“Goodness alive!” exclaimed Mrs. Muggins,
from the hall, “you can't come it over
me in that way; I'm half-white, and freeborn,
and I can see into the woods as far as
them that have gold specs, and Sally Throckmorton
is not gone ont; she is sick a-bed,
that's whar she is, and I have come to see
her, and I will see her; so just clap a stopper
on your jaw.” And with this expression of
her convictions and intentions, Mrs. Muggins
made her way up stairs. “I don't wonder,
old fellow,” she said, addressing Uncle Peter,
“that you told a big lie, rather than see me,
because, of course, you can't get over the
ingratitude of some in a minute; don't it beat
all the bare-facedest things you ever did see?
I was never more surprised than when I heard
it; I just told him to carry me out; you see
he's been at work chopping wood, at old
Mose Thill's; Mose gives him seventy-five
cents a cord and finds him, and he often
chucks some apples in his pockets as he is
coming home, for the young ones. You know
Miss Thill is a right nice woman, but he is
headstrong like some others; and he drinks

[figure description] Page 394.[end figure description]

too much, they say. Well, he come home
from his choppin' work at old Mose's, and
I'd been washing, and had the toothache
some, and didn't feel none too good: the
baby was cross and colicky, and I was flying
about like a hen with her head cut off, when
in he comes from old Mose's, and says he,
`Rache, if you'll guess the news, I'll give you
a buss:' says I, `Go long with you: none of
your humbugging about me;' and he makes
at me again, and says he, `Now, guess, old
woman.' And he was so funny, Mart was, I
couldn't help but laugh. Well, I guessed, the
first thing, that Mrs. Throck was dead — that
was the likeliest thing I could think of. And
says Mart, says he, `No you don't;' and says
I, `Then it's Hen Graham,' and the Lord
knows I hoped it was, for there is no more
comfort for him in this world than as if he
had stuck his head in a bumble-bee's nest.
`No,' says Mart, `you're tracking the wrong
rabbit.' Well, I mistrusts, right away, then,
that somebody had been yoking themselves,
and says I, `Doc and Rose are married,' and
says he, `No, it's a good deal younger folks;

[figure description] Page 395.[end figure description]

and then the truth just busted in upon me,
and says I, `It ain't old Polly Perrin?' and I
just fairly upset the dinner pot — I was that
much took by surprise — though I had been
expecting it all along, for you know all the
fools never die.”

“Unfortunately, no,” replied Uncle Peter;
“but, do you really mean to say that Mrs.
Perrin, whom I have taken into my house,
just as if she had been my sister; who has
slept beneath my roof, and eaten at my table:
do you say that this person — woman I can't
call her — has been guilty of such base ingratitude?”

“She has coaxed old Furniss to go and live
with her, and got the preacher, I suppose, to
say it was right,” replied Rachael, striving to
look important, as the bearer of such news
had a right to do.

“Well,” said Uncle Peter, “I think there
is one thing more she had better do now —
jump into the river, or hang herself;” and he
pressed his lips together with the gold head
of his cane, and remained silent for the space

[figure description] Page 396.[end figure description]

of half an hour — repeating only, at intervals
of five minutes, “Humph!”

“Well, Uncle Samuel Peter,” said Rose,
“you can't determine what to do in the
premises, can you?”

“No, my ward,” he answered, receiving
her question seriously.

“I don't see what you can do,” she repeated.

“Humph!” he said, presenting Mrs. Muggins
the fan, and entreating her to lay aside
her bonnet.

The rough little donkey was presently led
to the stable, and supplied with a double portion
of oats and hay.

It is an ill wind that blows nobody good.

“Mrs. Throckmorton,” said Uncle Peter, at
last, in a calm and collected manner, and as
one conscious of having nothing to blame
himself for, “did you hear the shocking
intelligence which our friend Mrs. Muggins
has brought?”

Aunt Sally said she had heard —

“You did?”

[figure description] Page 397.[end figure description]

“Why, Mr. Throckmorton?”

