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While under the influence of her visit to Rosy, and while
actuated by the gentle charities it had awakened, Mabel made
more than one effort to recover her former influence with
Harry, and regain his confidence.

She met with partial success. He seemed, at once, touched
and pained by the revival of those little sisterly attentions,
which had of late been carelessly performed, or wholly omitted.
Occasionally, he manifested something of his old pleasure
in her society; but in other instances, hurried away, as if her
presence were an unwelcome restraint. He avoided the slightest
reference to his late irregularities of conduct, but at the same
time hesitated not to express a deep disgust and weariness with
what he termed New York life.

Sisterly sympathy and perseverance on Mabel's part, might,
in time, have done much toward restoring the confidential relations
which had been wont to subsist between them; but it must
be confessed, she soon met with a signal discouragement to her
efforts.

She had returned home at a late hour one evening, had
learned from the footman that Harry had not come in, and
feeling herself oppressed with more than usual anxiety, had
determined to await his arrival before retiring to rest. Youth,

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however, craves its season of refreshment, and weariness gradually
overpowering her senses, she threw herself upon a couch
in her own room and fell asleep.

She was awakened some hours later by the shuffling of feet
out-side her chamber door, accompanied by a confused and
noisy altercation. Starting up, her nerves trembling and her
whole frame agitated with a sudden dread, she distinctly recognised
the voice of her father's footman, uttering vain and fruitless
expostulations, while Harry, in rough and abusive language,
heaped upon him the most unsparing invectives and
threats. At the same instant a neighboring door was suddenly
thrown open, and a third, and equally well-known voice min-gled
in the debate, addressing Harry in stern, though suppressed
tones of command. A moment more, and there was the tread
of several feet upon the stair-case leading to the next floor; a
muttered resistance was evident on Harry's part, which gradually
became lost in the distance, and then all was silent.

For several minutes Mabel stood, pale and breathless, with
her ear pressed close to the key-hole, but hearing no sound. at
length ventured to open her door and look out. She started
back, however, as if pierced by an arrow; for, though she
gave but one glance without, it had revealed to her the figure
of her father descending the stair-case, wrapped in his dressing-gown,
and shading with his hand the lamp which he carried,
while its light, falling full upon his face, proclaimed that he
knew the worst.

Mabel had long anticipated this or a similar scene; still, as
her eye met the woe-struck countenance of her parent, pity
for Harry and mortification for herself gave place to a deep
and indignant resentment against the youth who could thus
bring down his father's gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.
She did not weep, she threw herself into no despairing attitude,
but slowly paced up and down the room, her soft hazel eye
glowing with an unwonted excitement, her delicately arched
lip curved with something not unlike scorn. It was long before
she could calm the tumult of her feelings, and when she
did so, there remained a dull, heavy, and despairing

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consciousness of misfortune, such as she had never felt before. The
family calamity had reached its crisis; it was no longer a secret,
stinging anxiety, hid in her own bosom; it was a melancholy
but acknowledged fact.

With this thought, however, painful as it was, there yet
mingled a sense of relief. She had hoped that her father
might long be spared this blow, but, since it had come, it
rested with him to ward off, if possible, future strokes. Some
decisive means might yet be adopted for reclaiming the misguided
youth, and if so, the afflicted parent would not fail to
take the necessary steps. Whether or not these bolder measures
required the aid of her gentle influence, she did not pause
to consider; but too easily discouraged in her own feeble endeavors,
and too readily excusing herself from further participation
in efforts for the reformation of her prodigal brother, she
gladly cast off her share of the burden. Thus, with a heavier
heart, but a lightened sense of personal responsibility, she
finally sought her couch.

It was at this crisis that Dudley returned to the city. Two
week's sojourn in the climate of Canada, to which place anxiety
concerning some property had suddenly called him, had
effectually cooled his petty jealousy, and he now strove sedulously
to obliterate the recollection of it from Mabel's mind.
It was no difficult task. In the quick beating of her heart at
his presence, she forgot all past estrangement, while the light
in her eye, and the glow on her cheek, proved that no painful
remembrance was suffered to interfere with her pleasure at
his return.

