It was months since Stephen had been in New York, and
he knew nothing, except that the lady was from the city,
and he mentioned a Miss Morton, with whom he had several
times seen Mr. Hastings walking, and who was very intimate
with Mrs. Elliott. At first Eugenia refused to believe
it, but when she had remembered how extensively Mr. Hastings
was repairing his place, and heard that the house was being
entirely refurnished, and fitted up in a princely style, she
wept again over her ruined hopes, and experienced many a
sharp pang of envy, when from time to time she saw go by
loads of elegant furniture, and knew that it was not for herself,
but another. The old South American, too, it was
said, was very lavish of his money, purchasing many costly
ornaments, and furnishing entirely the chamber of the bride.
For this the fair Eugenia styled him “a silly old fool,” wondering
“what business it was to him,” and “why he need
be so much interested in one who, if she had any sense,
would, in less than two weeks, turn him from the house,
with his heathenish ways.” Still, fret as she would, she
could not in the least retard the progress of matters, and
one morning towards the last of October, she heard from
Mrs. Leah, whom she met at a store in the village, that the
wedding was to take place at the house of the bride on
Tuesday of the next week, and that on Thursday evening following,
there was to be a grand party at Rose Hill, far exceeding
in splendor and elegance the one given there some
years before.

“Crowds of folks,” she said, “are coming from the city
with the bridal pair, who would start on Wednesday, stay
in Syracuse all night, and reach Dunwood about three
o'clock on Thursday afternoon. The invitations for the
village people,” she added, “were already written and were
left with her to distribute on Wednesday morning.”

[figure description] Page 178.[end figure description]

Eugenia would have given much to know if she were invited,
but she was too proud to ask, and assuming an air of
indifference she casually inquired the name of the bride.

With the manner of one in a deep study, Mrs. Leah replied,
“Let me see! It's a very common name. Strange I
don't speak it!”

“Morton?” suggested Eugenia, but Mrs. Leah affected
not to hear her, and, having completed her purchases, she
left the store and walked slowly homeward, dropping more
than one tear on the brown paper parcel she held in her
hand.

Crying, however, was of no avail, and mentally chiding
herself for her weakness, she resolved to brave it through,
comforting herself again with the thought that the Greys were
as aristocratic as the Hastings's, and as Stephen's wife she
should yet shine in the best society, for in case she married
him she was resolved that he should take her at once to
Philadelphia, where she would compel his proud mother to
notice her. This helped to divert her mind, and in the
course of the day she was talking gaily of the party, and
wondering if she should be as intimate with the second Mrs.
Hastings as she had been with the first!

That night, Alice went down to the post-office, from
which she soon returned, evidentally much excited; and
rushing into the room where her mother and sister were
sitting, she said, as she threw a letter into the lap of the
latter, “It's from Uncle Nat, and postmarked New York.”

Turning whiter than ever she was before, Eugenia could
scarcely command herself to break the seal, and read the
few brief lines which told her that Uncle Nat had, at last,
concluded to come home, that a matter of some importance
would keep him from Locust Grove for a few days; but if
nothing occurred, he would be with them on Saturday

[figure description] Page 179.[end figure description]

evening of next week! In the postscript, he added, that “he
should expect to find Dora with them, and he hoped her
going away to school had been a benefit to her.”

So great was their consternation that for some minutes
neither of them uttered a word, but each waited for the
other to suggest some way of acting in the present emergency.
As Eugenia's mind was the most active of the three
she was the first to speak. After venting her indignation
upon Uncle Nat, for intruding himself where he was not
wanted, she continued: “We are in a sad dilemma, but we
must make the best of it, and inasmuch as he is coming, I
am glad that Dora is what she is. We can tell him how
rapidly she has improved, and how rejoiced we are that it
is so. I am glad I have said nothing about her for the last
two years, except that she was away at school. I'll write
to her to-night, and tell her to meet him here, and come immediately.
You know, she is good-natured, and on my
bended knees I'll confess what I have done, and beg of her
not to betray me to him, or let him know that we did not
pay for her education, and if she refuses, you, mother, must
go down on your knees, too, and we'll get up between us
such a scene that she will consent, I know—if not, why, we
must abide the consequence”—and with the look of one
about to be martyred, Eugenia sat down and wrote to Dora,
beseeching her to “come without delay, as there was something
they must tell her before meeting Uncle Nat!”