“Why? can you ask why! that person
who won our esteem by pretending to goodness—
that person who has set by my bed-side—
that person whose care I would have
given more for in time of sickness than for
what half the doctors in the country could do
for me — that she should marry! Why, if
she had stolen my horse at midnight, I could
and would have forgiven her; but now she
shall never be sent for again to do for me
what she has done; I'll never call her Mrs.
Furniss; no never!” and he set down his cane
as though he had awarded her proper retribution.

“Yes,” said Rachel, “I expect that's just
what she would like — to be called Mrs.
Furniss — a pretty-looking bride she, and
after your making of her so, and all!”

“It is scarcely creditable to believe,” said
Uncle Peter, and he continued, “I suppose
what you said was no worse than the truth;
they have got together there in Mrs. Perrin's
old house; it's a mighty snug place, and they
have just made it up between them that he

[figure description] Page 398.[end figure description]

should milk the cow, and she darn the stockings;
in short that they would live together,
and so they have got some preacher or squire
to say they might, and that I'll just bet you
all the world, or Throckmorton Hall, if you
are a mind to say so, is the whole amount of
it.”

“I do n't doubt it,” said Rose, biting her
lip.

“Doubt it, no, who could doubt it? Mrs.
Muggins, shall I offer you wine? you look
faint.” The awful news had the effect to
warm Uncle Peter's heart towards every body
but the perpetrators of the crime, and Mrs.
Muggins and he drank wine together.

It seemed that they would never have done
dwelling on the suspicion that the offending
parties had mutually agreed to help one
another—in fact, to be married—and that
a grave, legally-authorized individual, had
actually pronounced them husband and wife.
Aunt Sally tried sincerely to discover what
was so outrageous in the transaction, but
failed, and concluded her perceptions were
growing weak, for that Mr. Throckmorton

[figure description] Page 399.[end figure description]

could be mistaken was not for a moment to
be supposed.

“How old do you think the bride is,
colonel?” asked Rachel, brightening up under
this new patronage.

“Sixty-five, at least.”

“Lord bless you! she is more like seventy-five.
Why, as long ago as I can remember,
she was an old woman; her husband died
twenty years ago, and on his grave-stone it
says, aged fifty; and allowing that they were
both of one age, and that's most likely, she is
seventy now, and I would not wonder if she
was seventy-five. She is as smart as a cricket,
though, especially at talking.”

At this Uncle Peter laughed as much as the
grave subject would admit of, and Mrs. Muggins,
thus encouraged, continued: “I know
something she has said about you.”

“Humph!” said Uncle Peter, as though
nothing Polly Perrin could do would shock
him further, and Mrs. Muggins proceeded:
“She's a dreadful gossip, that woman is—
there is nothing happens far nor near that
she has n't something to say about it; she is

[figure description] Page 400.[end figure description]

as full of news as an egg is full of meat; oh,
she is a dreadful gossip. She come to see me
a good deal along when Jackson was a baby,
and, I tell you, I got so tired of her gab, I
thought sometimes I'd tell her she was
meddling with what was none of her business,
and I did show her that I thought so, as plain
as I could, except by word of mouth; but
some folks can't take a hint.”

“Humph!” replied Uncle Peter, “well I
dare say; and it's a wonder she had n't-talked
you to death.”

“She would have done so, twenty times,”
said Rachel, “but that I clapt my hands to
my ears when she got to going on too bad.”

“I am enabled to state,” said Uncle Peter,
and his tone and manner indicated that it
gave him great satisfaction to be able to make
the declaration, “that there was always something
in that woman's face that I didn't
exactly like. I can't tell what it was, but
there was something, invisible as it were.”

“I know what you mean,” replied Rachel,
“it was as if she pretended to be awful good
and was n't so; well, I never did like her, to

[figure description] Page 401.[end figure description]

speak the truth—talking as she did about
you.”

