'i._j>-- 
 
 %^' 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Ci, M. Gallagher 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 1949.H8F19 
 
 3 1924 022 065 696 ••• 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022065696 
 
Family Pride 
 
 OR, 
 
 Purified by Suffering, 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY J. HOLMES, 
 
 MthoT of "Dora Deane," "The English Orphans," " Homestea^i 
 on the Hillside," "Tempest and Sunshine,'' " Lena Rivers,'' 
 
 " Meadowbrook," "Cousin Maude," etc., etc. , 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & CO. m^ij j 
 Chicago. 
 
P5 
 
 A.)^3(.4r/ 
 
FAMILY PRIDE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE FARMHOUSE AT SILVERTON. 
 
 Uncle Ephraim Barlow, deacon of the orthodox churchl 
 in Silverton, Massachusetts, was an old-fashioned man, 
 clinging to the old-time customs of his fathers, and look- 
 ing with but little toleration upon what he termed the 
 "new-fangled notions" of the present generation. Bom 
 and reared amid the rocks and hills of the Bay State, 
 his nature partook largely of the nature of his surround- 
 ings, and he grew into manhood with many a rough point 
 adhering to his character, which, nevertheless, taken as a 
 whole, was, like the wild New England scenery, beautiful 
 and grand. None knew Uncle Ephraim Barlow but to 
 respect him, and at the church where he was a worshiper 
 few would have been missed more than the tall, muscular 
 man, with the long, white hair, who Sunday after Sunday 
 walked slowly up the middle aisle to his accustomed seat 
 before the altar, and who regularly passed the contrib«K 
 tion box, bowing involuntarily in token of approbation 
 when a neighbor's* gift was larger than its wont, and 
 gravely dropping in his own ten cents — never more, n#ver 
 less — always ten cents — his weekly offering, which he 
 knew amounted in a year to just five dollars and twenty 
 cents. And still Uncle Ephraim was not stingy, as the 
 Silverton poor could testify, for many a load of wood and 
 bag of meal found entrance to the doors where cold'' and 
 hunger would have otherwise been, while to his minister 
 he was literally a holder up of the weary hands, and a 
 comforter in the time of trouble. 
 
 His helpmeet. Aunt Hannah, like that virtuous woman 
 
6 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 mentioned in the Bible, was one "who seeketh wool and 
 flax, and worketh willingly with her hands, who "^^ „ 
 while yet it is night, and giveth meat to her household. 
 Indeed, for this last stirring trait Aunt Hannah was 
 rather famous, especially on ' Monday mornings, when 
 her washing was invariably swinging on the line ready 
 to greet the rising sun. 
 
 Miss Betsy Barlow, too, the deacon's maiden sister, 
 was a character in her way, and was surely not one of 
 those vain, frivolous females to whom the Apostle Paul 
 had reference when he condemned the plaiting of hair 
 and the wearing of gold and jewels. Quaint, queer and 
 simple-hearted, she had but little idea of any world this 
 side of heaven, except the one bounded by the "huckle- 
 berry" hills and the crystal waters of Fairy Pond, which 
 from the back door of the farmhouse were plainly seen, 
 both in the summer sunshine and when the intervening 
 fields were covered with the winter snow. 
 
 The home of such a trio was, like themselves, ancient 
 and unpretentious, nearly one hundred years having 
 elapsed since the solid foundation was laid to a portion of 
 the building. Unquestionably, it was the oldest house in 
 Silverton, for on the heavy, oaken door of what was 
 called the back room was still to be seen th? mark of a 
 bullet, left there by some marauders who, during the 
 Revolution, had encamped in that neighborhood. George 
 Washington, too, it was said, had once spent a night 
 beneath its roof, the deacon's m.other poui4ng for him 
 her Bohea tea and breaking her home-made bread. Since 
 iti^t time several attempts had been made to modernize 
 •Bie house. Lath and plaster had been put upon the rafters 
 and paper upon the walls, wooden latches had given place 
 to iron, while in the parlor, where Washington had slept, 
 there was the extravagance of a knob, a genuine porce- 
 lain knob, such, as Uncle Ephraim said, was only fit for 
 the gentry who could afford to be grand. For himself, 
 he was content to live as his father did ; but young folks, 
 he supposed, must in some things have their way, and so 
 when his pretty niece, who had lived with him from child- 
 hood to the day of her marriage, came back to him a 
 widow, bringing her two fatherless children and a host 
 of new irieas. he good-humoredly suffered her to tear 
 
THE FARMHOUSE AT SILVERTON. 7 
 
 down some of his household idols and replace Jthem with 
 her own. And thus it was that the farmhouse gradually 
 changed its appearance both outwardly and in, for young 
 womanhood which had but one glimpse of the outer 
 world will not settle down quietly amid fashions a century 
 old. And Lucy Lennox, when she returned to the farm- 
 house, was not quite the same as when she went away. 
 Indeed, Aunt Betsy in her guileless heart feared that she 
 had actually fallen from grace, imputing the fall wholly 
 to Lucy's predileftion for a certain little book on whose 
 back was written "Common Prayer," and at which Aunt 
 Betsy scarcely dared to look, lest she should be guilty of 
 the enormities practiced by the Romanists themselves. 
 Qearer headed than his sister, the deacon read the black- 
 bound book, finding therein much that was good, but 
 wondering why, when folks promised to renounce the 
 pomps and vanities, they did not do so, instead of acting 
 more stuck up than ever. Inconsistency was the under- 
 lying strata of the whole Episcopal Church, he said, and 
 as Lucy, without taking any public step, had still declared 
 her preference for that church, he, too, in a measure, 
 charged her propensity for repairs to the same source 
 with Aunt Betsy; but, as he could really see no sin m 
 what she did, he suffered her in most things to have her 
 way. But when she contemplated an attack upon the 
 huge chimney occupying the center of the building, he 
 interfered ; for there was r.-~-'Mt:^ he liked better than the 
 bright fire on the hearth v .5.11 the evenings grew chilly 
 and long, and the autumn rain was falling upon the roof. 
 The chimney should stand, he said; and as no amount' 
 of coaxing could pjevail on him to revoke his decision, 
 th^ chimney stood, and with it the three fireplaces, where, 
 in the fall and spring, were burned the twisted knots too 
 bulky for the kitchen stove. This was fourteen years 
 ago, and in that lapse of time Lucy Lennox had gradually 
 fallen in with the family ways of living, and ceased to talk 
 of her cottage in Western New York, where her husband 
 had died and where were born her daughters, one of 
 whom she was expecting home on the warm July day 
 when our story opens. 
 
 Kate, or Katy Lennox, our heroine, had been for a year 
 an inmate of Canandaigua Seminary, whither she was 
 
8 FAMILY PRIDE, 
 
 sent at the expense of a distant relative to whom hef 
 father had been guardian, and who, during her infancy, 
 had also had a home with Uncle Ephriam, her mother 
 having brought her with her when, after her husband s 
 death, she returned to Silverton. Dr. Morris Grant he 
 was now, and he had just come home from a three years 
 sojourn in Paris, and was living in his own handsome 
 dwelling across the fields toward Silverton village, and 
 half a mile or more from Uncle Ephraim's farmhouse. 
 He had written from Paris, offering to send his cousms, 
 Helen and Kate, to any school their mother might select, 
 and as Canandaigua was her choice, they had both gone 
 thither a year ago, Helen, the eldest, falling sick withm 
 the first three months, and returning home to Silverton, 
 satisfied that the New England schools were good enough 
 for her. This was Helen ; but Katy was different. Katy 
 was more susceptible of polish and refinement — so the 
 mother thought ; and as she arranged and rearranged the 
 little parlor, lingering longest by the piano. Dr. Morris* 
 gift, she drew bright pictures of her favorite child, won- 
 dering how the plain farmhouse and its inmates would 
 seem to her after Canandaigua and all she must have 
 seen during her weeks of travel since the close of the 
 summer term. And then she wondered next why Cousin 
 Morris was so much annoyed when told that Katy had 
 accepted an invitation to accompany Mrs. Woodhull and 
 her party on a trip to Montreal and Lake George, taking 
 Boston on her homeward route. Surely Katy's move- 
 ments were nothing to him, unless — and the little, ambi- 
 tious mother struck at random a few notes of the soft- 
 toned piano as she thought how possible it was that the 
 interest always manifested by the staid, quiet Morris 
 Grant for her light-hearted Kate was more than a broth- 
 erly interest, such as he would naturally feel for the 
 daughter of one who had been to him a second father. 
 But Katy was so much a child when he went away to 
 Paris that it could not be. She would sooner think of 
 the dark-haired Helen, who was older and more like him. 
 "It's Helen, if anybody," she said aloud, just as a voice 
 at the window called out: "Please, Cousin Lucy, relieve 
 me of these flowers. I brought them over in honor of 
 Katy's return." 
 
THE FARMHOUSE AT BILVERTON. 9 
 
 Blushing guiltily, Mrs. Lennox advanced to meet a tall, 
 dark-looking man, with a grave, pleasant face, which, 
 when he smiled, was strangely attractive, from the sud- 
 den lighting up of the hazel eyes and the glitter of the 
 white, even teeth disclosed so fully to view. 
 
 "Oh, thank you, Morris! Kitty will like thenl, I am 
 sure," Mrs. Lennox said, taking from his hand a bouquet 
 of the choice flowers which grew only in the hothouse 
 at Linwood. "Come in for a moment, please." 
 
 "No, thank you," the doctor replied. "There is a case 
 of rheumatism just over the hill, and I must not be idle 
 if I would retain the practice given to me. Not that I 
 make anything but good will as yet, for only the Silverton 
 poor dare trust their lives in my inexperienced hands. 
 But I can afford to wait," and with another flash of the 
 hazel eyes Morris walked away a pace or two, but, as if 
 struck with some sudden thought, turned back, and 
 fanning his heated face with his leghorn hat, said, hesi-r 
 tatingly: "By the way. Uncle Ephraim's last payment on 
 the old mill falls due to-morrow. Tell him, if he says 
 anything in your presence, not to mind unless it is per- 
 fectly convenient. He must be somewhat straitened just 
 now, as Katy's trip cannot have cost him a small sum." 
 
 The clear, penetrating eyes were looking full at Mrs. 
 Lennox, who for a moment felt slightly piqued that Mor- 
 ris Grant should take so much oversight of her uncle's 
 affairs. It was natural, too, that he should, she knew, 
 for, widely different as were their tastes and positions in 
 life, there was a strong liking between the old man and 
 the young, who, from having lived nine years in the 
 family, took a kindly interest in everything pertaining 
 to them. 
 
 "Uncle Ephraim did not pay the bills," Mrs. Lennox 
 faltered at last, feeling intuitively how Morris' deHcate 
 sense of propriety would shrink from her next communi- 
 cation. "Mrs. Woodhull wrote that the expense should 
 be nothing to me, and as she is fully able, and makes so 
 much of Katy, I did not think it wrong." 
 
 ''Lucy Lennox! I am astonished!" was all Morris 
 could say, as the tinge of wounded pride dyed his cheek. 
 
 Kate was a connection — distant, it is true ; but his blood 
 was in her veins, and his inborn pride shrank from re- 
 
10 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 ceiving so much from strangers, while he wondered at her 
 mother, feeling more and more convinced that what 
 had so long suspected was literally true. Mrs. Lennox 
 was weak, Mrs. Lennox was ambitious, and for the sa 
 of associating her daughter with people whom the wona 
 had placed above her she would stoop to accept that upon 
 which she had no claim. f xr *■ • 
 
 "Mrs. Woodhull was so urgent and so fond ot i^aty , 
 and then, I thought it well to give her the advantage ot 
 being with such people as compose that party, the very 
 first in Canandaigua, besides some from New V;ork, Mrs. 
 Lennox began in self-defense, but Morris did not stop to 
 hear more, and hurried off a second time while Mrs. Len- 
 nox looked after him, wondering at the feelmg which she 
 called pride, and which she could not understand. It 
 Katy can go with the Woodhulls and their set, I certainly 
 shall not prevent it," she thought, as she continued her 
 arrangement of the parlor, wishing so much that it was 
 more like what she remembered Mrs. WoodhuU's to have 
 been, fifteen years ago. 
 
 Of course that lady had kept up with the times, and 
 if her old house was finer than anything Mrs. Lennox 
 had ever seen, what must her new one be, with all the 
 modem improvements? and, leaning her head upon the 
 •►mantel, Mrs. Lennox thought how proud she would be 
 could she live to see her daughter in similar circum- 
 stances to the envied Mrs. Woodhull, at that moment in 
 the crowded car between Boston and Silverton, tired, hot, 
 and dusty, worn out, and as nearly cross as a fashionable 
 lady can be. 
 
 A call from Uncle Ephraim aroused her, and going 
 out into the square entry she tied his gingham cravat, and 
 then handing him the big umbrella, an appendage he took 
 with him in sunshine and in storm, she watched him as 
 he stepped into his one-horse wagon and drove briskly 
 away in the direction of the depot, where he was to meet 
 his niece. 
 
 "I wish Cousin Morris had offered his carriage," she 
 thought, as the corn-colored and white wagon disappeared 
 from view. "The train stops five minvites at West Sil- 
 verton, and some of those grand people will be likely to 
 see the turnout," and with a sigh as she doubted whether 
 
iBE FARMHOUSE AT SILVERTON, 11 
 
 it were not a disgrace as well as an inconvenience to be 
 poor, she repaired to the kitchen, where sundry savory 
 smells betokened a plentiful dinner. 
 
 Bending over the sink, with her cap strings tucked 
 back, her sleeves rolled up, and her short, purple calico 
 shielded from harm by her broad, motherly check apron. 
 Aunt Betsy stood cleaning the silvery onions, and occa- 
 sionally wiping her dim old eyes as the odor proved too 
 strong for her. At another table stood Aunt Hannah, 
 deep in the mysteries of the light, white crust which was 
 to cover the tender chicken boiling in the pot, while in 
 the oven bubbled and baked the custard pie, remembered 
 as Katy's favorite, and prepared for her coming by Helen 
 herself — ^plain-spoken, blue-eyed Helen — now out in the 
 strawberry beds, picking the few luscious berries which 
 almost by a miracle had been coaxed to wait for Katy, 
 who loved them so dearly. Like her mother, Helen had 
 wondered how the change would impress her bright little 
 sister, for she remembered well that even to her obtuse 
 perceptions there had come a pang when, after only three 
 months abiding in a place where the etiquette of life was 
 rigidly enforced, she had returned to their homely ways, 
 and felt that it was worse than vain to try to effect a 
 change. But Helen's strong sense, with the help of two 
 or three good cries, had carried her safely through, and 
 her humble home amid the hills was very dear to her now. 
 But she was Helen, as the mother had said ; she was dif- 
 ferent from Katy, who might be lonely and homesick, 
 sobbing herself to sleep in her patient sister's arms, as 
 she did on that first night in Canandaigua, which Helen 
 remembered so well. 
 
 "It's better, too, now, than when I came home," Helen 
 thought, as with her rich, scarlet fruit she went slowly 
 to the house. "Morris is here, and the new church, and 
 if she likes she can teach in Sunday school, though nTaybe 
 she will prefer going with Uncle Ephraim. He will be 
 pleased if she does," and, pausing by the door, Helen 
 looked across Fairy Pond in the direction of Silverton 
 village, where the top of a slender spire was just visible — • 
 the spire of St. John's, built within the year, and mostly, 
 as it was whispered, at the expense of Dr. Morris Grant, 
 who. a zealous churchman himself, had labored success- 
 
Missing Page 
 
THE FARMHOUSE AT SILVEETON. IS 
 
 pearance, and th® mental verdict of the four females re- 
 garding her intently was something as follows: Mrs. 
 Lennox detected unmistakable marks of the grand society 
 she had been mingling in, and was pleased accordingly; 
 Aunt Hannah pronounced her "the prettiest creeter she 
 had ever seen ;" Aunt Betsy decided that her hoops were 
 too big and her clQthes too fine for a Barlow ; while Helen, 
 who»dooked beyond dress, or style, or manner, straight 
 into her sister's soft, blue eyes, brimming with love and 
 tears, decided that Katy was not changed for the worse. 
 Nor was she. -Truthful, loviAg, simple-hearted and full 
 of playful life she had gone from hcMne, and she came 
 back the same — never once thinking of the difference be- 
 tween the farmhouse and Mrs. Woodhull's palace, or if 
 she dy, giving the preference to the "former. 
 
 "It was perfectly splendid to get home," she said, hand- 
 ing her gloves to Helen, her sunshade to her mother, her 
 satchel to Aunt Hannali, and tossing her bonnet in the 
 vicinity of the water pail — ^from which it was saved by 
 Aunt Betsy, who, remembering the ways of her favorite 
 child, put it carefully in the press, examining it closely 
 first and wcmdering how much it cost. 
 
 Deciding that "it was a good thumpin' price," she re- 
 turned to the kitchen, where Katy, dancing and curveting 
 in circles, scarcely stood still long enough for them to 
 see that in spite of boarding schod. fare, of which she 
 had complained so bitterly, her cheeks were rounded, her 
 eyes brighter, and her lithe little figure fuller than of old. 
 She bad improved in looks, but she did not appear to 
 know it, or to guess how beautiful she was in the fresh 
 bloom of seventeen, with her golden hair waving around 
 her childish forehead, and her deep, blue eyes laughing 
 so expressively with each change of her constantly vary- 
 ing face. Everything animate and inanimate pertaining 
 to the old house was noticed by her. She kissed the kit- 
 ten, squeezed the cat, hugged the dog, and hugged the 
 little goat, tied to his post in the clover yard and trying 
 so hard to get free. The horse, to whom she fed hand- 
 fuls of grass, had been already hugged. She did that the 
 first thing after strangling Uncle Ephraim as she alighted 
 frcMn the train, and some from the car window saw it, 
 teo, smiling at what they termed the charming simplicity 
 
14 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 of an enthusiastic schoolgirl. Blessed* youth! blessed 
 early girlhood, surrounded by a halo of rare beauty! It 
 was Katy's shield and buckler, warding off many a coia 
 criticism which might otherwise have been passed upon 
 her. , 
 
 They were sitting down to dinner now, and the deacon s 
 voice trembled as, with the blessing mveked, he tharikea 
 God for bringing back to them the little gir , whose lead 
 was for a moment bent reverently, but quickly lifted itself 
 up as its owner, in the same breath with that in which 
 the deacon uttered his amen, declared how hungry she 
 was, and went into rhapsodies over the nicely cooked 
 viands which loaded the table. The best bits were hers 
 that day, and she refused nothing until it came to Aunt 
 Betsy's onions, once her special delight, but now dec^ned, 
 greatly to. the distress of the old lady, who, having been 
 on the watch for "quirks," as she styled any departure 
 from long-established customs, now knew she had found 
 one, and with an injured expression withdrew the oSered 
 bowl, saying sadly : "You used to eat 'em raw, Catherine ; 
 what's got into you?" 
 
