Christmas came and went during Delphine's stay at
Snowdon, and a few days after it, she went to visit Mrs.
Clayton, who with eager joy told her that Christmas
morning she had received from the city a hundred dollar
bill, enclosed in an envelope, on which was simply written,
“Do with it as you see fit.” A deep flush mounted to
Delphine's brow as she quietly remarked, “You must
have some unknown friend in the city.”

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Clayton, “it was Josephine of
course; she is a dear good girl, and then she speaks about
it so modestly.”

“What does she say?” quickly asked Delphine, and
Mrs. Clayton replied, “I immediately wrote to her,

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thanking her for the money, and saying I hoped she did not
rob herself. To-day I got her answer, in which she merely
alluded to the subject by saying that whatever she gave
me I must enjoy without thinking she was denying
herself.”

“She is worse than I supposed,” thought Delphine, but
she said nothing, while Mrs. Clayton continued: “It has
come in the right time, too, and is just what we need.”

Then she proceeded to tell Delphine how for years they
had tried to lay by enough to build a house, which would
cost about one thousand dollars. “We have already nine
hundred, and with this one hundred we shall venture to
commence.”

Here the conversation ceased, and Delphine, soon
after, returned home. Many were the consultations
which she afterwards held with Mrs. Clayton concerning
the construction of the new house, a plan of which she and
Jimmy at length proposed drawing. This took a deal of
time, and frequently kept them together for hours; but
at length the plan was completed, and Delphine returned
to the city, leaving Snowdon all a blank to Jimmy, who,
solitary and alone, pursued his studies.

In the spring the house was commenced, and early in
autumn there stood in the corner of Isaac Clayton's garden,
a small, handsome cottage, contrasting strangely with
the brown old gable-roof, which in a rage shook off a few
shingles and clapboards, as at Jimmy's suggestion a poor
widow, with three children to feed and nothing to feed
them with, was placed in it, rent free. One act of charity
made way for another, for the woman thus assisted took
from the poor house, where she had been for more than a
year, her blind old mother, who gladly exchanged the cold
charities of a pauper's home, for a seat by her daughter's
fireside.

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Alas! within the fairest flower is found the sharpest
thorn. Scarcely had three months passed since Isaac Clayton
and his wife had taken possession of their new home,
when over their quiet dwelling the dark pall of death was
unfurled, covering with its shadow the wife, who, for more
than thirty years, had walked faithfully and lovingly by
the side of her husband. Fever, which took the typhoid
form, settled upon her, and when the physician who attended
her was questioned concerning the probable result,
he shook his head mournfully to the group of six
young men, who, with filial affection, had gathered around
their mother's sick-bed.

And where all this time was Josephine? Why came
she not to soothe her mother's last great agony, and
administer consolation to those who, stern of heart and
strong of nerve, still in the hour of affliction bent like
a broken reed? Yes, where was she? This question
Mrs. Clayton often asked, for at the commencement of
her illness a letter had been dispatched, to which no answer
had been received, and at last Jimmy was sent to
bring her home. Judge Howland kindly offered his covered
sleigh and horses, and as Jimmy was driving from
the yard, Mabel, who knew that Delphine was in the city,
requested him if convenient to bring her cousin back with
him, saying that Kate Lawrence, a mutual friend and
school-mate of theirs, was then visiting her, and wished to
see Delphine.

Jimmy drove nearly all night, and at dawn of day the
spires and roofs of the city were discernible in the distance.
Impatiently he waited at a hotel, until an hour
when he thought Mr. Hubbell's family would be astir.
Then going to the house, he nervously rang the door bell.
His call was answered by a servant girl.

“Is Miss Clayton at home?” he asked.

[figure description] Page 357.[end figure description]

“She is,” was the answer.

“I must see her, instantly,” said he.

The girl eyed him curiously, and replied, “What name
shall I give her? 'cause, unless it's something extraordinary,
she won't see you. It's her wedding day.”

Jimmy handed her his card, and then in the parlor sat
down to await her coming. In an upper room Josephine
was seated, together with Anna and Delphine, who unwillingly
had consented to be present at the wedding, and
had twice nearly broken her promise not to acquaint
M'Gregor with the nature of her he was taking to his bosom.
As Josephine glanced at the card which the servant
girl gave her, she exclaimed, “What can Jim want in the
city at this time?”

“Oh, is James Clayton here?” asked Delphine. “How
fortunate?”

Josephine's manner changed, as she said faintly, “Yes,
'tis fortunate, for now he can see me married. But I
wonder what he wants.”

“Go down and see,” answered Delphine, and Anna added,
“Or ask him up here to see Dell;” to which Josephine
rejoined, “Delphine can go down with me—I wish
she would.”

Acting on the impulse of the moment, Delphine accompanied
Josephine to the parlor. But the sight of Jimmy's
pale, sad face alarmed her, and she instantly asked,
“What is the matter? Is any one dead?”