This was Friday night, and very impatiently she awaited
an answer, which, though written on Monday, did not come
until the Wednesday following.

“What does she say?” cried Mrs. Deane and Alice,
crowding around her, while with a rueful face she read that
Dora would be delighted to meet Uncle Nat at Locust Grove,
but could not come quite so soon as they wished to have her.

[figure description] Page 180.[end figure description]

“You have undoubtedly heard,” she wrote, “of Mr. Hastings's
approaching marriage, at which I wish to be present.
Mrs. Elliott will accompany the bridal party to Rose Hill on
Thursday, and she thinks I had better wait and come with
her. I shall probably see you at the party.

On Eugenia's mind there was not a shadow of suspicion
that Dora Deane, appended to that letter, had ere this
ceased to be her cousin's name—that Mr. Hastings, who,
together with Uncle Nat, had the Saturday previous gone
down to New York, had bent fondly over her as she wrote
it for the last time, playfully suggesting that she add to it
an H, by way of making a commencement, nor yet that
Uncle Nat, with an immense degree of satisfaction in his
face, had read the short note, saying as he did so, “We'll
cheat 'em, darling, won't we?”

Neither did she dream that last night's moon shone down
on Dora Deane, a beautiful, blushing bride, who, with
orange blossoms in her shining hair, and the deep love-light
in her eye, stood by Mr. Hastings's side and called him her
husband. Nothing of all this she knew, and hastily reading
the letter, she exclaimed, “Plague on her! a vast deal
of difference her being at the wedding would make. But no
matter, the old codger will not be here until Saturday night
and there'll be time enough to coax her.”

Just then the cards of invitation were left at the door,
and in the delightful certainty of knowing that she was
really invited, she forgot in a measure everything else. In
the evening she was annoyed as usual with a call from
Stephen Grey. He had that day received news from home
that his father's failure could not long be deferred, and

[figure description] Page 181.[end figure description]

judging Eugenia by himself, he fancied she would sooner
marry him now, than after he was the son of a bankrupt.
Accordingly he urged her to consent to a private marriage
at her mother's on Friday evening, the night following the
party.

“There was nothing to be gained by waiting,” he said—
an opinion in which Eugenia herself concurred, for she feared
lest in some way her treachery should be betrayed, and she
should lose Stephen Grey, as well as Mr. Hastings.

Still she could hardly bring herself to consent until she
had seen Dora, and she replied that she would think of it,
and answer him at the party. Thursday morning came,
and passed, and about half-past two, Eugenia saw Mr.
Hastings's carriage pass on its way to the depot, together
with two more, which had been hired to convey the guests
to Rose Hill. Seating herself by her chamber window, she
waited impatiently for the cars, which came at last, and in
a few moments the roll of wheels announced the approach
of the bridal party. Very eagerly Eugenia, Alice, and their
mother gazed out through the half closed shutters upon the
carriage in front, which they knew was Mr. Hastings's.

“There's Mrs. Elliott looking this way. Don't let her see
us,” whispered Alice, while her mother singled out old Mrs.
Hastings for Dora, wondering why she didn't turn that way.

But Eugenia had no eye for any one, save the figure
seated next to Mr. Hastings, and so closely veiled as entirely
to hide her features.

“I wouldn't keep that old brown thing on my face, unless
it was so homely I was afraid of having it seen,” she said;
and hoping the bride of Howard Hastings might prove to be
exceedingly ugly, she repaired to Dora's room, and from the
same window where Dora once had watched the many lights
which shone from Rose Hill, she now watched the travellers

[figure description] Page 182.[end figure description]

until they disappeared within the house. Then, rejoining her
mother and sister she said, “I don't see why Dora can't
come over here a little while before the party. There's
plenty of time and I do want to have it off my mind. Besides
that, I might coax her to assist me in dressing, for she
has good taste, if nothing more; I mean to write her a few
lines asking her to come.