 It was the first time Aunt Betsy had called a name so 
 obnoxious to Kate, especially when, as in the present case, 
 great emphasis was laid upon the "rine," and from past 
 experience Katy knew that her good aunt was displeased. 
 Her first impulse was to accept the dish refused; but 
 when she remembered her reason for refusing, she said, 
 laughingly: "Excuse me. Aunt Betsy, I love them still, 
 but — ^but — well, the fact is, I am going by and by tb run 
 over and see Cousin Morris, inasmuch as he was not 
 polite' enough to come here, and you know it might not 
 be so pleasant." 
 
 "The land!" and Aunt Betsy brightened. "If that's 
 all, eat 'em. 'Tain't noways likely you'll get near enough 
 to him to make any difference — only turn your head when 
 you shake hands." 
 
 But Katy remained incorrigible, while Helen, who 
 guessed that her impulsive sister was contemplating a 
 warmer greeting of the doctor than a mere shaking of his 
 hands, kindly turned the conversation by telling how 
 Morris was improved by his tour abroad, and how much 
 the poor people thought of him. 
 
THE FARMHOUSE AT SILVEETON. 15 
 
 *^e is very fine looking, too," she said, whereupon 
 KsSy involuntarily exclaimed : "I wonder if he is as hand- 
 some as Wilford Cameron? Oh, I never wrote about 
 him, did I ?" and the little maiden began to blush as she 
 stirred her tea industriously, 
 
 "Who is Wilford Cameron?" asked Mrs. Lennox. 
 
 "Oh, he's Wilford Cameron, that's all; lives on Fifth 
 Avenue — ^is a lawyer — is very rich — a friend of Mrs. 
 Woodhull, and was with us in our travels," Katy an- 
 swered, rapidly, the red burning on her cheeks so brightly 
 that Aunt Betsy innocently passed her a big feather fan, 
 saying she looked mighty hot" 
 
 And Katy was warm, but whether from talking of Wil- 
 ford Cameron or not none could tell. She said no more 
 of him, but went on to speak of Morris, asking if it were 
 true, as she had heard, that he built the new church in 
 Silverton. 
 
 "Yes, and runs it, too," Aunt Betsy answered, ener- 
 getically, proceeding to tell what goin's-on they had, with 
 the minister shiftin' his clothes every now and ag'in, and 
 the folks all talkin' together. Morris got me in once," 
 she said, "and I thought meetin' was left out half a dozen 
 times, so much histin' round as there was. I'd as soon 
 go to a show,, if it was a good one, and I told Morris so. 
 He laughed and said I'd feel different when I knew 'em 
 better ; but needn't tell me that pray-ers made up is as 
 good as them as isn't, though Morris, I do believe, will 
 get to heaven a. long ways ahead of me, if he is a 'Pis- 
 copal." 
 
 To this there was no response, and being launched on 
 her favorite topic. Aunt Betsy continued : 
 
 "If you'll believe it, Helen here is one of 'em, and has 
 got a sight of .'Hscopal quirks into her head. Why, she 
 and, Morris sing that talkin'-like singin' Sundays* when 
 the folks git up and Helen plays the accordeon." 
 
 "Melodeon, aunty, melodeon," and Helen laughed mer- 
 rily at her aunt's mistake, turning the conversation again, 
 and this time to Canandaigua, where she had some ac- 
 quaintances. 
 
 But Katy was so much afraid of Canandaigua, and 
 •what talking of it might lead to, that she kept to Cousin 
 Morris, asking innumerable questions about him, his 
 
16 FAMILY PEros. 
 
 house and grounds, and whether there were as many 
 flowers there now as there used to be in the dayswnen 
 she and Helen went to say their lessons at Linwood, as 
 they had done before Morris sailed for Europe. 
 
 "I think it right mean in him not to be here to see 
 me," she said, poutingly, "and I am going over as quick 
 as I eat my dinner." 
 
 But against this all exclaimed at once. She was too 
 tired, the mother said. She must lie down and rest, while 
 Helen suggested that she had not yet told them about 
 her trip, and Uncle Ephraim remarked that she would 
 not find Morris home, as he was going that afternoon 
 to Spencer. This last settled it. Katy must stay at home ; 
 but instead of lying down or talking much about her- 
 journey, she explored every nook and crevice of the old 
 house and barn, finding the nest Aunt Betsy had so long 
 looked for in vain, and proving to the anxious dame that 
 she was right when she insisted that the speckled hen had 
 stolen her nest and was in the act of setting. Later in 
 the day, and a neighbor passing by spied the little maiden 
 riding in the cart off into the meadow, where she sported 
 like a child among the mounds of fragrant hay, playing 
 her jokes upon the sober deacon, who smiled fondly upon 
 her, feeling how much lighter the labor seemed because 
 she was there with him, a hindrance instead of a help, in 
 spite of her efforts to handle the rake skillfully. 
 
 "Are you glad to have me home again, Uncle Eph?" 
 she asked, when once she caught him regarding her with 
 a peculiar look. 
 
 "Yes, Katy-did, very glad," he answered. "I've missed 
 you every day, though you do nothing much but bother 
 me." 
 
 "Why did you look funny at me just now ?" Katy con- 
 tinued, and the deacon replied: "I was thinking how 
 hard it would be for such a highty-tighty thing as you 
 to meet the crosses and disappointments which lie all 
 along the road which you must travel. I should hate to 
 see your young life crushed out of you, as young lives 
 sometimes are." 
 
 "Oh, never fear for me. I am going to be happy all 
 my life long. Wilford Cameron said I ought to be," and 
 Katy tossed '"to the air a wisp of the new-made hay. 
 
THE PAEMHOUSE AT SILVERTON. 17 
 
 "1 rfon't know who Wilford Cameron is, but there's 
 no ought about it," the deacon rejoined. "God marks 
 out the path for us to walk in, and when he says it's best, 
 we know it is, though some are straight and pleasant 
 and others crooked and hard." 
 
 "Fll choose the straight and pleasant, then — ^why 
 shouldn't I?" Kate asked, laughingly, as she seated her- 
 self upon a rock near which the hay cart had stopped. 
 
 "Can't tell what path you'll take," the deacon answered. 
 "God knows whether you'll go easy through the world, 
 or whether he'll send you suffering to purify and make 
 you better." 
 
 "Purified by sui?ering," Kate said aloud, while a 
 shadow involuntarily crept for an instant over her gay 
 spirits. 
 
 She could not believe she was to be purified by suffer- 
 ing. She had never done anything very bad, and hum- 
 ming a part of a song learned from Wilford Cameron, 
 she followed after the loaded cart, returning slowly to 
 the house, thinking to heiRplf that there must be some- 
 thing great and good in tfte sutfering which should purify 
 at last, but hoping she , was not the one to whom this 
 great good should come. 
 
 It was supper time ere long, and after that was over 
 Kate announced her intention of going now to Linwood, 
 Morris' home, whether he were there or not. 
 
 "I can see the housekeeper and the birds and flowers, 
 and maybe he will come pretty soon," she said, as she 
 swung her straw hat by the string and started from the 
 door. 
 
 "Ain't Helen going with you?" Aunt Hannah asked, 
 while Helen herself looked a little surprised. 
 
 But Katy would rather go alone. She had a heap to 
 tell Cousin Morris, sjnd Helen could go next time. 
 
 "Just as you like,-" Helen answered, good-naturedly.; 
 but there was a half-dissatisfied, wistful look on her face 
 as she watched her young sister tripping across the fields 
 to (all on Morris Grant. 
 
IS FAMILY PEIDB. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 LINWOOD. 
 
 Morris had returned from Spencer, and in his '^J'^*?" 
 ing-gown and slippers was sitting by the window of his 
 cheerful library, looking out upon the purple sunshine 
 flooding the western sky, and thinking of the little girl 
 coming so rapidly up the grassy lane in the rear of the 
 house. He was going over to see her by and by, he said, 
 and he pictured to himself how she must look by this 
 time, hoping that he should not find her greatly changed, 
 for Morris Grant's memories were very precious of the 
 playful child who, in that very room where he was sitting, 
 used to tease and worry him so much with her lessons 
 poorly learned, and the never-ending jokes played off 
 upon her teacher. He had thought of her so often when 
 across the sea, and, knowing her love of the beautiful, 
 he had never looked upon a painting or scene of rare 
 beauty that he did not wish her by his side sharing in 
 the pleasure. He had brought her from that far-off land 
 many little trophies which he thought she would prize, 
 and which he was going to take with him when he went 
 to the farmhouse. He never dreamed of her coming there 
 to-night. She would, of course, wait for him. Helea 
 had, even when it was more her place to call upon him 
 first. How, then, was he amazed when, just as the sun 
 was going down and he was watching its last rays linger- 
 ing on the brow of the hill across the pond, the library- 
 door was opened wide and the room seemed suddenly 
 filled with life and joy, as a graceful figure, with reddish, 
 golden hair, bounded across the floor, and winding its 
 arms around his neck gave him the hearty kiss which 
 Katy had in her mind when she declined Aunt Betsy's 
 favorite vegetable. 
 
 Morris Grant was not averse to being kissed, and yet 
 the fact that Katy Lennox had kissed him in such a way 
 awoke a chill of disappointment, for it said that to her 
 he was the teacher still, the elder brother, whom, as a 
 child, she had in her pretty way loaded with caresses. 
 
UNWOOD. 19 
 
 "Oh, Cousin Morris!" she exclaimed, and, stiil holding 
 his hand: "Why didn't you come over at noon, you 
 naughty, naughty boy ? But what a splendid-looking man 
 you've got to be, though 1 and what do you think of me ?" 
 she added, blushing for the first time, as he held her off 
 from him and looked into the sunny face. 
 
 "I think you wholly unchanged," he answered, so 
 gravely that Katy began to pout as she said: "And you 
 are sorry, I know. Pray, what did you expect of me, and 
 what would you have me be?" 
 
 "Notiiing but what you are — the same Kitty as of old," 
 he answered, his own bright smile breaking all over his 
 sober face. 
 
 He saw that his manner repelled her, and he tried to 
 be natural, succeeding so well that Katy forgot her first 
 disappointment, and making him sit by her on the sofa, 
 where she could see him distinctly, she poured forth a 
 volley of talk, telling him, among other things, how much 
 afraid of him some of his letters made her — they were so 
 serious and so like a sermon. 
 
 "You wrote me once that you thought of being a min- 
 ister," she added. "Why did you change your mind? It 
 must be splendid, I think, to be a young clergyman — ^in- 
 vited to so many tea-drinkings, and having all the girls in 
 the parish after you, as they always are after unmarried 
 ministers." 
 
 Into Morris Grant's eyes there stole a troubled light 
 as he thought how little Katy realized what it was to be 
 a minister of God- — ^to point the people heavenward and 
 teach them the right way. There was a moment's pause, 
 and Ihen he tried to explain to her that he hoped he had 
 not been influety:ed either by thought of tea-drinking or 
 having the parish girls after him, but rather by an^honest 
 desire to choose the sphere in which he could accomplish 
 the most good. 
 
 "I did not decide rashly," he said, "but after weeks 
 of anxious thought and prayer for guidance I came to 
 the conclusion that in the practice of medicine I could 
 find perhaps as broad a field for good as in the church, 
 and so I decided to go on with my profession — to be a 
 physician of the poor and suffering, speaking to them of 
 Him who came to save, and in this way I shall not lab'^t 
 
20 FAMILY PEffiE. 
 
 in vain. Many would seek another place than Silverton' 
 and its vicinity, but something told me that my work was 
 here, and so I am content to stay, feeling thankful that 
 my means admit of my waiting for patients, if "^^^ ' 
 and at the same time ministering to the wants of those 
 who are needy." 
 
 Gradually, as he talked, there came into his face a light, 
 born only from the peace which passeth understandmg, 
 and the awe-struck Katy crept closer to his side, and, 
 grasping his hand in hers, said, softly: "Dear cousin, 
 .what a good man you are, and how silly I must seern to 
 you, thinking you cared for tea-drinkings, or even girls, 
 when, of course, you do not." 
 
 "Perhaps I do," the doctor replied, slightly pressing 
 the warm, fat hand holding his so fast. "A minister's or 
 a doctor's life would be dreary indeed if there was no 
 one to share it, and I have had my dreams of the girls, or 
 girl, who was some day to brighten up my home." 
 
 He looked fully at Katy now, but she was thinking of 
 som.ething else, and her next remark was to ask him, 
 rather abruptly, how old he was. 
 
 "Twenty-six last May," he answered, while Katy con- 
 tinued : "You are not old enough to be married yet. Wil- 
 ford Cameron is thirty." 
 
 "Where did you meet Wilford Cameron?" Morris 
 asked, in some surprise, and then the story which Katy 
 had not told, even to hef sister, came out in full, and 
 Morris tried to listen patiently while Katy explained how, 
 on the very first day of the examination, Mrs. Woodhull 
 had come in, and with her the grandest, proudest-looking 
 man, who the girls some of them said was Mr. Wilford 
 Cameron, from New York, a very fastidious bachelor, 
 whose family were noted for their wealth and exclusive- 
 ness, keeping six servants, and living in the finest style; 
 that Mrs. Woodhull, who all through the year had been 
 very kind to Katy, came to her after school and invited 
 her home to tea; that she had gone, and met Mr. Cam- 
 eron; that she was very much afraid of him at first, and 
 was not sure that she was quite over it now, although 
 he was so polite to her all through the journey, taking so 
 much pains to have her see the finest sights, and laughing 
 at her enthusiasm. 
 
LINWOOD. 21 
 
 "Wilford Cameron with you on your trip?" Morris 
 asked, a new idea dawning on his mind. 
 
 "Yes; let me tell you," and Katy spoke rapidly. "I 
 saw him that night, and then Mrs. WoodhuU took me 
 to ride with him in the carriage, and then — well, I rode 
 alone with him once down by the lake, and he talked to 
 me just as if he was not a grand man and I a little school- 
 girl. And when the term closed I stayed at Mrs. Wood- 
 hull's, and he was there. He liked my playing and liked 
 my singing, and I guess he liked me — that is, you know — 
 yes, he liked me some," an4 Katy twisted the fringe of 
 her shawl, while Morris, in spite of the pain tugging at 
 his heartstrings, laughed aloud as he rejoined: "I have 
 no doubt he did ; but go on — what next ?" 
 
 "He said more about my joining that party than any- 
 body, and I am very sure he paid the bills." 
 
 "Oh, Katy," and Morris started as if he had been 
 stung. "I would rather have^ given Linwood than have 
 you thus indebted to Wilford Cameron or any other man." 
 
 "I could not well help it. I did not mean any harm," 
 Katy said, timidly, for at first slie had shrunk from the 
 proposition, but Mrs. Woodhull seemed to think it right, 
 urging it on until she had consented, and so she said 
 to Morris, explaining how kind Mr. Cameron was, and 
 how careful not to remind her of her indebtedness to him, 
 attending to and anticipating every want as if she had 
 been his sister. 
 
 "You would like Mr. Cameron, Cousin Morris. He 
 made me think of you a little, only he is prouder," and 
 Katy's hand moved up Morris' coat sleeve till it rested 
 on his shoulder. 
 
 "Perhaps so,'- Morris answered, feeling a growing re- 
 sentment toward one who, it seemed to him, had dm^e him 
 some great wrong. 
 
 But Wilford was not to blame, he reflected. He could 
 not well help liking the bright little Katy — some ; and so, 
 conquering all ungenerous feelings, he turned to her at 
 last and said : 
 
 "Did my little Cousin Kitty like Wilford Cameron?" 
 
 Something in Morris' voice startled Katy strangely; 
 her hand came down from his shoulder, and for an in- 
 stant there swept over her an emotion similar to what she 
 
22 FAMILY PKIDB. 
 
 had felt when with Wilford Cameron she rambled along 
 the shores of Lake George, or sat alone with him on the 
 deck of the steamer which carried them down Lake Cham- 
 plain. But Morris had always been her brother, and she 
 did not guess how hard it was for him to keep from tell- 
 ing her then that she was more to him than a sister. Had 
 he told her, this story, perhaps, had not been written ; but 
 he kept silence, and so it is ours to record how Katy 
 answered frankly at last : "I guess I did like him a little. 
 I could not help it, Morris. You could not, either, or any 
 one. I believe Mrs. Woodhull was more than half in love 
 with him, and she is an old woman compared with me. By 
 the way, what did she mean by introducing me to him as 
 the daughter of Judge Lennox? I meant to have asked 
 her, but forgot it afterward. Was father ever a judge?" 
 
 "Not properly," Morris replied. "He was justice of 
 the peace in Bloomfield, where you v/ere born, and for 
 one year held the oifice of side or associate judge, that's 
 all. Few ever gave him that title, and I wonder at Mrs. 
 Woodhull. Possibly she fancied Mr. Cameron would 
 think better of you if he supposed you the daughter of a 
 judge." 
 
 "That may be, though I do not believe he would, do 
 you?" 
 
 Morris did not say what he thought, but quietly re- 
 marked, instead : "I know those Camerons." 
 
 "What! Wilford! You don't know Wilford?" Katy 
 almost screamed, and Morris replied: "Not Wilford, no; 
 "but the mother and the sisters were last year in Paris, 
 and I met them many times." 
 
 "What were they doing in Paris?" Katy asked, and 
 Morris replied that he believed the immediate object 
 of their being there was to obtain the best medical advice 
 for a little orphan grandchild, a bright, beautiful boy, to 
 whom some terrible accident had happened in infancy, 
 preventing his walking entirely, and making him nearly 
 helpless. His name was Jamie, Morris said, and as he 
 saw that Katy was interested, he told her how sweet- 
 tempered the little fellow was, how patient under suffer- 
 ing, and how eagerly he listened when Morris, who at 
 one time attended him, told him of the Savior and His 
 love for little children. 
 
LINWOOD. 23 
 
 "Did he get well?" Katy asked, her eyes filling with 
 tears at the picture Morris drew of Jamie Cameron, sit- 
 ting all day long in his wheel chair, and trying to comfort 
 his grandmother's distress when the torturing instru- 
 ments for straightening his poor back were applied. 
 
 "No, he will always be a cripple, till God takes him 
 to Himself," Morris said, and then Katy asked about the 
 mother and sisters — were they proud, and did he li::e 
 them much? 
 
 "They were very proud," Morris said; "but they were 
 always civil to me," and Katy, had she been watching, 
 might have seen a slight flush on his cheek as he told her 
 of the stately woman, Wilford's mother, of the haughty 
 Juno, a beauty and a belle, and lastly of Arabella, whom 
 the family nicknamed Bluebell, from her excessive fond- 
 ness for books, a fondness which made her affect a con- 
 tempt for the fashionable life her mother and sister led. 
 
