety to avoid the lady was
otherwise than feigned. Still his words and conduct were not
without effect, and her generous, confiding disposition was
tinged with unpleasant conjectures. So impressed was she,
indeed, with a suspicion of the old lady's eccentricities, that

[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]

when the latter paused directly in front of her, she was fully
prepared to be addressed, without the ceremony of an introduction,
and was consequently somewhat disconcerted when
a person seated behind her, and whom she was unconsciously
obscuring, laid a hand upon her arm and said, in a gentle voice,
“I think that lady is looking for me: will you please move a
little to the right?” Mabel instantly stepped aside, and as she
did so, brushed against a pair of crutches, which, falling to the
floor, revealed the helplessness of the object of her seeming
incivility.

As she stooped and restored the crutches to their owner, at
the same time apologizing for her unintentional rudeness, the
sincere grace of her manner called forth an approving smile
from Madam Percival, who, however, took no further notice of
her, but entered into conversation with the interesting lame
lady, and before Dudley returned with the iced sherbet, accompanied
her and Gen. Percival into another room.

Later in the evening Mabel accepted, with her usual good
nature, an invitation to join the youthful dancers, who had
taken possession of the music room and wanted one more
couple to complete their set. Young as she was, they were
nearly all her juniors, privileged to be present on this occasion,
which partook of the character of a family jubilee, and
her boyish partner scarcely equalled her in height. She
entered with ready glee, however, into their juvenile gaiety,
and won the hearts of the youthful company by her sympathy
in their enjoyment. It was an old-fashioned country dance,
and Mabel, after faithfully fulfilling her part, reached the bottom
laughing and out of breath.

“Your dance is going off gloriously, grandmama!” exclaimed
her partner, stepping gaily within the open door of an adjoining
room, and addressing Madam Percival, who, while watching
the progress of the dance with evident pleasure and
interest, was conversing in an animated manner with the gentleman
in the long-bodied coat, whom Louise had denominated
Father Noah. She smiled and nodded pleasantly in acknowledgment
of the boy's congratulations; and Mabel observed

[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]

that each successive couple, as they came down the dance,
exchanged with her similar tokens of satisfaction.

“This performance was undertaken for grandmother's benefit,”
said Mabel's partner to her, by way of explanation. It
was danced at our hostess's wedding twenty-five years ago.
My mother was bridesmaid on the occasion, and grandmother
proposed the dance to-night, for the sake of old times.” As
the boy named his mother he glanced affectionately towards
the lady who was presiding at the piano, and Mabel, for the
first time, observed that the owner of the crutches had been
furnishing the youthful party with music.

What a charming bond of sympathy subsists among these
people, thought she; and that remarkable old lady is evidently
the connecting link. Can there be hypocrisy beneath such a
countenance as hers? Mr. Dudley must have been joking.

This latter conviction was still further strengthened in the
cloak room, where she had an opportunity of witnessing the
affectionate care which Madam Percival bestowed on her lame
friend, declining for herself the attentions to which her years
entitled her, and anxious only for the comfort of the invalid.
“Offer your arm to your mother, my dear,” said she to her
grandson, who came to the head of the stairs to escort them to
their carriage; and General Percival not being in sight, the
venerably lady herself followed, unattended.

“She is a noble woman! I am sure of it,” thought Mabel,
“but what could Mr. Dudley have meant?”

The ingenuous tribute of praise, and the intruding inquiry
which followed it, were alike indicative of Mabel's impressible
character. In the former her heart spoke out, in the latter
might be detected the haunting influence of an enkindled
doubt. Alas, what a shadow may be flung over the fairest
things by a single whisper from the brooding demon of distrust!

CHAPTER XIII.

And who art thou that, in the littleness
Of thine own selfish purpose, would'st set bounds
To the free current of all noble thought
And generous action, bidding its bright waves
Be stay'd, and flow no further?
Mrs. Hemans.

[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]

It was not strange that Mabel was susceptible to the subtle
influence of Dudley's insinuations, for she possessed a quick
and active mind, ever open to the teachings of those whose
knowledge and experience might entitle them to be the guides
of youth. It was, indeed, one of her sweetest, gentlest, and
most womanly qualities, which made her thus open to conviction;
and great, therefore, was the responsibility incurred by
any who presumed to check the genuine impulses of her
nature. Not that Mabel was alike destitute of character and
principle, ready, like the pliant wax, to be moulded by every
fluctuating circumstance. On the contrary, she had a high
sense of duty, a stern reverence for virtue, and a noble desire
to excel, while certain fixed principles of right served as the
outposts to guard the citadel of her conscience.