The note was accordingly written, and dispatched by the
Irish girl, who soon returned, bearing another tiny note,
which read as follows:

“I cannot possibly come, as I have promised to be present
at the dressing of the bride.

Forgetting her recent remark, Eugenia muttered something
about “folks thinking a great deal of her taste,” then
turning to the servant girl, she asked “how Dora looked,
and what she said?”

“Sure, I didn't see her,” returned the girl; “Mistress
Leah carried your letter to her, and brought hers to me.
Not a ha'p'orth of anybody else did I see.” And this was all
the information which Eugenia could elicit concerning the
people of Rose Hill.

The time for making their toilet came at last, and while
Eugenia was missing the little cropped head girl, who, on
a similar occasion, had obeyed so meekly her commands, a
fair young bride was thinking also of that night, when she
had lain upon her mother's old green trunk, and wept herself
to sleep. Wishing to be fashionable, Eugenia and her
party were the last to arrive. They found the parlors
crowded, and the dressing-room vacant, so that neither of
them received the slightest intimation of the surprise which
awaited them. In removing her veil, Eugenia displaced one

[figure description] Page 183.[end figure description]

of the flowers in her hair, and muttering about Alice's awkwardness,
she wished she could see Dora just a minute, and
have her arrange the flowers!

But Dora was busy elsewhere, and pronouncing herself
ready, Eugenia took the arm of Stephen Grey, and followed
her mother and sister down stairs. At a little distance from
the door was Mr. Hastings, and at his side was Dora, wondrously
beautiful in her costly bridal robes. She had gracefully
received the congratulations of her Dunwood friends,
who, while expressing their surprise, had also expressed their
delight at finding in the new mistress of Rose Hill, the girl
who had ever been a favorite in the village. Near her was
Uncle Nat, his face wearing an expression of perfect happiness,
and his eye almost constantly upon the door, through
which Eugenia must pass. There was a rustle of silk upon
the stairs, and drawing nearer to Dora, he awaited the
result with breathless interest.

Mrs. Deane came first, but scarcely had she crossed the
threshold, ere she started back, petrified with astonishment,
and clutching Alice's dress, whispered softly, “am I deceived,
or is it Dora?”

And Alice, with wild staring eyes, could only answer
“Dora;” while Eugenia, wondering at their conduct, strove
to push them aside. Failing in this, she raised herself on
tiptoe, and looking over their heads, saw what for an
instant chilled her blood, and stopped the pulsations of her
heart. It was the bride, and fiercely grasping the arm of
Stephen Grey to keep herself from falling, she said, in a
hoarse, unnatural voice, “Great Heaven—it is Dora!
Dora Deane!”

Fruitful as she had hitherto been in expedients, she was
now utterly powerless to act, and knowing that in her
present state of excitement, she could not meet her cousin,

[figure description] Page 184.[end figure description]

she turned back and fleeing up the stairs, threw herself upon
a chair in the dressing-room, where, with her hands clasped
firmly together, she sat rigid as marble until the storm of
passion had somewhat abated.

“And she has won him—Dora Deane, whom I have so illtreated,”
she said at last, starting at the sound of her
voice, it was so hollow and strange. Then, as she remembered
the coming of Uncle Nat and the exposure she so
much dreaded, she buried her face in her hands, and in the
bitterness of her humiliation cried out, “It is more than I
can bear!”

Growing ere long more calm, she thought the matter over
carefully, and decided at last to brave it through—to greet
the bride as if nothing had occurred, and never to let Mr.
Hastings know how sharp a wound he had inflicted. “It
is useless now,” she thought, “to throw myself upon the
mercy of Dora. She would not, of course, withhold my
secret from her husband, and I cannot be despised by him.
I have loved him too well for that. And perhaps he'll
never know it,” she continued, beginning to look upon the
brighter side. “Uncle Nat may not prove very inquisitive—
may not stay with us long; or, if he does, as the wife
of Stephen Grey, I can bear his displeasure better,” and
determining that ere another twenty-four hours were gone,
she would cease to be Eugenia Deane, she arose and stood
before the mirror, preparatory to going down.