It was now the month of March. The winter gayeties of the
city had subsided, and the fashionable world were already beginning
to look forward, with eager anticipation, to the approaching
summer campaign. In this comparative lull between
the dissipations of the metropolis and the watering-place, Dudley
found the opportunity to engross more exclusively than
ever the mind and heart of Mabel. The brilliant scenes of
fashion no longer claimed their queen; the accomplished opera
troupe had sailed for Havana; Mabel's circle of admirers had,

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for the most part, either boldly urged their unsuccessful suits,
or timidly withdrawn their hopeless claims to her favor; the
weather was unfavorable for the popular drive or promenade;
and now, if ever, was the time when intellectual amusements,
refined tastes, and artistic pursuits, might easily claim their
empire.

Scarcely a day passed without affording Mabel the pleasure
of Dudley's society. A new book, a rare flower, the announcement
of an exhibition of choice paintings, the discovery of
some interesting fact in the scientific world,—any of these were
sufficient excuse for a visit; or, if these failed, such were his
address and tact, that he well knew how to render himself
essential in any scheme of pleasure or entertainment which
met her approbation. In Dudley's society, within the magic
sound of his low, persuasive voice, and under the fascinating
influence of his dark, dreamy eyes, Mabel had no leisure for
any other contemplations or thoughts than those which his
presence awakened; while, in searching with him after the
beautiful in poetry, nature, and art, she was unconscious that
life afforded the opportunity for higher or nobler pursuits.

Fatal as this ascendancy was to her truest and purest aspirations,
it may well be believed that it did not tend to encourage
those schemes of sisterly benevolence and charity which
she might otherwise have cherished; for Dudley was not the
man, under any circumstances, to risk his own unstained reputation
by the attempt to countenance and uphold a falling
friend. Mabel was not long in becoming conscious of the
gradual decay of his intimacy with Harry, and thus both his
example and influence tended to discourage her efforts and
hopes in her brother's behalf; while his dominion over her
thoughts was such as to soothe the mortification she suffered
at the misconduct of the unhappy youth, and allay her fears
for his possible fate.

Whatever might be his motive,—or even if he had no
serious motive at all,—Dudley spared no pains to establish
an exclusive empire over Mabel's heart and life, and voluntarily
submitting to his guidance, she yielded herself to his wishes

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and tastes, allowed herself to be swayed by his opinions, and
blindly adopted his maxims.

Thus he was satisfied, and she was happy.

At least she believed herself happy. It was a strange,
fitful, capricious mingling of emotions, unworthy of that name
which expresses what is rarely found on earth, the essence of
all joy. It was a happiness purchased at the price of much
imagined, much hoped for, much forgotten. It was but the
fluttering of a young heart which had not yet found a resting-place.
Alas! like the dove let loose from the ark, it would
long seek repose in vain.

Such as this so-called happiness was, it was subject to many
interruptions. Like all selfish natures, Dudley was ungenerous
even in his affections. He demanded more than he gave. He
scrupulously avoided any other declaration of his sentiments
toward her than that which his whole manner conveyed; but
still, assuming rights to which he had established no claim, he
hesitated not to exercise his influence over her habits of
thought and life, and even presumed to criticise, and occasionally,
as we have seen, take umbrage at her conduct.

It was true, he possessed a grace and tact which knew how
to veil what was in reality officious, beneath an air of flattering
assidurty, and his eccentricities furnished an excuse for what
would have been overbearing in another; still, Mabel's spirit
could not easily brook the inequalities of his manner toward
her, and she occasionally met his sudden coldness and constraint
with a haughtiness equal to his own air of petrified
reserve.

Then followed intervals of unacknowledged but evident
alienation, when Mabel, suddenly thrown upon her own resources,
experienced a reaction which made her past elation of
spirit seem a delusion and a mockery.