 It was very evident that neither of the young ladies 
 were wholly to Morris' taste, but of the two he preferred 
 the Bluebell, for though very imperious and self-willed, 
 she really had some heart, some principle, while Juno had 
 none. This was Morris' opinion, and it disturbed the 
 little Katy, as was very perceptible from the nervous 
 tapping of her foot upon the carpet and the working of 
 her hands. 
 
 "How would I appear by the side of those ladies ?" she 
 suddenly asked, her countenance changing as Morris re- 
 plied that it was almost impossible to think of her as 
 associated with the Camerons, she was so wholly unlike 
 them in every respect. 
 
 "I don't believe I shocked Wilford so very much," Katy 
 rejoined, reproachfully, while again a heavy pain shot 
 through Morris' heart, for he saw more and more how 
 Wilford Cameron was mingled with every thought of the 
 young girl, who continued: "And if he was satisfied, I 
 guess his mother and sisters will be. Anyway, I don't 
 want you to make me feel how different I am from them." 
 
 There were tears now on Katy's face, and casting aside 
 all selfishness, Morris wound his arm around her, and 
 smoothed her golden hair, just as he used to do when she 
 was a child and came to him to be soothed. He said, very 
 gently : 
 
24 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 "My poor Kitty, you do like Wilford Cameron; tell 
 me honestly — is it not so?" 
 
 "Yes, I guess I do," and Katy's voice was a half sob. 
 "I could not help it, either, he was so kind, so — I don't 
 know what, only I could not help doing what he bade 
 me. Why, if he had said: 'J^nip overboard, Katy Len- 
 nox,' I should have done it, I know — ^that is, if his eyes 
 had been upon me, they controlled me so absolutely. Can 
 ycu imagine what I mean ?" 
 
 "Yes, I understand. There was the same look in Bell 
 Cameron's eye, a kind of mesmeric influence which com- 
 r ;anded obedience. They idolize this Wilford, and I dare 
 sa}' he is worthy of their idolatry. One thing, at least, is 
 in his favor — the crippled Jamie, for whose opinion I 
 vould give more than all the rest, seemed to worship his 
 Uncle Will, talking of him continually, and telling how 
 kind he was, sometimes staying up all night to carry hira 
 in his arms when the pain in his back was more than 
 ii-.ually severe. So there miust be a good, kind heart in 
 V/ilford Cameron, and if my Cousin Kitty likes him, as 
 sh'i says she does, and he likes her as I believe he must, 
 why, I hope " 
 
 Morris Grant could not finish the sentence, for he did 
 not hope that Wilford Cameron would win the gem he 
 had so long coveted as his own. 
 
 He might give Kitty up because she loved another 
 best. He was generous enough to do that, but if he did it, 
 she must never know how much it cost him, and lest he 
 should betray himself he could not to-night talk with her 
 longer of Wilford Cameron, whom he believed to be his 
 ri'al. It was time now for Katy to go home, but she 
 did not seem to remember it until Morris suggested to 
 her that her mother might be uneasy if she stayed away 
 much longer, and so they went together across the fields, 
 the shadow all gone from Katy's heart, but lying so dark 
 and heavy around Morris Grant, who was glad when he 
 could leave Katy at the farmhouse door and go back 
 alone to the quiet library, where only God could witness 
 the mighty struggle it was for him to say : "Thy will be 
 done." And while he prayed, not that Katy should be 
 his, but that he might have strength to bear it if she were 
 destined for another, Katy, up in her humble bedroom, 
 
WILFORD CAMERON. 25 
 
 with hei head nestled close to Helen's neck, Vvas idling 
 her of Wilford Cameron, who, when they went down the 
 rapids and she had cried with fear, had put his arm 
 around her, trying to quiet her, and who once again, on 
 the mountain overlooking Lake George, had held her 
 hand a moment, while he pointed out a splendid view seen 
 through the opening trees. And Helen, listening, knew 
 just as Morris Grant had done that Katy's heart was 
 lost, and that for Wilford Cameron to deceive her now 
 would be a cruel thing. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 WILFORD CAMERON. 
 
 The day succeeding Katy Lennox's return to Silverton 
 was rainy and cold for the season, the storm extending 
 as far westward as the city of New York, and making 
 Wilford Cameron shiver as he stepped from the Hudson 
 River cars into the carriage waiting for him, first greeting 
 pleasantly the white-gloved driver, who, carefully clos- 
 ing the carriage door, mounted to his seat and drove his 
 handsome bays in the direction of No. -^ Fifth Avenue. 
 And Wilford, leaning back among the yielding cushions, 
 thought how pleasant it was to be going home again, 
 feeling glad, as he frequently did, that the home to which 
 he was going was in every particular unexceptionable. 
 The Camerons he knew were an old and highly respect- 
 able family, while it was his mother's pride that, go back 
 as far as one might on either side, there could not be 
 found a single blemish or a member of whom to be 
 ashamed. On the Cameron side there were millionaires, 
 merchant prince!, bankers and stockholders, professors 
 and scholars, while on hers, the Rossiter side, there were 
 LL. D.'s and D. D.'s, lawyers and clergymen, authors and 
 artists, beauties and belles, the whole forming an illus- 
 trious line of ancestry, admirably represented and sus- 
 tained by the present family of Camerons, occupying the 
 brownstone front, corner of Street and Fifth Ave- 
 nue, where the handsome carriage stopped and a tall fig- 
 ure ran quickly up the marble steps. There was a soft 
 
26 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 rustle of silk, an odor of delicate perfume, and from the 
 luxurious chair before the fire kindled in the grate an 
 elderly lady arose and advanced a step or two toward the 
 parlor door. In another moment she was kissing the 
 young man Bending over her and saluting her as mother, 
 kissing him quietly, properly, as the Camerons always 
 kissed. She was very glad to have Wilford home agam, 
 for he was her favorite child, and brushing the raindrops 
 from his coat she led him to the fire, offering him her 
 own easy-chair and starting herself in quest of another. 
 But Wilford held her back, and making her sit down, he 
 drew an ottoman beside her and then asked her first how 
 she had been and then how Jamie was, then where his 
 sisters were, and if his father had come home-r-for there 
 was a father, the elder Cameron, a quiet, unassuming 
 man, who stayed all day in Wall Street, seldom coming 
 home in time to carve at his own dinner table, and when 
 he was at home, asking for nothing except to be left by 
 his fashionable wife and daughters to himself, free to 
 smoke and doze over his evening paper in the seclusion 
 of his own reading-room. 
 
 As Wilford's question concerning his sire had been the 
 last one asked, so it was the last one answered, his 
 mother parting his dark hair with her jeweled hand, and 
 telling him first that with the exception of a cold taken 
 at the park on Saturday afternoon when she drove out 
 to try the new carriage, she was in usual health ; second, 
 that Jamie was very well, but impatient for his uncle's 
 return; third, that Juno was spending a few days in 
 Orange, and that Bell had gone to pass the night with 
 her particular friend, Mrs. Meredith, the bluest, most 
 bookish woman in New York. 
 
 "Your father," the lady added, "has not yet returned, 
 but as the dinner is ready I think we will not wait." 
 
 She touched a silver bell beside her, and ordering din- 
 ner to be sent up at once, went on to ask her son concern- 
 ing his journey, and the people he had met. But Wil- 
 ford, though intending to tell her all, for he kept nothing 
 from his mother, would wait till after dinner. So, offer- 
 ing her his arm, he led her out to where the table was 
 spread, widely different from the table prepared for Katy 
 Lennox sway among the Silverton hills, for where at the 
 
WILFORD CAMERON. 27 
 
 fafituiouse there had been only the homely wares common 
 to the country, with Aunt Betsy's onions served in a bowl, 
 there was here the finest of damask, the choicest of china, 
 the costliest of cut-glass, and the heaviest of silver, with 
 the well-trained waiter gliding in and out, himself the very 
 personification of strict table etiquette, such as the Ear- 
 lows had never dreamed about. There was no fricasseed 
 chicken here, or flaky crust, with pickled beans and apple 
 sauce; no custard pie with strawberries and rich, sweet 
 cream, poured from a blue earthen pitcher, but there were 
 .soups, and fish, and roasted meats, and dishes with French 
 names and taste, and desert elaborately gotten up and 
 served with the utmost precisittn, and wines, with fruit 
 and colored cloth, and handsome finger bowl; and Mrs. 
 Cameron presiding over all, with the ladylike decorum 
 so much a part of herself, her soft, glossy silk of brown, 
 with her rich lace and diamond pin seeming in keeping 
 with herself and her surroundings. And opposite to her 
 Wilford sat, a tall, dark, handsome man of thirty or 
 thereabouts — a man whose polished manners betokened 
 at once a perfect knowledge of the world, and whose face 
 to a close observer indicated how little satisfaction he 
 had as yet found in that world. He had tried its plea- 
 sures, drinking the cup of freedom and happiness to its 
 very dregs, and though he thought he liked it, he often 
 found himself dissatisfied and reaching after something 
 which should make life more real, more worth the living 
 for. He had traveled all over Europe twice, had visited 
 every spot worth visiting in his own country, had been a 
 frequenter of every fashionable resort in New York, from 
 the skating pond to the theatres, had been admitted as a 
 lawyer, had opened an office on Broadway, acquiring 
 some reputation ig his profession, had looked at more 
 than twenty girls with the view of making them his ^ife, 
 and found them as he believed, alike fickle, selfish, arti- 
 ficial and hollow-hearted. In short, while thinking far 
 more of family, and accomplishments, and style, than he 
 ought, he was yet heartily tired of the butterflies who 
 flitted so constantly around him, offering to be caught If 
 he would but stretch out his hand to catch them. This 
 he would not do, and disgusted with the world as he saw 
 it in New York, he had gone to the Far West, roaming 
 
28 Vamilt pride. 
 
 a while amid Cue solitude of the broad pfairies, and lina- 
 ing there much that was soothing to him, but not discov- 
 ering the fulfillment of the great want he was craving, 
 until, coming back to Canandaigua, he met with Katy 
 Lennox. He had smiled wearily when asked by Mrs. 
 Woodhull to go with her to the examination then in 
 progress at the seminary. There was nothing there to 
 interest him, he thought, as Euclid and algebi-a, French 
 and rhetoric were bygone things, while young school 
 misses in braided hair and pantalets were shockingly in- 
 sipid. Still, to be polite to Mrs. Woodhull, a childless, 
 fashionable woman, who patronized Canandaigua gen- 
 erally, and Katy Lennox in particular, he consented to 
 go, and soon found himself in the crowded room, the 
 cynosure of many eyes as the whisper ran aroand that 
 the fine-looking man with Mrs. Woodhull was the Wil- 
 f ord Cameron from New York, and brother to the proud, 
 dashing Juno Cameron, who once spent a few weeks in 
 town. Wilford knew they were talking about him, but 
 he did not care, and assuming as easy an attitude as pos- 
 sible, he leaned back in his chair, yawning indolently, and 
 wishing the time away, until the class in algebra was 
 called and Katy Lennox came tripping on to the stage, a 
 pale blue ribbon in her golden hair and her simple dress 
 of white relieved by no ornament except the cluster of 
 wild flowers fastened in her belt and at her graceful 
 throat. But Katy needed no ornaments to make her more 
 beautiful than she was at the moment when, with glowing 
 cheeks and sparkling eyes, modestly cast down for a mo- 
 ment as she took her place, and then as modestly uplifted 
 to her teacher's face, she first burst upon Wilford's vision, 
 a creature of rare, bewitching beauty, such as he had 
 never dreamed about. 
 
 Wilford had met his destiny, and he felt it in every 
 throb of blood which went rushing through his veins. 
 
 "Who is she?" he asked of Mrs. Woodhull, and that 
 lady knew at once whom he meant, even though he had 
 ..^t designated her. 
 
 An old acquaintance of Mrs. Lennox when she lived in 
 "'ao-t ^loomfield, Mrs. Woodhull had petted Katy from 
 ti.^ ..r. day of her arrival in Canandaigua with a letter 
 C"^ ": •.'■Muction to herself from the ambitious mother, and 
 
WILFOED CAMERON. 29 
 
 being rather inclined to match-making, she had had Katy 
 in her mind when she tli-ged Wilford to accompany her 
 to the seminary. Accordingly, she answered him at 
 once : "That is Katy Lennox, daughter of Judge Lennox, 
 who died in East Bloomfield a few years ago." 
 
 Lennox was a good name, while the title of judge in- 
 creased its value. Wilford would not have acknowledged 
 that, perhaps, but it was nqrertheless the truth, and Mrs. 
 iWoodhull, who understood exactly the claim which Mr, 
 Lennox had to the title, knew it was true, and that was 
 why she spoke as she did. It was time Wilford Cameron 
 was settled in life, and with the exception of wealth and 
 family position, he could not find a better wife than Katy 
 Lennox, and she would do what she could to bring the 
 marriage about. 
 
 "Pretty, is she not?" was her question put to Wilford 
 after answering his inquiry, but Wilford did not hear, 
 having neither eye nor €ar for anything save Kitty, ac- 
 quitting herself witha good deal of credit as she vytorked 
 out a rather difficult problem, her dimpled white hand 
 showing to good advantage against the deep black of the 
 board; and then her voice, soft-toned and silvery as a 
 lady's voice should be, thrilled Wilford's ear, awaking 
 a strange feeling of disquiet, as jf the world would never 
 again be quite the same to him that it was before he met 
 that fair young girl now passing from the room. 
 
 Mrs. WoodhuU saw that he was interested, and men- 
 tally congratulating herself upon the successful working 
 of her plan, first gained the preceptress' consent, and then 
 asked Katy home with her to tea that night. And this 
 was how Wilfordj^ Cameron came to know little Katy 
 Lennox, the simple-hearted child, who blushed so prettily 
 .when first presented to him, and blushed again when he 
 praised her recitations, but who after that forgot the dif- 
 ference in their sociaJ relations, laughing and chatting 
 as merrily in his presence as if she had been alone with 
 Mrs. Woodhull. This was the great charm to Wilford, 
 Katy was so wholly unconscious of himself or what he 
 might think of her, that he could not sit in judgment upon 
 her, and he watched her eagerly as she sported, and 
 flashed, and sparkled, filling the room with sunshine, and> 
 
30 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 putting to rout the entire regiment of blues which had 
 been for months harassing the city-bred young man. 
 
 If there was any one thing in which Katy e»cellea, it 
 was music, both vocal and instrumental, a taste for which 
 had been developed very early, and fostered by Morns, 
 Grant, who had seen that his cousin had every advantage,; 
 which Silverton could afford. Great pains, too, had been 
 given to her style of playing* while at Canandaigua, so 
 that as a performer upon the piano she had few rivals 
 in the seminary, while her birdlike voice filled every nook 
 and corner of the room, where, on the night after her 
 visit to Mrs. Woodhull, a select exhibition was held, Katy 
 shining as the one bright star, and winning golden laureld 
 for beauty, grace and perfect self-possession from others 
 than Wilford Cameron, who was one of the invited audi- 
 tors. 
 
 "Juno herself could not equal that," he thought, as 
 Katy's fingers flew over the keys, executing a brilliant and 
 difficult piece without a single mistake, and receiving the 
 applause of the spectators easily, naturally, as if it were 
 an everyday occurrence. But when by request she sang 
 "Comin' through the Rye," Wilford's heart, if he had 
 any before, was wholly gone, and he dreamed of Katy 
 I ■■nnox that night, wondering all the ensuing day how his 
 hi ighty mother would receive that young schoolgirl as 
 her daughter, wife of the son whose bride she fancied 
 m.ust be equal to the first lady in the land. And if Katy 
 were not now equal she could be made so, Wilford 
 thought, wondering if Canandaigua were the best place 
 for her, and if she would consent to receive a year or two 
 years' tuition from him, provided her family were poor. 
 He did not know as they were, but he would ask, and he 
 did, feeling a pang of regret when he heard to some 
 extent how Katy was circumstanced. Mrs. Woodhull 
 had never been to Silverton, and so she did not know of 
 Uncle Ephraim, with his old-fashioned spouse and his 
 older-fashioned sister, but she knew that they were poor 
 — that some relation sent Katy to school ; and she frankly 
 told Wilford so, adding, as she detected the shadow on 
 his face, that one could not expect everything, and that 
 a girl like Katy was not found every day. Wilford ad- 
 mitted all this, growing more and more infatuated, until 
 
WILPORD CAMERON. 31 
 
 at last he consented to join the traveling party, provided 
 Katy joined it too, and when on the morning of their 
 departure for the Falls he seated himself beside her in 
 the car, he could not well have been happier, unless she 
 had really been his wife, as he so much wished she was. 
 
 It was a most delightful trip, and Wilford was better 
 satisfied with himself than he had been before in years. 
 His past life was not all fr'ee from error, and there were 
 many sad memories haunting him, but with Katy at his 
 side, seeing what he saw, admiring what he admired, and 
 doing what he bade her do, he gave the bygones to the 
 wind, feeling only 'an intense desire to clasp the young 
 girl in his arms and bear her away to some spot where 
 with her pure fresh life all his own he could begin the 
 world anew, and retrieve the past which he had lost. 
 This was when he was with Katy. Away from her he 
 could remember the difference in their position, and pru- 
 dential motives began to make themselves heard. Never 
 but once had he taken an important step without consult- 
 ing his mother, and then, alas ! the trouble it brought him 
 was not ended yet, and never would be ended until death 
 had set its seal upon the brow of one almost as dear as 
 Katy, though in a far different way. And this was why 
 Katy came back to Silverton unengaged, leaving her heart 
 with Wilford Cameron, who would first seek advice from 
 his mother ere committing himself by word. He had seen 
 the white-haired man with his coarse, linen coat and coar- 
 ser pants, waiting eagerly for her when the train stopped 
 at Silverton, but standing there as he did, with his silvery 
 locks parted in the center, and shading his honest, open 
 face. Uncle Ephraim looked like some patriarch of old 
 rather than a man to be despised, and Wilford felt only 
 a respect for him until he saw Katy's arms wound so lov- 
 ingly around his neck as she kissed and called him Uncle 
 Eph. That sight grated harshly, and Wilford, knowing 
 this was the uncle of whom Katy had often spoken, felt 
 glad that he was not bound to her by any pledge. Very 
 curiously he looked after the couple, witnessing the meet- 
 ing between Katy and old Whitey, and guessing rightly 
 that the corn-colored vehicle was the one sent to transport 
 Katy home. He was very moody for the remainder of the 
 route between Silverton and Albany, where he parted 
 
32 
 
 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 with his Canandaigna friends, they going on to the west- 
 ward, while he stopped all night in Albany, where he had 
 some business to transact for his father. And this was 
 why he did not reach New York until late in the after- 
 noon of the following day. 
 