“I thank my God,” said Uncle Peter, but
he looked as though he thanked himself, “that
my reputation can't suffer by anything that
woman can say. She can't burn up Throckmorton
Hall, and she might just as well be
quiet, and not meddle with things that do n't
concern her.” And he had not, apparently,
the remotest idea that that advice was suited
to his own condition, as he walked up and
down the room, in angry excitement.

“Did she say I was a liar?” he asked,
directly.

“No, not exactly,” replied Rachel, in a
tone which indicated that she had very nearly
said so.

“Did she say I stole?”

“Oh, do n't mind what she said,” replied
Rachel, “she ain't worth minding.”

“She shall suffer for it,” said Uncle Peter;
“I'll sue her at law. I'll catch her talking
about me.”

“Oh, she did n't say anything so very bad,”
interrupted Rachel, “she said you were not

[figure description] Page 402.[end figure description]

half so sick as you thought yourself, and that
Mrs. Throckmorton was worse than you
were.”

“Humph! that woman is ungrateful.” And
he called upon my aunt to say whether there
was not something about that woman that she
didn't exactly like.

Thus urged, Aunt Sally said she never liked
the fashion of her caps very well.

“I never liked the fashion of her face,”
said Rachel; “and her old black dress I
couldn't bear—it's about as good now as
the first day she wore it, and that was ten
years ago, to Jim's funeral. Did I ever tell
you how black he turned? just as black as
your hat, colonel, before he was buried. You
see, grandman took on, and said she couldn't
part with him, and when she came to take her
last look they had to fairly pull her away
from the coffin! Oh, it was such a fine one,
and grandmam took it so hard.”

Aunt Sally tried to raise herself from the
sofa, as if thoughts of sickness and death were
dreadful. Rachel felt, in some crude way,
that she had disturbed her, and hastened to

[figure description] Page 403.[end figure description]

soothe her, by saying: “Don't be scared,
mam. We can keep you a week, if we want
to; you are so thin, you see.”

“If that woman,” said Uncle Peter, “ever
presumes to speak of me, again, tell her not to
speak of me; that's my wish, that she shall
not speak of me.”

“I don't like to talk against folks,” said
Rachel, “but I went there oncet, and what do
you think old Polly was doing?”

Uncle Peter couldn't tell; she might have
been coining, for all he knew.

“Well,” said Rachel, “she was sifting flour
to make bread. Now, anybody that will sift
flour to make bread! that's all I want to
know about them.”

Aunt Sally groaned aloud. Her face was
white and her lips trembling. Water was
brought; she had yet strength enough to raise
her hand and push the cup towards Uncle
Peter, and, waiting for him to drink, her eyes
closed, and she became insensible.

“Oh, Sally! Sally!” called Uncle Peter,
“she is dead! she is dead!”

“Mercy! I wouldn't touch a corpse, for

[figure description] Page 404.[end figure description]

the life of me!” cried Rachel, and, forthwith,
both ran out of the room.

We poor frightened children did the best
we could, and after a few minutes our dear
aunt partially revived, and insisted that she
should not be carried to her bed until her
husband's return. He might think her worse
than she was, if he should come in and see
her there; and so, with some pillows, we
made her as comfortable as she thought she
ought to be, and waited anxiously for the
presence of the fugitives, whose disappearance
we could not account for. At the end of an
hour they came, and with them good Mrs.
Perrin, or Mrs. Furniss, as we should say,
I suppose. Obedient to the first generous
impulse of their hearts, and forgetful of the
little spite which, I doubt not, is felt by some
persons whenever a marriage takes place,
they had visited her, and besought her to
come to the Hall.

The well-fed donkey was led forth presently,
and Rachel, having invited Mrs. Furniss,
a dozen times, to come and drink tea
with her, and bring the old man along—to

[figure description] Page 405.[end figure description]

be sure and come very soon—mounted, and
rode homeward.

