Directly opposite these sacrificing stores stands the hotel,
on whose creaking old sign is written in flaming letters,
“Temperance House,” although the village gossips,
particularly the woman who lives next door, have frequently
hinted, confidentially of course, that the word
“temperance” was all humbug. Side by side with the
hotel stands the old brick church, the only church in
Lockland.

A little out of the village, and on an eminence which
overlooks it, is a handsome, white cottage, which, from
the number of locust trees around it, had long been
known as “Locust Grove.” This cottage was the property
of Mrs. Wilson, Anna Hubbell's grandmother, and
thither, each summer, Anna repaired, in hopes of coaxing
to her pale cheeks the hue of the roses which grew in
such profusion around the doors, windows, and porticos
of her grandmother's dwelling.

Across the way was another, a large building, elegant
in structure and imposing in appearance. It was owned
by Gen. Granby, who had retired from public life, and
was living upon the interest of his money. These two
families were on terms of intimacy with but few of the
villagers, and consequently were called proud and haughty
by those who had nothing to do except to canvass affairs
at Locust Grove and Elmwood Lodge, as Gen. Granby's
residence was termed.

One morning in early June, the little village suddenly
found itself in a state of fermentation, occasioned by Mrs.
Wilson's traveling carriage, which passed up Main street,
and from the windows of which looked forth, not only the
plain, delicate features of Anna Hubbell, but also another, a
most beautiful face. Such eyes, such curls, and more than
all, so dazzling a complexion, had seldom been seen in Lockland,
and the villagers were all eager to know who the

[figure description] Page 338.[end figure description]

stranger could be, and why Anna Hubbell had brought her
there. Did she not fear her influence over George Granby,
to whom, for a long time, she was known to have been engaged,
and who, with his sister Delphine, had been traveling
in Europe, and was now daily expected home? Still
more was the gossip increased when, that afternoon, Lockland's
back parlors and sitting rooms were vacated by their
inmates, who from behind half-raised curtains and half-closed
shutters, peeped out, while with long black skirts
and leghorn hats, Anna Hubbell and her companion galloped
leisurely through the village and down upon the lake
shore. But not upon Anna did an eye rest. All were
fixed upon the lady at her side, whose red lips curled in
scorn at the same curiosity of which she had often been
guilty in the gable-roofed house in far off Snowdon.

That night, in Anna's dressing-room, Josephine was
weeping, and to Anna's repeated inquiries as to the cause
of her tears, she at last answered, “It is foolish, but I
cannot help it. In the city all knew I was your hired
companion, but here, in the country, — oh, need they
know?”

“I appreciate your feelings,” said Anna, “but rest assured
that no one shall know you are not fully my equal.
Grandmother, indeed, knows your real position, but if I
request it, she will be silent.”

So the terrible secret that Josephine was poor, and a
dependent, was kept from the villagers, who marveled at
her great beauty and the richness of her attire, for all her
wages were expended in dress. Not one penny ever
found its way to Snowdon, where it would have been joyfully
received, not because they were in actual want of it,
but because it came from Josephine.

Mrs. Granby, who was an amiable and lady-like woman,
treated Josephine with great cordiality, frequently

[figure description] Page 339.[end figure description]

expressing a wish that her daughter, Delphine, would return,
as it would be so pleasant for her to have two companions
so near. Josephine had no objections to seeing
George Granby, whose many excellences Anna each day
lauded to the skies, but she greatly dreaded the return
of Miss Granby. Six years before, when but a child, she
remembered that Mabel Howland had one day brought
to school a cousin, Dell Granby, two or three years her
senior, and whose place of residence she felt sure was at
Lockland. Always fearing that her humble parentage
might be discovered, she trembled lest Dell Granby
should recognize her, or that in some way her real position
should become known.

“I shall soon know the worst,” thought she, as one afternoon,
about three weeks after her arrival at Lockland,
she saw a handsome carriage drive up in front of Gen.
Granby's residence. From it sprang a gentleman, who
was quickly followed by a young lady of remarkably elegant
appearance. After embracing Mrs. Granby, who
came out to meet her, she turned toward the window,
where Josephine was sitting, and thinking it was Anna,
playfully threw a kiss from the tips of her snowy, jeweled
fingers; then she instantly disappeared in the long hall,
followed by the gentleman.

“That must be Dell Granby,” thought Josephine; “but
if that is her brother, he is not one-half as fine looking as
Anna has described him to be; but then she is in love,
and of course no judge.”

Just then, Anna, who had been sleeping, awoke. On
hearing of Delphine's arrival, her cheeks alternately
flushed and grew pale, as she nervously ordered her waiting
maid to dress her becomingly, preserving at the same
time the utmost simplicity. When her toilet was completed,
she asked Josephine's opinion. Both were

[figure description] Page 340.[end figure description]

standing before the mirror, and as Josephine noticed the contrast
between herself, dressed as usual, and Anna, arrayed
in the most becoming manner, the thought for the first
time entered her mind, that if possible she would supplant
her benefactress in George Granby's affections.

At that moment a servant entered, bearing a tiny note,
Anna hastily read it, and then throwing herself on the
sofa, burst into tears. Josephine ordered the servant
girl to leave the room, and then, while Anna's face was
buried in her hands, she picked up the note, and in a lady's
delicate handwriting, read:

“Dear Anna—I know you will be provoked; I was,
but I have recovered my equanimity now. George, the
naughty boy, has not come home. He is going to remain
for two years in a German university. I am the
bearer of many letters and presents for you, which you
must come for. Hugh M'Gregor accompanied me home.
You remember I wrote you about him. We met in Paris,
since which time he has clung to me like a brother, and I
don't know whether to like him or not. He is rich and
well educated, but terribly awkward. It would make
you laugh to see him trying to play the agreeable to the
ladies; and then,—shall I tell you the dreadful thing?
he wears a wig, and is ten years older than I am! Now,
you know if I liked him very much, all this would make no
difference, for I would marry anything but a cobbler, if I
loved him, and he were intelligent.

“By the way, mamma tells me there is a handsome
young lady with you, but whether in the capacity of
seamstress or companion, I have not found time to ask.
Pray, come over, sans ceremonie.

[figure description] Page 341.[end figure description]

The cause of Anna's grief can be explained in a few
words. Two years before, when only sixteen, she had
been betrothed to George Granby, whom she ardently
loved, fearing, at the same time, that her affection was but
half returned. Their engagement had been a sort of family
arrangement, in which George tacitly acquiesced, for
Anna was not indifferent to him, although she possessed
but few attractions which could fascinate a fashionable
young man of twenty-two. Still, he had never seen one
whom he liked better, and as Anna was extremely young,
he hoped that during the five years which were to elapse
before their marriage, she would be greatly improved.

The last year he had spent in Europe, whither his sister,
a girl of superior endowments, had accompanied him.
He wrote frequently to Anna, his letters being more
like a brother's than a lover's. Still she prized them
highly, and had looked forward joyfully to his return.
But now he was not coming, and as she threw herself
upon the sofa, she thought, with some reason, “I know
he does not love me.”

Josephine, too, was disappointed. If George came not,
her plan could not well be carried out. But not long did
she dwell upon this. The words “seamstress,” and “companion,”
troubled her, and awoke within her heart a hatred
for Delphine Granby, as undying as it was unfounded.
Soon, however, her thoughts took another channel. This
M'Gregor, was he not worth winning; suppose he was
awkward, he was rich! and Josephine smiled exultingly,
as, glancing in the mirror, she smoothed her luxuriant
curls, and said, “the shoemaker's daughter will yet outshine
them all.”

p598-347

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