 He was intending to tell his mother everything, except 
 indeed that he paid Katy's bills. He would rather keep 
 that to himself, as it might shock his mother's sense of 
 propriety and make her think less of Katy, impulsive, 
 confiding Katy, little dreaming as on that rainy afternoon 
 she sat in the kitchen at Silverton, with her feet m the 
 stove-oven and the cat asleep in her lap, of the conversa- 
 tion taking place between Wilford Cameron and his 
 mother. They had left the dinner table, and lighting his 
 cigar, which for that one time the mother permitted in the 
 parlor, Wilford opened the subject by asking her to guess 
 what took him off so suddenly with Mrs. Woodhull, 
 
 The mother did not know — unless — and a strange 
 light gleamed in her eyes, as she asked if it were some 
 girl. 
 
 "Yes, mother, it was/' and without any reservation 
 Wilford frankly told the story of his interest in Katy 
 Lennox. 
 
 He admitted that she was poor and unaccustomed to 
 society, but he loved her more than words could express. 
 
 "Not as I loved Genevra," he said, as he saw his mother 
 about to speak, and there came a look of intense pain into 
 his fine eyes as he continued : "That was the passion of a 
 boy of nineteen, simulated by secrecy, but this is different 
 — this is the love of a mature man of thirty, who feels that 
 he is capable of judging for himself." 
 
 In Wilford's voice there was a tone warning the 
 mother that opposition would only feed the flame, and 
 so she offered none directly, but heard him patiently to the 
 end, and then quietly questioned him of Katy and her 
 family, especially the last. What did he know of it? 
 Was it one to detract from the Cameron line kept un- 
 tarnished so long? Were the relatives such as he never 
 need blush to own, even if they came there into their 
 drawing-room, as they would come if Katy did? 
 
 Wilford thought of Uncle Ephraim as he had seen him 
 upon the platform at Silverton, and could scarcely repress 
 
WILFX)ED CAMERON." 38 
 
 u smile as he pictured to himself his mother's consterna- 
 tion at beholding that man in her drawing-room. But he 
 did not mention the deacon, though he acknowledged that 
 Katy's family friends were not exactly the Cameron style. 
 But Katy was young; Katy could be easily molded, and 
 once away from her old associates, his mother and sisters 
 could make of her what they pleased. 
 
 "I understand, then, that if you marry her you do not 
 marry the family," and in the handsome, matronly face 
 there was an expression from which Katy would have 
 shrunk, could she have seen it and understood its 
 meaning. 
 
 "No, I do not marry the family," Wilford rejoined, 
 emphatically, but the expression of his face was different 
 from his mother's, for where she thought only of herself, 
 not hesitating to trample on all Katy's love of home and 
 friends^ . Wilford remembered Katy, thinking how he 
 would make amends for separating her wholly from her 
 home, as he surely meant to do if he should win her. "Did 
 I tell you," he continued, "that her father was a judge? 
 She must be well connected on that side, though I never 
 heard of a Judge Lennox in any of our courts." 
 
 "It must have been when you were in Europe tlie first 
 time," Mrs. Cameron suggested, and as^^if the mention of 
 Europe reminded him of something else, Wilford re- 
 joined : "Katy would be kind to Jamie, mother. In some 
 things she is almost as much a child as he, poor fellow," 
 and again there came into his eyes a look of pain, while 
 his voice was sadder in its tone, just as it always was 
 when he spoke of little Jamie. "And now, what shall I 
 do ?" he asked, playfully. "Shall I propose to Katy Len- 
 nox, or shall I try to forget her ?" 
 
 "I should not do either," was Mrs. Cameron's reply, 
 for she well knew that trying to forget her was the surest 
 way of keeping her in mind, and she dared not confess to 
 him how wholly she was determined that Katy Lennox 
 should never be her daughter if she could prevent it. 
 
 If she could not, then as a lady and a woman of policy, 
 she should 'make the most of it, receiving Katy kindly 
 and doing her best to educate her up to the Cameron ideas 
 of style and manner. 
 
 "L"* matters take their course fo^.. a while," she said, 
 
Missing Page 
 
PREPARING FOR THE VISIT. 35 
 
 his old way of living, passing a few hours of each day 
 in his office, driving with his mother, reading to Httle 
 Jamie, sparring with his imperious sister, Juno, and teas- 
 ing his blue sister, Bell, but never after that first night 
 breathing a word to any one of Katy Lennox, And still 
 Katy was not forgotten, as his mother sometimes believed. 
 On the contrary, the very silence he kept concerning her 
 increased his passion, until he began seriously to con- 
 template a trip to Silverton. The family's removal to 
 Newport, however, diverted his attention for a little, mak- 
 ing him decide to wait and see what Newport might have 
 in store for him. But Newport: was dull this season, at 
 least to him, though Juno and Bell both found ample 
 scope for their different powers of attraction, and his 
 mother was always happy when showing off her children, 
 and knowing that they were appreciated. With Wilford 
 it was different. Listless and taciturn, he went through 
 with the daily routine, wondering how he had ever found 
 happiness there, and finally, at the close of the season, 
 casting all policy and prudence aside, he wrote to Katy 
 Lennox that he was coming to Silverton on his way home, 
 and that he presumed he should have no difficulty in find- 
 ing his way to the farmhouse. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PREPARING FOR THE VISIT. 
 
 "Of course he will not, for I shall ask Dr. Morris to go 
 after him in his carriage," Katy said, as out in the orchard 
 where she was gathering the early harvest apples she read 
 the letter brought her by Uncle Ephraim, her face ciim- 
 soning all over with happy blushes as she saw the dear 
 affixed to her name. 
 
 Katy had waited so anxiously for a letter, or some 
 message which should say that she was not forgotten by 
 Wilford Cameron, but as the weeks went by and it did 
 not come, a shadow had fallen upon her spirits, and the 
 family missed something from her ringing laugh and 
 frolicsome ways, while she herself wondered why the 
 household duties given to he** should be so utterly dis- 
 
36 FAMILY PEIDE. 
 
 tastefnl. She used to enjoy them so much, but nowS"® 
 liked nothing except to go with Uncle Ephraim out into 
 the fields where she cottid sit alone while he worked 
 nearby, or to ride with Morris as she sometimes did wh«i 
 he made his round of calls. She was not as good as she 
 used to be, she thought, and with a view of making her- 
 self better she took to teaching in Morris' and Helen s 
 Sunday-school, greatly to the distress of Aunt Betsy, who 
 groaned bitterly when both her nieces adopted the "Epis- 
 copal quirks," forsaking entirely the house where Sunday 
 after Sunday her old-fashioned leghorn with its faded 
 ribbon of green was seen, bending down in the humble 
 worship which God so much approves. But teaching 
 in Sunday-school, taken by itself, could not make Katy 
 better, and the old restlessness remained until the morn- 
 ing when, sitting on the grass beneath the apple tree, she 
 read that Wilford Cameron was coming. Then, as by 
 magic, everything was changed, and Katy never forgot 
 the brightness of that day when the robins sang so merrily 
 above her head and all nature scented to sympathize with 
 her joy. Afterward there came to her dark, wretched 
 hours, when in her young heart's agony she wished that 
 day had never been, but there was no shadow around her 
 ntiw, nothing but hopeful sunshine, and with a bounding 
 step she sought out Helen, to tell her the good news. 
 Helen's first remark, however, was a chill upon her 
 spirits. 
 
 "Wilford Cameron coming here? What will he think 
 of us, we are so unlike him?" 
 
 This was the first time Katy had seriously considered 
 the difference between her surroundings and those of 
 Wilford Cameron, or how it might affect him. But Aunt 
 Betsy, who had never dreamed of anything like Wil- 
 ford's home, and who thought her own quite as good as 
 they would average, comforted her, telling her how "if 
 he was any kind of a chap he wouldn't be looking round, 
 and if he did, who cared; she guessed they was as good 
 as he, and as much thought of by the neighbors." 
 
 Wilford's letter had been delayed so that the morrow 
 was the day appointed for his coming, and never sure was 
 there a busier afternoon at the farmhouse than the one 
 which followed the receipt of *he letter. Everything 
 
PREPARING FOR THE VISJ" 87 
 
 that was not spotlessly clean before was made so now, 
 Aunt Betsy in her petticoat and short gown going down 
 upon her knees to scrub the door sill of the back room, 
 as if the city guest were expected to sit in there. On 
 Aunt Hannah and Mrs. Lennox devolved the duty of 
 preparing for the wants of the inner man, while Helen 
 and Katy bent their energies to beautifying their humble 
 home and making the most of their plain furniture. 
 
 "If Uncle Ephraim had only let me move the chimney, 
 we could have had a nice spare sleeping-room instead of 
 this little tucked up hole," Mrs. Lennox saidj coming in 
 with her hands covered with flour, and casting a rueful 
 look at the small room kept for company, and where 
 IWilford was to sleep. . 
 
 It was not very spacious, being only large enough to 
 admit the high post bed, a single chair, and the old- 
 fashioned washstand with the hole in the top for the bowl 
 and a drawer beneath for towels, the whole presenting, a 
 most striking contrast to those handsome chambers on 
 Fifth Avenue, or, indeed, to the one at the Ocean House 
 where Wilford sat smoking and wishing the time away, 
 while Helen and Katy held a consultation as to whether it 
 would not, be better to dispense with the parlor altogether 
 and give that room to their visitor. But this was vetoed 
 by Aunt Betsy, who, haviiig finished the back door siH, 
 had now come around to the front, and, with her scrub- 
 bing brush in one hand and her saucer of sand in the 
 other, held forth upon the foolishness of the girls. 
 
 "Of course if they had a beau, tliey'd want a t'other 
 room, else where would they do their sparkin'." 
 
 That settled it. The parlor should remain as it was, 
 Katy said, and Aunt Betsy went on with her scouring, 
 while Helen and Katy consulted together how to iii;ake 
 the huge feather bed seem more like the mattresses such 
 as Morris had, and such as Mr. Cameron must be accus- 
 tomed to. Helen's mind being the most suggestive solved 
 the problem first, and a large comfortable was brought 
 from the box in the garret and'folded carefully over the 
 bed, which, thus hardened and flattened, "seemed like a 
 mattress," Katy said, for she tried it, pronouncing it 
 good, and feeling quite well satisfied with the room when 
 it was finished. And certainly it was not wholly uninvit- 
 
Missing Page 
 
PREPARING FOR THE VISIT. S9 
 
 the farmhouse did not possess, and as Helen too would be 
 busy, there was not much danger of detection. 
 
 It was late when the last thing was accomplished, and 
 the sun was quite low ere Katy was free to start on her 
 errand, carrying the market basket in which she was to 
 put the articles borrowed of Morris. 
 
 He was sitting out on his piazza enjoying the fine 
 prospect he had of the sun shining across the pond, on the 
 Silverton hill, and just gilding the top of the little church 
 nestled in the valley. At sight of Katy he arose and 
 greeted her with the kind, brotljerly manner now habitual 
 with him, for since we last looked upon Morris Grant he 
 had fought a fierce battle with his selfishness, coming off 
 conqueror, and learning to listen quite calmly while Katy 
 talked to him, as she often did, of Wilford Cameron, 
 never trying to conceal from him how anxious she was 
 for some word of remembrance, and often asking if he 
 thought Mr. Cameron would ever write to her. It was 
 hard at first for Morris to listen, and harder still to hold 
 back the passionate words of love trembling on his lips, 
 to keep himself from telling her how improbable it was 
 that one like Mr. Cameron should cherish thoughts of 
 her after mingling again with the high-born city belles, 
 and to beg of her to take him in Cameron's stead — hirrr 
 who had loved her so long, ever since he first knew what 
 it was to love, and who would cherish her so tenderly, 
 loving her the more because of the childishness which 
 some men might despise. But Morris had kept silence, 
 and, as weeks went by, there came insensibly into his heart 
 a hope, or rather conviction, that Cameron had forgotten, 
 the little girl who might in time turn to him, gladdening 
 his home just as she did every spot where her fairy foot- 
 steps trod. Morris did not fully know that he was hug- 
 ging this fond dream, until he felt the keen pang which 
 cut like a dissector's knife as Katy, turning her bright, 
 eager face up to him, whispered softly : "He's coming to- 
 morrow — he surely is ; I have his letter to tell me so." 
 
 Morris did not see the sunshine then upon the distant 
 hills, although it lay there just as purple as before Katy 
 came, bringing blackness and pain when heretofore she 
 had only brought him joy and gladness. There was a 
 moment of darkness, in which the hills, the pond, the sun 
 
40 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 settingf, and Katy seemed a great ways off to Morris, try- 
 ing so hard to be calm, and mentally asking for help to 
 do so. Bat Katy's hat, which she swung in her hand, 
 had become entangled in the vines encircling one of the 
 pillars of the piazza, and so she did not notice hini until 
 all traces of his agitation were past, and he could talk 
 with her concerning Wil'ford, and then playfully liftmg 
 her basket he asked what she had come to get. 
 
 This was not the first time the great house had rendered 
 a like service to the little house, and so Katy did not 
 blush when she explained how her mother wanted Mor- 
 ris' forks, and saltcellars, and spoons, and would he be 
 kind enough to bring the castor over himself, and come 
 to dinner to-morrow at two o'clock? — and would he go 
 after Mr. Cameron? The forks, and _ sahcellars, and 
 spoons, and castor were cheerfully promised, while Mor- 
 ris consented to go for the guest; and then Katy came 
 to the rest of her errand, the part distasteful to her, inas- 
 much as it might look like throwing disrespect upon 
 Uncle , Ephraim — honest, unsophisticated Uncle Eph- 
 raim — who would come to the table in his shirt sleeves. 
 This was the burden of her grief — ^the one thing she 
 dreaded most, inasmuch as she knew by experience 
 fi&w such an act was looked upon by Mr. Cameron, who, 
 never having lived in the country a day in his life, except 
 as he was either guest or traveler, could not make due 
 allowance for these little departures from refinement, so 
 obnoxious to people of his training. 
 
 "What is it, Katy?" Morris asked, as he saw how she 
 hesitated, and guessed her errand was not done. 
 
 "I hope you will not think me foolish or wicked," Katy 
 began, her eyes filling with tears, as she felt that she 
 might be doing Uncle Ephraim a wrong by even ad- 
 mitting that in any way he could be improved. "I cer- 
 tainly love Uncle Ephraim dearly, and I do not mind 
 his ways, but Mr. Cameron may — that is, oh. Cousin 
 Morris! did you ever notice how Uncle Ephraim will 
 persist in coming to the table in his shirt sleeves." 
 
 "Persist is hardly the word to use," Morris replied, 
 smiling comically, as he readily understood Katy's mis- 
 givings. "Persist would imply his having been often 
 remonstrated with for that breach of etiquette; whereas 
 
PREPARING FOR THE VISIT. 41 
 
 I doubt much whether the idea that it was not in strict 
 accordance with politeness was ever suggested to him." 
 
 "Maybe not," Katy answered. "It was never neces- 
 sary till now, and I feel so disturbed, for I want Mr. 
 Cameron to Uke him, and if he does that I am sure he 
 won't" 
 
 "Why do you think so?" Morris asked, and Katy re- 
 pfied: "He is so particular, and was so very angry at a 
 Httie hotel between Lakes George and Champlain, where 
 we took our dinner before going on the boat. There was 
 a man along — a real good-natured man, too, so kind to 
 everybody — and, as the day "was warm, he carried his 
 coat on his arm, and sat down to the table that way, right 
 oppc»ite me, Mr. Cameron was so indignant, and said 
 such harsh things, which the man heard, I am sure, for 
 he put on his coat directly; and I saw him afterward on 
 the boat, sweating like rain, and looking sorry as if he had 
 done something wrong. I am sure, though, he had not?" 
 
 This last was spoken interrogatively, and Morris re- 
 plied : "There is nothing wrong or wicked in going with- 
 out one's coat. Everything depends upon the circum- 
 stances ninder which it is done. For me to appear at table 
 in my shirt sleeves would be very impolite ; but for an old 
 man like Uncle Ephraim, who has done it all his life and 
 who never gave it a thought, would, in my estimation, be a 
 very different -thing. Still, Mr. Cameron may see from 
 another standpoint. But I would not distress myself. 
 That love is not worth much which would think the less 
 of you for anything oiitrS which Uncle Ephraim may do. 
 If Mr. Cameron cannot stand the test of seeing your 
 relatives as they are, he is not worth the long face you are 
 wearing," and Morris pinched her cheek playfully. 
 
 "Yes, I know,". Katy replied; "but if you only could 
 manage Uncle Eph I should be so glad." 
 
 Morris had little hope of breaking a habit of years, but 
 he promised to try if an opportunity should occur, and 
 as Mrs. Hull, the housekeeper, had by this time gathered 
 up the articles required for the morrow, Morris himself 
 took the basket in his own hands and went back with 
 Katy across the fields, which had never seemed so deso- 
 late as to-night, when he felt how vain were all the hopes 
 he had been cherishing;. 
 
42 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 "God bless you, Katy, and may Mr. Cameron's visit 
 bring you as much happiness as you anticipate," ^'^^^^9 
 as he set her basket upon the doorstep and turned bacK 
 without entering the house. 
 
 Katy noticed the peculiar tone of his voice, and again 
 there swept over her the same thrill she had felt when 
 Morris first said to her, "And did Katy like this Mr. 
 Cameron ?" but so far was she from guessing the_ truth 
 that she only feared she might have displeased him by 
 what she had said of Uncle Ephraim; and as an unkind 
 word breathed against a dear friend, even to a mutual 
 friend, always leaves a scar, so Katy, though saying 
 nothing ill, still felt that in some way she had wronged 
 her uncle; and the good old man, resting from his hard 
 day's toil, in his accustomed chair, with not only his coat, 
 but his vest and boots cast aside, little guessed what 
 prompted the caresses which Katy bestowed upon him, 
 sitting in his lap and parting lovingly his snowy hair, as 
 if thus she would make amends for any injury done. 
 Little Katy-did he called her, looking fondly into her 
 bright, pretty face, and thinking how terrible it would 
 be to see that face shadowed with pain and care. Some- 
 how, of late. Uncle Ephraim was always thinking of such 
 a calamity as more than possible for Katy, and when that 
 night she kpelt beside him, his voice was full of pleading 
 earnestness as he prayed that God would keep them all in 
 safety, and bring to none of them more grief, more suf- 
 fering, than was necessary to purify them for His own. 
 "Purified by suffering" came involuntarily into Katy's 
 mind as she Ustened, and then remembered the talk down 
 in the meadow, when she sat on the rock beneath the 
 butternut tree. But Katy was far too thoughtless yet for 
 anything serious to abide with her long; and the world, 
 while it held Wilford Cameron as he seemed to her now, 
 was too full of joy for her to be sad, and so she arose 
 from her knees, thinking only how long it would be 
 before to-morrow noon, wondering if Wilford would 
 surely be there next time their evening prayers were 
 said, and if he would notice Uncle Ephraim's shocking 
 grammar ! 
 
wilford's visit. 43 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 wilford's visit. 
 
