But though Christie's eyes had kindled and her color
deepened, her voice was low and steady, and her indignation
was of the inward sort.

“Uncle likes to try me by saying such things, and
this is one reason why I want to go away before I get
sharp and bitter and distrustful as he is. I don't suppose
I can make you understand my feeling, but I 'd
like to try, and then I 'll never speak of it again;” and,
carefully controlling voice and face, Christie slowly
added, with a look that would have been pathetically
eloquent to one who could have understood the instincts
of a strong nature for light and freedom: “You say I
am discontented, proud and ambitious; that 's true, and
I 'm glad of it. I am discontented, because I can't help
feeling that there is a better sort of life than this dull
one made up of everlasting work, with no object but
money. I can't starve my soul for the sake of my
body, and I mean to get out of the treadmill if I can.
I 'm proud, as you call it, because I hate dependence
where there isn't any love to make it bearable. You
don't say so in words, but I know you begrudge me a
home, though you will call me ungrateful when I 'm
gone. I 'm willing to work, but I want work that I can
put my heart into, and feel that it does me good, no
matter how hard it is. I only ask for a chance to be a
useful, happy woman, and I don't think that is a bad
ambition. Even if I only do what my dear mother did,
earn my living honestly and happily, and leave a beautiful
example behind me, to help one other woman as
hers helps me, I shall be satisfied.”

Christie's voice faltered over the last words, for the
thoughts and feelings which had been working within

[figure description] Page 010.[end figure description]

her during the last few days had stirred her deeply, and
the resolution to cut loose from the old life had not
been lightly made. Mr. Devon had listened behind his
paper to this unusual outpouring with a sense of discomfort
which was new to him. But though the words
reproached and annoyed, they did not soften him, and
when Christie paused with tearful eyes, her uncle rose,
saying, slowly, as he lighted his candle:

“Ef I 'd refused to let you go before, I 'd agree to it
now; for you need breakin' in, my girl, and you are
goin' where you 'll get it, so the sooner you 're off the
better for all on us. Come, Betsey, we may as wal
leave, for we can't understand the wants of her higher
nater, as Christie calls it, and we 've had lecterin' enough
for one night.” And with a grim laugh the old man
quitted the field, worsted but in good order.

“There, there, dear, hev a good cry, and forgit all
about it!” purred Aunt Betsey, as the heavy footsteps
creaked away, for the good soul had a most old-fashioned
and dutiful awe of her lord and master.

“I shan't cry but act; for it is high time I was off.
I 've stayed for your sake; now I'm more trouble than
comfort, and away I go. Good-night, my dear old
Aunty, and don't look troubled, for I 'll be a lamb while
I stay.”

Having kissed the old lady, Christie swept her work
away, and sat down to write the letter which was the
first step toward freedom. When it was done, she
drew nearer to her friendly confidante the fire, and till
late into the night sat thinking tenderly of the past,
bravely of the present, hopefully of the future. Twenty-one
to-morrow, and her inheritance a head, a heart, a

[figure description] Page 011.[end figure description]

pair of hands; also the dower of most New England
girls, intelligence, courage, and common sense, many
practical gifts, and, hidden under the reserve that
soon melts in a genial atmosphere, much romance and
enthusiasm, and the spirit which can rise to heroism
when the great moment comes.

Christie was one of that large class of women who,
moderately endowed with talents, earnest and true-hearted,
are driven by necessity, temperament, or principle
out into the world to find support, happiness, and
homes for themselves. Many turn back discouraged;
more accept shadow for substance, and discover their
mistake too late; the weakest lose their purpose and
themselves; but the strongest struggle on, and, after
danger and defeat, earn at last the best success this
world can give us, the possession of a brave and cheerful
spirit, rich in self-knowledge, self-control, self-help.
This was the real desire of Christie's heart; this was to
be her lesson and reward, and to this happy end she
was slowly yet surely brought by the long discipline of
life and labor.

Sitting alone there in the night, she tried to strengthen
herself with all the good and helpful memories she
could recall, before she went away to find her place in
the great unknown world. She thought of her mother,
so like herself, who had borne the commonplace life of
home till she could bear it no longer.
Then had gone
away to teach, as most country girls are forced to do.
Had met, loved, and married a poor gentleman, and,
after a few years of genuine happiness, untroubled even
by much care and poverty, had followed him out of the
world, leaving her little child to the protection of her
brother.

[figure description] Page 012.[end figure description]

Christie looked back over the long, lonely years she
had spent in the old farm-house, plodding to school and
church, and doing her tasks with kind Aunt Betsey
while a child; and slowly growing into girlhood, with
a world of romance locked up in a heart hungry for
love and a larger, nobler life.

She had tried to appease this hunger in many ways,
but found little help. Her father's old books were all
she could command, and these she wore out with much
reading. Inheriting his refined tastes, she found nothing
to attract her in the society of the commonplace
and often coarse people about her. She tried to like
the buxom girls whose one ambition was to “get married,”
and whose only subjects of conversation were
“smart bonnets” and “nice dresses.” She tried to
believe that the admiration and regard of the bluff
young farmers was worth striving for; but when one
well-to-do neighbor laid his acres at her feet, she found
it impossible to accept for her life's companion a man
whose soul was wrapped up in prize cattle and big
turnips.

Uncle Enos never could forgive her for this piece of
folly, and Christie plainly saw that one of three things
would surely happen, if she lived on there with no vent
for her full heart and busy mind. She would either
marry Joe Butterfield in sheer desperation, and become
a farmer's household drudge; settle down into a sour
spinster, content to make butter, gossip, and lay up
money all her days; or do what poor Matty Stone had
done, try to crush and curb her needs and aspirations
till the struggle grew too hard, and then in a fit of
despair end her life, and leave a tragic story to haunt
their quiet river.

[figure description] Page 013.[end figure description]

To escape these fates but one way appeared; to break
loose from this narrow life, go out into the world
and see what she could do for herself. This idea was
full of enchantment to the eager girl, and, after much
earnest thought, she had resolved to try it.

“If I fail, I can come back,” she said to herself, even
while she scorned the thought of failure, for with all
her shy pride she was both brave and ardent, and her
dreams were of the rosiest sort.

“I won't marry Joe; I won't wear myself out in a
district-school for the mean sum they give a woman; I
won't delve away here where I 'm not wanted; and I
won't end my life like a coward, because it is dull and
hard. I 'll try my fate as mother did, and perhaps I
may succeed as well.” And Christie's thoughts went
wandering away into the dim, sweet past when she, a
happy child, lived with loving parents in a different
world from that.

Lost in these tender memories, she sat till the old
moon-faced clock behind the door struck twelve, then
the visions vanished, leaving their benison behind them.

As she glanced backward at the smouldering fire, a
slender spire of flame shot up from the log that had
blazed so cheerily, and shone upon her as she went. A
good omen, gratefully accepted then, and remembered
often in the years to come.

p445-025 CHAPTER II. SERVANT.

[figure description] Page 014.[end figure description]

A FORTNIGHT later, and Christie was off. Mrs.
Flint had briefly answered that she had a room,
and that work was always to be found in the city. So
the girl packed her one trunk, folding away splendid
hopes among her plain gowns, and filling every corner
with happy fancies, utterly impossible plans, and tender
little dreams, so lovely at the time, so pathetic to
remember, when contact with the hard realities of life
has collapsed our bright bubbles, and the frost of disappointment
nipped all our morning glories in their prime.

The old red stage stopped at Enos Devon's door,
and his niece crossed the threshold after a cool hand-shake
with the master of the house, and a close embrace
with the mistress, who stood pouring out last
words with spectacles too dim for seeing. Fat Ben
swung up the trunk, slammed the door, mounted his
perch, and the ancient vehicle swayed with premonitory
symptoms of departure.

Then something smote Christie's heart. “Stop!”
she cried, and springing out ran back into the dismal
room where the old man sat. Straight up to him she
went with outstretched hand, saying steadily, though
her face was full of feeling:

[figure description] Page 015.[end figure description]

“Uncle, I 'm not satisfied with that good-bye. I
don't mean to be sentimental, but I do want to say,
`Forgive me!' I see now that I might have made you
sorry to part with me, if I had tried to make you love
me more. It 's too late now, but I 'm not too proud to
confess when I 'm wrong. I want to part kindly; I ask
your pardon; I thank you for all you 've done for me,
and I say good-bye affectionately now.”

Mr. Devon had a heart somewhere, though it seldom
troubled him; but it did make itself felt when the girl
looked at him with his dead sister's eyes, and spoke in
a tone whose unaccustomed tenderness was a reproach.

Conscience had pricked him more than once that
week, and he was glad to own it now; his rough sense
of honor was touched by her frank expression, and, as
he answered, his hand was offered readily.

“I like that, Kitty, and think the better of you for 't.
Let bygones be bygones. I gen'lly got as good as I
give, and I guess I deserved some on 't. I wish you
wal, my girl, I heartily wish you wal, and hope you
won't forgit that the old house ain't never shet aginst
you.”

Christie astonished him with a cordial kiss; then
bestowing another warm hug on Aunt Niobe, as she
called the old lady in a tearful joke, she ran into the
carriage, taking with her all the sunshine of the
place.

Christie found Mrs. Flint a dreary woman, with
“boarders” written all over her sour face and faded
figure. Butcher's bills and house rent seemed to fill
her eyes with sleepless anxiety; thriftless cooks and
saucy housemaids to sharpen the tones of her shrill

[figure description] Page 016.[end figure description]

voice; and an incapable husband to burden her shoulders
like a modern “Old man of the sea.”

A little room far up in the tall house was at the girl's
disposal for a reasonable sum, and she took possession,
feeling very rich with the hundred dollars Uncle Enos
gave her, and delightfully independent, with no milkpans
to scald; no heavy lover to elude; no humdrum
district school to imprison her day after day.

For a week she enjoyed her liberty heartily, then set
about finding something to do. Her wish was to be a
governess, that being the usual refuge for respectable
girls who have a living to get. But Christie soon found
her want of accomplishments a barrier to success in
that line, for the mammas thought less of the solid than
of the ornamental branches, and wished their little darlings
to learn French before English, music before
grammar, and drawing before writing.

So, after several disappointments, Christie decided
that her education was too old-fashioned for the city,
and gave up the idea of teaching. Sewing she resolved
not to try till every thing else failed; and, after a few
more attempts to get writing to do, she said to herself,
in a fit of humility and good sense: “I 'll begin at the
beginning, and work my way up. I 'll put my pride in
my pocket, and go out to service. Housework I like,
and can do well, thanks to Aunt Betsey. I never
thought it degradation to do it for her, so why should
I mind doing it for others if they pay for it? It isn't
what I want, but it 's better than idleness, so I 'll try it!”

Full of this wise resolution, she took to haunting that
purgatory of the poor, an intelligence office. Mrs.
Flint gave her a recommendation, and she hopefully

[figure description] Page 017.[end figure description]

took her place among the ranks of buxom German,
incapable Irish, and “smart” American women; for in
those days foreign help had not driven farmers' daughters
out of the field, and made domestic comfort a lost
art.

At first Christie enjoyed the novelty of the thing,
and watched with interest the anxious housewives who
flocked in demanding that rara avis, an angel at nine
shillings a week; and not finding it, bewailed the
degeneracy of the times. Being too honest to profess
herself absolutely perfect in every known branch of
house-work, it was some time before she suited herself.
Meanwhile, she was questioned and lectured, half engaged
and kept waiting, dismissed for a whim, and so
worried that she began to regard herself as the incarnation
of all human vanities and shortcomings.