The sight of her white, haggard face startled her, and
for a moment she felt that she could not mingle with the
gay throng below, who would wonder at her appearance.
But the ordeal must be passed, and summoning all her courage,
she descended to her parlor, just as her mother and
Alice, alarmed at her very long absence, were coming in
quest of her. Crossing the room mechanically she offered

[figure description] Page 185.[end figure description]

her hand to Dora, saying, while a sickly smile played
around her bloodless lips, “You have really taken us by surprise,
but I congratulate you; and you too,” bowing rather
stiffly to Mr. Hastings, who returned her greeting so
pleasantly, that she began to feel more at ease, and after a
little, was chatting familiarly with Dora, telling her she
must be sure and meet, “Uncle Nat,” on Saturday evening,
and adding in a low tone, “If I've ever treated you badly,
I hope yo won't tell him.”

“I shall tell him nothing,” answered Dora, and comforted
with this answer, Eugenia moved away.

“You are looking very pale and bad to-night. What is
the matter?” said Uncle Nat, when once he was standing
near her.

“Nothing but a bad headache,” she replied, while her
black eyes flashed angrily upon him, for she fancied he saw
the painful throbbings of her heart, and wished to taunt her
with it.

Supper being over, Stephen Grey led her into a little side
room, where he claimed the answer to his question. It
was in the affirmative, and soon after, complaining of the
intense pain in her head, she begged to go home. Alone in
her room, with no one present but her mother and Alice,
her pent-up feelings gave away, and throwing herself upon
the floor she wished that she had died ere she had come to
this humiliation.

“That Dora, a beggar as it were, should be preferred to
me is nothing,” she cried, “compared to the way which the
whole thing was planned. That old wretch of a Hamilton
had something to do with it, I know. How I hate him,
with his sneering face!”

Becoming at length a little more composed, she told her
mother of her expected marriage with Stephen Grey.

“But why so much haste?” asked Mrs. Deane, who, a

[figure description] Page 186.[end figure description]

little proud of the alliance, would rather have given a
large wedding.

Sitting upright upon the floor, with her long loose hair
falling around her white face, Eugenia answered bitterly:
“Stephen Grey has no more love for me than I have for
him. He believes that we are rich, or we will be when Uncle
Nat is dead. For money he marries me, for money I
marry him. I know old Grey is wealthy, and as the wife
of his son, I will yet ride over Dora's head. But I must be
quick, or I lose him, for if after Uncle Nat's arrival our real
situation should chance to be disclosed, Steve would not
hesitate to leave me.

`So to-morrow or never a bride I shall be,”'

“It's my destiny,” she thought; “I'll make the best of
it,” and her unnatural laugh rang out loud and clear, as
she tried to appear gay and happy.

Striking contrast between the gentle bride at Rose Hill,
who felt that in all the world, there was not a happier being
than herself—and the one at Locust Grove, who with bloodshot
eyes and livid lips gazed out upon the starry sky, almost
cursing the day that she was born, and the fate which had
made her what she was. Ever and anon, too, there came stealing
on her ear the fearful word retribution, and the wretched
girl shuddered as she thought for how much she had to atone

[figure description] Page 187.[end figure description]

Marvelling much at the strange mood of his bride,
Stephen Grey, on the morning succeeding his marriage,
left her and went down to the village, where he found a
letter from his father, telling him the crisis had come, leaving
him more than 100,000 dollars in debt! Stephen was not
surprised—he had expected it, and it affected him less painfully
when he considered that his wife would inherit a portion
of Uncle Nathaniel's wealth.

“I won't tell her yet,” he thought, as he walked back to
Locust Grove, where, with an undefined presentiment of approaching
evil, Eugenia moved listlessly from room to room,
counting the hours which dragged heavily, and half wishing
that Uncle Nat would hasten his coming, and have it over!

The sun went down, and as darkness settled o'er the
earth, a heavy load seemed pressing upon Eugenia's spirits.
It wanted now but a few minutes of the time when the
train was due, and trembling, she scarcely knew why, she
sat alone in her chamber, wondering how she should meet
her uncle, or what excuse she should render, if her perfidy
were revealed. The door bell rang, and in the hall below
she heard the voices of Mr. Hastings and Dora.