But duty does not always assert itself with a force which
may not be evaded; the standards of virtue and excellence
are capable of variation; and the citadel which would repel
an open attack, may, insiduously, be undermined. Thus, although
Mabel's temper might occasionally be irritated, and her
good nature put to the proof by Louise's flagrant and open
violations of truth and justice, her character stood in far less
danger from this source, than from the plausible, specious,
and yet pernicious opinions and principles which Dudley
intimated, rather than openly avowed.

The day succeeding the evening above described, was that

[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]

on which Mabel held a weekly reception for guests, when, as
usual, she was assisted by Louise, who seldom failed to be
present, to share the honors and responsibilities which might
accrue. There had been an unusual number of guests, but
all had left save Dudley. Mr. Vaughan, contrary to his usual
custom, was to give a dinner party that evening, and Dudley,
who was to make one of the guests, had come early, bringing
with him some very rare and valuable prints. These consisted
of accurate and beautiful representations of foreign costumes,
and Dudley, Mrs. Leroy, and Mabel, were examining
them with interest, for the purpose of selecting characters for
an approaching fancy ball, when there was a sudden ring of
the door bell.

It was too late to expect morning visitors, and too early for
the arrival of the strangers who were to constitute the dinner
party.

“Who can that be at this hour?” said Mabel, and with
girlish curiosity she stepped within the shadow of a bay window,
and looked out into the street. “There is no carriage
here,” said she; “it must be father or Harry.”

As she turned from the window, however, she observed
Mrs. Leroy carelessly twirling a card round her forefinger,
and at the same time giving a hasty message to the footman
from whom she had received it.

As the man withdrew into the hall, Louise flung the card
upon the table, exclaiming, “Was there ever anything so ridiculous?
Father Noah will be coming here next!” and she
glanced reproachfully at Mabel.

The latter, slightly coloring, took up the card and read,
“Mrs. Abraham Percival.”

A ray of manifest pleasure shone on her face, as she ejaculated,
in a low voice, and a manner full of expectation, “Oh!
that beautiful old lady!”

Louise, with a scornful expression, resumed the study of the
plates, while Mabel, apprehensive of some rudeness on her
sister's part, walked towards the door to receive her guest, her

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

countenance evincing some surprise and embarrassment at the
unexpected visit.

After waiting a moment, however, she heard the hall door
close, and the footman retreat into the back passage. A new
light seemed to break in upon her at these significant indications,
and she turned upon Louise with the sudden inquiry,
“Can she have gone?”

“I suppose so,” replied Louise, feigning astonishment at the
question; “you surely would not have had her admitted!—
Though there is no knowing what you might do,” added she,
with a contemptuous laugh, “you seem to have such a fancy
for antiquities.”

“I have,” said Mabel, decidedly; “did she ask for me?”

“She certainly did,” answered Louise, assuming a somewhat
defiant manner, as she observed the color mount into Mabel's
cheek, “and I did you good service, and saved you from a most
intolerable bore, by sending word that Miss Vaughan was not
at home,—for which, I think, you might at least thank me.”

“Louise!” exclaimed Mabel, expressing in the simple enunciation
of her sister's name all the amazement, regret, and
mortification which were roused by this cool declaration—for
there was not even the conventional excuse for the falsehood,
it being Mabel's reception day.

Louise, who, however much she might be in fault, was always
ready with a retort, met Mabel's indignant expression of censure
with the retaliating and cutting observation, “Do not be
so angry, my dear, Mr. Dudley will think you are a vixen.
When father Noah comes,” added she, in a mockingly soothing
tone, “you shall give your own orders, and have his society all
to yourself, for I trust I shall not be present to share the honor,”
and with her usual light laugh and tripping air, the little lady
stepped to the open piano and commenced playing a lively
tune, accompanying it with the words, “Oh, no, I shall not be
there!”

The righteous indignation which had overspread Mabel's
face, and given rise to her sister's accusation of anger, now
yielded to an expression of grieved and wounded feeling, and

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

a tear glistened in her eye, as she said, with a mildness that
was truly dignified, “I am not angry, Louise, but I am sorry
on every account;” and then, embarassed at the consciousness
that Dudley's eye was upon her, she hastily walked to the bay
window, and, half hid beneath the shadow of its heavy curtains,
watched the retreating figure of Madam Percival, who, in
serene unconsciousness of irreverent treatment, was moving
leisurely down the street.