“A desirable place in a small, genteel family,” was at
last offered her, and she posted away to secure it, having
reached a state of desperation and resolved to go as a
first-class cook rather than sit with her hands before her
any longer.

A well-appointed house, good wages, and light duties
seemed things to be grateful for, and Christie decided
that going out to service was not the hardest fate in
life, as she stood at the door of a handsome house in a
sunny square waiting to be inspected.

Mrs. Stuart, having just returned from Italy, affected
the artistic, and the new applicant found her with a
Roman searf about her head, a rosary like a string of
small cannon balls at her side, and azure draperies
which became her as well as they did the sea-green
furniture of her marine boudoir, where unwary walkers

p445-029 Mrs. Stuart. [figure description] 445EAF. Page 018. In-line image of Christie entering a Salon where Mrs. Stuart is painting.[end figure description]

tripped over coral and shells, grew sea-sick looking at
pictures of tempestuous billows engulfing every sort of
craft, from a man-of-war to a hencoop with a ghostly
young lady clinging to it with one hand, and had their
appetites effectually taken away by a choice collection
of water-bugs and snakes in a glass globe, that looked
like a jar of mixed pickles in a state of agitation.

[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]

Madame was intent on a water-color copy of Turner's
“Rain, Wind, and Hail,” that pleasing work which was
sold upsidedown and no one found it out. Motioning
Christie to a seat she finished some delicate sloppy
process before speaking. In that little pause Christie
examined her, and the impression then received was
afterward confirmed.

Mrs. Stuart possessed some beauty and chose to think
herself a queen of society. She assumed majestic manners
in public and could not entirely divest herself of
them in private, which often produced comic effects.
Zenobia troubled about fish-sauce, or Aspasia indignant
at the price of eggs will give some idea of this lady
when she condescended to the cares of housekeeping.

Presently she looked up and inspected the girl as if
a new servant were no more than a new bonnet, a
necessary article to be ordered home for examination.
Christie presented her recommendation, made her modest
little speech, and awaited her doom.

Mrs. Stuart read, listened, and then demanded with
queenly brevity:

“Your name?”

“Christie Devon.”

“Too long; I should prefer to call you Jane as I am
accustomed to the name.”

“As you please, ma'am.”

“Your age?”

“Twenty-one.”

“You are an American?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Mrs. Stuart gazed into space a moment, then delivered
the following address with impressive solemnity.

[figure description] Page 020.[end figure description]

“I wish a capable, intelligent, honest, neat, well-conducted
person who knows her place and keeps it. The
work is light, as there are but two in the family. I am
very particular and so is Mr. Stuart. I pay two dollars
and a half, allow one afternoon out, one service on Sunday,
and no followers. My table-girl must understand
her duties thoroughly, be extremely neat, and always
wear white aprons.”

“I think I can suit you, ma'am, when I have learned
the ways of the house,” meekly replied Christie.

Mrs. Stuart looked graciously satisfied and returned
the paper with a gesture that Victoria might have used
in restoring a granted petition, though her next words
rather marred the effect of the regal act, “My cook is
black.”

“I have no objection to color, ma'am.”

An expression of relief dawned upon Mrs. Stuart's
countenance, for the black cook had been an insurmountable
obstacle to all the Irish ladies who had
applied. Thoughtfully tapping her Roman nose with
the handle of her brush Madame took another survey
of the new applicant, and seeing that she looked neat,
intelligent, and respectful, gave a sigh of thankfulness
and engaged her on the spot.

Much elated Christie rushed home, selected a bag of
necessary articles, bundled the rest of her possessions
into an empty closet (lent her rent-free owing to a profusion
of cockroaches), paid up her board, and at two
o'clock introduced herself to Hepsey Johnson, her fellow
servant.

Hepsey was a tall, gaunt woman, bearing the tragedy
of her race written in her face, with its melancholy

[figure description] Page 021.[end figure description]

eyes, subdued expression, and the pathetic patience of
a wronged dumb animal. She received Christie with
an air of resignation, and speedily bewildered her with
an account of the duties she would be expected to perform.

A long and careful drill enabled Christie to set the
table with but few mistakes, and to retain a tolerably
clear recollection of the order of performances. She
had just assumed her badge of servitude, as she called
the white apron, when the bell rang violently and Hepsey,
who was hurrying away to “dish up,” said:

“It's de marster. You has to answer de bell, honey,
and he likes it done bery spry.”

Christie ran and admitted an impetuous, stout gentleman,
who appeared to be incensed against the elements,
for he burst in as if blown, shook himself like a Newfoundland
dog, and said all in one breath:

“You 're the new girl, are you? Well, take my
umbrella and pull off my rubbers.”

“Sir?”

Mr. Stuart was struggling with his gloves, and, quite
unconscious of the astonishment of his new maid, impatiently
repeated his request.

“Take this wet thing away, and pull off my overshoes.
Don't you see it 's raining like the very
deuce!”

Christie folded her lips together in a peculiar manner
as she knelt down and removed a pair of muddy overshoes,
took the dripping umbrella, and was walking
away with her agreeable burden when Mr. Stuart gave
her another shock by calling over the banister:

“I 'm going out again; so clean those rubbers, and

[figure description] Page 022.[end figure description]

see that the boots I sent down this morning are in
order.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Christie meekly, and immediately
afterward startled Hepsey by casting overshoes
and umbrella upon the kitchen floor, and indignantly
demanding:

“Am I expected to be a boot-jack to that man?”

“I 'spects you is, honey.”

“Am I also expected to clean his boots?”

“Yes, chile. Katy did, and de work ain't hard when
you gits used to it.”

“It isn't the work; it 's the degradation; and I won't
submit to it.”

Christie looked fiercely determined; but Hepsey
shook her head, saying quietly as she went on garnishing
a dish:

“Dere 's more 'gradin' works dan dat, chile, and dem
dat 's bin 'bliged to do um finds dis sort bery easy.
You 's paid for it, honey; and if you does it willin, it
won't hurt you more dan washin' de marster's dishes, or
sweepin' his rooms.”

“There ought to be a boy to do this sort of thing.
Do you think it 's right to ask it of me?” cried Christie,
feeling that being servant was not as pleasant a task as
she had thought it.

“Dunno, chile. I 'se shore I 'd never ask it of any
woman if I was a man, 'less I was sick or ole. But
folks don't seem to 'member dat we 've got feelin's, and
de best way is not to mind dese ere little trubbles.
You jes leave de boots to me; blackin' can't do dese
ole hands no hurt, and dis ain't no deggydation to me
now; I 's a free woman.”

[figure description] Page 023.[end figure description]

“Why, Hepsey, were you ever a slave?” asked the
girl, forgetting her own small injury at this suggestion
of the greatest of all wrongs.

“All my life, till I run away five year ago. My ole
folks, and eight brudders and sisters, is down dere in de
pit now, waitin' for the Lord to set 'em free. And He 's
gwine to do it soon, soon!” As she uttered the last
words, a sudden light chased the tragic shadow from
Hepsey's face, and the solemn fervor of her voice
thrilled Christie's heart. All her anger died out in a
great pity, and she put her hand on the woman's shoulder,
saying earnestly:

“I hope so; and I wish I could help to bring that
happy day at once!”

For the first time Hepsey smiled, as she said gratefully,
“De Lord bress you for dat wish, chile.” Then,
dropping suddenly into her old, quiet way, she added,
turning to her work:

“Now you tote up de dinner, and I 'll be handy by to'
fresh your mind 'bout how de dishes goes, for missis is
bery 'ticular, and don't like no 'stakes in tendin'.”

Thanks to her own neat-handed ways and Hepsey's
prompting through the slide, Christie got on very well;
managed her salver dexterously, only upset one glass,
clashed one dish-cover, and forgot to sugar the pie
before putting it on the table; an omission which was
majestically pointed out, and graciously pardoned as a
first offence.

By seven o'clock the ceremonial was fairly over, and
Christie dropped into a chair quite tired out with frequent
pacings to and fro. In the kitchen she found the
table spread for one, and Hepsey busy with the boots.

[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]

“Aren't you coming to your dinner, Mrs. Johnson?”
she asked, not pleased at the arrangement.

“When you 's done, honey; dere 's no hurry 'bout me.
Katy liked dat way best, and I 'se used ter waitin'.”

“But I don't like that way, and I won't have it. I
suppose Katy thought her white skin gave her a right
to be disrespectful to a woman old enough to be her
mother just because she was black. I don't; and while
I 'm here, there must be no difference made. If we can
work together, we can eat together; and because you
have been a slave is all the more reason I should be
good to you now.”

If Hepsey had been surprised by the new girl's protest
against being made a boot-jack of, she was still
more surprised at this sudden kindness, for she had set
Christie down in her own mind as “one ob dem toppin'
smart ones dat don't stay long nowheres.” She changed
her opinion now, and sat watching the girl with a new
expression on her face, as Christie took boot and brush
from her, and fell to work energetically, saying as she
scrubbed:

“I 'm ashamed of complaining about such a little
thing as this, and don't mean to feel degraded by it,
though I should by letting you do it for me. I never
lived out before: that 's the reason I made a fuss.
There 's a polish, for you, and I 'm in a good humor
again; so Mr. Stuart may call for his boots whenever
he likes, and we 'll go to dinner like fashionable people,
as we are.”

There was something so irresistible in the girl's hearty
manner, that Hepsey submitted at once with a visible
satisfaction, which gave a relish to Christie's dinner,

[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]

though it was eaten at a kitchen table, with a bare-armed
cook sitting opposite, and three rows of burnished
dish-covers reflecting the dreadful spectacle.

After this, Christie got on excellently, for she did her
best, and found both pleasure and profit in her new
employment. It gave her real satisfaction to keep the
handsome rooms in order, to polish plate, and spread
bountiful meals. There was an atmosphere of ease
and comfort about her which contrasted agreeably with
the shabbiness of Mrs. Flint's boarding-house, and the
bare simplicity of the old home. Like most young
people, Christie loved luxury, and was sensible enough
to see and value the comforts of her situation, and to
wonder why more girls placed as she was did not
choose a life like this rather than the confinements of a
sewing-room, or the fatigue and publicity of a shop.

She did not learn to love her mistress, because Mrs.
Stuart evidently considered herself as one belonging to
a superior race of beings, and had no desire to establish
any of the friendly relations that may become so helpful
and pleasant to both mistress and maid. She made
a royal progress through her dominions every morning,
issued orders, found fault liberally, bestowed praise
sparingly, and took no more personal interest in her servants
than if they were clocks, to be wound up once a
day, and sent away the moment they got out of repair.

Mr. Stuart was absent from morning till night, and
all Christie ever knew about him was that he was a
kind-hearted, hot-tempered, and very conceited man;
fond of his wife, proud of the society they managed to
draw about them, and bent on making his way in the
world at any cost.

[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]

If masters and mistresses knew how skilfully they
are studied, criticised, and imitated by their servants,
they would take more heed to their ways, and set
better examples, perhaps. Mrs. Stuart never dreamed
that her quiet, respectful Jane kept a sharp eye on all
her movements, smiled covertly at her affectations,
envied her accomplishments, and practised certain little
elegancies that struck her fancy.

Mr. Stuart would have become apoplectic with indignation
if he had known that this too intelligent table-girl
often contrasted her master with his guests, and
dared to think him wanting in good breeding when he
boasted of his money, flattered a great man, or laid
plans to lure some lion into his house. When he lost
his temper, she always wanted to laugh, he bounced
and bumbled about so like an angry blue-bottle fly;
and when he got himself up elaborately for a party,
this disrespectful hussy confided to Hepsey her opinion
that “master was a fat dandy, with nothing to be vain
of but his clothes,” — a sacrilegious remark which
would have caused her to be summarily ejected from
the house if it had reached the august ears of master
or mistress.