 Much surprise was expressed by all the Cameron fam- 
 ily, save the mother, when told that instead of accompany- 
 ing them to New York, Wilford would take another route, 
 and one directly out of his way ; while, what was stranger 
 than all, he did not know when he should be home; it 
 ^ would depend upon circumstapces, he said, evincing so 
 much annoyance at being questioned with regard to his 
 movements, that the quick-witted Juno readily divined 
 that there was some girl in the matter, teasing him un- 
 mercifully to tell her who she was, and what the fair one 
 was like, 
 
 "Don't, for pity's sake, bring us a verdant specimen," 
 she said, as she at last bade him good-by, and turned her 
 attention to Mark Ray, her brother's partner, who had 
 been with them at Newport, and whom she was bending 
 all her energies to captivate. 
 
 With his sister's bantering words ringing in his ears, 
 Wilford kept on his way until the last change was made, 
 and when he stopped again it would be at Silverton. He 
 did not expect any one to meet him, but as he remembered 
 the man whom he had seen greeting Katy, he thought it 
 not unlikely that he might be there now, laughing to him- 
 self as he pictured Juno's horror, could she see him 
 driving along in the corn-colored vehicle which Uncle 
 Ephraim drove. But that vehicle was safe at home beneath 
 the shed, while Uncle Ephraim was laying a stone wall 
 upon the huckleberry hill, and the handsome carriage 
 waiting at Silverton depot was certainly unexceptionable ; 
 while in the young man who, as the train stopped and 
 Wilford stepped out upon the platform, came to meet 
 him, bowing politely, and asking if he were Mr. Cameron, 
 Wilford recognized the true gentleman, and his spirits 
 arose as Morris said to him : "I am Miss Lennox's cousin, 
 deputed by her to meet and take charge of you for a 
 time." 
 
 Wilford had heard of Dr. Morris Grant, for his name 
 
44 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 was often on Jamie's lips, while his proud Sister Juno, he 
 suspected, had tried her powers of fascination in vain 
 upon the grave American, met in the saloons of Pans; 
 but he had no suspicion that his new acquaintance was 
 the one until they were driving toward the farmhouse 
 and Morris mentioned having met his family in France, 
 inquiring after them all, and especially for Jamie. In- 
 voluntarily then Wilford grasped again the hand of 
 Morris Grant, exclaiming : "And are you the doctor who 
 was so kind to Jamie? I did not expect this pleasure?" 
 
 After that the ride seemed very short, and Wilford 
 was surprised when as they turned a corner in the sand/ 
 road, Morris pointed to the farmhouse, saying: "We are 
 almost there — that is the place." 
 
 "That!" and Wilford's voice indicated his disappoint- 
 ment, for in all his mental pictures of Katy Lennox's 
 home he had never imagined anything like this : 
 
 Large, rambling and weird-like, with something lofty 
 and imposing, just because it -wis so ancient, was the 
 house he had in his mind, and he could not conceal his 
 chagrin as his eye took in the small, low building, with 
 its high windows and tiny panes of glass, paintless and 
 blindless, standing there alone among the hills. Morris 
 understood it perfectly ; but, without seeming to notice it, 
 remarked : "It is the oldest house probably in the country, 
 and should be invaluable on that account. I think we 
 Americans are too fond of change and too much inclined 
 to throw aside all that reminds us of the past. Now I 
 like the farmhouse just because it is old and unpreten- 
 tious." 
 
 "Yes, certainly," Wilford answered, looking ruefully 
 around him at the old stone wall, half tumbled down, the 
 tall well-sweep, and the patch of sunflowers in the gar- 
 den, with Aunt Betsy bending behind them, picking 
 tomatoes for dinner, and shading her eyes with her hand 
 to look at him as he drove up. 
 
 It was all very rural, no doubt, and very charming to 
 people who liked it, but Wilford did not like it, and he 
 was wishing himself safely in New York when a golden 
 head flashed for an instant before the window and then 
 disappeared as Katy emerged into view, waiting at the 
 door to receive him and looking so sweetly in her dress 
 
WILFORD'S VISIT. 45 
 
 of white with the scarlet geranium blossoms in her hair, , 
 that Wilford forgot the homeliness of her surroundings, 
 thinking only of her and how soft and warm was the little 
 hand he held as she led him into the parlor. He did not 
 know she was so beautiful, he said to himself, and he 
 feasted his eyes upon her, forgetful for a time of all else. 
 But afterward when Katy left him for a moment he 
 noticed the well-worn carpet, the six cane-seated chairs, 
 the large stuffed 'rocking chair, the fall-leaf table, with its 
 plain wool spread, and, lastly, the really expensive pianot 
 the only handsome |Jiece of mrmtUre the room contained, 
 and which he rightly guessed must have come from 
 Morris. 
 
 "What would Juno or Mark say?" he kept repeating 
 to himself, half sliuddering as he recalled the bantering 
 proposition to accoiiipany him made by Mark Ray, the 
 only young man whom he considered fully his equal in 
 New York. 
 
 Wilford knew these feelings were unworthy of him and 
 he tried to shake them off, listlessly turning over the 
 books upon the table, books which betokened in some 
 one both taste and talent of no low order. 
 
 "Mark's favorite," he said, lifting up a volume of 
 Schiller, and turning to the fly-leaf he read, "Helen Len- 
 nox, from Cousin Morris," just as Katy returned and 
 with her Helen, whom she presented to the stranger, 
 
 Helen was prepared to like him just because Katy did, 
 and her first thought was that he was splendid-looking, 
 but when she met fully his cold glance and knew how 
 closely he was scrutinizing her, there arose in her heart 
 a feeling of dislike for Wilford Cameron, which she could 
 never wholly conquer. He was very polite to her, but 
 something ia his manner annoyed and provoked her, it 
 was so cool, so condescending, as if he endured her merely 
 because she was Katy's sister, nothing more. 
 
 "Rather pretty, more character than Katy, but oddt snd ' 
 self-wiUed, with no kind of style." 
 
 This was Wilford's running comment on Helen as he 
 took her in from the plain arrangement of her dark hair , 
 tq the fit of her French calico and the cut of her linea 
 collar. 
 
 FasMonable dress would improve her verj much, he 
 
46 FAMILY PRroE. 
 
 thought, turning from her with a feeling of relief to Katyi 
 whom nothing could disfigure, and who was now watch- 
 ing the door eagerly for the entrance of her mother. 
 That lady had spent a good deal of time at her toilet, 
 and she came in at last, flurried, fidgety, and very red, 
 both from exercise and the bright-hued ribbons stream- 
 ing from her cap and sadly at variance with the color of 
 her dress. Wilford noticed the discrepancy at once, and 
 noticed too how little style there was about the nervous 
 woman greeting him so deferentially and evidently re- 
 garding him as something infinitely superior to herself. 
 Wilford had looked with indifference upon Helen, but it 
 would take a stronger word to express his opinion of 
 the mother. Had he come accidentally upon her without 
 ever having met with Katy, he would have regarded her 
 as a plain, common country woman, who meant well if 
 nothing more; but now, alas! with Katy in the fore- 
 ground, he was weighing her in a far different balance 
 and finding her sadly wanting. He had not seen Aunt 
 Hannah, nor yet Aunt Betsy, for they were in the kitchen, 
 making the last ' preparations for the dinner to which 
 Morris was to remain. He was in the parlor now and in 
 his presence Wilford felt more at ease, more as if he had 
 found an affinity. Uncle Ephraim was not there, having 
 eaten his bowl of milk and gone back to his stone wall, 
 so that upon Morris devolved the duties of host, and 
 he courteously led the way to the little dining-room, 
 which Wilford confessed was not uninviting, with its 
 clean floor and walls, and the table so loaded with the 
 
 food things Aunt Hannah had prepared, burning and 
 rowning her wrinkled face, which nevertheless smiled 
 l»Ieasantly upon the stranger presented as Mr. Cameron. 
 About Aunt Hannah there was something naturally 
 ladylike, and Wilford saw it; but when it came to Aunt 
 Betsy, of whom he had never heard, he felt for a moment 
 as if by being there in such promiscuous company he had 
 somehow fallen from the Cameron's high estate. By way 
 of pleasing the girls and doing honor to their "beau," as 
 she called Wilford, Aunt Betsy had donned her very 
 best attire, wearing the slate-colored pongee dress, bought 
 twenty years before, and actually sporting a set of Hel- 
 en's cast off hoops, which being quite too large for the 
 
WILPORD'S VISIT. 47 
 
 dimensions, of her scanty skirt, gave her anything but 
 the stylish appearance she intended. 
 
 "Oh, auntie!" was Katy's involuntary exclamation, 
 while Helen bit her lip with vexation, for the hoop had 
 been an after thought to Aunt Betsy just before going 
 in to dinner. 
 
 But the good old lady never dreamed of shocking any 
 one with her attempts at fashion; and curtseying very 
 low to Mr. Cameron, she hoped for a better acquaintance, 
 and then took her seat at the table, just where each move- 
 ment could be distinctly seen by Wilford, scanning her 
 so intently as scarcely to hear the reverent words with 
 which Morris asked a blessing upon themselves and the 
 food so abundantly prepared. They could hardly have 
 gotten through that first dinner without Morris, who 
 adroitly tried to divert" Wilford's mind from what was 
 passing around him. But with all his vigilance he could 
 not prevent his hearing Aunt Betsy as, in an aside to 
 Helen, she denounced the heavy fork she was awkwardly 
 trying to use, first expressing her surprise at finding it 
 by her plate instead of the smaller one to which she was 
 accustomed. _- 
 
 "The land ! if you didn't borry Morris' forks ! I'd as 
 soon eat with the toastin' iron/' she said, in a tone of dis- 
 tress, but Helen's foot touching hers warned her to keep 
 silence, which she did after that, and the dinner proceeded 
 quietly, Wilford discovering ere its close that Mrs. Len- 
 nox, now that she was more composed, had really some 
 pretensions to a lady, while Helen's dress and collar 
 ceased to be obnoxious, as he watched the play of her fine 
 features and saw her eyes kindle as she took a modest 
 part in the conversation when it turned on books and 
 literature. * 
 
 Meanwhile Katy kept very still, her cheeks flushing 
 and her eyes cast down whenever she met Wilford's 
 gaze; but when, after dinner was over and Morris had 
 gone, she went with him down to the shore of the pond, 
 her tongue was loosed, and Wilford found again the little 
 fairy who had so bewitched him a few weeks before. And 
 yet there was a load upon his mind — a shadow made by 
 the actual knowledge that between Katy's famiW and his 
 there was a gulf which never could be crossed by either 
 
4b FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 party. He might bear Katy over, it was true, but wooM 
 she not look longingly back to the humble home, and 
 might he not sometimes be greatly chagrined by the sud- 
 den appearing of some one of this old-bred family who did 
 not seem to realize how ignorant they were, how far below 
 him in the social scale? Poor Wilford! he winced and 
 shivered when he thought of Aunt Betsy, in her anti- 
 quated pongee, and remembered that she was a near rela- 
 tive of the little maiden sporting so playfully around him, 
 stealing his heart away in spite of family pride, and mak- 
 ing him more deeply in love than ever. It was very pleas- 
 ant down by the pond, and Wilford, who liked staying 
 there better than at the house, kept Katy with him until 
 the sun was going down and they heard in the distance 
 the tinkle of a bell as the deacon's cows plodded slowly 
 homeward. Supper was waiting for them, and with his 
 appetite sharpened by his walk, Wilford found no cause 
 ©f complaint against Aunt Hannah's viands, though he 
 smiled mentally as he accepted tlie piece of apple pie Aunt 
 Betsy oifered him, saying by way of recommendation that 
 "she made the crust but Catheiine peeled and sliced the 
 apples." 
 
 The deacon had not returned from his work, and so 
 Wilford did not see him until he came suddenly upon him, 
 seated in the wood-shed door, washing his feet after the 
 labor of the day. Ephraim Barlow v/as a man to com- 
 mand respect, and to a certain extent Wilford recognized 
 the true worth embodied in that unpolished exterior. He 
 did not, however, see much of him that night, for, as the 
 deacon said, apologetically: "The cows is to milk and 
 the chores all to do, for I never keep no boy," and when 
 at last the chores were done the clock pointed to half- 
 past eight, the hour for family worship. Unaccustomed as 
 Wilford was to such things, he felt the influence of the 
 deacon's voice as he read from the Word of God, and 
 involuntarily found himself kneeling when Katy knelt, 
 noticing the deacon's grammar, it is true, but still listen- 
 ing patiently to the rather lengthy prayer which include! 
 him^ as well as the rest of mankind. 
 
 There was no chance of seeing Katy alone, and so full 
 two hours before his usual custom Wilford retired, to the 
 Uttle room to whjcb the deacon conducted him, saying 
 
wilpord's visit. 49 
 
 as he put down the lamp: "You'll find it pretty snug 
 quarters, I guess, for such a close, muggy night as this, 
 but if you can't stand it you must lie on the floor." 
 
 And truly they were snug quarters, Wilford thought; 
 but there was no alternative, and a few moments found 
 him in the center of two feather beds, neither Helen nor 
 Katy having discovered the addition made by Aunt Betsy, 
 and which came near being the death of the New York 
 guest, who, wholly unaccustomed to feathers, was almost 
 smothered in them, besides being nearly melted. To sleep 
 was impossible, as the September night was hot and 
 sultry, and never for a roomenf did Wilford lose his con- 
 sciousness or forget to accuse himself of being an idiot 
 for coming into that heathenish neighborhood after a wife 
 when at home there were so many girls ready and waiting 
 for him. 
 
 "I'll go back to-morrow morning," he said, and, strik- 
 ing a match, he read in his Railway Guide when the first 
 train passed Silverton, feeling comforted to think that 
 only a few hours intervened between him and freedom. 
 
 But alas! for Wilford. He was but a man, subject to 
 man's caprices, and when next morning he met Katy 
 Lennox, looking in her light muslin as pure and fair as 
 the white blossoms twined in her wavy hair, his resolu- 
 tion began to waver. Perhaps there was a decent hotel 
 in Silverton ; he would inquire of Dr. Grant ; at all events 
 he would not take tlie first train as he had intended doing ; 
 and so he stayed, eating fried apples and beefsteak, but 
 forgetting to criticise, in his appreciation of the rich 
 thick cream poured into his coflfee, and the sweety golden 
 butter, which melted in soft waves upon the flakey rolls. 
 Again Uncle Ephraim was absent, having gone to the mill 
 before Wilford left his room, nor was he visible to the 
 young man until after dinner, for Wilford did not gb 
 home, but drove instead with Katy in the carriage^ which 
 Morris sent around, excusing himself from coming on 
 the plea of being too busy, but saying he would join them 
 at tea, if possible. Wilford's mind was not yet fully 
 made up, so he concluded to remain another day and see 
 more of Katy's family. Accordingly, after dinner, he 
 bent his energies to read them all, from Helen down to 
 Aunt Betsy, the latter of whom proved the most trans- 
 
50 FAMILY PEIDB. 
 
 parent of the four. Arrayed again in the pongee, but 
 this time without the hoop, she came into the parlor, 
 bringing her calico patchwork, which she informed him 
 was pieced in the "herrin' bone pattern" and intended 
 for Katy; telling him, further, that the feather bed on 
 which he slept was also a part of "Catherine's setting 
 out," and was made from feathers she picked herself, 
 showing him as proof a mark upon her arm, left there 
 by the gray goose, which had proved a little refractory 
 when she tried to draw a stocking over its head. 
 
 Wilford groaned, and Katy's chance for being Mrs. 
 Cameron was growing constantly less and less as he saw 
 more smd more how vast was the difference between the 
 Barlows and himself. Helen, he acknowledged, was pass- 
 able, though she was not one whom he could ever intro- 
 duce into New York society ; and he was wondering how 
 Katy came to be so unlike the rest, when Uncle Ephraim 
 came up from the meadow, and announced himself as 
 ready now to visit, apologizing for his apparent neglect, 
 and seeming so absolutely to believe that his company 
 was, of course, desirable, that Wilford felt amused, won- 
 dering again what Juno, or even Mark Ray, would think 
 of the rough old man, sitting with his chair tipped back 
 against the wall, and going occasionally to the outside 
 door to relieve himself of his tobacco juice, for chewing 
 was one of the deacon's weaknesses. His pants were 
 faultlessly clean, and his vest was buttoned nearly up to 
 his throat, but his coat was hanging on a nail out by 
 the kitchen door, and, to Katy's distress and Wilford's 
 horror, he sat among them in his shirt sleeves, all uncon- 
 scious of harm or of the disquiet awakened in the bosom 
 of the young man, who on that point was foolishly fas- 
 tidious, and who showed by his face how much he was 
 annoyed. Not even the presence of Morris, who came in 
 about tea time, was of any avail to lift the cloud from 
 his brow, and he seemed moody and silent until supper 
 was announced. This was the first opportunity Morris 
 had had of trying his powers of persuasion upon the dea- 
 con, and now, at a hint from Katy, he said to him in 
 an aside, as they were passing into the dining-room: 
 "Suppose, Uncle Ephraim, you put on your coat for caice. 
 It is better than coming to the table so." 
 
WaFOED'S VISIT. - 51 
 
 "Pooh," was Uncle Ephraim's innocent rejoinder, 
 spoken loudly enough for Wilford to hear, "I don't need 
 it an atom. I shan't catch cold, for I am used to it; be- 
 sides that, I never could stand the Jacket this hot 
 weather." 
 
 In his simplicity he did not even suspect Morris' mo- 
 tive, but imputed it wholly to his concern lest he should 
 take cold. And so Wilford Cameron found himself seated 
 next to a man who willfully trampled upon all rules of 
 etiquette, shocking him in his most sensitive parts, and 
 making him thoroughly disgusted with the country and 
 country people generally. All but Morris and Katy — he 
 did make an exception in their favor, leaning most to 
 Morris, whom he admired more and more as he became 
 better acquainted with him, wondering how he could 
 content himself to settle down quietly in Silverton, when 
 he would surely die if compelled to live there for a week. 
 Something like this he said to Dr. Grant when that 
 evening they sat together in the handsome parlor at Lin- 
 wood, for Morris kindly invited him to spend the night 
 with him: 
 
 "I stay at Silverton, first, because I think I can do 
 more good here than elsewhere, and, secondly, because 
 I really Hke the country and the country people, for, 
 strange and uncouth as they may seem to you, who never 
 lived among them, they have kinder, truer hearts beat- 
 ing beneath their rough exteriors, than are often found 
 in the city." 
 
 This was Morris' reply, and in the conversation which 
 ensued Wilford Cameron caught glimpses of a nobler» 
 higher phase of manhood than he had thought existed, 
 feeling an unbounded respect for one who, because he 
 believed it to be his duty, was, as it seemed to him, 'wast- 
 ing his life among people who could not appreciate his 
 character, though they might idolize the man. But this 
 did not reconcile Wilford one whit the more to Silverton. 
 Uncle Ephraim had completed the work commenqed by 
 the two feather beds, and at the breakfast, spread next 
 morning in the coziest of breakfast-rooms, he announced 
 his intention of returning to New York that day. To 
 this Morris offered no objection, but asked to be remem- 
 bered to the mother, the sisters, and little Jamie, and, tt n 
 
52 FAMILY PBIDE. 
 
 invited Wilford to stop altogether at Linwood when he 
 carae again to Silverton. 
 