During these intervals, all the elements of unhappiness in
her home presented themselves with redoubled force.

Her aunt's complaints and inuendoes, which had formerly
been limited to the unamiable deportment of Mrs. Leroy, and
the impositions she continually practised upon her circle of

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relatives, had now found a new and inexhaustible subject,
in that still greater cause of apprehension and distress, which
Mabel had so dreaded to have come to her knowledge, but
with which she had inevitably become acquainted. Louise
had acquired more boldness than ever in her schemes of deception
and self-indulgence; while Mabel's temper was incessantly
tried by her sister's heartless indifference to her pleasure
and convenience. A certain fixed rigidity of expression served
to cover and conceal the emotions and purposes of Mr. Vaughan's
mind, but there was a stoop in his hitherto erect figure,
and a hollowness in his pale cheeks, which stamped him as an
old man, worn with care. And Harry! Ah! poor Harry!
Where and what was he? Mabel dared not ask or think.
But the eye that could no longer look fearlessly into that of
his fellow-man; the hand that hesitated ere it grasped the
hand of him who had once been a friend; the face from which
youth and beauty were rapidly passing away;—all these were
silent witnesses to a sad and sorrowful tale.

But, not only did these intervals of solitary reflection bring
up in long array the trials of Mabel's lot; they brought with
them, also, another remembrance, which was banished from
her gayer and happier hours,—the remembrance of one who,
amid privation, hardship, and pain, had learned life's holiest
lesson, and finding in her little sphere a humble path of duty,
trod it with the heroism of a martyr and the patience of a
saint. She could not be blind to this living example, nor deaf
to the secret monitor it had awakened in her heart. False
theories and selfish reasonings might shake her faith in abstract
principles, but no sophistry could refute or obscure the
sacred truth which emanated from the life of Rosy.

The thought of this pious little pilgrim, and her daily walk
with God, could not fail to awaken in a nature so candid and
impressible as Mabel's, many a pang of self-questioning and
self-reproach; but with these salutary stings of conscience
there came other and no less beneficent influences, which were
at once welcome and sweet.

The heart that was wounded and grieved by unkindness,

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misconstruction, and reserve, found repose and refreshment in
the thought of one, whose spirit, bathed in divine love, scattered
abroad the heavenly dew of a true and tender sympathy;
while hopes that were rudely crushed under a weight of trial,
were renewed and sanctified by the blessed assurance that there
is a rest, even on earth, which remaineth for the people of
God.

Mabel's spirits were invariably calmed and soothed by a
visit to Rosy; her mind at once subdued and strengthened.
She felt something of the patience which springs from submission;
some ray of the hope that comes by faith. She went her
way, if not fortified with a holy purpose, at least imbued with
a humble desire to imitate, while self was for the time forgotten
in the strong and living desire to do something for the
welfare and happiness of others.

These disinterested and generous aspirations were often discouraged
by difficulties, or palsied by indifference, before an
opportunity presented itself for proving their existence; but
occasionally their influence might be detected in the generous
earnestness with which she sought to carry out some benevolent
or praiseworthy purpose.

She was driving one day through a street not very distant
from Mrs. Hope's residence, when her attention was attracted
by some uncommonly fine fruit, displayed in the window of a
grocer's shop. She had observed, on a recent visit to Rosy,
that the stock of oranges with which she had of late kept her
constantly provided, was nearly exhausted, and it occurred to
her that she would take advantage of being in the neighborhood
to renew the supply. She hastily pulled the check
string, and Donald, in obedience to her orders, drew up his
horses in front of the shop, his somewhat scornful countenance
expressing the surprise he felt that his young mistress should
have occasion to enter so insignificant a grocery establishment.
Mabel, however, much more independent than her fastidious
coachman, quite unconscious indeed of derogating from her
dignity, alighted without hesitation, and entering, commenced
making her purchases.

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