“My father was a gentleman; and I shall never forget
it, though I do go out to service. I 've got no rich
friends to help me up, but, sooner or later, I mean to
find a place among cultivated people; and while I'm
working and waiting, I can be fitting myself to fill that
place like a gentlewoman, as I am.”

With this ambition in her mind, Christie took notes
of all that went on in the polite world, of which she
got frequent glimpses while “living out.” Mrs. Stuart

[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]

received one evening of each week, and on these occasions
Christie, with an extra frill on her white apron,
served the company, and enjoyed herself more than
they did, if the truth had been known.

While helping the ladies with their wraps, she
observed what they wore, how they carried themselves,
and what a vast amount of prinking they did,
not to mention the flood of gossip they talked while
shaking out their flounces and settling their topknots.

Later in the evening, when she passed cups and
glasses, this demure-looking damsel heard much fine
discourse, saw many famous beings, and improved her
mind with surreptitious studies of the rich and great
when on parade. But her best time was after supper,
when, through the crack of the door of the little room
where she was supposed to be clearing away the relics
of the feast, she looked and listened at her ease;
laughed at the wits, stared at the lions, heard the music,
was impressed by the wisdom, and much edified by the
gentility of the whole affair.

After a time, however, Christie got rather tired of it,
for there was an elegant sameness about these evenings
that became intensely wearisome to the uninitiated, but
she fancied that as each had his part to play he managed
to do it with spirit. Night after night the wag
told his stories, the poet read his poems, the singers
warbled, the pretty women simpered and dressed, the
heavy scientific was duly discussed by the elect precious,
and Mrs. Stuart, in amazing costumes, sailed to and for
in her most swan-like manner; while my lord stirred
up the lions he had captured, till they roared their best,
great and small.

p445-039

Hepsey. [figure description] 445EAF. Page 028. In-line image of a man named Hepsey, who is wearing a kerchief tied around his scalp.[end figure description]

“Good heavens! why don't they do or say something
new and interesting, and not keep twaddling on about
art, and music, and poetry, and cosmos? The papers
are full of appeals for help for the poor, reforms of all
sorts, and splendid work that others are doing; but
these people seem to think it isn't genteel enough to be
spoken of here. I suppose it as all very elegant to go
on like a set of trained cauaries, but it 's very dull fun
to watch them, and Hepsey's stories are a deal more
interesting to me.”

Having come to this conclusion, after studying dilettanteism
through the crack of the door for some months,
Christie left the “trained canaries” to twitter and hop
about their gilded cage, and devoted herself to Hepsey,
who gave her glimpses into another sort of life so bitterly
real that she never could forget it.

Friendship had prospered in the lower regions, for
Hepsey had a motherly heart, and Christie soon won

[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]

her confidence by bestowing her own. Her story was
like many another; yet, being the first Christie had
ever heard, and told with the unconscious eloquence of
one who had suffered and escaped, it made a deep impression
on her, bringing home to her a sense of obligation
so forcibly that she began at once to pay a little
part of the great debt which the white race owes the
black.

Christie loved books; and the attic next her own was
full of them. To this store she found her way by a sort
of instinct as sure as that which leads a fly to a honey-pot,
and, finding many novels, she read her fill. This
amusement lightened many heavy hours, peopled the
silent house with troops of friends, and, for a time, was
the joy of her life.

Hepsey used to watch her as she sat buried in her
book when the day's work was done, and once a heavy
sigh roused Christie from the most exciting crisis of
“The Abbot.”

“What's the matter? Are you very tired, Aunty?”
she asked, using the name that came most readily to
her lips.

“No, honey; I was only wishin' I could read fast
like you does. I 's berry slow 'bout readin' and I want
to learn a heap,” answered Hepsey, with such a wistful
look in her soft eyes that Christie shut her book, saying
briskly:

“Then I 'll teach you. Bring out your primer and
let 's begin at once.”

“Dear chile, it 's orful hard work to put learnin' in
my ole head, and I wouldn't 'cept such a ting from you
only I needs dis sort of help so bad, and I can trust you
to gib it to me as I wants it.”

[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]

Then in a whisper that went straight to Christie's
heart, Hepsey told her plan and showed what help she
craved.

For five years she had worked hard, and saved her
earnings for the purpose of her life. When a considerable
sum had been hoarded up, she confided it to one
whom she believed to be a friend, and sent him to buy
her old mother. But he proved false, and she never
saw either mother or money. It was a hard blow, but
she took heart and went to work again, resolving this
time to trust no one with the dangerous part of the
affair, but when she had scraped together enough to pay
her way she meant to go South and steal her mother at
the risk of her life.

“I don't want much money, but I must know little'
bout readin' and countin' up, else I'll get lost and
cheated. You'll help me do dis, honey, and I'll bless
you all my days, and so will my old mammy, if I ever
gets her safe away.”

With tears of sympathy shining on her cheeks, and
both hands stretched out to the poor soul who implored
this small boon of her, Christie promised all the help
that in her lay, and kept her word religiously.

From that time, Hepsey's cause was hers; she laid
by a part of her wages for “ole mammy,” she comforted
Hepsey with happy prophecies of success, and
taught with an energy and skill she had never known
before. Novels lost their charms now, for Hepsey could
give her a comedy and tragedy surpassing any thing
she found in them, because truth stamped her tales with
a power and pathos the most gifted fancy could but
poorly imitate.

[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]

The select receptions upstairs seemed duller than
ever to her now, and her happiest evenings were spent
in the tidy kitchen, watching Hepsey laboriously shaping
A's and B's, or counting up on her worn fingers the
wages they had earned by months of weary work, that
she might purchase one treasure, — a feeble, old woman,
worn out with seventy years of slavery far away there
in Virginia.

For a year Christie was a faithful servant to her
mistress, who appreciated her virtues, but did not
encourage them; a true friend to poor Hepsey, who
loved her dearly, and found in her sympathy and affection
a solace for many griefs and wrongs. But Providence
had other lessons for Christie, and when this one
was well learned she was sent away to learn another
phase of woman's life and labor.

While their domestics amused themselves with privy
conspiracy and rebellion at home, Mr. and Mrs. Stuart
spent their evenings in chasing that bright bubble
called social success, and usually came home rather
cross because they could not catch it.

On one of these occasions they received a warm
welcome, for, as they approached the house, smoke was
seen issuing from an attic window, and flames flickering
behind the half-drawn curtain. Bursting out of the
carriage with his usual impetuosity, Mr. Stuart let himself
in and tore upstairs shouting “Fire!” like an
engine company.

In the attic Christie was discovered lying dressed
upon her bed, asleep or suffocated by the smoke that
filled the room. A book had slipped from her hand,
and in falling had upset the candle on a chair beside

[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]

her; the long wick leaned against a cotton gown hanging
on the wall, and a greater part of Christie's wardrobe
was burning brilliantly.

“I forbade her to keep the gas lighted so late, and
see what the deceitful creature has done with her private
candle!” cried Mrs. Stuart with a shrillness that
roused the girl from her heavy sleep more effectually
than the anathemas Mr. Stuart was fulminating against
the fire.

Sitting up she looked dizzily about her. The smoke
was clearing fast, a window having been opened; and
the tableau was a striking one. Mr. Stuart with an
excited countenance was dancing frantically on a heap
of half-consumed clothes pulled from the wall. He had
not only drenched them with water from bowl and
pitcher, but had also cast those articles upon the pile
like extinguishers, and was skipping among the fragments
with an agility which contrasted with his stout
figure in full evening costume, and his besmirched face,
made the sight irresistibly ludicrous.

Mrs. Stuart, though in her most regal array, seemed
to have left her dignity downstairs with her opera
cloak, for with skirts gathered closely about her, tiara
all askew, and face full of fear and anger, she stood
upon a chair and scolded like any shrew.

The comic overpowered the tragic, and being a little
hysterical with the sudden alarm, Christie broke into a
peal of laughter that sealed her fate.

“Look at her! look at her!” cried Mrs. Stuart gesticulating
on her perch as if about to fly. “She has been
at the wine, or lost her wits. She must go, Horatio,
she must go! I cannot have my nerves shattered by

[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]

such dreadful scenes. She is too fond of books, and it
has turned her brain. Hepsey can watch her to-night,
and at dawn she shall leave the house for ever.”

“Not till after breakfast, my dear. Let us have that
in comfort I beg, for upon my soul we shall need it,”
panted Mr. Stuart, sinking into a chair exhausted with
the vigorous measures which had quenched the conflagration.

Christie checked her untimely mirth, explained the
probable cause of the mischief, and penitently promised
to be more careful for the future.

Mr. Stuart would have pardoned her on the spot, but
Madame was inexorable, for she had so completely forgotten
her dignity that she felt it would be impossible
ever to recover it in the eyes of this disrespectful
menial. Therefore she dismissed her with a lecture
that made both mistress and maid glad to part.

She did not appear at breakfast, and after that meal
Mr. Stuart paid Christie her wages with a solemnity
which proved that he had taken a curtain lecture to
heart. There was a twinkle in his eye, however, as he
kindly added a recommendation, and after the door
closed behind him Christie was sure that he exploded
into a laugh at the recollection of his last night's performance.

This lightened her sense of disgrace very much, so,
leaving a part of her money to repair damages, she
packed up her dilapidated wardrobe, and, making Hepsey
promise to report progress from time to time, Christie
went back to Mrs. Flint's to compose her mind and
be ready à la Micawber “for something to turn up.”

p445-045 CHAPTER III. ACTRESS.

[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]

FEELING that she had all the world before her
where to choose, and that her next step ought to
take her up at least one round higher on the ladder she
was climbing, Christie decided not to try going out to
service again. She knew very well that she would
never live with Irish mates, and could not expect to
find another Hepsey. So she tried to get a place as
companion to an invalid, but failed to secure the only
situation of the sort that was offered her, because she
mildly objected to waiting on a nervous cripple all day,
and reading aloud half the night. The old lady called
her an “impertinent baggage,” and Christie retired in
great disgust, resolving not to be a slave to anybody.

Things seldom turn out as we plan them, and after
much waiting and hoping for other work Christie at
last accepted about the only employment which had
not entered her mind.

Among the boarders at Mrs. Flint's were an old lady
and her pretty daughter, both actresses at a respectable
theatre. Not stars by any means, but good second-rate
players, doing their work creditably and earning an
honest living. The mother had been kind to Christie
in offering advice, and sympathizing with her

[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]

disappointments. The daughter, a gay little lass, had taken
Christie to the theatre several times, there to behold
her in all the gauzy glories that surround the nymphs
of spectacular romance.

To Christie this was a great delight, for, though she
had pored over her father's Shakespeare till she knew
many scenes by heart, she had never seen a play till
Lucy led her into what seemed an enchanted world.
Her interest and admiration pleased the little actress,
and sundry lifts when she was hurried with her dresses
made her grateful to Christie.

The girl's despondent face, as she came in day after
day from her unsuccessful quest, told its own story,
though she uttered no complaint, and these friendly
souls laid their heads together, eager to help her in
their own dramatic fashion.

“I've got it! I've got it! All hail to the queen!”
was the cry that one day startled Christie as she sat
thinking anxiously, while sewing mock-pearls on a
crown for Mrs. Black.

Looking up she saw Lucy just home from rehearsal,
going through a series of pantomimic evolutions suggestive
of a warrior doing battle with incredible valor,
and a very limited knowledge of the noble art of self-defence.