Mabel still stood engaged in painful meditation, when she
was slightly startled by Dudley's voice close beside her, saying,
in a low and sympathetic tone, “I am sorry, too.”

“Sory for what?” asked Mabel, confusedly.

“That you should have been so disturbed. It was very
unfair, certainly,—there can be no question who ought to be
mistress here.”

“Oh, it was not that,” said Mabel, quickly; “I beg you not
to think me so childish;” and her eye again followed Madam
Pereival,—“but she is so much older than I, and she came
on foot, too,—besides,” added she, with simplicity, “I am at
home.”

“Very true,” said Dudley; and then ensued a momentary
pause; for to condemn Louise was scarcely to satisfy Mabel,
and it seemed impossible to give the matter an agreeable turn.

Dudley found means, however, to place it in a new light.
“A most unchivalrous mode of escape, without doubt,” said he,
meditatively; an artifice such as you would have scorned to
employ, Miss Mabel; but, while questioning the means, I cannot
help congratulating you on the deliverance.”

“Do you count it as a fortunate escape?” asked Mabel,
looking at him with some surprise. “The visit seems to me a
most unmerited, as it was unexpected, honor.”

“Unexpected to you,” said Dudley, with a meaning smile,
and his peculiar and expressive shrug of the shoulders, “but I
felt assured you would be too valuable a recruit to be over-looked.
I have trembled for you ever since I observed that
you had attracted the attention of the gentleman whom Mrs.
Leroy styles Father Noah. He is a minister at large, which

[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]

means a recruiting sergeant. He has, no doubt, reported you
to the commander-in-chief, who would scarcely overlook the
auxiliary forces you would be able to bring into the field.”

“I!”

“Yes, certainly; have you not time, influence, and money,
all at command?”

Mabel's countenance fell, and a shadow passed over her face.
“It was not myself, then,” thought she, “who was capable of
inspiring interest, but my father's position, and the length of
his purse.”

“Yes, certainly,” continued Dudley, in a self-gratulatory
tone; “my mind is relieved, I assure you, from many distressing
visions which that lady's card conjured up. I had already
imagined you in the sober gray uniform of a professor in some
foundling educational institute, rapping the heads of unruly
members with the knuckles of one hand, and holding up the
forefinger of the other, in a monitory manner, while you cried,
`attention!' ”

Mabel smiled.

“Or, attired in a long apron of factory cotton, and armed
with a huge pair of shears, officiating as assistant directress in
a scientific cutting-and-basting academy, for the elevation of
indigent needle-women;—or, with a pen behind your ear, and
a huge account-book under your arm, your brow wrinkled with
the responsible duties of treasurer to the corporation for encouraging
the emigration of foreign paupers.”

Mabel laughed outright at the ludicrous and, in point of
taste, repulsive picture thus represented.

“Come!” exclaimed Louise, rising from the piano, “why
don't we go on selecting our characters? I have almost made
up my mind to be comedy, if you will only be tragedy,
Mabel.”

“I have been suggesting tragic characters to your sister,”
said Dudley, with readiness, “but I do not think any of them
exactly meet her approbation. Some fifty years hence,” added
he, in a side voice, to Mabel, “will surely be time enough to

[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]

hide your smiles behind the black hood of a sister of charity.
In the mean time, let us seek something more attractive.”

And in the indulgence of idle fancies that succeeded, the
venerable Christian matron and her noble schemes of usefulness
passed from Mabel's mind; or, if remembered, the former
was henceforward dimly characterized as one who had desired
to divert Mr. Vaughan's wealth to her own quixotic enterprises,
and decoy his daughter into sacrificing her youth to
painful and, at best, unprofitable labors.

It was not until nearly a month after Madam Percival's
visit, that Mabel bethought herself of the necessity of acknowledging
the civility; and this she did by merely leaving a card
at her address.

Such is the power of ridicule and wounded self-love.

At the commencement of dinner, Louise's want of truth and
decorum found another opportunity for display, and here, also,
Dudley acted as mediator. Miss Sabiah was being handed in
to dinner by a grave, elderly gentleman, who naturally looked
upon her as the hostess, when Louise, accompanied by a more
youthful escort, brushed past them and took the lead, saying,
over her shoulder, as she did so, “by your leave, aunt; father
desires me to preside to-day;” and the next moment found her
seated at the head of her father's table, gracefully and unblushingly
filling the post always heretofore occupied by Miss
Sabiah.