 "Thank you; but it is hardly probable that I shall be 
 here very soon," Wilford replied, adding, as he met the 
 peculiar glance of Morris* eye: "I found Miss Katy a 
 delightful traveling acquaintance, and on my way front 
 Newport thought I would renew it and see a little of rus- 
 tic life." 
 
 Poor Katy i how her heart would have ached could she 
 have heard those words and understood their meaning, 
 just as Morris did, feeUng a rising indignation for the 
 man with whom he could not be absolutely angry, he was 
 so self-possessed, so pleasant and gentlemanly, while bet- 
 ter than all, was he not virtually giving Katy up? and 
 if he did, might she not turn at last to him ? 
 
 These were Morris' thoughts as he walked with Wil- 
 ford across the fields to the farmhouse, where Katy met 
 them with her sunniest smile, singing to them, at Wil- 
 ford's request, her sweetest song, and making hira half 
 wish he could revoke his hasty decision and tarry a little 
 longer. But it was now too late for that; the carriage 
 which would take him to the depot was already on its 
 way from Linwood; and when the song was ended he 
 told her of his intentions to leave on the next train, feel- 
 ing a pang when he saw how the blood left her cheek and 
 lip, and then came surging back as she said timidly: 
 "Why need you leave so soon?" 
 
 "Oh, I have already outstayetl my time. I thought of 
 going yesterday, and my partner, Mr. Ray, will be ex- 
 pecting me," Wilford replied, involuntarily laying his 
 hand upon Katy's shining hair, while Morris and Helen 
 stole quietly from the room. 
 
 Thus left to himself, Wilford continued : 
 
 "Maybe 111 come again some time. Would you like to 
 have me?" 
 
 "Yes," and Katy's blue eyes were lifted pleadingly to 
 the young man, who had never loved her so well as that 
 very moment when resolving to cast her off. 
 
 And as for Katy, she mentally called herself a fool for 
 suffering Wilford Cameron to see what ^as in her heart ; 
 but s hgco^ d not help it, for she loved him with all *he 
 
\VILPOED'S VISIT. 53 
 
 Strength of her impulsive nature, and to have him leave 
 her so Suddenly hurt her cruelly. 
 
 For a moment Wilford was strongly tempted to throw 
 all family pride aside, and ask that young girl to be his; 
 but thoughts of his mother^ of Juno and Bell, and more 
 than all, thoughts of Uncle Ephraim and his Sister Betsy, 
 arose in time to prevent it, and so he only kissed her fore- 
 head caressingly as he said good-by, telling her that he 
 should not soon forget his visit to Silverton, and then as 
 the carriage drove up, going out to where the remainder 
 of the family were standing together and commenting 
 upon his sudden departure.- 
 
 It \vas not sudden, he said, trying to explain. He 
 really had thought seriously of going yesterday, and feel- 
 ing that he had something to atone for, he^ tried to be 
 unusually gracious as he shook their hands, thanking 
 them for their kindness, but seeming wholly oblivious to 
 Aunt Betsy's remark that "she hoped to see him again, 
 if not at Silverton, in New York, where she wanted 
 dreadfully to visit, but never had on account of the 'bom- 
 inable prices chai-ged to the taverns, and she hadn't no 
 acquaintances there." 
 
 This was Aunt Betsy's parting remark, and after Katy, 
 simple-hearted Aunt Betsy Hked Wilford Cameron better 
 than any one of the group which watched him as he 
 drove rapidly from their door. Aunt Hannah thought 
 him too much stuck up for farmer's folks, while Mrs. 
 Lennox, whose ambition would have accounted him a 
 most desirable match for her daughter, could not deny 
 that his manner toward them, though polite in the ex- 
 treme, was that of a superior to people greatly beneath 
 him; while Helen, who saw clearer than the rest, read 
 him tolerably aright, and detected the struggle . between 
 his pride and his love for poor little Katy, whom she 
 found sitting on the floor, just where Wilford left her 
 standing, her head resting on the chair and her face hid- 
 den in her hands as she sobbed quietly, hardly knowing 
 why she cried or what to answer when Helen asked what 
 was the matter. 
 
 "It was so queer in him to go so soon," she said; "just 
 as if he were offended about something." 
 
 "Never mind. Katy," Helen said, soothingly. Mf .i ,' 
 
64 . FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 cares for you he will come back again. He could not 
 - stay here always, of course ; and I must say I respect him 
 for attending to his business, if he has any. He has been 
 gone from home for weeks, you know." 
 
 This was Helen's reasoning; but it did not comfort 
 Katy, whose face looked white and sad, as she moved 
 listlessly about the house, almost crying again when she 
 heard in the distance the whistle of the train which was 
 to carry Wilford Cameron away, and end his first visit 
 to Silverton. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IN THE SPRING. 
 
 Katy Lennox had been very sick, and the bed where 
 "Wilford slept had stood in the parlor during the long 
 weeks while the obstinate fever ran its course; but she 
 was better now, and sat nearly all day before the fire, 
 sometimes trying to crochet a little, and again turning 
 over the books which Morris had brought to interest her 
 —Morris, the kind physician, who had attended her so 
 faithfully, never leaving her while the fever was at its 
 height, unless it was. necessary, but staying with her day 
 and night, watching her symptoms carefully, and praying 
 so earnestly that she might not die — not, at least, until 
 some token had been given that again in the better world 
 he should find her, where partings were unknown and 
 ■where no Wilford Camerons could contest the prize with 
 him. Not that he was greatly afraid of Wilford now; 
 that fear had mostly died away just as the hope had died 
 from Katy's heart that she would ever meet him again. 
 
 Since the September morning when he left her, she 
 had not heard from him except once, when in the winter 
 Morris had been to New York, and having a few hours' 
 leisure on his hands had called at Wilford's office, re- 
 ceiving a most cordial reception, and meeting with young 
 Mark Ray, who impressed him as a man quite as highly 
 cultivated as Wilford, and possessed of more character 
 and principlco This call was not altogether of Morris' 
 seeking, but was made rather with a view to pleasing 
 Katy, who, wnen she learned that he was .eoing to New 
 
IN THE SPRING. 55 
 
 1 ork, had said inadvertently : "Oh, I do so hope you'll 
 meet with Mr. Cameron, for then we shall know that he 
 is neither sick nor dead, as I have sometimes feared." 
 
 And so, remembering this, Morris had sought out his 
 rival, feeling more than repaid for the mental effort it had 
 cost him, when he saw how really glad Wilford seemed 
 to meet him. The first commonplaces over, Wilford in- 
 quired for Katy. Was she well, and how was she occu- 
 pying her time this winter? 
 
 "Both Helen and Katy are pupils of mine," Morris re- 
 plied, "reciting their lessons to me every day when the 
 weather will admit of their cr©ssing the fields to Linwood. 
 We have often wondered what had become of you, that 
 you did not even let us know of your safe arrival*home," 
 he added, looking Wilford fully in the eye, and rather 
 enjoying his confusion as he tried to apologize. 
 
 He had intended writing, but an unusual amount of 
 business had occupied his time. "Mark will tell you how 
 busy I was," and he turned appealingly to his partner, in 
 whose expressive eyes Morris read that Silverton was 
 not unknown to him. 
 
 But if Wilford had told him anything derogatory of 
 the farmhouse or its inmates, it did not appear in Mr. 
 Ray's manner, as he replied that Mr. Cameron had been 
 very busy eyer since his return from Silverton, adding: 
 "From what Cameron tells me of your neighborhood 
 there must be some splendid hunting and fishing there, 
 and I had last fall half a mind to try it." 
 
 This time there was something comical in the eyes 
 turned so mischievously upon Wilford, who colored scar- 
 let for an instant, but soon recovered his composure, and 
 invited Morris home with him to dinner. 
 
 "I shall not t&e a refusal," he said, as Morris began 
 to decline. "Mother and the young ladies will be de- 
 lighted to see you again, while Jamie — well, Jamie, I be- 
 lieve, worships the memory of the physician who was so 
 kind to him in France. You did Jamie a world of good. 
 Dr. Grant, and you must see him. Mark will go with 
 us, of course." 
 
 There was something so hearty in Wilford's invitation 
 that Morris did not again object, and two hours later 
 found him in the drawing-room at No. — Fifth Avenuei 
 
66 FAMILY PEIDE. 
 
 receiving the friendly greetings of Mrs. Cameron and her 
 daughter, each of whom vied with the other in their po- 
 lite attentions to him, while little Jamie, to whose nursery 
 he was admitted, wound his arms around his neck and 
 laying his curly head upon his shoulder, cried quietly, 
 whispering as he did so: "I am s6 glad. Dr. Grant, so 
 glad to see you again. I thought I never should, but I've 
 not forgotten the prayer you taught me, and I say it often 
 when my back aches so I cannot sleep and there's no one 
 around to hear but Jesus. I love Him now, if he did 
 make me lame, and I know that He loves me." 
 
 Shrely the bread cast upon the waters had returned 
 again after many days, and Morris Grant did not regret 
 the tim^ spent with the poor crippled boy, teaching him 
 the way of life and sowing the seed which now was bear- 
 ing fruit. Nor did he regret having accepted Wilford's 
 invitation to dinner, as by this means he saw the home 
 which had well-nigh been little Katy Lennox's. ^She 
 would be sadly out of place here with these people, he 
 thought, as he looked upon all their formality and cere- 
 mony and then contrasted it with what Katy had been 
 accustomed to. Juno would kill her outright, was his 
 next mental comment, as he watched that haughty young 
 lady, dressed in the extreme of fashion and dividing her 
 coquetries between himself and Mr. Ray, who, being 
 every way desirable both in point of family and wealth, 
 was evidently her favorite. She had colored scarlet when 
 first presented to Dr. Grant, and her voice had trembled as 
 she took his offered hand, for she remembered the time 
 when her Hking had not been concealed, and was only 
 withdrawn at the last because she found how useless it 
 was to waste her affections upcm one who did not prize 
 them. 
 
 When Wilford first returned from Silverton he had, as 
 a sure means of forgetting Katy, told his mother and sis- 
 ters something of the farmhouse and its inmates; and 
 Juno, while ridiculing both Helen and Katy, had felt a 
 fierce pang of jealousy in knowing they were cousins to 
 Morris Grant, who lived so near that he could, if he liked, 
 see them every day. In Paris Juno had suspected that 
 somebody was standing between her and Dr. Grant and 
 how with the quick insight of a smart, bright woman, she 
 
IN THE SPKING. 57 
 
 f 
 
 guesse3 that it was one of these same cousiii^, Kalj most 
 likely, her brother having described Helen as very com- 
 mcttiplace, and for a time she had hated poor, innocent 
 Katy most cordially for having come between her and the 
 only man for whom she had ever really cared. Grad- 
 ually, however, the feeling died away, but was revived 
 again at sight of Morris Grant, and at the table she could 
 not forbear saying to him : 
 
 "By the way. Dr. Grant, why did you never tell us of 
 those charming cousins, when you were in Paris ? Why, 
 Brother Will describes one of them as a little water lily, 
 she is so fair and pretty. JCaty, I think is her name. 
 Wilford, isn't it Katy Lennox whom you think so beau- 
 tiful, and with whom you are more than half in love.'"' 
 
 "Yes, it is Katy," and Wilford spoke sternly, for he 
 did not like Juno's bantering tone, but he could not stop 
 her, and she went on : 
 
 "Are they your cousins, Dr. Grant ?" 
 
 "No, they are removed from me two or three degrees, 
 their father having been only my second cousin." 
 
 The fact that Katy J^nnox was not nearly enough re- 
 lated to Dr. Grant to prevent his marrying het if he liked, 
 did not improve Juno's amiability, and she continued to 
 ask questions concerning both Katy and Helen, the latter, 
 of whom she persisted in thinking was strong-minded, 
 until Mark Ray came to the rescue, diverting her atten- 
 tion by adroitly complimenting her in some way, and so 
 relieving Wilford and Morris, both of whom were ex- 
 ceedingly annoyed. 
 
 "When Will visits Silverton again I mean to go with 
 him," she said to Morris at parting, but he did not tell 
 her that such an event would give him the greatest pleas- 
 ure. On the contrary, he merely replied : 
 
 "If you do you will find plenty of room at Linwood for 
 those four trunks which I remember seeing in Paris, and 
 your brother will tell you whether I am a hospitable host 
 or not." 
 
 Biting her lip with chagrin, Juno went back to the 
 drawing-room, while Morris returned to his hotel, ac- 
 companied by Wilford, who passed the entire evening 
 with him, appearing somewhat constrained, as if there 
 was something on his mind which he wished to say; but 
 
5b FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 t 
 
 it remained unspoken, and there was no allusion to Sil- 
 verton until as Wilford was leaving, he said : 
 
 "Remember me kindly to the Silverton friends, and say 
 I have not forgotten them." 
 
 And this was all there was to carry back to the anxious 
 Katy, who on the afternoon of Morris' return from New 
 York was over at Linwood waiting to pour his tea and 
 make his toast, she pretended, though the real reason 
 was shining all over her telltale face, which grew so 
 bright and eager when Morris said : 
 
 "I dined at Mr. Cameron's, Kitty." 
 
 But the brightness gradually faded as Morris described 
 his call and then repeated Wilford's message. 
 
 "And that was all," Katy whispered sorrowfully as she 
 beat the damask cloth softly with her fingers, shutting her 
 lips tightly together to keep back her disappointment. 
 
 When Morris glanced at her again there was a tear on 
 her long eyelashes, and it dropped upon her cheek, fol- 
 lowed by another and another, but he did not seem to 
 see it, talking of New York and the fine sights in Broad- 
 way until Katy was herself again, able to take part in 
 the conversation. 
 
 "Please don't tell Helen that you saw Wilford," she 
 said to Morris as he walked home with her after tea, and 
 that was the only allusion she made to it, never after that 
 mentioning Wilford's name or giving any token of the 
 ■wounded love still so strong within her heart, and wait- 
 ing only for some slight token to waken it again to life 
 and vigor. 
 _ This was in the winter, and Katy had been very sick 
 since then — so sick that even to her the thought had some- 
 times come: "What if I should die?" but she was too 
 weak, too nearly unconscious, to go further and reflect 
 upon the terrible reality death would bring if it found her ' 
 unprepared. She had only strength and sense enough to 
 wonder if Wilford would care when he heard that she 
 was dead; and once, as she grew better, she almost 
 worked herself into a second fever with assisting at her 
 own obsequies, seeing only one mourner, and that one 
 Wilford Cameron. Even he was not there in time to 
 see her in her coffin, but he wept over her little grave and 
 called her "darling Katy." So vividly had Katy pictured 
 
m THE SPRING. 59 
 
 all this scene, that Morris, when he called, found her 
 flushed and hot, with traces of tears on her face. 
 
 In reply to his inquiries as to what was the matter, she 
 had answered laughingly: "Oh, nothing much — only I 
 have been burying myself," and so Morris never dreamed 
 of the real nature of her reveries, or guessed that Wilford 
 Cameron was mingled with every thought. She had for- 
 gotten him, he believed ; and when, as she grew stronger, 
 he saw how her eyes sparkled at his coming, and how 
 impatient she seemed if he was obliged to hurry off, hope 
 whispered that she would surely be his, and his usually 
 grave face wore a look of happiness which even his pa- 
 tients noticed, feeling themselves better after one of his 
 cheery visits. Poor Morris! he was little prepared for 
 the terrible blow in store for him, when one day early 
 in April he started, as usual, to visit Katy, saying to him- 
 self : "If I find her alone, perhaps I'll tell her of my love, 
 and ask if she will come to Linwood this summer;" and 
 Morris paused a moment beneath a beechwood tree to 
 still the throbbings of his heart, which beat so fast as 
 he thought of going home some day from his weary work 
 and finding Katy there, his little wife — ^his own — ^whom 
 he might caress and love all his affectionate nature would 
 prompt him to. He knew that in some points she was 
 weak — a silly little thing she called herself when com- 
 paring her mind with Helen's — but there was about her 
 so much of purity, innocence, and perfect beauty, that 
 few men, however strong their intellect, could withstand 
 her, and Morris, though knowing her weakness, felt that 
 in possessing her he should have all he needed to make 
 this life desirable. She would improve as she grew older, 
 and it would be a most delightful task to train her into 
 what she was capaMe of becoming. Alas ! for Dr. Morris ! 
 He was very near the farmhouse now, and there were 
 only a few minutes between him and the cloud which 
 would darken his horizon so completely. Katy was alone, 
 sitting up in her pretty dressing gown of blue, which was 
 so becoming to her pure complexion. Her hair, which 
 had been all cut away during her long sickness, was 
 growing out again somewhat darker than before, and lay 
 in rings upon her head, making her look more childish 
 than ever. But to this Morris did not object. He liked 
 
60 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 to have her a child, and he thought he had never seen her 
 so wholly beautiful as she was this morning, when, with 
 glowing cheek and dancing eyes, she greeted him as he 
 came in. 
 
 "Oh, Dr. Morris !" she began, holding up a letter she 
 had in her hand, "I am so glad you've come, for I wanted 
 to tell you so badly Wilford has not forgotten me, as I 
 used to think, and as I guess you thought, too, though 
 you did not say so. He has written, and he is coming 
 again, if I will let him; and, oh, Morris! I am so glad! 
 Ain't you? Seeing you knew all about it, and never told 
 Helen, I'll let you read the letter." 
 
 And she held it toward the young man leaning against 
 the mantel and panting for the breath which came so 
 heavily. 
 
 Something he said apologetically about being snow 
 blind, for there was that day quite a fall of soft spring 
 snow; and then with a mighty effort, which made his 
 heart quiver with pain, Morris was himself once more, 
 and took the letter in his hand. 
 
 "Perhaps I had better not read it," he said, but Katy 
 insisted that he might, and thinking to himself : "It will 
 cure me sooner perhaps," he read the few lines Wilford 
 Cameron had written to his "dear little Katy." 
 
 That was the way he addressed her, going on to say 
 that circumstances which he could not explain to her liad 
 kept him silent ever since he left her the previous autumn ; 
 but through all he never for a mcMnent had forgotten her, 
 thinking of her the more for the silence he had main- 
 tained. "And now that I have risen above the circum- 
 stances," he added, in conclusion, "I write to ask if I may 
 come to Silverton again. If I may, just drop me one 
 word, 'come,' and in less than a week I shall be there. 
 Yours very truly, W. Cameron." 
 
 Morris read the letter through, feeling that every word 
 was separating him further and further from Katy, to 
 whom he said: "You will answer this?" 
 
 "Yes, oh yes; perhaps to-day." 
 
 "And you will tell him to come ?" 
 