And days passed; and no rain fell. The
clouds looked thin and dry and far away, and
fell apart, time after time, and seemed to
mingle with the dust that filled all the atmosphere.
The yet green leaves crisped and
curled up, and the garden flowers blackened,
together, like roses in a drawer; the grass
withered white; and the hungry cattle sullenly
came to the well to drink; for we could
see all the bottoms of the brooks parched by
the hot sun; the red and green crawfishes lay
dead along the pebbly courses of the brooks;
and the crows came down and had a feast.

Aunt Sally was still getting better, she
said; if it would rain, if it would only rain!
she should be quite well. And Mrs. Furniss
frequently stayed all day, and all night too.
She could stay from home better, now, than
she used to, and we were all glad that it was
so. Sometimes, Mr. Furniss himself came, and
brought ripe apples and peaches, which Aunt
Sally could not eat, but which pleased her,

[figure description] Page 406.[end figure description]

nevertheless, for we are children, to the last,
when receiving kindness. She would eat them
another time, she always said, smiling; but
the time never came.

And, day by day, Uncle Peter brought a
button to the bedside to be sewed on, or a
torn glove to be mended, telling my aunt,
to comfort her, that he was slowly gaining
strength, though he had great reason to complain
of his appetite, which, indeed, the cook
had, also. Sometimes he would ask her if she
felt like riding out with him that day, for he
had the sun-set and the sun-rise to manage,
outside of the Hall, and could not have
neglected his drives about the neighborhood,
on any account. She fretted that his obligations
were so heavy that he must brave heat
and dust; and then, too, though he did not
speak of it, it pained him to be from her side.
She wished it would rain, on his account.
She didn't feel how much her own dry hands
and cheeks needed a moist atmosphere. “If
Mr. Throckmorton could only be with me
more,” she said; “but he must not neglect his
duties, and I must not complain. I am so

[figure description] Page 407.[end figure description]

much weaker than he; he never murmurs,
and it is very hard for him.”

And all these days, so dreary to me, the
cheeks of Rose had been blooming more and
more. I knew what was the cause of her
happiness, though she never spoke of it.
There was nothing to tell; she had told me
so once, and I made no further inquiries. I
saw little of Doctor Stafford Graham. His
smile was the same, when we met. I felt that
it might be sweet to others, but it had lost its
power over me. He seemed very cold—
haughty, I thought sometimes. Rosalie said
he was not so. Perhaps he was not, to
her.

One morning he inquired for Mr. Throckmorton,
instead of Rosalie, and, after a brief,
and what seemed formal interview, they drank
wine together. Uncle Peter then called Rosalie,
and kissed her, and she and her lover
walked apart, in the garden. He bent softly
toward her, and spoke with a tenderness
which her gay and independent nature had
never seemed to me to demand. Aunt Sally,
and Mrs. Furniss, and all, now talked of

[figure description] Page 408.[end figure description]

Woodside as the future home of Rose, and
she asked me what the style of her wedding-dress
should be, having never said there was
to be a wedding; and I tried to smile; for,
though she was lost to me, she was not lost to
herself.

There was something so beautiful in the
perfect happiness of my sister, and in her
confidence that it would last always, that we
all felt some little portion of her blessedness.
Old Mr. Furniss actually laughed, once or
twice; but this might have been accounted
for, in part, by the fact that he had lately
almost renewed himself, in his happiness.
The cow and the garden gave him employment.
Even Aunt Sally revived, somewhat:
her own blest wedding-day was so forcibly
brought to her mind.

“You will be well enough to witness the
marriage,” said Uncle Peter. He would not
listen to a perhaps; it must be so. And,
having laid his hand on a dry pine table, he
received an impression that Mrs. Throckmorton's
little indisposition was solely owing to a
deficiency of will. If she would exert a little

[figure description] Page 409.[end figure description]

will, she would get up at once. In fact, she
was up; she didn't know it, that was all.
From that day, she blamed herself more for
being ill than she had previously done; all
the power, all the will she had, she exerted, to
appear better than she was; she would get up
and sew a little, when Uncle Peter came into
the room, though the needle often fell from
her fingers, and her eyes grew blind.