“What have you got? Who is the queen?” she
asked, laughing, as the breathless hero lowered her
umbrella, and laid her bonnet at Christie's feet.

“You are to be the Queen of the Amazons in our
new spectacle, at half a dollar a night for six or eight
weeks, if the piece goes well.”

“No!” cried Christie, with a gasp.

[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]

“Yes!” cried Lucy, clapping her hands; and then
she proceeded to tell her news with theatrical volubility.
“Mr. Sharp, the manager, wants a lot of tallish
girls, and I told him I knew of a perfect dear. He
said: `Bring her on, then,' and I flew home to tell you.
Now, don't look wild, and say no. You've only got to
sing in one chorus, march in the grand procession, and
lead your band in the terrific battle-scene. The dress
is splendid! Red tunic, tiger-skin over shoulder, helmet,
shield, lance, fleshings, sandals, hair down, and as much
cork to your eyebrows as you like.”

Christie certainly did look wild, for Lucy had burst
into the room like a small hurricane, and her rapid
words rattled about the listeners' ears as if a hail-storm
had followed the gust. While Christie still sat with
her mouth open, too bewildered to reply, Mrs. Black
said in her cosey voice:

“Try it, me dear, it 's just what you 'll enjoy, and a
capital beginning I assure ye; for if you do well old
Sharp will want you again, and then, when some one
slips out of the company, you can slip in, and there you
are quite comfortable. Try it, me dear, and if you
don't like it drop it when the piece is over, and there's
no harm done.”

“It 's much easier and jollier than any of the things
you are after. We 'll stand by you like bricks, and in a
week you 'll say it 's the best lark you ever had in your
life. Don't be prim, now, but say yes, like a trump, as
you are,” added Lucy, waving a pink satin train temptingly
before her friend.

“I will try it!” said Christie, with sudden decision,
feeling that something entirely new and absorbing was

[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]

what she needed to expend the vigor, romance, and
enthusiasm of her youth upon.

With a shriek of delight Lucy swept her off her
chair, and twirled her about the room as excitable
young ladies are fond of doing when their joyful emotions
need a vent. When both were giddy they subsided
into a corner and a breathless discussion of the
important step.

Though she had consented, Christie had endless
doubts and fears, but Lucy removed many of the former,
and her own desire for pleasant employment conquered
many of the latter. In her most despairing moods she
had never thought of trying this. Uncle Enos considered
“play-actin”' as the sum of all iniquity. What
would he say if she went calmly to destruction by that
road? Sad to relate, this recollection rather strengthened
her purpose, for a delicious sense of freedom pervaded
her soul, and the old defiant spirit seemed to rise
up within her at the memory of her Uncle's grim
prophecies and narrow views.

“Lucy is happy, virtuous, and independent, why can't
I be so too if I have any talent? It isn't exactly what
I should choose, but any thing honest is better than
idleness. I'll try it any way, and get a little fun, even
if I don't make much money or glory out of it.”

So Christie held to her resolution in spite of many
secret misgivings, and followed Mrs. Black's advice on
all points with a docility which caused that sanguine
lady to predict that she would be a star before she
knew where she was.

“Is this the stage? How dusty and dull it is by
daylight!” said Christie next day, as she stood by Lucy

[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]

on the very spot where she had seen Hamlet die in
great anguish two nights before.

“Bless you, child, it 's in curl-papers now, as I am of
a morning. Mr. Sharp, here 's an Amazon for you.”

As she spoke, Lucy hurried across the stage, followed
by Christie, wearing any thing but an Amazonian
expression just then.

“Ever on before?” abruptly asked a keen-faced,
little man, glancing with an experienced eye at the
young person who stood before him bathed in blushes.

“No, sir.”

“Do you sing?”

“A little, sir.”

“Dance, of course?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just take a turn across the stage, will you? Must
walk well to lead a march.”

As she went, Christie heard Mr. Sharp taking notes
audibly:

“Good tread; capital figure; fine eye. She 'll make
up well, and behave herself, I fancy.”

A strong desire to make off seized the girl; but,
remembering that she had presented herself for inspection,
she controlled the impulse, and returned to him
with no demonstration of displeasure, but a little more
fire in “the fine eye,” and a more erect carriage of the
“capital figure.”

“All right, my dear. Give your name to Mr. Tripp,
and your mind to the business, and consider yourself
engaged,” — with which satisfactory remark the little
man vanished like a ghost.

“Lucy, did you hear that impertinent `my dear'?”

[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]

asked Christie, whose sense of propriety had received
its first shock.

“Lord, child, all managers do it. They don't mean
any thing; so be resigned, and thank your stars he
didn't say `love' and `darling,' and kiss you, as old
Vining used to,” was all the sympathy she got.

Having obeyed orders, Lucy initiated her into the
mysteries of the place, and then put her in a corner to
look over the scenes in which she was to appear. Christie
soon caught the idea of her part, — not a difficult
matter, as there were but few ideas in the whole piece,
after which she sat watching the arrival of the troop
she was to lead. A most forlorn band of warriors they
seemed, huddled together, and looking as if afraid to
speak, lest they should infringe some rule; or to move,
lest they be swallowed up by some unsuspected trapdoor.

Presently the ballet-master appeared, the orchestra
struck up, and Christie found herself marching and
counter-marching at word of command. At first, a
most uncomfortable sense of the absurdity of her position
oppressed and confused her; then the ludicrous
contrast between the solemn anxiety of the troop and
the fantastic evolutions they were performing amused
her till the novelty wore off; the martial music excited
her; the desire to please sharpened her wits; and
natural grace made it easy for her to catch and copy
the steps and poses given her to imitate. Soon she
forgot herself, entered into the spirit of the thing, and
exerted every sense to please, so successfully that Mr.
Tripp praised her quickness at comprehension, Lucy
applauded heartily from a fairy car, and Mr. Sharp

[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]

popped his head out of a palace window to watch the
Amazon's descent from the Mountains of the Moon.

When the regular company arrived, the troop was
dismissed till the progress of the play demanded their
reappearance. Much interested in the piece, Christie
stood aside under a palm-tree, the foliage of which was
strongly suggestive of a dilapidated green umbrella,
enjoying the novel sights and sounds about her.

Yellow-faced gentlemen and sleepy-eyed ladies roamed
languidly about with much incoherent jabbering of
parts, and frequent explosions of laughter. Princes,
with varnished boots and suppressed cigars, fought,
bled, and died, without a change of countenance.
Damsels of unparalleled beauty, according to the text,
gaped in the faces of adoring lovers, and crocheted
serenely on the brink of annihilation. Fairies, in rubber-boots
and woollen head-gear, disported themselves
on flowery barks of canvas, or were suspended aloft
with hooks in their backs like young Hindoo devotees.
Demons, guiltless of hoof or horn, clutched their victims
with the inevitable “Ha! ha!” and vanished darkly,
eating pea-nuts. The ubiquitous Mr. Sharp seemed to
pervade the whole theatre; for his voice came shrilly
from above or spectrally from below, and his active
little figure darted to and fro like a critical will-o-the-wisp.

The grand march and chorus in the closing scene
were easily accomplished; for, as Lucy bade her, Christie
“sung with all her might,” and kept step as she led
her band with the dignity of a Boadicea. No one
spoke to her; few observed her; all were intent on
their own affairs; and when the final shriek and bang

[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]

died away without lifting the roof by its din, she could
hardly believe that the dreaded first rehearsal was
safely over.

A visit to the wardrobe-room to see her dress came
next; and here Christie had a slight skirmish with the
mistress of that department relative to the length of
her classical garments. As studies from the nude had
not yet become one of the amusements of the élite of
Little Babel, Christie was not required to appear in the
severe simplicity of a costume consisting of a necklace,
sandals, and a bit of gold fringe about the waist, but
was allowed an extra inch or two on her tunic, and
departed, much comforted by the assurance that her
dress would not be “a shock to modesty,” as Lucy
expressed it.

“Now, look at yourself, and, for my sake, prove an
honor to your country and a terror to the foe,” said
Lucy, as she led her protégée before the green-room
mirror on the first night of “The Demon's Daughter,
or The Castle of the Sun!! The most Magnificent
Spectacle ever produced upon the American Stage!!!”

Christie looked, and saw a warlike figure with glittering
helmet, shield and lance, streaming hair and savage
cloak. She liked the picture, for there was much of
the heroic spirit in the girl, and even this poor counterfeit
pleased her eye and filled her fancy with
martial memories of Joan of Arc, Zenobia, and Britomarte.

“Go to!” cried Lucy, who affected theatrical modes
of speech. “Don't admire yourself any longer, but tie
up your sandals and come on. Be sure you rush down
the instant I cry, `Demon, I defy thee!' Don't break

p445-053 Christie as Queen of the Amazons. [figure description] 445EAF. Page 042. In-line image of Christie dressed in Amazon regalia -- holding sword and shield.[end figure description]

your neck, or pick your way like a cat in wet weather,
but come with effect, for I want that scene to make a
hit.”

Princess Caremfil swept away, and the Amazonian
queen climbed to her perch among the painted mountains,
where her troop already sat like a flock of pigeons
shining in the sun. The gilded breast-plate rose and
fell with the quick beating of her heart, the spear shook
with the trembling of her hand, her lips were dry, her
head dizzy, and more than once, as she waited for her
cue, she was sorely tempted to run away and take the
consequences.

But the thought of Lucy's good-will and confidence
kept her, and when the cry came she answered with a

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

ringing shout, rushed down the ten-foot precipice, and
charged upon the foe with an energy that inspired her
followers, and quite satisfied the princess struggling in
the demon's grasp.

With clashing of arms and shrill war-cries the rescuers
of innocence assailed the sooty fiends who fell before
their unscientific blows with a rapidity which inspired
in the minds of beholders a suspicion that the goblins'
own voluminous tails tripped them up and gallantry
kept them prostrate. As the last groan expired, the
last agonized squirm subsided, the conquerors performed
the intricate dance with which it appears the
Amazons were wont to celebrate their victories. Then
the scene closed with a glare of red light and a “grand
tableau” of the martial queen standing in a bower of
lances, the rescued princess gracefully fainting in her
arms, and the vanquished demon scowling fiercely
under her foot, while four-and-twenty dishevelled damsels
sang a song of exultation, to the barbaric music of
a tattoo on their shields.

All went well that night, and when at last the girls
doffed crown and helmet, they confided to one another
the firm opinion that the success of the piece was in a
great measure owing to their talent, their exertions,
and went gaily home predicting for themselves careers
as brilliant as those of Siddons and Rachel.

It would be a pleasant task to paint the vicissitudes
and victories of a successful actress; but Christie was
no dramatic genius born to shine before the world and
leave a name behind her. She had no talent except
that which may be developed in any girl possessing
the lively fancy, sympathetic nature, and ambitious

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

spirit which make such girls naturally dramatic. This
was to be only one of many experiences which were to
show her her own weakness and strength, and through
effort, pain, and disappointment fit her to play a nobler
part on a wider stage.

For a few weeks Christie's illusions lasted; then she
discovered that the new life was nearly as humdrum as
the old, that her companions were ordinary men and
women, and her bright hopes were growing as dim as
her tarnished shield. She grew unutterably weary of
“The Castle of the Sun,” and found the “Demon's
Daughter” an unmitigated bore. She was not tired of
the profession, only dissatisfied with the place she held
in it, and eager to attempt a part that gave some scope
for power and passion.

Mrs. Black wisely reminded her that she must learn
to use her wings before she tried to fly, and comforted
her with stories of celebrities who had begun as she
was beginning, yet who had suddenly burst from their
grub-like obscurity to adorn the world as splendid
butterflies.