 "Why, yes — what else should I tell him?" and Katy's 
 blue eyes looked wonderingly at Morris, who hardly knew 
 what he was doing, or why he said to her next : "Listen 
 
IN THE SPRING. 61 
 
 to me, Katy. You know why Wilford Cameron comes 
 here a second time, and what he will probably ask you ere 
 he goes away; but, Katy, you are not strong enough yet 
 to see him under so exciting circumstances, and, as your 
 physician, I desire that you tell him to wait at least three 
 weeks before he comes. Will you do so, Katy ?" 
 
 "That is just as Helen talked," Katy answered, mourn- 
 fully. "She said I was not able," 
 
 "And will you heed us?" Morris asked again, while 
 Katy after a moment consented; and glad of this respite 
 from what he knew to a certainty would be, Morris dealt 
 out her medicine, and for an inStant felt her rapid pulse, 
 but did not retain her hand within his own, nor lay his 
 other upon her head, as he had sometimes done. 
 
 He could not do that now, and so he hurried away, 
 finding the world into which he went far different from 
 what it had seemed an hour ago. Then all was bright 
 and hopeful ; but now, alas ! a darker night was gathering 
 around him than any he had ever known, and the patients 
 visited that day marveled at the whiteness of his face, 
 asking if he were ill? Yes, he answered them truly, and 
 for two days he was not seen again, but remained at home 
 alcffie, where none but his God was witness to what he 
 suffered; but when the third day came he went again 
 among his sick, grave, quiet and unchanged to outward 
 appearance, unless it was that his voice, always so kind, 
 had now a kinder tone and his manner was tenderer, 
 more sympathizing. Inwardly, however, there was a 
 change, for Morris Grant had lain himself upon the sacri- 
 ficial altar, willing to be and to endure whatever God 
 should appoint, knowing that all would eventually be for 
 his good. To the farnihouse he went every day, talking 
 most with Helen now, but never forgetting who it was 
 sitting so demurely in the armchair, or flitting about the 
 room, for Katy was gaining rapidly. Love perhaps had 
 had nothing to do with her dangerous illness, but it had 
 much to do with her recovery, and those not in the secret 
 wondered to see how she improved, her cheeks growing 
 round and full and her eyes shining with returning 
 health and happiness. 
 
 At Helen's instigation Katy had deferred Wilford's 
 visit four weeks instead of three, but in that time there 
 
62 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 had come two letters from him, letters so full of anxiety 
 and sympathy for "his poor little Katy who had been so 
 sick," that even Helen began to think she had done m- 
 justice to him, that he was not as proud and heartless as 
 she supposed,. and that he did love her sister after all. _ 
 
 "If I supposed he meant to deceive her I should wish 
 I was a man to cowhide him," she said to herself, with 
 flashing eye, as she heard Katy exulting that he was com- 
 ing "to-morrow." 
 
 This time he would stop at Linwood, for Katy had 
 asked Morris if he might, while Morris had told her "yes," 
 feeling his heart wound throb afresh, as he thought how 
 hard it would be to entertain his rival. Of himself Mor- 
 ris could do nothing, but with the help he never sought in 
 vain he could do all things, and so he gave orders that 
 the best chamber should be prepared for his guest, bid- 
 ding Mrs. Hull, his housekeeper, see that no pains were 
 spared for his entertainment, and then with Katy he 
 waited for the day, the last one in April, which should 
 bring Wilford Cameron a second time to Silverton. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 wilford's second visit. 
 
 Wilford Cameron had tried to forget Katy Lennox, 
 while his mother and sisters had done their best to help 
 to forget, or at least sicken of her ; and as the three, Juno, 
 Bell and the mother, were very differently constituted, 
 they had widely different ways of assisting him in his di- 
 lemma, the mother complimenting his good sense in draw- 
 ing back from an alliance which could only bring him 
 mortification; Bell, the blue sister, ignoring the idea of 
 Wilford's marrying that country girl as something too 
 preposterous to be contemplated for a moment, much less 
 to be talked about ; while Juno spared neither ridicule nor 
 sarcasm, using the former weapon so effectually that her 
 brother at one time nearly went over to the enemy; and 
 Katy's tears, shed so often when no one could see her, 
 were not without a reason. Wilford was trying to forget 
 her, hoth for his sake and her own, for he foresaw that 
 
wilford's second visit. 63 
 
 she could not be happy with his family, and he came to 
 think it might be a wrong to her, transplanting her into 
 a soil so wholly unlike that in which her habits and af- 
 fections had taken root. 
 
 His father once had abruptly asked him if there was 
 any truth in the report that he was about to marry and 
 make a fool of himself, and when Wilford had answered 
 "No," he had replied with a significant : 
 
 "Umph! Old enough, I should think, if you ever in- 
 tend.to marry. Wilford," and the old man faced square 
 about : "I know nothing of the girl, except what I gath- 
 ered from your mother and sisters.' You have not asked 
 my advice. I don't suppose you want it, but if you do, 
 here it is. If you love the girl and she is respectable, 
 marry her if she is poor as poverty and the daughter of 
 a tinker; but if you don't love her, and she's rich as a 
 nabob, for thunder's sake keep away from her." 
 
 This was the elder Cameron's counsel, and Katy's 
 cause arose fifty per cent, in consequence. Still Wilford 
 was sadly disquieted, so much so that his partner, Mark 
 Ray, could not fail to observe that something was trou- 
 bling him, and at list frankly asked what it was. Wil- 
 ford knew he could trust Mark, and he confessed the 
 whole, telling him far more of Silverton than he had told 
 his mother, and then asking what his friend would do 
 were the case his own. 
 
 Fond of fun and frolic, Mark laughed immoderately at 
 Wilford's description of Aunt Betsy bringing her "her- 
 rin' bone" patchwork into the parlor, and telling him it 
 was a part of Katy's "settin' out," but when it came to 
 her hint for an invitation to visit in New York, the 
 amused young mau roared with laughter, wishing so 
 much that he might live to see the day when poor ^i^nt 
 Betsy Barlow stood ringing for admittance at No. — 
 Fifth Avenue. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be rich, though, the meeting between your 
 Aunt Betsy and Juno?" and the tears fairly poured down 
 the young man's face. 
 
 But Wilford was too serious for trifling, and after his 
 merriment had subsided, Mark talked with him candidly, 
 sensibly, of Katy Lennox, whose cause he warmly 
 
64 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 espoused, telling Wilford that he was far too eensitlve 
 with regard to family and position. 
 
 "You are a good fellow on the whole, but too outra- 
 geously proud," he said. "Of course this Aunt Betsy 
 in her pongee, whatever that may be, and the uncle in his 
 shirt sleeves, and this mother whom yoti describe as weak 
 and ambitious, are objections which you would rather 
 should not exist ; but if you love the girl, take her, family 
 and all. Not that you are to transport the whole colony 
 of Barlows to New York," he added, as he saw Wilford's 
 look of horror, "but make up your mind to endure what 
 cannot be helped, resting yourself upon the fact that your. 
 position is such as cannot well be affected by any mar- 
 riage you might make, provided the wife were right." 
 
 This was Mark Ray's advice, and it had great weight 
 with Wilford, who knew that Mark came, if possible, 
 from a better line of ancestry than himself, inasmuch as 
 his maternal grandmother was a near relative of the Eng- 
 lish Percys, and the daughter of a lord. And still Wil- 
 ford hesitated, waiting until the winter was over before 
 he came to the decision which when it was reached was 
 firm as a granite rock. He had made up his mind at last 
 to marry Katy Lennox if she would accept him, and he 
 told his mother so in the presence of his sisters, when one 
 evening they were all kept at home by the rain. There 
 was a sudden uplifting of Bell's eyelashes, a contempt- 
 uous shrug of her shoulders, and then she went on with 
 the book she was reading, wondering if Katy was at all 
 inclined to literature, and thinking if she were that it 
 might be easier to tolerate her. Juno, who was expected 
 to say the sharpest things, turned upon him with the ex- 
 clamation : 
 
 "If you can stand those two feather beds, you can do 
 more than I supposed," and as one means of showing 
 her disapproval, she quitted the room, while Bell, who 
 had taken to writing articles on the follies of the age, 
 soon followed her sister to elaborate an idea suggested to 
 her mind by her brother's contemplated marriage. 
 
 Thus left alone with her son, Mrs. Cameron tried all 
 her powers of persuasion upon him in vain. But nothing 
 she said influenced him in the least, seeing which she 
 suddenly confronted him with the question: "SlmU_you 
 
■wilford's second visit/ 65 
 
 tell her all? A husband should have no secrets of that 
 kind from his wife." 
 
 Wilford's face was white as ashes, and his voice trem- 
 bled as he replied : "Yes, mother, I shall tell her all ; but, 
 oh ! you do not know how hard it has been for me to bring- 
 my mind to that, or "how sorry I am that we ever kept 
 thai secret — when Genevra died " 
 
 "Hush-h!" came warningly from the mother as Juno 
 reappeared, the warning indicating that Genevra, who- 
 ever she might be, was a personage never mentioned, ex- 
 cept by mother and son. 
 
 As Juno remained the conversation was not resumed, 
 and the next morning Wilford wrote to Katy Lennox the 
 letter which carried to her so much of joy, and to Dr. 
 Grant so much of grief. To wait four weeks, as Katy 
 said he must, was a terrible trial to Wilford, who counted 
 every moment which kept him from her side. It was all 
 owing to Dr. Grant and that perpendicular Helen, he 
 knew, for Katy in lier letter had admitted that the wait- 
 ing was wholly their suggestion ; and Wilford's thoughts 
 concerning them were anything but complimentary, until 
 a new idea was suggested, which drove every other con- 
 sideration from his mind. 
 
 Wilford was naturally jealous, but that fault had once 
 led him into so deep a trouble that he had struggled hard 
 to overcome it, and now, at its first approach, after he 
 thought it dead, he tried to shake it off — tried not to be- 
 lieve that Morris cared especially for Katy. But the mere 
 possibility was unendurable, and in a most feverish state 
 ©f excitement he started again for Silverton. 
 
 As before, Morris was waiting for him at the station, 
 his cordial greeting and friendly manner disarming him 
 from all anxiety in that quarter, and making him resolve 
 anew to trample the demon jealousy under his feet, where 
 it could never rise again. Katy's life should not be dark- 
 ened by the green monster, he thought, and her future 
 would have been bright indeed had it proved all that he 
 pictured it as he drove along with Morris in the direction 
 of the farmhouse, for he was to stop there first and *ejx 
 at night go over to sleep at Linwood. 
 
 Katy y/r.s waiting for him, and as *^e r^-d: ^zr r^one, he 
 did not l.c-jitate to kiss her mo^e *^Har on*"? a '■■ hf hert 
 
86 FAMQiY PRIDE. 
 
 her for a moment in his arms, and then held ^^'-f°\J'^ 
 see if her illness had left any traces upon her. ii naa 
 not, except it were in the increased delicacj^ ot her com- 
 plexion and the short hair now growing out in silky nngs. 
 She was very pretty in her short hair, but Wilford felt 
 a little impatient as he saw how childish it made her look, 
 and thought how long it woiild take for it to attain its 
 former length. He was already appropriating her to 
 himself, and devising ways of improving her. In New 
 York, with Morris Grant standing before his jealous 
 gaze, he could see no fault in Katy, and even now, with 
 her beside him, and the ogre jealousy gone, he saw no 
 fault in her; it was only her dress, and that could be so 
 easily remedied. Otherwise she was perfect, and in his 
 delight at meeting her again he forgot to criticise the 
 farmhouse and its occupants, as he had done before. 
 
 They were very civil to him — ^the mother overwhelm- 
 ingly so — insomuch that Wilford could not help detecting 
 her anxiety that all should be settled this time. Helen, 
 on the contrary, was unusually cool, confirming him in 
 his opinion that she was strong-minded and self-willed, 
 and making him resolve to remove Katy as soon as pos- 
 sible from her strait-laced influence. When talking with 
 his mother he had said that if Katy had told him "yes," 
 he should probably place her at some fashionable school 
 for a year or two; but on the way to Silverton he had 
 changed his mind.. He could not wait a year, and if he 
 married Katy at all, it should be immediately. He would 
 then take her to Europe, where she could have the best 
 of teachers, besides the advantage of traveling; and it was 
 a very satisfactory picture he drew of the woman whom 
 he should introduce into New York society as his wife, 
 Mrs. Wilford Cameron. It is true that Katy had not yet 
 said the all-important word, but she was going to say it, 
 and when late that afternoon they came up from the walk 
 he had asked her to take, she was his promised wife. 
 
 They had sat together on the very rock where Katy sat 
 that day when Uncle Ephraim told her of the different 
 paths there were through life, some pleasant and free 
 from care, some thorny and full of grief. Katy had never 
 forgotten the conversation, and, without knowing why, 
 she had always avoided that rock beneath the butternut 
 
wilfoed's second visit. 67 
 
 as a place where there had been revealed to her a glimpse 
 of something sad ; and so, when Wilford proposed resting 
 &ere, she at first objected, but yielded at last, and, with 
 his arm around her,. Ustened to the story of his love. It 
 was what she had expected and thought herself prepared 
 for, but when it came it was so real, so earnest, that she 
 could only clasp her hands over her face, which she hid 
 on Wilford's shoulder, weeping passionately as she 
 thought how strange it was for a man like Wilford Cam- 
 eran to seek her for his wife. Katy was no coquette; 
 whatever she felt she expressed, and when she could 
 cemmand herself she frankly confessed to Wilford her 
 love for him, telling him how the fear that he had for- 
 gotten her had haunted her all the long, long winter ; and 
 then with her clear, truthful blue eyes looking into his, 
 asking him why he had not sent her some message if, as 
 he said, he loved her all the time. 
 
 For a moment Wilford's lip was compressed and a 
 flush overspread his face, as, drawing her closer to him, 
 he replied: "My little Katy will remember that in my 
 first note I spoke of certain circumstances which had pre- 
 vented my writing earlier. I do not know that I asked 
 her not to seek to know those circumstances ; but I ask it 
 now. Will Katy trust me so, far as to believe that all is,» 
 right between us, and never allude to these circumstances ? 
 
 He was kissing her fondly, and his voice was so winning 
 that Katy promised all that was required; and then came 
 the hardest, the trying to tell her all, as he had said to 
 his mother he would. Twice he essayed to speak, and 
 as often something sealed his lips, until at last he began : 
 "You must not think me perfect, Katy, for I have faults, 
 and perhaps if you knew my past life you would wish to 
 revoke your recent decision anti render a different verdict 
 to my suit. Suppose I unfold the blackest leaf for yoirr 
 inspection ?" 
 
 "No, no, oh, no," and Katy playfully stopped his mouth 
 with her hand. "Of course you have some faults, but I 
 would rather find them out myself. I could not hear any- 
 thing against you now. I am satisfied to take you as 
 you are." 
 
 Wilford felt his heart throb wildly with the feeliflg that 
 he was in some way deceiving the young girl ; but if she. 
 
68 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 would not suffer him to tell her, he was not to be censured 
 if she remained in ignorance. And so the golden moment 
 fled, and when he spoke again he said : "If Katy will not 
 now read that leaf I offered to show her, she niust not 
 shrink back in horror if ever it does meet her eye.' _ 
 
 "I don't, I promise," Katy answered, a vague feehng of 
 fear creeping over her as to what the reading of that mys- 
 terious page involved. But this was soon forgotten, as 
 Wilford, remembering his suspicions of Dr. Grant, 
 thought to probe a little by asking if she had ever loved 
 any one before himself? 
 
 "No, never," she answered. "I never dreamed of such 
 a thing until I saw you, Mr. Cameron ;" and Wilford be- 
 lieved the trusting girl, whose loving nature shone in 
 every lineament of her face, upturned to receive the kisses 
 he pressed upon it, resolving within himself to be to her 
 what he ought to be. 
 
 "By the way," he continued, "don't call me Mr. Cam- 
 eron again, as you did just now. I would rather be your 
 Wilford. It sounds more familiar. And still, " he added, 
 "it may be better at present to reserve that name for the 
 time when we are alone. To your family I may as well 
 remain Mr. Cameron." 
 
 * This was an after thought, suggested by his knowing 
 how he should shiver to hear Aunt Betsy call him "Wil- 
 ford," as she surely would if Katy did. Then he told 
 her of his projected tour to Europe, and Katy felt her 
 pulses quicken as she thought of London, Paris and Rome, 
 as places which her plain country eyes might yet look 
 upon. But when it came to their marriage, which Wil- 
 ford said must be soon — within a few weeks — she de- 
 murred, for this arrangement was not in accordance with 
 her desires. She should so much enjoy a long courtship 
 with Wilford coming often to Silverton, and such quanti- 
 ties of letters passing between them as should ma':e her 
 the envy of all Silverton. This was Katy's idea, and she 
 opposed her lover with all her strength, telling him she 
 was so young, not eighteen till July, and she knew so 
 little of housekeeping. He must let her stay at home 
 until she learned at least the art of making bread! 
 
 Poor, ignorant Katy! Wilford could not forbear a 
 smile as he thought how different were her views from 
 
wilpobd's second visit. 69 
 
 his, and tried to explain that the art of bread-making, 
 though very desirable in most wives, was not an essential 
 accomplishment for his. Servants would do that; be- 
 sides he did not intend to^have a house of his own at once ; 
 he should take her first to live with his mother, where 
 she could learn what was necessary much better than 
 there in Silverton. 
 
 Wilford Cameron expected to be obeyed in every im- 
 portant matter by the happy person who should be his 
 wife, and as he possessed the faculty of enforcin'g perfect 
 obedience without seeming to be severe, so he silenced 
 Katy's arguments, and when they left the shadow of the 
 butternut tree she knew that in all hunian probability six 
 weeks' time would find her on the. broad ocean alone with 
 Wilford Cameron. So perfect vias Katy's faith and love 
 that she had no fear of Wilford now, but as his affianced 
 wife walked confidently by his side, feeling fully his equal, 
 nor once dreaming how great the disparity his city friends 
 would discover between the fastidious man of fashion and 
 the unsophisticated country girl. And Wilford did not 
 seek to enlighten her, but suffered her to talk of the de- 
 light it would be to live in New York, and how pleasant 
 for mother and Helen to visit her, especially the latterj_ 
 who would thus have a chance to see something of the 
 world. 
 
 "When I get a house of my own I mean she shall live 
 with me all the while," she said, stooping to gather a tuft 
 of wild bluebells growing in a marshy spot. 
 
 Wilford winced a little, for in his estimation Helen 
 Lennox formed no part of that household to be estab- 
 lished on Madison Square, but he would not so soon tear 
 down Katy's castles, and so he merely remarked as she 
 asked if it would not be nice to have Helen with them."" 
 
 "Yes, very nice, but do not speak of it to her yet, as 
 it will probably be some time before she will come to us, 
 and she had better not have it in anticipation." 
 