“I must go down, now,” she said, and forcing a smile to
her face, she descended to the parlor, as the shrill whistle
of the engine sounded in the distance.

She had just time to greet her visitors and enjoy their
surprise at the announcement of her marriage, when her
ear caught the sound of heavy, tramping footsteps, coming
up the walk, and a violent ringing of the bell announced
another arrival.

“You go to the door, Stephen,” she whispered, while an
icy coldness crept over her.

[figure description] Page 188.[end figure description]

He obeyed, and bending forward in a listening attitude,
she heard him say, “Good evening, Mr. Hamilton.”

Just then, a telegraphic look between Mr. Hastings and
Dora caught her eye, and springing to her feet, she exclaimed,
“Mr, Hamilton!” while a suspicion of the truth
flashed like lightning upon her. The next moment he stood
before them, Uncle Nat, his glittering black eyes fixed upon
Eugenia, who quailed beneath that withering glance.

“I promised you I would come to-night,” he said, “and
I am here, Nathaniel Deane! Are you glad to see me?” and
his eyes never moved from Eugenia, who sat like one petrified,
as did her mother and sister. “Have you no word of
welcome?” he continued. “Your letters were wont to be
kind and affectionate. I have brought them with me, as a
passport to your friendship. Shall I show them to you?”

His manner was perfectly cool and collected, but Eugenia
felt the sting each word implied, and, starting up, she
glared defiantly at him, exclaiming, “Insolent wretch!
What mean you by this? And what business had you thus
to deceive us?”

“The fair Eugenia does not believe in deceit, it seems.
Pity her theory and practice do not better accord,” he answered,
while a scornful smile curled his lips.

“What proof have you, sir, for what you say?” demanded
Eugenia; and with the same cold, scornful smile, he replied,
“Far better proof than you imagine, fair lady. Would
you like to hear it?”

Not suspecting how much he knew, and goaded to madness
by his calm, quiet manner, Eugenia replied, “I defy
you, old man, to prove aught against me.”

“First, then,” said he, “let me ask you what use you
made of that fifteen hundred dollars sent to Dora nearly
three years ago? Was not this piano,” laying his hand

[figure description] Page 189.[end figure description]

upon the instrument, “bought with a part of that money?
Did Dora ever see it, or the five hundred dollars sent annually
by me?”

Eugenia was confounded. He did know it all, but how
had she been betrayed? It must be through Dora's agency,
she thought, and turning fiercely towards her, she heaped
upon her such a torrent of abuse, that, in thunder-like tones,
Uncle Nat, now really excited, bade her keep silent; while
Howard Hastings arose, and confronting the angry woman,
explained briefly what he had done, and why he had done
it.

“Then you, too, have acted a traitor's part?” she hissed;
“but it shall not avail, I will not be trampled down by
either you, or this grey haired”—

“Hold!” cried Uncle Nat, laying his broad palm heavily
upon her shoulder. “I am too old to hear such language
from you, young lady. I do not wish to upbraid you
farther with what you have done. 'Tis sufficient that I
know it all, that henceforth we are strangers;” and he
turned to leave the room, when Mrs. Deane, advancing towards
him, said pleadingly, “Is is thus, Nathaniel, that you
return to us, after so many years? Eugenia may have
been tempted to do wrong, but will you not forgive her for
her father's sake?”

“Never!” he answered fiercely, shaking off the hand she
had lain upon his arm. “Towards Alice I bear no ill will;
and you, madam, who suffered this wrong to be done, I
may, in time, forgive, but that woman,” pointing towards
Eugenia, “Never!” And he left the room, while Eugenia,
completely overwhelmed with a sense of her detected guilt,
burst into a passionate fit of tears, sobbing so bitterly
that Dora, touched by her grief, stole softly to her side,
and was about to speak, when, thrusting her away, Eugenia

[figure description] Page 190.[end figure description]

exclaimed, “Leave me, Dora Deane, and never come here
again. The sight of you mocking my wretchedness is hateful
and more than I can bear!”