“We'll stand by you, Kit; so keep up your courage,
and do your best. Be clever to every one in general,
old Sharp in particular, and when a chance comes, have
your wits about you and grab it. That's the way to
get on,” said Lucy, as sagely as if she had been a star
for years.

“If I had beauty I should stand a better chance,”
sighed Christie, surveying herself with great disfavor,
quite unconscious that to a cultivated eye the soul of
beauty was often visible in that face of hers, with its
intelligent eyes, sensitive mouth, and fine lines about

[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]

the forehead, making it a far more significant and
attractive countenance than that of her friend, possessing
only piquant prettiness.

“Never mind, child; you 've got a lovely figure, and
an actress's best feature, — fine eyes and eyebrows. I
heard old Kent say so, and he 's a judge. So make the
best of what you 've got, as I do,” answered Lucy,
glancing at her own comely little person with an air of
perfect resignation.

Charistie laughed at the adviser, but wisely took the
advice, and, though she fretted in private, was cheerful
and alert in public. Always modest, attentive, and
obliging, she soon became a favorite with her mates,
and, thanks to Lucy's good offices with Mr. Sharp,
whose favorite she was, Christie got promoted sooner
than she otherwise would have been.

A great Christmas spectacle was brought out the
next season, and Christie had a good part in it. When
that was over she thought there was no hope for her,
as the regular company was full and a different sort of
performance was to begin. But just then her chance
came, and she “grabbed it.” The first soubrette died
suddenly, and in the emergency Mr. Sharp offered the
place to Christie till he could fill it to his mind. Lucy
was second soubrette, and had hoped for this promotion;
but Lucy did not sing well. Christie had a good
voice, had taken lessons and much improved of late,
so she had the preference and resolved to stand the test
so well that this temporary elevation should become
permanent.

She did her best, and though many of the parts were
distasteful to her she got through them successfully,

[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]

while now and then she had one which she thoroughly
enjoyed. Her Tilly Slowboy was a hit, and a proud
girl was Christie when Kent, the comedian, congratulated
her on it, and told her he had seldom seen it
better done.

To find favor in Kent's eyes was an honor indeed, for
he belonged to the old school, and rarely condescended
to praise modern actors. His own style was so admirable
that he was justly considered the first comedian
in the country, and was the pride and mainstay of the
old theatre where he had played for years. Of course
he possessed much influence in that little world, and
being a kindly man used it generously to help up any
young aspirant who seemed to him deserving.

He had observed Christie, attracted by her intelligent
face and modest manners, for in spite of her youth
there was a native refinement about her that made it
impossible for her to romp and flirt as some of her
mates did. But till she played Tilly he had not thought
she possessed any talent. That pleased him, and seeing
how mnch she valued his praise, and was flattered by
his notice, he gave her the wise but unpalatable advice
always offered young actors. Finding that she accepted
it, was willing to study hard, work faithfully, and wait
patiently, he predicted that in time she would make a
clever actress, never a great one.

Of course Christie thought he was mistaken, and
secretly resolved to prove him a false prophet by the
triumphs of her career. But she meekly bowed to his
opinion; this docility pleased him, and he took a paternal
sort of interest in her, which, coming from the powerful
favorite, did her good service with the higher

[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]

powers, and helped her on more rapidly than years of
meritorious effort.

Toward the end of that second season several of
Dickens's dramatized novels were played, and Christie
earned fresh laurels. She loved those books, and
seemed by instinct to understand and personate the
humor and pathos of many of those grotesque creations.
Believing she had little beauty to sacrifice, she dressed
such parts to the life, and played them with a spirit
and ease that surprised those who had considered her
a dignified and rather dull young person.

“I 'll tell you what it is, Sharp, that girl is going to
make a capital character actress. When her parts suit,
she forgets herself entirely and does admirably well.
Her Miggs was nearly the death of me to-night. She 's
got that one gift, and it 's a good one. You 'd better
give her a chance, for I think she 'll be a credit to the
old concern.”

Kent said that, — Christie heard it, and flew to Lucy,
waving Miggs's cap for joy as she told the news.

“What did Mr. Sharp say?” asked Lucy, turning
round with her face half “made up.”

“He merely said `Hum,' and smiled. Wasn't that a
good sign?” said Christie, anxiously.

“Can't say,” and Lucy touched up her eyebrows as
if she took no interest in the affair.

Christie's face fell, and her heart sunk at the thought
of failure; but she kept up her spirits by working
harder than ever, and soon had her reward. Mr.
Sharp's “Hum” did mean yes, and the next season she
was regularly engaged, with a salary of thirty dollars
a week.

[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]

It was a grand step, and knowing that she owed it to
Kent, Christie did her utmost to show that she deserved
his good opinion. New trials and temptations beset
her now, but hard work and an innocent nature kept
her safe and busy. Obstacles only spurred her on to
redoubled exertion, and whether she did well or ill, was
praised or blamed, she found a never-failing excitement
in her attempts to reach the standard of perfection she
had set up for herself. Kent did not regret his patronage.
Mr. Sharp was satisfied with the success of the
experiment, and Christie soon became a favorite in a
small way, because behind the actress the public always
saw a woman who never “forgot the modesty of
nature.”

But as she grew prosperous in outward things, Christie
found herself burdened with a private cross that
tried her very much. Lucy was no longer her friend;
something had come between them, and a steadily
increasing coldness took the place of the confidence
and affection which had once existed. Lucy was jealous
for Christie had passed her in the race. She knew
she could not fill the place Christie had gained by
favor, and now held by her own exertions, still she was
bitterly envious, though ashamed to own it.

Christie tried to be just and gentle, to prove her
gratitude to her first friend, and to show that her heart
was unchanged. But she failed to win Lucy back and
felt herself injured by such unjust resentment. Mrs.
Black took her daughter's part, and though they preserved
the peace outwardly the old friendliness was
quite gone.

Hoping to forget this trouble in excitement Christie

[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]

gave herself entirely to her profession, finding in it a
satisfaction which for a time consoled her.

But gradually she underwent the sorrowful change
which comes to strong natures when they wrong themselves
through ignorance or wilfulness.

Pride and native integrity kept her from the worst
temptations of such a life, but to the lesser ones she
yielded, growing selfish, frivolous, and vain, — intent on
her own advancement, and careless by what means she
reached it. She had no thought now beyond her art,
no desire beyond the commendation of those whose
opinion was serviceable, no care for any one but herself.

Her love of admiration grew by what it fed on, till
the sound of applause became the sweetest music to
her ear. She rose with this hope, lay down with this
satisfaction, and month after month passed in this feverish
life, with no wish to change it, but a growing appetite
for its unsatisfactory delights, an ever-increasing
forgetfulness of any higher aspiration than dramatic
fame.

“Give me joy, Lucy, I 'm to have a benefit next
week! Everybody else has had one, and I 've played
for them all, so no one seemed to begrudge me my turn
when dear old Kent proposed it,” said Christie, coming
in one night still flushed and excited with the good
news.

“What shall you have?” asked Lucy, trying to look
pleased, and failing decidedly.

“`Masks and Faces.' I 've always wanted to play Peg.
and it has good parts for you and Kent, and St. George.

[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]

I chose it for that reason, for I shall need all the help
I can get to pull me through, I dare say.”

The smile vanished entirely at this speech, and Christie
was suddenly seized with a suspicion that Lucy was
not only jealous of her as an actress, but as a woman.
St. George was a comely young actor who usually
played lovers' parts with Christie, and played them
very well, too, being possessed of much talent, and a
gentleman. They had never thought of falling in love
with each other, though St. George wooed and won
Christie night after night in vaudeville and farce. But
it was very easy to imagine that so much mock passion
had a basis of truth, and Lucy evidently tormented
herself with this belief.

“Why didn't you choose Juliet: St. George would
do Romeo so well?” said Lucy, with a sneer.

“No, that is beyond me. Kent says Shakespeare
will never be my line, and I believe him. I should
think you 'd be satisfied with `Masks and Faces,' for you
know Mabel gets her husband safely back in the end,”
answered Christie, watching the effect of her words.

“As if I wanted the man! No, thank you, other
people's leavings won't suit me,” cried Lucy, tossing
her head, though her face belied her words.

“Not even though he has `heavenly eyes,' `distracting
legs,' and `a melting voice?”' asked Christie maliciously,
quoting Lucy's own rapturous speeches when
the new actor came.

“Come, come, girls, don't quarrel. I won't 'ave it in
me room. Lucy's tired to death, and it 's not nice of
you, Kitty, to come and crow over her this way,” said

[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]

Mamma Black, coming to the rescue, for Lucy was in
tears, and Christie looking dangerous.

“It's impossible to please you, so I'll say good-night,”
and Christie went to her room with resentment burning
hotly in her heart.

As she crossed the chamber her eye fell on her own
figure reflected in the long glass, and with a sudden
impulse she turned up the gas, wiped the rouge from
her cheeks, pushed back her hair, and studied her own
face intently for several moments. It was pale and
jaded now, and all its freshness seemed gone; hard
lines had come about the mouth, a feverish disquiet
filled the eyes, and on the forehead seemed to lie the
shadow of a discontent that saddened the whole face.
If one could believe the testimony of that countenance
things were not going well with Christie, and she
owned it with a regretful sigh, as she asked herself,
“Am I what I hoped I should be? No, and it is my
fault. If three years of this life have made me this,
what shall I be in ten? A fine actress perhaps, but
how good a woman?”

With gloomy eyes fixed on her altered face she stood
a moment struggling with herself. Then the hard look
returned, and she spoke out defiantly, as if in answer
to some warning voice within herself. “No one cares
what I am, so why care myself? Why not go on and
get as much fame as I can? Success gives me power
it if cannot give me happiness, and I must have some
reward for my hard work. Yes! a gay life and a short
one, then out with the lights and down with the
curtain!”

But in spite of her reckless words Christie sobbed

[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]

herself to sleep that night like a child who knows it is
astray, yet cannot see the right path or hear its mother's
voice calling it home.

On the night of the benefit, Lucy was in a most exasperating
mood, Christie in a very indignant one, and
as they entered their dressing-room they looked as if
they might have played the Rival Queens with great
effect. Lucy offered no help and Christie asked none,
but putting her vexation resolutely out of sight fixed
her mind on the task before her.

As the pleasant stir began all about her, actress-like,
she felt her spirits rise, her courage increase with every
curl she fastened up, every gay garment she put on,
and soon smiled approvingly at herself, for excitement
lent her cheeks a better color than rouge, her eyes
shone with satisfaction, and her heart beat high with
the resolve to make a hit or die.

Christie needed encouragement that night, and found
it in the hearty welcome that greeted her, and the full
house, which proved how kind a regard was entertained
for her by many who knew her only by a fictitious
name. She felt this deeply, and it helped her much,
for she was vexed with many trials those before the
footlights knew nothing of.

The other players were full of kindly interest in her
success, but Lucy took a naughty satisfaction in harassing
her by all the small slights and unanswerable
provocations which one actress has it in her power to
inflict upon another.

Christie was fretted almost beyond endurance, and
retaliated by an ominous frown when her position
allowed, threatening asides when a moment's by-play

[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]

favored their delivery, and angry protests whenever
she met Lucy off the stage.

But in spite of all annoyances she had never played
better in her life. She liked the part, and acted the
warm-hearted, quick-witted, sharp-tongued Peg with
a spirit and grace that surprised even those who knew
her best. Especially good was she in the scenes with
Triplet, for Kent played the part admirably, and cheered
her on with many an encouraging look and word.
Anxious to do honor to her patron and friend she
threw her whole heart into the work; in the scene
where she comes like a good angel to the home of the
poor play-wright, she brought tears to the eyes of her
audience; and when at her command Triplet strikes
up a jig to amuse the children she “covered the
buckle” in gallant style, dancing with all the frolicsome
abandon of the Irish orange-girl who for a
moment forgot her grandeur and her grief.