“Have me a new cap made,” she said to
Mrs. Furniss, one day, “and let it be just like
yours; just that style, Mrs. Furniss, be very
particular about that.”

I understood that this was designed as a sort
of atonement to our neighbor for Aunt Sally's
having said she didn't like the fashion of her
caps.

The old wedding-dress was laid on the
grass, to bleach—the grass, still brown and
dry, for there had been no rain—and, under
the supervision of Mrs. Furniss and Uncle
Peter, the preparations for the wedding went
forward. Every day my aunt said she was
better, and every day her hand grew more
transparent, more like flexible pearl. She

[figure description] Page 410.[end figure description]

could only make a pretence of work now, but
she kept her basket by her, that my uncle
might think she was sometimes busy. “How
is the will to-day, Mrs. Throckmorton?” he
would ask, and she, with difficulty repressing
her cough, would answer, “Thank you, Mr.
Throckmorton; I am better—I shall be
dressed by Wednesday.” This was the day
appointed for Rosalie's marriage.

Now and then Mrs. Furniss, who had grown
young and active since that notable exhibition
of her ingratitude toward the master of
the Hall, would steal away to Woodside, to
inquire of the health of Mr. Henry Graham,
about which she felt an instinctive alarm; and
sometimes, when she met his brother, the
doctor, would question him very closely on
the subject; but he could not perceive the
least occasion for uneasiness, he said; “Henry
has no disease; he seems to be depressed,
indifferent to everything, that is all; if he
would summon back a little courage, he
would be well enough in a fortnight.” But
the good woman had been the nurse of the
neighborhood too long, and too observant of

[figure description] Page 411.[end figure description]

mortal maladies, to be very sanguine, even
when she heard that Henry Graham was
again with Nellie, out in the woods.

Wednesday came, and was almost over.
The sun had set, but no dew fell on the
parched and withered grass, and the stars
winked sultrily through the dusty haze. My
aunt's white dress, scented with roses, was
brought into her room, and she said she was
well enough to have it put on. She sat
feebly, half-reclining, on the sofa, leaning her
burning cheek upon her thin, pale hand, and
as we adjusted some few flowers in her cap,
she said, over and over, “Oh, if it would rain!
everything is so dry!”

Rose looked very beautiful. A day in the
city, with my uncle, had enabled her to select
a costume for the occasion that illustrated the
perfection of her taste, which, in everything
connected with personal appearance, was
intuitively correct. There was some sadness
in all our hearts for Aunt Sally's illness, but
my sister was, nevertheless, filled with that
still and almost divine happiness, which, in the
last hours before a longed-for bridal, if ever
in human life, has dominion over us.

[figure description] Page 412.[end figure description]

I saw her when, her toilet complete, she
came into my aunt's room, and kissed her,
with tears and smiles struggling for dominion
over her sweet face. There was a noise and
a cloud of dust at the gate. I held her hand
a moment tight in mine; I could not let her
go; but she said, tremblingly, “He has
come!” There was one whose claim was
greater than mine, I felt, and let her go, and
the next moment her blushes were hid in the
bridegroom's bosom. With a smile that said
the pride and power of manhood were strong
beneath it, he looked down upon her, and put
his arm about her waist, and between her and
me.

The guests came in, and were greeted by
Uncle Peter with his customary phrase, and
more than his customary self-importance; the
minister came, and gossipped of the last ten
years' marriages in the neighborhood; and
at length the solemn service was said, and,
“forsaking all others,” my sister was the wife
of Stafford Graham.

There were lights, and flowers, and guests
in the parlor, and Aunt Sally sat upright on
the sofa, in her apartment, lamps burning

[figure description] Page 413.[end figure description]

about her, and making the atmosphere hotter
and dryer than before, waiting for Uncle
Peter to help her. She could not walk without
him, and had asked for him till she was
weary, and now sat quite still.