He soon told all, and then repeated to Delphine Mabel's
request that she, too, should accompany him to Snowdon.
Without once thinking it possible that his sister could refuse,
he asked how soon she would be ready. Bursting into
tears, which arose more from the dilemma in which she was
placed than from actual grief, Josephine wrung her hands,
saying, “Oh, I cannot go, I cannot. To-night is my bridal

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night. The guests are all invited, and I cannot go. Mother
will not die. I know she will not. She must live, and
to-morrow I will surely come.”

Jimmy was confounded, but ere he had time to open
his mouth, another had stepped in to plead his cause.
“Josephine Clayton,” she said, more sternly than ever before
she had spoken to her—“I have long known that
you had no heart, but I did not suppose you so perfectly
callous as not to go when your dying mother bids you
come. I would leave all the bridegrooms in the world to
go to mine. Go, or I shall blush that I, too, am a
woman!”

Angrily Josephine turned upon her, saying, “Who are
you that presumes to question my conduct? I shall go, or
not, just as I choose, and on this occasion I choose not
to go.”

“Is that your decision?” asked Jimmy.

“It is, for how can I go?” she answered. “Mother
cannot expect it of me.”

“Then I will go without you,” said Delphine, who, besides
being pleased at again meeting Kate Lawrence,
whom she so much esteemed, was also glad of an excuse
not to see Josephine married.

Jimmy, though pleased at having her for a companion,
would still gladly have exchanged her for his sister;—for
how could he go home without her? how tell his dying
mother, when she asked for Josephine, that she had not
come? When they were alone, almost convulsively he
threw his arms around his sister's neck, beseeching her
to go; but she only gave him tear for tear, for she could
weep, while her invariable answer was, “I cannot, oh,
I cannot.”

At length his tears ceased, and Delphine reentered the
parlor in time to see him, with blanched face, quivering

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lips, and flashing eye, seize Josephine's arm, as he said,
“For more than two years you have not been at home.
Twice have I come for you. Once you spurned me, and
denied that I was your brother, and this, the second time,
when I come from mother's death-bed, you still refuse to
go. Far be it from me to curse you, for gladly would I
shield you from harm, but from this hour I feel that you
are cursed! You and yours! Blight will fall upon everything
connected with you, and remember, when next I
come, you will surely go!”

Long, long did these words haunt Josephine, and in the
years of bitterness which came, she had reason to remember
them but too well. Weary and sad was that ride to
Snowdon; but with Delphine for a companion, and her
encouraging words sounding in his ear, Jimmy grew
more strong and hopeful, though his mother's face was
constantly before him. Delphine knew that it would
take more time to leave her at her uncle's, so with kind
consideration she requested him to drive immediately to
his father's.

Supported in the arms of her eldest son, Mrs. Clayton
lay in a death-like stupor, from which she occasionally
roused to ask if Josephine had come. Upon the old stone
bridge there was again heard the sound of horses' feet,
and a smile of joy broke over her face, as some one whispered,
“They are coming.”

Instantly Isaac Clayton and his sons went forth to meet
the travelers, but the face they met was strange to them
all, save Uncle Isaac, who quickly asked for Josephine.
“She is to be married to-night, and deemed that a sufficient
excuse for not coming,” said Jimmy, stamping on
the ground, by way of adding emphasis to his words.

With a bitter groan Uncle Isaac staggered backward,

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and would have fallen, but for the timely assistance of
Frank. “Who, oh, who can tell her!” said he.

There was silence for an instant, when Delphine said,
“I will tell her, if you wish it.”

Then, with the stricken group, she entered the room,
where the first words which met her ear were, “Josephine
and Jimmy, I have blessed them all but you.
Now come to me, while there is time.”

Side by side they advanced to her bedside. With a
wild, searching look at Delphine, she said, “You are not
Josephine. Where is she? Shall I not see her?”

“In heaven, perhaps, you may,” answered Frank, “but
in this world you never will.”

Those who were present will long remember the shriek
which echoed through the room, as Mrs. Clayton exclaimed,
“She is not dead! Tell me, is Josephine dead?”

Delphine's soft white hand was placed on the brow already
wet with the moisture of death, and she gently
whispered, “It is her bridal night, and she could not
come.”

For a time Mrs. Clayton seemed paralyzed. Then
raising her head, she beckoned for Jimmy to come
near her. He did so, and taking his and Delphine's hand
in hers, she said, “May God in heaven be with and take
care of you both, and bless you, even as you have been a
blessing to me, my dear, my precious boy, my Jimmy.
And you, Delphine, my child, my children.” There was
a moment's pause, and then, as if the departing spirit had
summoned all its energies for one great effort, she let go
the hand of Jimmy and Delphine, clasped her own together,
and raising them high over her head, started up
erect, exclaiming, “Will God forgive my Josephine for
all she's made me suffer.” Then, with one long, low,

p598-366 [figure description] Page 361.[end figure description]

despairing cry, she fell back upon the pillow, and naught was
left of Josephine Clayton's mother, save the tenement
which once enshrined the soul.