It would have been amusing, if it had been one whit less
provoking, to witness the audacious effrontery of this usurpation.
It was lost upon most of the company, who were strangers
in the city; but Mabel, who overheard this second barefaced
falsehood, and stood aghast at the presumption of her
sister, could scarcely contain her agitation and annoyance;
while Harry's eye flashed angrily from the opposite end of the
table, and Mr. Vaughan's mild countenance betrayed signs of
discomfiture.

As for Miss Sabiah, her nervous distress was such as must
have attracted the notice of any one in her neighborhood, had
not Dudley, who chanced to sit next to her, covered her

[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]

confusion, by engaging her for a few minutes in a conversation of
which he bore the whole burden himself, thus giving her time
to rally her usual stiff and formal self-possession.

This high-bred facility in playing the part of a gentleman,
which always imparted to Dudley an extremely obliging air,
was never more appreciated by Mabel than in this instance;
for her indignation at the conduct of Louise was only equalled
by grief at her aunt's wounded feelings. She could not thank
him in words, but her grateful smile sufficiently indicated her
sense of his considerate kindness. His seat was between her's
and her aunt's and as he turned from the latter and met Mabel's
approving glance, he remarked, in a low voice, “Miss Vaughan's
nerves are sensitive.”

“Very,” said Mabel, glancing anxiously at Miss Sabiah, who
was now attempting monosyllabic replies to her next neighbor
on the other side.

“We are all creatures of habit,” remarked Dudley, “and I
notice that elderly ladies love the little dignities of office. If
called upon to resign them, they ought at least to have the satisfaction
of seeing the heir apparent installed in their place.”

His countenance plainly expressed it as his opinion, that of
the two sisters, Mabel was best entitled to the place at the head
of her father's table, and he even expressed himself more plainly
in the words, “Miss Vaughan is, I presume, a visitor merely,
and scarcely endowed with the qualifications for playing the
part of a hostess,—but Miss Mabel is unquestionably the presiding
genius here, and we naturally look to see her enthroned
in the chair of state.”

“He is right,” thought Mabel; and for the first time she
realized her aunt's awkwardness and ignorance of society, felt
her own competence to shine in the position Miss Vaughan had
hitherto occupied, and half regretted the generous, and, as it
now seemed, inconsiderate impulse, which had prompted her,
on her first return home, unhesitatingly, to resign it.

Who shall venture to say how far self-love mingled in this
regret, and how much of her natural reverence for old

[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]

associations and superior years was extinguished in the cold calculations
of expediency!

But this was not the only, nor the most vital form in which
her sentiments of veneration were this day destined to be assailed.
Mabel had a sincere love of her native country, a
strong faith in its republican institutions, and its Heavendesigned
destiny among nations, and when the conversation of
some talented members of the company took a political turn,
her interest and attention were at once awakened.

More than one political party were ably represented, but the
discussion was conducted in an amicable though earnest spirit,
and all were united in the depth of their patriotic zeal for the
honor and welfare of their country, and a deep conviction of
the influence she was destined to exercise in the establishment
of liberal principles throughout the world.

Mabel's face glowed, and her eyes sparkled, as she listened
to the hopeful and stirring prophecy of one, who, having survived
several administrations, watched the working of our governmental
system, and exulted in the growth of truth and
justice in the national heart, ventured to predict, that the day
would come at last, when, purged from the stain of entailed
abuses, she would become a perfect model for future republics.

“You are a politician, I see, Miss Vaughan,” said Dudley,
who had watched her with an interest equal to that with which
she had watched the speaker.

“I!” exclaimed Mabel, turning suddenly towards him and
blushing, as she always did at the consciousness of her betrayed
enthusiasm, “Oh, no!”

“A female patroit, then?”

“Hardly that,” replied Mabel. “I am afraid I have not the
heroism of a patriot, but I do hope that prophesied day of glory
will come at last, and that I shall live to see it.”