“My dear Mrs. Throckmorton,” he said, at
last, appearing at the door. For the first time
she did not answer him. He had not come
to help her as she had desired, and she was
gone alone. Gone where her thirst was satisfied
in the full fountain of love.

I will attempt no description of the funeral.
It had all the pomp and circumstance which
my uncle deemed appropriate for the obsequies
of Mrs. P. I. T. Throckmorton. He
sustained the office of chief mourner with
an evident consciousness of the dignity with
which it invested him. When all the melancholy
rites were done, and all the incentives
to display over, he must have felt some compunctious
visitings; but the world about him
never had reason to suspect, from his
demeanor, that he did not doubt whether she
were a gainer in being removed to Paradise
from Throckmorton Hall.

[figure description] Page 414.[end figure description]

I was at Woodside, whither I had been preceded
by my sister and her husband. It was
the morning of the Sabbath, and the leaves
rattled, for there was a little wind stirring
now, and one black, heavy cloud, was low in
the west. As the day went by, the wind
strengthened, and occasional gusts swept
through the grounds, wailing and hurried, and
the cloud rose and widened until it covered
half the sky. Little Nellie, looking weary,
but patient and meek, carried the baby from
room to room—now where the elder Mrs.
Graham sat, in the midst of her incongruous
accumulations, growling discontent as the
children approached; and now where the
mother, pale and cold as a marble statue, sat
quietly in moody and hopeless reveries.
With a wave of the hand she would repel
their approach, and, then, with a flushed
countenance, that betrayed her sensitive
nature, Nellie would softly close the door,
lest her mother should be disturbed, and
slowly climb the stairs to the highest room in
the house, where she was sure of a welcome,
for there lay her sick father, the weaknesses

[figure description] Page 415.[end figure description]

of whose nature, whatever they were, all
leaned to the side of virtue, and invested his
affection for shi children with even a touching
tenderness. There poor Nellie was called a
dear good child; her worn-out clothes were
pinned together, and a holiday dress promised
her. No wonder she went up to the lonesome
garret; but the baby, puny and weak,
grew fretful there, and her visits were short
ones.

The day passed along till near the evening,
and there was still no rain. I had been about
the garden till I was tired. It was a beautiful
place, to be sure, for Henry had watered
the flowers, and kept them fresh through all
the drought. At the foot of a shady slope I
had been sitting, for there was a pool of
water, with lilies undulating on its surface.
Over the margin of its stony basin it flowed
away, and the grass was green where it went.
Toward night I gathered some flowers that grew
there, fragrant and dewy, and seeing Nellie
ascend the stairs as I entered the house, put
them in her hand, a present for her father.

“Come with me,” she said, smiling, and I

[figure description] Page 416.[end figure description]

followed the long, dusty way. It was in a
most cheerless-looking attic that he lay, colorless
and thin. The sunshine had poured all
day on the roof. The curtainless windows were
full of spiders, working busily at their nets,
which, heavy with dust, reached along from
rafter to rafter. The mice crossed the floor
fearlessly, and a pie, with a fly-specked crust,
stood on a chair by the side of the cot-bed
whereon the miserable invalid lay, and next to
it a cup, partly filled with cold coffee, that told
something of the neglect he suffered. Accumulations
of old clothes were here and there in
musty and moth-eaten heaps, making unwholesome
the hot air; and the floor seemed not to
have been in contact with water for a lifetime.
A pile of curious shells and stones,
some stuffed birds, abused books, and a broken
violin, were in one corner. They had been
there, he said, since he moved up stairs,
though how long that had been, or for what
purpose he had moved up stairs, I could not
guess. The last winter's blankets and coverlets,
and sheets, too, apparently, were spread
over the bed, and the one pillow was too