That scene was her best, for it is full of those touches
of nature that need very little art to make them effective;
and when a great bouquet fell with a thump at
Christie's feet, as she paused to bow her thanks for an
encore, she felt that she had reached the height of
earthly bliss.

In the studio scene Lucy seemed suddenly gifted
with unsuspected skill; for when Mabel kneels to the
picture, praying her rival to give her back her husband's
heart, Christie was amazed to see real tears roll down
Lucy's cheeks, and to hear real love and longing thrill
her trembling words with sudden power and passion.

“That is not acting. She does love St. George, and
thinks I mean to keep him from her. Poor dear! I 'll

[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]

tell her all about it to-night, and set her heart at rest,”
thought Christie; and when Peg left the frame, her
face expressed the genuine pity that she felt, and her
voice was beautifully tender as she promised to restore
the stolen treasure.

Lucy felt comforted without knowing why, and the
piece went smoothly on to its last scene. Peg was
just relinquishing the repentant husband to his forgiving
wife with those brave words of hers, when a rending
sound above their heads made all look up and start
back; all but Lucy, who stood bewildered. Christie's
quick eye saw the impending danger, and with a sudden
spring she caught her friend from it. It was only
a second's work, but it cost her much; for in the act,
down crashed one of the mechanical contrivances used
in a late spectacle, and in its fall stretched Christie
stunned and senseless on the stage.

A swift uprising filled the house with tumult; a
crowd of actors hurried forward, and the panic-stricken
audience caught glimpses of poor Peg lying mute and
pallid in Mabel's arms, while Vane wrung his hands,
and Triplet audibly demanded, “Why the devil somebody
didn't go for a doctor?”

Then a brilliant view of Mount Parnassus, with
Apollo and the Nine Muses in full blast, shut the scene
from sight, and soon Mr. Sharp appeared to ask their
patience till the after-piece was ready, for Miss Douglas
was too much injured to appear again. And with an
unwonted expression of feeling, the little man alluded
to “the generous act which perhaps had changed the
comedy to a tragedy and robbed the beneficiary of her
well-earned reward at their hands.”

[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]

All had seen the impulsive spring toward, not from,
the danger, and this unpremeditated action won heartier
applause than Christie ever had received for her
best rendering of more heroic deeds.

But she did not hear the cordial round they gave
her. She had said she would “make a hit or die;”
and just then it seemed as if she had done both, for
she was deaf and blind to the admiration and the
sympathy bestowed upon her as the curtain fell on the
first, last benefit she ever was to have.

p445-067 CHAPTER IV. GOVERNESS.

Mr. Philip Fletcher. [figure description] 445EAF. [Page 056]. In-line image, which is a portrait of Philip Fletcher. He is wearing a bowler and a monocle.[end figure description]

DURING the next few weeks Christie learned the
worth of many things which she had valued very
lightly until then. Health became a boon too precious
to be trifled with; life assumed a deeper significance
when death's shadow fell upon its light, and she discovered
that dependence might be made endurable by
the sympathy of unsuspected friends.

Lucy waited upon her with a remorseful devotion

[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]

which touched her very much and won entire forgiveness
for the past, long before it was repentantly implored.
All her comrades came with offers of help and
affectionate regrets. Several whom she had most disliked
now earned her gratitude by the kindly thoughtfulness
which filled her sick-room with fruit and flowers,
supplied carriages for the convalescent, and paid her
doctor's bill without her knowledge.

Thus Christie learned, like many another needy
member of the gay profession, that though often extravagant
and jovial in their way of life, these men and
women give as freely as they spend, wear warm, true
hearts under their motley, and make misfortune only
another link in the bond of good-fellowship which
binds them loyally together.

Slowly Christie gathered her energies after weeks of
suffering, and took up her life again, grateful for the
gift, and anxious to be more worthy of it. Looking
back upon the past she felt that she had made a mistake
and lost more than she had gained in those three
years. Others might lead that life of alternate excitement
and hard work unharmed, but she could not.
The very ardor and insight which gave power to the
actress made that mimic life unsatisfactory to the
woman, for hers was an earnest nature that took fast
hold of whatever task she gave herself to do, and lived
in it heartily while duty made it right, or novelty lent
it charms. But when she saw the error of a step, the
emptiness of a belief, with a like earnestness she tried to
retrieve the one and to replace the other with a better
substitute.

In the silence of wakeful nights and the solitude of

[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]

quiet days, she took counsel with her better self, condemned
the reckless spirit which had possessed her,
and came at last to the decision which conscience
prompted and much thought confirmed.

“The stage is not the place for me,” she said. “I
have no genius to glorify the drudgery, keep me from
temptation, and repay me for any sacrifice I make.
Other women can lead this life safely and happily: I
cannot, and I must not go back to it, because, with all
my past experience, and in spite of all my present good
resolutions, I should do no better, and I might do worse.
I 'm not wise enough to keep steady there; I must
return to the old ways, dull but safe, and plod along
till I find my real place and work.”

Great was the surprise of Lucy and her mother when
Christie told her resolution, adding, in a whisper, to the
girl, “I leave the field clear for you, dear, and will
dance at your wedding with all my heart when St.
George asks you to play the `Honeymoon' with him,
as I 'm sure he will before long.”

Many entreaties from friends, as well as secret longings,
tried and tempted Christie sorely, but she withstood
them all, carried her point, and renounced the
profession she could not follow without self-injury and
self-reproach. The season was nearly over when she
was well enough to take her place again, but she
refused to return, relinquished her salary, sold her wardrobe,
and never crossed the threshold of the theatre
after she had said good-bye.

Then she asked, “What next?” and was speedily
answered. An advertisement for a governess met her
eye, which seemed to combine the two things she

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

most needed just then, — employment and change of
air.

“Mind you don't mention that you 've been an actress
or it will be all up with you, me dear,” said Mrs. Black,
as Christie prepared to investigate the matter, for since
her last effort in that line she had increased her knowledge
of music, and learned French enough to venture
teaching it to very young pupils.

“I 'd rather tell in the beginning, for if you keep any
thing back it 's sure to pop out when you least expect or
want it. I don't believe these people will care as long
as I 'm respectable and teach well,” returned Christie,
wishing she looked stronger and rosier.

“You 'll be sorry if you do tell,” warned Mrs. Black,
who knew the ways of the world.

“I shall be sorry if I don't,” laughed Christie, and
so she was, in the end.

“L. N. Saltonstall” was the name on the door, and
L. N. Saltonstall's servant was so leisurely about
answering Christie's meek solo on the bell, that she had
time to pull out her bonnet-strings half-a-dozen times
before a very black man in a very white jacket condescended
to conduct her to his mistress.

A frail, tea-colored lady appeared, displaying such
a small proportion of woman to such a large proportion
of purple and fine linen, that she looked as if
she was literally as well as figuratively “dressed to
death.”

Christie went to the point in a business-like manner
that seemed to suit Mrs. Saltonstall, because it saved
so much trouble, and she replied, with a languid affability:

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

“I wish some one to teach the children a little, for
they are getting too old to be left entirely to nurse. I
am anxious to get to the sea-shore as soon as possible,
for they have been poorly all winter, and my own
health has suffered. Do you feel inclined to try the
place? And what compensation do you require?”

Christie had but a vague idea of what wages were
usually paid to nursery governesses, and hesitatingly
named a sum which seemed reasonable to her, but was
so much less than any other applicant had asked, that
Mrs. Saltonstall began to think she could not do better
than secure this cheap young person, who looked firm
enough to manage her rebellious son and heir, and
well-bred enough to begin the education of a little fine
lady. Her winter had been an extravagant one, and
she could economize in the governess better perhaps
than elsewhere; so she decided to try Christie, and get
out of town at once.

“Your terms are quite satisfactory, Miss Devon, and
if my brother approves, I think we will consider the
matter settled. Perhaps you would like to see the
children? They are little darlings, and you will soon
be fond of them, I am sure.”

A bell was rung, an order given, and presently
appeared an eight-year old boy, so excessively Scotch
in his costume that he looked like an animated checker-board;
and a little girl, who presented the appearance
of a miniature opera-dancer staggering under the
weight of an immense sash.

“Go and speak prettily to Miss Devon, my pets, for
she is coming to play with you, and you must mind
what she says,” commanded mamma.

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

The pale, fretful-looking little pair went solemnly to
Christie's knee, and stood there staring at her with a
dull composure that quite daunted her, it was so sadly
unchildlike.

“What is your name, dear?” she asked, laying her
hand on the young lady's head.

“Villamena Temmatina Taltentall. You mustn't
touch my hair; it 's just turled,” was the somewhat
embarrassing reply.

“Mine's Louy 'Poleon Thaltensthall, like papa's,”
volunteered the other young person, and Christie privately
wondered if the possession of names nearly as
long as themselves was not a burden to the poor
dears.

Feeling that she must say something, she asked, in
her most persuasive tone:

“Would you like to have me come and teach you
some nice lessons out of your little books?”

If she had proposed corporal punishment on the spot
it could not have caused greater dismay. Wilhelmina
cast herself upon the floor passionately, declaring that
she “touldn't tuddy,” and Saltonstall, Jr., retreated
precipitately to the door, and from that refuge defied
the whole race of governesses and “nasty lessons”
jointly.

“There, run away to Justine. They are sadly out
of sorts, and quite pining for sea-air,” said mamma,
with both hands at her ears, for the war-cries of her
darlings were piercing as they departed, proclaiming
their wrongs while swarming up stairs, with a skirmish
on each landing.

With a few more words Christie took leave, and

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

scandalized the sable retainer by smiling all through
the hall, and laughing audibly as the door closed. The
contrast of the plaid boy and beruffled girl's irritability
with their mother's languid affectation, and her own
unfortunate efforts, was too much for her. In the
middle of her merriment she paused suddenly, saying
to herself:

“I never told about my acting. I must go back
and have it settled.” She retraced a few steps, then
turned and went on again, thinking, “No; for once I'll
be guided by other people's advice, and let well
alone.”

A note arrived soon after, bidding Miss Devon consider
herself engaged, and desiring her to join the
family at the boat on Monday next.

At the appointed time Christie was on board, and
looked about for her party. Mrs. Saltonstall appeared
in the distance with her family about her, and Christie
took a survey before reporting herself. Madame looked
more like a fashion-plate than ever, in a mass of green
flounces, and an impressive bonnet flushed with poppies
and bristling with wheat-ears. Beside her sat a gentleman,
rapt in a newspaper, of course, for to an American
man life is a burden till the daily news have been absorbed.
Mrs. Saltonstall's brother was the possessor
of a handsome eye without softness, thin lips without
benevolence, but plenty of will; a face and figure
which some thirty-five years of ease and pleasure had
done their best to polish and spoil, and a costume
without flaw, from his aristocratic boots to the summer
hat on his head.

The little boy more checkered and the little girl

p445-074 Mrs. Saltonstall and Family. [figure description] 445EAF. Page 063. In-line image of Mrs. Saltonstall dressed in a flowery dress, flanked by her two children, both in Scottish outfits.[end figure description]

more operatic than before, sat on stools eating bonbons,
while a French maid and the African footman hovered
in the background.

Feeling very much like a meek gray moth among
a flock of butterflies, Christie modestly presented herself.

“Good morning,” said Madame with a nod, which,

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

slight as it was, caused a great commotion among the
poppies and the wheat; “I began to be anxious about
you. Miss Devon, my brother, Mr. Fletcher.”