“I hope,” said Dudley, with a tone that was calculated to
chill the ardor of her feelings, “that you will not, on the other
hand, see this much-boasted confederacy sink as low in the
scale of nations as my fears predict. The elements of disorganization
and failure are already at work; it is astonishing to

[figure description] Page 154.[end figure description]

see the blind confidence with which these self-styled statesmen
endeavor to uphold, with high-sounding words, the crumbling
edifice of national prosperity;” and, turning to the individual
whose eloquence had inspired Mabel with a kindred zeal, he
begged a solution of some of those difficult and intricate problems
in the future career of the republic which distract the
common mind and tax the best abilities of the wisest.

The question called forth a response, which, in its turn, gave
rise to a short but spirited debate, conducted ably on both sides,
but with especial skill on the part of Dudley, whose opponent
was no match for him in clearness of argument and subtle force
of reasoning; and not Mabel alone, but older and wiser heads
than hers, were compelled to acknowledge the justness of his
apprehensions, and almost felt the social fabric totter beneath
them, as he enlarged upon the imminent peril which threatened
it.

It was neither his taste nor his policy, however, to push the
controversy beyond the interchange of a few prominent ideas
and suggestions, and he gracefully and ingeniously waived the
continuance of a subject ill-suited to the time and place, even
suffering his antagonist to enjoy the benefit of the last word,
which was to the effect, that no one could foresee how these
things would terminate,—that Mr. Dudley's queries were,
doubtless, unanswerable—but, as he had said before, he had
confidence in the nation at large, and the over-ruling Providence
which had thus far sustained it.

“The gentleman has an astonishing confidence in the elements
of which this community is composed,” said Dudley to
Mabel, when conversation around the table had again become
general; “he seems to place great reliance too on the Divine
partiality. Does he think the American Republic superior in
intelligence to those of classic Greece and Rome? or that the
former is destined to perennial growth, while the latter were
doomed to decay?”

The inquiry was specious, and acted powerfully upon Mabel's
mind, for there was no one to suggest the reply,—that in the

[figure description] Page 155.[end figure description]

Christianity of the nation lay the true safety of its children, and
the hope of its future glory.

It was not strange that Dudley should cherish dark and
gloomy doubts of a triumph whose germ he totally overlooked.
Alas, how much he overlooked in this world, so rich to him in
its arts, its sciences, its wealth, its knowledge, and its pride!
How poor are all these treasures in comparison with that pearl
of price, which he, in his self-reliance, scornfully disdains, and
scorning it himself, hesitates not to despoil another of that child-like
simplicity and trust, which invest earth with a halo of
heavenly brightness, and constitute the choicest gem in her
womanly crown!

And what shall he give her in return?

He may ransack the stores of learning, exhaust the mines of
knowledge, or drain to their utmost depths the resources of
fancy, wit, and imagination—but he can never give her back
the holy joy that springs from the love of common things, the
cherishing of natural sentiment, the faith in human virtue and
the providence of God.

The time is coming when she will need them all. Ah!
what shall atone for their fatal loss, when her heart crieth out
in its bitter agony and no answering voice replieth?

CHAPTER XIV.

Oh! but ill,
When with rich hopes o'er fraught, the young high heart
Bears its first blow!—it knows not yet the part
Which life will teach—to suffer and be still.
Mrs. Hemans.

[figure description] Page 156.[end figure description]

A FEW weeks more pass away. The gay world is as gay as
ever. Music, laughter, dancing, fashion, and display, still gild
the surface of that phase of humanity, which hides its throbbing
heart behind the veil of conventional usages, or crushes down
its aching sorrows beneath the weight of an assumed gayety.
A little while ago, and Mabel was one among the crowd who
wore no such veil, and bent beneath no such weight. Her
motions were free, her smiles genuine, and her heart light.
But the case is altered now; the immunity exists no longer;
and Mabel is changed. It is not that the world has withdrawn
its favor, though its admiration is, perchance, somewhat tainted
with envy. It is not that her health is undermined, though the
roses have paled a little in her cheeks; nor is it the effect of
satiety, for the new element, which a superior mind has had
power to infuse into her daily life, has lost nothing of its charm.
Yet the once buoyant, happy, careless Mabel, is suddenly and
strangely changed.

The dull-eyed world notes it not; even affection is blinded to
the fact, and scarcely does her own heart acknowledge its painful
but unutterable burden.

Still its influence penetrates every spring of action, and
modifies every thought; for, hid as it might be from others, and
struggled with as it might be by herself, Mabel, the hitherto
light-hearted Mabel, has something on her mind.

[figure description] Page 157.[end figure description]