[figure description] Page 417.[end figure description]

small. He was watching the flies as they
struggled in the spider-webs overhead, and as
he turned towards us, his blue and sunken
eyes twinkled with something like pleasure.
There was not much that I could do just then.
The unsightly pie I removed, and put my
flowers in its place. Jo, at my request,
brought water, and while I bathed the
neglected patient's face and hands, she sprinkled
the floor. Clean white sheets were
brought, and fresh pillows, and at the sunset
he said he was better. I sat down by the
bedside; the baby was placed near him, and
with his hand on its head he listened, while
I expressed the regrets felt that he had
been unable to attend the marriage of Rosalie,
and my anticipations of happiness in
residing with her at Woodside, and told something
of the plans we had already thought
of for rendering the house itself as cheerful
as his taste and industry had made all the
grounds around it. His eyes brightened, and
a new interest beamed in them. Everything
had been neglected, he said, since he was ill;
but I assured him the flowers were as fresh

[figure description] Page 418.[end figure description]

about the fountain as if his training hand had
been over them that very hour. The enthusiasm
of his nature was awakened, and Nellie
could not help saying, “Oh, father, how much
better you are!”

He smiled upon her, and said, “Go, my
dear, and see if your mother will not come
and see me a few moments, and tell her our
new sister is here.” The answer with which
the child soon returned, that the mother did
not feel like coming, brought back the air of
melancholy depression from which he had
been aroused, but after a moment he said,
abruptly, “I wish Stafford would come up;”
and Nellie flew to find him. Her uncle was
drinking tea with Aunt Rosalie; he would
come presently; and the promise was a new
inspiration. But we waited a long time;
waited an hour; and Dr. Graham did not
come; and, then, softened as a tender-hearted
boy might be by an unkind surprise, his eyes
filled with tears, until, partially recalling the
little energy of his nature, he remarked to me,
“You are so nearly one of us, now, and
your relation to the family seems so natural

[figure description] Page 419.[end figure description]

and settled, that I may tell you why I was
anxious to see Stafford. He will not trouble
himself to come up to this gloomy place to
see me to-night, and I have a presentiment
that when he does come it will be too late for
all I should have it in my heart to say, if he
were here. We have held this property of
Woodside together. We have not agreed,
nor yet agreed to disagree. I have worked
hard, but have not fared so well as he. All
has been wrong, in someway, and I have been
thinking we might arrange it for our mutual
benefit. I want to give him all that he can
ask; submit my will in everything to his;
and, by removing causes of distrust, see if he
cannot be won to a more fraternal regard for
me—see if we cannot really be brothers. His
marriage furnishes a suitable occasion for such
a settlement of our business. He would not,
I think, be ungenerous; for myself, I shall
have little use for anything any more; but the
claims of these dear children, and—and—all
the claims that can exist through me, I would,
to-day, submit unreservedly to his decision—
and compel him to feel, while I remain in the

[figure description] Page 420.[end figure description]

world, some affection for me. You see, however,
that he has forgotten me.”

“He has just gone into a new world, you
know,” I said, “so it is no wonder he forgets
the old; but I will find him;” and I descended
in search of Stafford.

“A new world,” I heard him say; “who
can tell what such worlds may be!” I went
from room to room, searching for the brother,
but he was nowhere to be found, and extended
my inquisition to the garden, and up and
down the various walks, and into the beautiful
arbor, where the harvest flowers still were
fair, despite the weeks of dry heat, which had
made deserts of the open fields. It was true
that Henry feared; he had been quite forgotten;
but Stafford would go now, with Rosalie,
and he inquired if I proposed returning again
to see “the attic philosopher.” I wanted
only to gather a fresh bouquet, and as I did
so, a slight sound, like a distant footstep,
arrested my attention, and looking down the
slope, I thought I saw a human figure moving
along. The cloud was rapidly coming up the
sky, and the wind blowing. It was, in part,

[figure description] Page 421.[end figure description]

the noise of the dry leaves, and the rest fancy,
I concluded, and, with my flowers, returned to
the house. Up and up we went, to the garret,
and as I opened the door, the wind blew out
my lamp.