The gentleman bowed, and as Christie sat down he
got up, saying, as he sauntered away with a bored
expression:

“Will you have the paper, Charlotte? There's
nothing in it.”

As Mrs. Saltonstall seemed going to sleep and she
felt delicate about addressing the irritable infants
in public, Christie amused herself by watching Mr.
Fletcher as he roamed listlessly about, and deciding,
in her usual rash way, that she did not like him because
he looked both lazy and cross, and ennui was evidently
his bosom friend. Soon, however, she forgot every
thing but the shimmer of the sunshine on the sea, the
fresh wind that brought color to her pale cheeks, and
the happy thoughts that left a smile upon her lips.
Then Mr. Fletcher put up his glass and stared at her,
shook his head, and said, as he lit a cigar:

“Poor little wretch, what a time she will have of it
between Charlotte and the brats!”

But Christie needed no pity, and thought herself a
fortunate young woman when fairly established in her
corner of the luxurious apartments occupied by the
family. Her duties seemed light compared to those
she had left, her dreams were almost as bright as of
old, and the new life looked pleasant to her, for she was
one of those who could find little bits of happiness for
herself and enjoy them heartily in spite of loneliness
or neglect.

One of her amusements was studying her companions,

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

and for a time this occupied her, for Christie possessed
penetration and a feminine fancy for finding out people.

Mrs. Saltonstall's mission appeared to be the illustration
of each new fashion as it came, and she performed
it with a devotion worthy of a better cause.
If a color reigned supreme she flushed herself with
scarlet or faded into primrose, made herself pretty in
the bluest of blue gowns, or turned livid under a gooseberry
colored bonnet. Her hat-brims went up or down,
were preposterously wide or dwindled to an inch, as
the mode demanded. Her skirts were rampant with
sixteen frills; or picturesque with landscapes down each
side, and a Greek border or a plain hem. Her waists
were as pointed as those of Queen Bess or as short as
Diana's; and it was the opinion of those who knew
her that if the autocrat who ruled her life decreed the
wearing of black cats as well as of vegetables, bugs,
and birds, the blackest, glossiest Puss procurable for
money would have adorned her head in some way.

Her time was spent in dressing, driving, dining and
dancing; in skimming novels, and embroidering muslin;
going to church with a velvet prayer-book and a new
bonnet; and writing to her husband when she wanted
money, for she had a husband somewhere abroad,
who so happily combined business with pleasure that
he never found time to come home. Her children were
inconvenient blessings, but she loved them with the
love of a shallow heart, and took such good care of
their little bodies that there was none left for their little
souls. A few days' trial satisfied her as to Christie's
capabilities, and, relieved of that anxiety, she gave herself
up to her social duties, leaving the ocean and the

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

governess to make the summer wholesome and agreeable
to “the darlings.”

Mr. Fletcher, having tried all sorts of pleasure and
found that, like his newspaper, there was “nothing in
it,” was now paying the penalty for that unsatisfactory
knowledge. Ill health soured his temper and made his
life a burden to him. Having few resources within
himself to fall back upon, he was very dependent upon
other people, and other people were so busy amusing
themselves, they seemed to find little time or inclination
to amuse a man who had never troubled himself
about them. He was rich, but while his money could
hire a servant to supply each want, gratify each caprice,
it could not buy a tender, faithful friend to serve for
love, and ask no wages but his comfort.

He knew this, and felt the vain regret that inevitably
comes to those who waste life and learn the value of
good gifts by their loss. But he was not wise or brave
enough to bear his punishment manfully, and lay the
lesson honestly to heart. Fretful and imperious when
in pain, listless and selfish when at ease, his one aim in
life now was to kill time, and any thing that aided him
in this was most gratefully welcomed.

For a long while he took no more notice of Christie
than if she had been a shadow, seldom speaking beyond
the necessary saluations, and merely carrying his finger
to his hat-brim when he passed her on the beach with
the children. Her first dislike was softened by pity
when she found he was an invalid, but she troubled
herself very little about him, and made no romances
with him, for all her dreams were of younger, nobler
lovers.

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

Busied with her own affairs, the days though monotonous
were not unhappy. She prospered in her work
and the children soon believed in her as devoutly as
young Turks in their Prophet. She devised amusements
for herself as well as for them; walked, bathed,
drove, and romped with the little people till her own
eyes shone like theirs, her cheek grew rosy, and her
thin figure rounded with the promise of vigorous health
again.

Christie was at her best that summer, physically
speaking, for sickness had refined her face, giving it
that indescribable expression which pain often leaves
upon a countenance as if in compensation for the bloom
it takes away. The frank eyes had a softer shadow in
their depths, the firm lips smiled less often, but when it
came the smile was the sweeter for the gravity that
went before, and in her voice there was a new undertone
of that subtle music, called sympathy, which steals
into the heart and nestles there.

She was unconscious of this gracious change, but
others saw and felt it, and to some a face bright with
health, intelligence, and modesty was more attractive
than mere beauty. Thanks to this and her quiet, cordial
manners, she found friends here and there to add charms
to that summer by the sea.

The dashing young men took no more notice of her
than if she had been a little gray peep on the sands;
not so much, for they shot peeps now and then, but a
governess was not worth bringing down. The fashionable
belles and beauties were not even aware of her
existence, being too entirely absorbed in their yearly
husband-hunt to think of any one but themselves and

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

their prey. The dowagers had more interesting topics
to discuss, and found nothing in Christie's humble fortunes
worthy of a thought, for they liked their gossip
strong and highly flavored, like their tea.

But a kind-hearted girl or two found her out, several
lively old maids, as full of the romance of the past as
ancient novels, a bashful boy, three or four invalids,
and all the children, for Christie had a motherly heart
and could find charms in the plainest, crossest baby that
ever squalled.

Of her old friends she saw nothing, as her theatrical
ones were off on their vacations, Hepsey had left her
place for one in another city, and Aunt Betsey seldom
wrote.

But one day a letter came, telling her that the dear
old lady would never write again, and Christie felt as
if her nearest and dearest friend was lost. She had
gone away to a quiet spot among the rocks to get over
her first grief alone, but found it very hard to cheek
her tears, as memory brought back the past, tenderly
recalling every kind act, every loving word, and familiar
scene. She seldom wept, but when any thing did unseal
the fountains that lay so deep, she cried with all her
heart, and felt the better for it.

With the letter crumpled in her hand, her head on
her knees, and her hat at her feet, she was sobbing like
a child, when steps startled her, and, looking up, she
saw Mr. Fletcher regarding her with an astonished
countenance from under his big sun umbrella.

Something in the flushed, wet face, with its tremulous
lips and great tears rolling down, seemed to touch

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even lazy Mr. Fletcher, for he furled his umbrella with
unusual rapidity, and came up, saying, anxiously:

“My dear Miss Devon, what 's the matter? Are
you hurt? Has Mrs. S. been scolding? Or have the
children been too much for you?”

“No; oh, no! it 's bad news from home,” and Christie's
head went down again, for a kind word was more
than she could bear just then.

“Some one ill, I fancy? I 'm sorry to hear it, but
you must hope for the best, you know,” replied Mr.
Fletcher, really quite exerting himself to remember and
present this well-worn consolation.

“There is no hope; Aunt Betsey 's dead!”

“Dear me! that 's very sad.”

Mr. Fletcher tried not to smile as Christie sobbed
out the old-fashioned name, but a minute afterward
there were actually tears in his eyes, for, as if won by
his sympathy, she poured out the homely little story of
Aunt Betsey's life and love, unconsciously pronouncing
the kind old lady's best epitaph in the unaffected grief
that made her broken words so eloquent.

For a minute Mr. Fletcher forgot himself, and felt as
he remembered feeling long ago, when a warm-hearted
boy, he had comforted his little sister for a lost kitten
or a broken doll. It was a new sensation, therefore
interesting and agreeable while it lasted, and when
it vanished, which it speedily did, he sighed, then
shrugged his shoulders and wished “the girl would
stop crying like a water-spout.”

“It 's hard, but we all have to bear it, you know;
and sometimes I fancy if half the pity we give the
dead, who don't need it, was given to the living, who

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do, they 'd bear their troubles more comfortably. I
know I should,” added Mr. Fletcher, returning to his
own afflictions, and vaguely wondering if any one
would cry like that when he departed this life.

Christie minded little what he said, for his voice was
pitiful and it comforted her. She dried her tears, put
back her hair, and thanked him with a grateful smile,
which gave him another pleasant sensation; for, though
young ladies showered smiles upon him with midsummer
radiance, they seemed cool and pale beside the
sweet sincerity of this one given by a girl whose eyes
were red with tender tears.

“That's right, cheer up, take a little run on the
beach, and forget all about it,” he said, with a heartiness
that surprised himself as much as it did Christie.

“I will, thank you. Please don't speak of this; I 'm
used to bearing my troubles alone, and time will help
me to do it cheerfully.”

“That 's brave! If I can do any thing, let me know;
I shall be most happy.” And Mr. Fletcher evidently
meant what he said.

Christie gave him another grateful “Thank you,”
then picked up her hat and went away along the sands
to try his prescription; while Mr. Fletcher walked the
other way, so rapt in thought that he forgot to put
up his umbrella till the end of his aristocratic nose was
burnt a deep red.

That was the beginning of it; for when Mr. Fletcher
found a new amusement, he usually pursued it regardless
of consequences. Christie took his pity for what
it was worth, and thought no more of that little interview,
for her heart was very heavy. But he

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remembered it, and, when they met on the beach next day,
wondered how the governess would behave. She was
reading as she walked, and, with a mute acknowledgment
of his nod, tranquilly turned a page and read on
without a pause, a smile, or change of color.

Mr. Fletcher laughed as he strolled away; but Christie
was all the more amusing for her want of coquetry,
and soon after he tried her again. The great hotel
was all astir one evening with bustle, light, and music;
for the young people had a hop, as an appropriate
entertainment for a melting July night. With no taste
for such folly, even if health had not forbidden it, Mr.
Fletcher lounged about the piazzas, tantalizing the fair
fowlers who spread their nets for him, and goading
sundry desperate spinsters to despair by his erratic
movements. Coming to a quiet nook, where a long
window gave a fine view of the brilliant scene, he
found Christie leaning in, with a bright, wistful face,
while her hand kept time to the enchanting music of a
waltz.

“Wisely watching the lunatics, instead of joining in
their antics,” he said, sitting down with a sigh.

Christie looked around and answered, with the wistful
look still in her eyes:

“I 'm very fond of that sort of insanity; but there
is no place for me in Bedlam at present.”

“I daresay I can find you one, if you care to try it.
I don't indulge myself.” And Mr. Fletcher's eye went
from the rose in Christie's brown hair to the silvery
folds of her best gown, put on merely for the pleasure
of wearing it because every one else was in festival
array.

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

She shook her head. “No, thank you. Governesses
are very kindly treated in America; but ball-rooms
like that are not for them. I enjoy looking on, fortunately;
so I have my share of fun after all.”

“I shan't get any complaints out of her. Plucky
little soul! I rather like that,” said Mr. Fletcher to
himself; and, finding his seat comfortable, the corner
cool, and his companion pleasant to look at, with the
moonlight doing its best for her, he went on talking for
his own satisfaction.