There were tears in Dora's eyes, as she turned away, and
offering her hand to her aunt and cousin, she took her husband's
arm, and went out of a house, where she had suffered
so much, and which, while Eugenia remained, she
would never enter again.

Like one in a dream sat Stephen Grey. He had been a
silent spectator of the exciting scene, but thought had been
busy, and ere it was half over, his own position was clearly
defined, and he knew that, even as he had cheated Eugenia
Deane, so Eugenia Deane had cheated him. It was an even
thing, and unprincipled and selfish as he was, he felt that
he had no cause for complaint. Still the disappointment was
not the less severe, and when the bride of a day, looking
reproachfully at him through her tears, asked, “why he
didn't say to her a word of comfort?” he coolly replied,
“because I have nothing to say. You have got yourself
into a deuced mean scrape, and so have I!”

Eugenia did not then understand what he meant, and,
when, an hour or two later, she dried her tears, and began
to speak of an immediate removal to Philadelphia, where
she would be more effectually out of Uncle Nat's way, she
was surprised at his asking her, “what she proposed doing
in the city, and if she had any means of support.”

“Means of support!” she repeated. “Why do you ask
that question, when your father is worth half a million, and
you are his only son?”

With a prolonged whistle, he answered. “Father worth
a copper cent and I a precious fool comes nearer the truth!”

“What do you mean?” she asked, in unfeigned astonishment;
and he replied, “I mean that three days ago father

[figure description] Page 191.[end figure description]

failed, to the tune of $100,000, and if you or I have any
bread to eat hereafter, one or the other of us must earn it!”

Eugenia had borne much to-day, and this last announcement
was the one straw too many. Utterly crushed, she
buried her face in her hands, and remained silent. She
could not reproach her husband, for the deception had been
equal, and now, when this last hope had swept away, the
world indeed seemed dreary and dark.

“What shall we do?” she groaned at last, in a voice so
full of despair, that with a feeling akin to pity, Stephen, who
had been pacing up and down the room, came to her side,
saying, “why can't we stay as we are? I can average a
pettyfogging suit a month, and that'll be better than
nothing.”

“I wouldn't remain here on any account after what has
happened,” said Eugenia; “and besides that, we couldn't
stay, if we would, for now that Uncle Nat's remittance is
withdrawn, mother has nothing in the world to live on.”

“Couldn't you take in sewing,” suggested Stephen, “or
washing, or mopping?”

To the sewing and the washing Eugenia was too indignant
to reply, but when it came to the mopping, she lifted up her
hands in astonishment, calling him “a fool and a simpleton.”

“Hang me, if I know anything about woman's work,”
said Stephen, resuming his walk, and wondering why the
taking in of mopping should be more difficult than anything
else. “I have it,” he said at length, running his fingers
over the keys of the piano. “Can't you teach music?
The piano got you into a fix, and if I were you, I'd make it
help me out.”

“I'll use it for kindling-wood first,” was her answer, and
Stephen resumed his cogitations, which resulted finally in
his telling her, that on the prairies of Illinois there were a

[figure description] Page 192.[end figure description]

few acres of land, of which he was the rightful owner.
There was a house on it, too, he said, though in what condition
he did not know, and if they only had a little money
with which to start, it would be best for them to go out
there at once. This plan struck Eugenia more favorably
than any which he had proposed.

Humbled as she was, she felt that the further she were
from Dunwood, the happier she would be, and after a consultation
with Mrs. Deane, it was decided that the beautiful
rosewood piano should be sold, and that with the proceeds,
Stephen and Eugenia should bury themselves for a time at
the West. Two weeks more found them on their way to
their distant home, and when that winter, Dora Hastings, at
Rose Hill, pushed aside the heavy damask which shaded her
pleasant window, and looked out upon the snow-covered
lawn and spacious garden beyond, Eugenia Grey, in her
humble cabin, looked through her paper-curtained window
upon the snow-clad prairie, which stretched away as far as
eye could reach, and shed many bitter tears, as she heard
the wind go wailing past her door, and thought of her home,
far to the east, towards the rising sun.