“Well, Henry,” said Stafford, going close
to the bed, “you must forgive me,” and he
reached out his hand, but none was extended
to meet it. “Get a light,” he said, passing
his hand hurriedly and alarmedly along the
bed. The light was brought, and there lay
the baby fast asleep, and there sat little
Nellie, her head on the bedside, and fast
asleep too. “Father is better,” she had said,
and had yielded to Nature's sweet restorer,
with an unwonted look of pleasure beaming
all over her face.

Stafford bent, with the lamp in his hand,
over the uncomfortable bed, and then moved,
with an expression of anxiety, touched with
remorse, along the garret, saying, “It is not
strange that he is ill; these things must be
changed;” and to his accusing conscience,
“I never dreamed he was so badly cared for.”
And Rose said, “Oh, we have been so happy,

[figure description] Page 422.[end figure description]

and your brother here! it shall not hereafter
be so. We have been selfish in our joy;
come, I will find him;” and, directed by her
heart, she went to the parlor of Annette.
“He has not been here; pray don't disturb
me,” was all the answer here given to her
inquiries, and thence she proceeded from
room to room; and all this time there had
been an awful fear upon my heart, that I
dared not speak; but when I saw the face of
Stafford grow white, I said, I thought, as I
gathered the flowers, I had seen some one in
the garden.

The cloud had spread all over the sky now,
and the slow rain was falling. With lanterns
we went out, all together. No one spoke, but,
by one instinct, we sought the pool at the
foot of the grounds. The water was shallow,
scarce two feet deep, so that when our lights
were lowered to its surface, we could see all
it contained. The knowledge I had of the
poor man's temper and melancholy life, had
brought a fear that forbade surprise. In the
last struggle he had reached one hand up
through the lilies, as though there was

[figure description] Page 423.[end figure description]

something in the world to take hold of yet, and the
fingers had stiffened about a stone.

When, afterward, I told Stafford of the
generous purposes for which Henry would
have seen him that fatal night, his heart was
softened, and he even shed tears.

The days brightened ere long, and gaiety
came to Woodside, with the hope of prosperous
years. I cannot yet read clearly the destinies
of Stafford and Rosalie, but the signs
are propitious, and if they are not mated as
well as married, why it is fortunate that
neither is so constituted as to die of a broken
heart.

Mrs. Annette Graham is slowly recovering,
and proposes making a long journey, in company
with her mother-in-law, for the complete
restoration of her health, and the dissipation
of her grief. Whether that venerable dame
will leave her den, is, however, somewhat
doubtful; but Woodside is less agreeable to
her than formerly; she feels that her dominion
there is broken for ever; and Rose indulges
the pleasant dream, not only of her undertaking
the journey with Annette, but that she

[figure description] Page 424.[end figure description]

may make up her mind to pass the remainder
of her life with a dear, distant relative, of
whom she talks a great deal.

Mrs. Furniss spreads her table for two, and
finds pleasure in the addition to her housekeeping
cares. Her husband rents advantageously
his property in town, makes the cottage
his home, and declares that seeing to the
cow and the garden is just what is necessary
for his health. Rachel says she shall not rest
till grandmam and Annette have “cleared
out,” nor then, unless she believes “that'll be
the last we shall hear of 'em,” and when she
sees the handsome monument which has
already been placed above the remains of
Henry, she places her arms akimbo, and confesses
her belief that “Jordan is a hard road
to travel.”

The last time I saw Uncle Peter, he had
his hand on a pine table, in the hope of
receiving “a communication” from poor
Aunt Sally, whose shade he entreated more
tenderly than I ever knew her living self to
be. He had just received, he told me, an
“impression,” through the dear deceased,

[figure description] Page 425.[end figure description]

that Gabriel would thenceforth abide at
Throckmorton Hall, and that he himself should
become his “medium.”

So my characters are all disposed of, as
well, perhaps, as their respective qualities,
and the average chances of the world, admitted,
and yet how different their histories
might have been, if all parties had been.
MATED, as well as MARRIED!