Christie would rather have been left in peace; but
fancying that he did it out of kindness to her, and that
she had done him injustice before, she was grateful
now, and exerted herself to seem so; in which endeavor
she succeeded so well that Mr. Fletcher proved he
could be a very agreeable companion when he chose.
He talked well; and Christie was a good listener. Soon
interest conquered her reserve, and she ventured to
ask a question, make a criticism, or express an opinion
in her own simple way. Unconsciously she piqued the
curiosity of the man; for, though he knew many lovely,
wise, and witty women, he had never chanced to meet
with one like this before; and novelty was the desire
of his life. Of course he did not find moonlight, music,
and agreeable chat as delightful as she did; but there
was something animating in the fresh face opposite,
something flattering in the eager interest she showed,
and something most attractive in the glimpses unconsciously
given him of a nature genuine in its womanly
sincerity and strength. Something about this girl
seemed to appeal to the old self, so long neglected that
he thought it dead. He could not analyze the feeling,

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but was conscious of a desire to seem better than he
was as he looked into those honest eyes; to talk well,
that he might bring that frank smile to the lips that
grew either sad or scornful when he tried worldly gossip
or bitter satire; and to prove himself a man under
all the elegance and polish of the gentleman.

He was discovering then, what Christie learned
when her turn came, that fine natures seldom fail to
draw out the finer traits of those who approach them,
as the little witch-hazel wand, even in the hand of a
child, detects and points to hidden springs in unsuspected
spots. Women often possess this gift, and when
used worthily find it as powerful as beauty; for, if less
alluring, it is more lasting and more helpful, since it
appeals, not to the senses, but the souls of men.

Christie was one of these; and in proportion as her
own nature was sound and sweet so was its power as a
touchstone for the genuineness of others. It was this
unconscious gift that made her wonder at the unexpected
kindness she found in Mr. Fletcher, and this
which made him, for an hour or two at least, heartily
wish he could live his life over again and do it
better.

After that evening Mr. Fletcher spoke to Christie
when he met her, turned and joined her sometimes
as she walked with the children, and fell into the way
of lounging near when she sat reading aloud to an
invalid friend on piazza or sea-shore. Christie much
preferred to have no auditor but kind Miss Tudor; but
finding the old lady enjoyed his chat she resigned herself,
and when he brought them new books as well as
himself, she became quite cordial.

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Everybody sauntered and lounged, so no one minded
the little group that met day after day among the rocks.
Christie read aloud, while the children revelled in sand,
shells, and puddles; Miss Tudor spun endless webs of
gay silk and wool; and Mr. Fletcher, with his hat over
his eyes, lay sunning himself like a luxurious lizard, as
he watched the face that grew daily fairer in his sight,
and listened to the pleasant voice that went reading on
till all his ills and ennui seemed lulled to sleep as by
a spell.

A week or two of this new caprice set Christie to
thinking. She knew that Uncle Philip was not fond
of “the darlings;” it was evident that good Miss Tudor,
with her mild twaddle and eternal knitting, was
not the attraction, so she was forced to believe that he
came for her sake alone. She laughed at herself for
this fancy at first; but not possessing the sweet unconsciousness
of those heroines who can live through three
volumes with a burning passion before their eyes, and
never see it till the proper moment comes, and Eugene
goes down upon his knees, she soon felt sure that Mr.
Fletcher found her society agreeable, and wished her to
know it.

Being a mortal woman, her vanity was flattered, and
she found herself showing that she liked it by those
small signs and symbols which lovers' eyes are so quick
to see and understand, — an artful bow on her hat, a
flower in her belt, fresh muslin gowns, and the most
becoming arrangement of her hair.

“Poor man, he has so few pleasures I 'm sure I
needn't grudge him such a small one as looking at and
listening to me if he likes it,” she said to herself one

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day, as she was preparing for her daily stroll with unusual
care. “But how will it end? If he only wants a
mild flirtation he is welcome to it; but if he really
cares for me, I must make up my mind about it, and
not deceive him. I don't believe he loves me: how
can he? such an insignificant creature as I am.”

Here she looked in the glass, and as she looked the
color deepened in her cheek, her eyes shone, and a
smile would sit upon her lips, for the reflection showed
her a very winning face under the coquettish hat put
on to captivate.

“Don't be foolish, Christie! Mind what you do, and
be sure vanity doesn't delude you, for you are only a
woman, and in things of this sort we are so blind and
silly. I 'll think of this possibility soberly, but I won't
flirt, and then which ever way I decide I shall have
nothing to reproach myself with.”

Armed with this virtuous resolution, Christie sternly
replaced the pretty hat with her old brown one, fastened
up a becoming curl, which of late she had worn
behind her ear, and put on a pair of stout, rusty boots,
much fitter for rocks and sand than the smart slippers
she was preparing to sacrifice. Then she trudged away
to Miss Tudor, bent on being very quiet and reserved,
as became a meek and lowly governess.

But, dear heart, how feeble are the resolutions of
womankind! When she found herself sitting in her
favorite nook, with the wide, blue sea glittering below,
the fresh wind making her blood dance in her veins,
and all the earth and sky so full of summer life and
loveliness, her heart would sing for joy, her face would
shine with the mere bliss of living, and underneath

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

all this natural content the new thought, half confessed,
yet very sweet, would whisper, “Somebody
cares for me.”

If she had doubted it, the expression of Mr. Fletcher's
face that morning would have dispelled the doubt,
for, as she read, he was saying to himself: “Yes, this
healthful, cheery, helpful creature is what I want to
make life pleasant. Every thing else is used up; why
not try this, and make the most of my last chance?
She does me good, and I don't seem to get tired of her.
I can't have a long life, they tell me, nor an easy one,
with the devil to pay with my vitals generally; so it
would be a wise thing to provide myself with a goodtempered,
faithful soul to take care of me. My fortune
would pay for loss of time, and my death leave her
a bonny widow. I won't be rash, but I think I 'll
try it.”

With this mixture of tender, selfish, and regretful
thoughts in his mind, it is no wonder Mr. Fletcher's
eyes betrayed him, as he lay looking at Christie. Never
had she read so badly, for she could not keep her mind
on her book. It would wander to that new and troublesome
fancy of hers; she could not help thinking that
Mr. Fletcher must have been a handsome man before
he was so ill; wondering if his temper was very bad,
and fancying that he might prove both generous and
kind and true to one who loved and served him well.
At this point she was suddenly checked by a slip of the
tongue that covered her with confusion.

She was reading “John Halifax,” and instead of saying
“Phineas Fletcher” she said Philip, and then colored
to her forehead, and lost her place. Miss Tudor did

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

not mind it, but Mr. Fletcher laughed, and Christie
thanked Heaven that her face was half hidden by the
old brown hat.

Nothing was said, but she was much relieved to find
that Mr. Fletcher had joined a yachting party next
day and he would be away for a week. During that
week Christie thought over the matter, and fancied she
had made up her mind. She recalled certain speeches
she had heard, and which had more weight with her than
she suspected. One dowager had said to another: “P.
F. intends to marry, I assure you, for his sister told me
so, with tears in her eyes. Men who have been gay in
their youth make very good husbands when their wild
oats are sowed. Clara could not do better, and I should
be quite content to give her to him.”

“Well, dear, I should be sorry to see my Augusta
his wife, for whoever he marries will be a perfect slave
to him. His fortune would be a nice thing if he did
not live long; but even for that my Augusta shall not be
sacrificed,” returned the other matron whose Augusta
had vainly tried to captivate “P. F.,” and revenged
herself by calling him “a wreck, my dear, a perfect
wreck.”

At another time Christie heard some girls discussing
the eligibility of several gentlemen, and Mr. Fletcher
was considered the best match among them.

“You can do any thing you like with a husband a
good deal older than yourself. He 's happy with his
business, his club, and his dinner, and leaves you to do
what you please; just keep him comfortable and he 'll
pay your bills without much fuss,” said one young thing
who had seen life at twenty.

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

“I 'd take him if I had the chance, just because
everybody wants him. Don't admire him a particle,
but it will make a jolly stir whenever he does marry,
and I wouldn't mind having a hand in it,” said the
second budding belle.

“I 'd take him for the diamonds alone. Mamma
says they are splendid, and have been in the family for
ages. He won't let Mrs. S. wear them, for they always
go to the eldest son's wife. Hope he 'll choose a handsome
woman who will show them off well,” said a third
sweet girl, glancing at her own fine neck.

“He won't; he 'll take some poky old maid who will
cuddle him when he is sick, and keep out of his way
when he is well. See if he don't.”

“I saw him dawdling round with old Tudor, perhaps
he means to take her: she 's a capital nurse, got ill herself
taking care of her father, you know.”

“Perhaps he 's after the governess; she 's rather nice
looking, though she hasn 't a bit of style.”

“Gracious, no! she 's a dowdy thing, always trailing
round with a book and those horrid children. No
danger of his marrying her.” And a derisive laugh
seemed to settle that question beyond a doubt.

“Oh, indeed!” said Christie, as the girls went trooping
out of the bath-house, where this pleasing chatter
had been carried on regardless of listeners. She called
them “mercenary, worldly, unwomanly flirts,” and felt
herself much their superior. Yet the memory of their
gossip haunted her, and had its influence upon her
decision, though she thought she came to it through
her own good judgment and discretion.

“If he really cares for me I will listen, and not refuse

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

till I know him well enough to decide. I 'm tired of
being alone, and should enjoy ease and pleasure so
much. He 's going abroad for the winter, and that
would be charming. I 'll try not to be worldly-minded
and marry without love, but it does look tempting to
a poor soul like me.”

So Christie made up her mind to accept, if this promotion
was offered her; and while she waited, went
through so many alternations of feeling, and was so
harassed by doubts and fears that she sometimes found
herself wishing it had never occurred to her.

Mr. Fletcher, meantime, with the help of many meditative
cigars, was making up his mind. Absence only
proved to him how much he needed a better time-killer
than billiards, horses, or newspapers, for the long, listless
days seemed endless without the cheerful governess
to tone him up, like a new and agreeable sort of
bitters. A gradually increasing desire to secure this
satisfaction had taken possession of him, and the
thought of always having a pleasant companion, with
no nerves, nonsense, or affectation about her, was an
inviting idea to a man tired of fashionable follies and
tormented with the ennui of his own society.

The gossip, wonder, and chagrin such a step would
cause rather pleased his fancy; the excitement of trying
almost the only thing as yet untried allured him;
and deeper than all the desire to forget the past in a
better future led him to Christie by the nobler instincts
that never wholly die in any soul. He wanted her as
he had wanted many other things in his life, and had
little doubt that he could have her for the asking.
Even if love was not abounding, surely his fortune,

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which hitherto had procured him all he wished (except
health and happiness) could buy him a wife, when his
friends made better bargains every day. So, having
settled the question, he came home again, and every
one said the trip had done him a world of good.

Christie sat in her favorite nook one bright September
morning, with the inevitable children hunting hapless
crabs in a pool near by. A book lay on her knee,
but she was not reading; her eyes were looking far
across the blue waste before her with an eager gaze,
and her face was bright with some happy thought.
The sound of approaching steps disturbed her reverie,
and, recognizing them, she plunged into the heart of
the story, reading as if utterly absorbed, till a shadow
fell athwart the page, and the voice she had expected
to hear asked blandly:

“What book now, Miss Devon?”

“`Jane Eyre,' sir.”

Mr. Fletcher sat down just where her hat-brim was
no screen, pulled off his gloves, and leisurely composed
himself for a comfortable lounge.

“What is your opinion of Rochester?” he asked,
presently.

“Not a very high one.”

“Then you think Jane was a fool to love and try to
make a saint of him, I suppose?”

“I like Jane, but never can forgive her marrying that
man, as I haven't much faith in the saints such sinners
make.”

“But don't you think a man who had only follies to
regret might expect a good woman to lend him a hand
and make him happy?”

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