 And. so Helen never knew the, honor in store for her 
 as she stood in the doorway anxiously waiting for her 
 sister, who, she feared, would take cold from being out 
 so long. Something though in Katy's face made her 
 guess that to her was lost forever the bright little sister 
 whom she loved so dearly, and fleeing up the narrow 
 
70 FAMILY PRIDE, 
 
 stairwajr to her room she wept bitterly as she thought of 
 the coming time when she would share that room alone, 
 and know that never again would a little golden head he 
 upon her neck just as it had lain, for there would be a 
 new love, a new interest between them, a love for the 
 man whose voice she could hear now talking to her 
 mother in the peculiar tone he always assumed when 
 speaking to any one of them excepting Morris or Katy. 
 
 "I wish it were not wrong to hate him," she exclaimed 
 passionately; "it would be such a relief; but if he is only 
 kind to Katy, I do not care how much he despises us," 
 and bathing her face in water Helen sat down by her 
 window, gazing out upon the fresh green earth, where 
 the young grass was springing, wondering if Mr. Cam- 
 eron took her sister, when it would probably be. "Not 
 this year or more," she said, "for Katy is so young ;" but 
 on this point she was soon set right by Katy herself, who, 
 leaving her lover alone with her mother, stole up to tell 
 her sister the good news. 
 
 "Yes, I know ; I guessed as much when you came back 
 from the meadows," and Helen's voice was very unsteady 
 in its tone as she smoothed back the soft rings clustering 
 around her sister's brow. 
 - "Crying. Helen ! oh, don't. I shall love, you just the 
 same, and you are coming to live with us in the new house 
 on Madison Square," Katy said, forgetting Wilford's in- 
 structions in her desire to comfort Helen, who broke down 
 again, while Katy's tears were mingled with her own.. 
 
 It was the first time Katy had thought what it would 
 be to leave forever the good, patient sister, who had been 
 so true, so kind, treating her like a petted kitten and 
 standing between her and every hardship. 
 
 "Don't cry, Nellie," she said, twining her arms around 
 her neck ; "New York is not far away, and I shall come 
 so often — that is, after we return from Europe. Did I 
 tell you we are going there first, and Wilford will not 
 wait, but says we must be married the tenth of June; 
 that's his birthday — ^thirty — and he is telling mother 
 now." 
 
 "So soon — oh, Katy! and you so young!" was all 
 Helen could say, as with quivering lip she kissed her sis- 
 ter's hand raised to wipe her tears away. 
 
wilford's second visit, 71 
 
 "Yes, it is soon, and I am young; but Wilford is in 
 such a hurry ; he don't care," Katy replied, trying to com- 
 fort Helen, and begging of her not to cry so hard. 
 
 No, Wilford did not care, as it would seem, how much 
 he wrung the hearts of Katy's family by taking her from 
 them at once, and by dictating to a certain extent the way 
 in which he would take her. There must be no invited 
 guests, he said ; no lookers-on, except such as chose to go 
 to the church where the ceremony would, of course, be 
 pffl-formed, and from which place he should go directly 
 to the Boston train. It was his wish, too, that the matter 
 should be kept as quiet as possible, and not be generally 
 discussed in the neighborhood, as he disliked being a sub- 
 ject for gossip. And Mrs. Lennox, to whom,, this was 
 said, promised compliance with everything, or if she ven- 
 tured to object she found herself borne down by a 
 stronger will than her own, and weakly yielded, her man- 
 ner fully testifying to her delight at the honor conferred 
 upon her by this high marriage of her child. Wilford 
 knew jusfhow pleased she was, and her obsequious man- 
 ner iannoyed him far more than did Helen's blunt, 
 straightforwardness, when, after supper was over, she 
 told him how averse she was to his taking Katy so soon, ^ 
 adding still further that if it must be, she saw no harm 
 in inviting a few of their neighbors. It was customary — 
 it would be expected, she said, while Mrs. Lennox,, em- 
 boldened by Helen's boldness, chimed in, "at least your 
 folks will come ; I shall be gla.d to meet your mother." 
 
 Wilford was very polite to them both; very good-hu- 
 mored, but he kept to his first position, and poor Mrs. 
 Lennox saw fade into airy nothingness all her visions of 
 roasted fowls and frosted cake trimmed with myrtle and 
 flowers, with hosts of the Silverton people there to ad- 
 mire and partake of the marriage feast. It was too bad, 
 and so Aunt Betty said, when, after Wilford had gone to 
 Linwood, the family sat together around the kitchen 
 stove, talking the matter over. 
 
 "Yes, it was too bad, when there was that white hen 
 turkey she could fat up so easy before June, and she 
 knew how to make 'lection cake that would melt in your 
 mouth, and was enough sight better than the black stuff 
 
72 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 they called weddin' cake. Vum ! she meant to try what 
 she could do with Mr. Cameron." 
 
 And next morning when he came again she did try, 
 holding out as inducements why he should be married 
 the night before starting for Boston, the "white hen 
 turkey, the 'lection cake, and the gay old times the young; 
 folks would have playing snap-and-catchem ; or if they 
 had a mind, they could dance a bit in the kitchen. She 
 didn't believe in it, to be sure — ^none of the orthodox did ; 
 but as Wilford was a 'Piscopal, and that was a 'Piscopal 
 quirk, it wouldn't harm for once." 
 
 Wilford tried not to show his disgust, and only Helen 
 suspected how hard it was for him to keep down his utter 
 contempt. She saw it in his eyes, which resembled two 
 smoldering volcanoes as they rested upon Aunt Betsy 
 during her harangue. 
 
 "Thank you, madam, for your good intentions, but I 
 think we will dispense with the turkey and the cake," 
 was all he said, though he did smile at the old lady's 
 definition of dancing, which for once she might allow. 
 
 Even Morris, when appealed to, decided with Wilford 
 against Mrs. Lennox and Aunt Betsy, knowing how un- 
 equal he was to the task which would devolve on him in 
 ■case of a bridal party at the farmhouse. In comparative 
 silence he had heard from Wilford of his engagement, of- 
 fering no objection when told how soon the marriage 
 would take place, but congratulating him so quietly that, 
 if Wilford had retained a feeling of jealousy, it would 
 have disappeared ; Morris was so seemingly indiflf erent to 
 everything except Katy's happiness. But Wilford did 
 not observe closely, and failed to detect the hopeless look 
 in Morris' eyes, or the. whiteness which settled about his 
 mouth as he fulfilled the duties of host and sought to en- 
 tertain his guest. Those were dark hours for Morris 
 Grant, and he was glad when at the end of the second day 
 Wilford's visit expired, and he saw him driven from Lin- 
 wood around to the farmhouse, where he would say his 
 parting words to Katy and then go back to New York. 
 
GETTING READY TO BE MARRIED. 73 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 GETTING READY TO BE MARRIED. 
 
 "Miss Helen Lennox, Silverton, Mass." 
 
 This was the superscription of a letter, postmarked 
 New York, and brought to Helen within a week after 
 Wilford's departure. It was his handwriting, too; and 
 wondering what he could have written to her, Helen 
 broke the seal, starting as there dropped into her lap a 
 check for five hundred dollars. 
 
 "What does it mean ?" she said, her cheek flashing with 
 anger and insulted pride as she read the following brief 
 lines : 
 
 "New York, May 8th. 
 "Miss Helen Lennox: Please pardon the liberty I 
 take in inclosing the sum of five hundred dollars, to be 
 used by you in procuring whatever Katy may need for 
 present necessities. Presuming that the country seam- 
 stresses have not the best facilities for obtaining the latest, 
 fashions, my mother proposes sending out her ov/n pri- 
 vate dressmaker, Mrs. Ryan. You may look for her the 
 last of the week. 
 
 "Yours truly, Wilford Cameron." 
 
 It would be impossible to describe Helen's indignation 
 as she read this letter, which roused her to a pitch of 
 anger such as Wilford Cameron had never imagined 
 when he wrote the effensive lines. He had really no in- 
 tention of insulting her. On the contrary, the gift, of 
 money was kindly meant, for he knew very well that 
 Uncle Ephraim was poor, while the part referring to the 
 dressmaker was wholly his mother's proposition, to which 
 he had acceded, knowing how much confidence Juno had 
 in her taste, and that whatever she might see at the farm- 
 house would remain a secret with her, or at m.ost be con- 
 fined to the ears of his mother and sisters. He wished 
 Katy to look well, and foolishly fancying that no country 
 artiste could make her look so, he consented to Mrs. 
 
74 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 Ryan's going, never suspecting the storm of anger it 
 would rouse in Helen, whose first impulse was to throw 
 the check into the fire. Her second, however, was so- 
 berer. She would not destroy it, nor tell any one she had 
 it but Morris — he should know the whole. Accordingly, 
 without a word to any one, she repaired to Linwood, 
 finding Morris at home, and startling him with the vehe- 
 mence of her anger as she explained the nature of her 
 errand. 
 
 "If I disliked Wilford Cameron before, I hate him now. 
 Yes, hate him," she said, stamping her little foot in fury. 
 
 "Why, Helen!" Morris exclaimed, laying his hand re- 
 provingly on her shoulder. "Is this the right spirit for one 
 who professes better things? Stop a moment and think." 
 
 "I know it is wrong," Helen answered, the tears glit- 
 tering in her eyes; "but somehow since he came after 
 Katy, I have grown so hard, so wicked toward Mr. Cam- 
 eron. He seems so proud, so unapproachable. Say, 
 Cousin Morris, do you think him a good man — ^that is, 
 good enough for Katy?" 
 
 "Most people would call him too good for her," Morris 
 replied. "And, in a worldly point of view, she is doing 
 kWcII, while Mr. Cameron, I believe, is better than three- 
 fourths of the men who marry our girls. He is very 
 proud; but that results from his education and training. 
 Looking only from a New York standpoint he misjudges 
 country people, but he will appreciate you by and by. Do 
 not begin by hating him so cordially." 
 
 "Yes, but this money. Now, Morris, we do not want 
 him to get Katy's outfit. I would rather go without 
 clothes my whole life. Shall I send it back ?" 
 
 "I think that the best disposition to make of it," Morris 
 replied. "As your brother, I can and will supply Katy's 
 needs." 
 
 "I knew you would, Morris. What should we do with- 
 out you?" and Helen smiled gratefully upon the doctor, 
 who in word and deed was to her like a dear brother. 
 "And I'll send it to-day, in time to keep that dreadful 
 Mrs. Ryan from coming; for, Morris, I won't have any 
 of Wilford Cameron's dressmakers in the house." 
 
 Morris could not help smiling at Helen's energetic 
 
GETTING BEADY TO BE MARRIED. 75 
 
 inanner as she hurried to his library and taking his pen 
 wrote to Wilford Cameron as follows : 
 
 "SiLVERTON, May 9th. 
 "Mr. Wilford Cameron: I give you credit for the 
 kindest of motives in sending the check, which I now re- 
 turn to you, with my compliments. We are not as poor 
 as you suppose, and would almost deem it sacrilege to let 
 another than ourselves provide for Katy so long as she is 
 ours. And furthermore, . that Mrs. Ryan's services will 
 not be. needed, so it is not worth her while to make a 
 journey here for nothing. Yours, 
 
 "Helen Lennox." 
 
 Helen felt better after this letter had gone, wondering 
 often how it would be received, and if Wilford would be 
 angry. She hoped he would, and his mother too. "The 
 idea of sending that Ryan woman to us, as if we did not 
 know anything !" and Helen's lip curled scornfully as she 
 thus denounced the Ryan woman, whose trunk was all 
 packed with paper patterns and devices of various kinds 
 when the letter arrived saying she was not needed. Be- 
 ing a woman of few words, she quietly unpacked her pat- 
 terns and west back to the work she was engaged upon 
 ■when Mrs._ Cameron proposed her going into the coun- 
 try. Juno, on the contrary, flew into a violent passion to 
 think their first friendly advances should be thus received. 
 Bell laughed immoderately, saying she rather liked Helen 
 Lennox's spirit, and almost wished her brother had 
 chosen her instead of the other, who, she presumed, was 
 a milk and water thing, even if Mrs. Woodhull did extol 
 her so highly. Mrs. Cameron felt the rebuff keenly, 
 wincing under it, and saying "that Helen Lennox must 
 be a very rude, ill-bred girl," and hoping her son would 
 draw the line of division between his wife and her family 
 so tightly that the sister could never pass over it. She 
 had received the news of her son's engagement without 
 opposition, for she knew the time for that was passed. 
 Wilford would marry Katy Lennox, and she must make 
 the best of it, so she offered no word of remonstrance, 
 but, when they were alone, she said to him : "Did you tell 
 her? Does she know it all?" 
 
 "No, mother," and the old look of pain came back into 
 
76 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 Wilford's face. "I meant to do so, and I actually begaii, 
 but she stopped me short, saying she did not wish to 
 hear my faults, she would rather find them out herself. 
 Away from her it is very easy to think what I will do, 
 but when the trial comes I find it hard, we have kept it 
 so long ; but I shall tell her yet ; not till after we are mar- 
 ried though, and I have made her love me even more than 
 she does now. She will not mind it then. I shall take 
 her where I first met Genevra, and there I will tell her. Is 
 that right?" 
 
 "Yes, if you think so," Mrs. Cameron replied. 
 
 Whatever it was which Wilford had to tell Katy Len- 
 nox, it was very evident that he and his mother looked 
 at it differently, he regarding it as a duty he owed to 
 Katy not to conceal from her what might possibly in- 
 fluence her decision, while his mother only wished the 
 secret told in hopes that it would prevent the marriage; 
 but now that Wilford had deferred it till after the mar- 
 riage, she saw no reason why it need be told at all. At 
 least Wilford could do as he thought best, and sha 
 changed the conversation from Genevra to Helen's letter, 
 which had so upset her plans. That her future daughter- 
 in-law was handsome she did not doubt, for Wilford said 
 so, and Mrs. Woodhull said so in her letter of congratula- 
 tion ; but she, of course, had no manner, no style, and as 
 a means of improving her in the latter respect, and mak- 
 ing her presentable at the altar and in Boston, she had 
 proposed sending out Ryan, as she was called in the 
 family; but that project had failed, and Helen Lennox 
 did not .stand very high in the Cameron family, though 
 Wilford in his heart felt an increased respect for her in- 
 dependent spirit, notwithstanding that she had thwarted 
 his designs. 
 
 "I have another idea," Mrs. Cameron said to her 
 daughters that afternoon, when talking with them upon 
 the subject. "Wilford tells me Katy and Bell are about 
 the same size and figure, and Ryan shall make up a trav- 
 eling suit proper for the occasion. Of course there will 
 be no one at the wedding for whom we care, but in Bos- 
 ton, at the Revere, it will be different. Cousin Harvey 
 boards there, and she is very stylish. I saw some elegant 
 
flBTTING. READY TO BE MARRIED. 77 
 
 gray poplins, of the finest luster, at Stewart's yesterday. 
 Suppose we drive down this afternoon." 
 
 This was said to Juno as the naore fashionable one of 
 the sisters, but Bell answered quickly: "Poplin, mother, 
 on Katy ? It will not become her style, I am sure, though 
 suitable for many. If I am to be fitted I shall say a 
 word about the fabric. Get a little checked silk, as ex- 
 pensive as you like. It will suit her better than a heavy 
 poplin." 
 
 Perhaps Bell was right, Mrs. Cameron said; they 
 would look at both, and as the result of this looking, two 
 dresses, one of the finest poplin, and one of the softest, 
 richest, plaided silk were given the next day into Mrs. 
 Ryan's hands, with injunctions to spare no pains or ex- 
 pense in trimming and making both. And so the dress- 
 making for Katy's bridal was proceeding in New 'York, 
 in spite of Helen's letter ; while down in Silverton, at the 
 farmhouse, there were numerous consultations as to what 
 was proper and what was not, Helen sometimes almost 
 wishing she had thrown off her pride and suffered Mrs. 
 Ryan to come. Katy would look well in anything, but 
 Helen knew there were certain styles preferable to others, 
 and in a maze of perplexity she consulted with this and 
 that individual, until all Silverton knew what was pro- 
 jected, each one offering the benefit of her advice until 
 Helen and Katy both were nearly distracted. Aunt Betsy 
 suggested a blue delaine and round cape, offering t© get 
 it herself, and actually purchasing the material withjjier 
 own fxinds, saved from drj^ng apples. That would an- 
 swer for one dress, Helen said, but not for the wedding'; 
 and she was becoming more and more undecided, when 
 Morris came to the s rescue, telling Katy of a young 
 woman who had for some time past been his patient, bu* 
 who was now nearly well and anxious to obtain work 
 again. She had evidently seen better days, he said ; was 
 very ladylike in her manner, and possessed of a great deal 
 of taste, he imagined; besides that, she had worked in one 
 of the largest ^ops in New York. "As I am going this 
 afternoon over to North Silverton," he added, in con- 
 clusion, "and shall pass Miss Hazdton's house, you or 
 Helen might accompany me and see for yourself." 
 
 It was decided that Helen should go, and about four, 
 
78 FAMILY PKIDE. 
 
 o'clock she found herself ringing at ■ the cottage oyer 
 whose door hung the sign : "Miss M. Hazelton, Fash- 
 ionable Dressmaker." She was at home, so said the little 
 slipshod girl who answered the ring, and in a few mo- 
 ments Helen was talking with Marian Hazelton, whose' 
 face showed signs of recent illness, but, nevertheless, very 
 attractive, from its peculiarly sad expression and the soft 
 liquid eyes of dark blue, which looked as if they were not 
 strangers to tears. At twenty she must have been 
 strikingly beautiful; and even now, at thirty, few ladies 
 could have vied with her had she possessed the means for 
 gratifying her taste and studjdng her style. About the 
 mouth, so perfect in repose, there was when she spoke a 
 singularly sweet smile, which in a measure prepared one 
 for the low, silvery voice, which had a strange note of 
 mournful music in its tone, making Helen start .as it 
 asked: "Did you wish to see me?" 
 
 "Yes ; Dr. Grant told me you were " Helen paused 
 
 here, for though Marian Hazelton's dress indicated pov- 
 erty, the words "were wanting work" seemed at variance 
 i,vith her whole being, and so she changed her form of 
 speech, and said instead: "Told me you could make 
 dresses, and I drove around with him to secure your 
 services, if possible, for my sister, who is soon to be mar- 
 ried. We would like it so much if you could go to our 
 house instead of having Katy come here." 
 
 Marian Hazelton was needing work, for there was due 
 more than three months' board, besides the doctor's bill, 
 and so, though it was not her custom to go from house to 
 house, she would, in this instance, accommodate Miss 
 Lennox, especially as during her illness her customers 
 had many of them gone elsewere, and her little shop was 
 nearly broken up. "Was it an elaborate trousseau she 
 was expected to make ?" and she bent down to turn over 
 some fashion plates lying upon the table. 
 
 "Oh, no ! we are plain country people. We cannot af- 
 ford as much for Katy as we would like; besides, I dare 
 say Mr. Cameron will prefer selecting most of her ward- 
 robe himself, as he is very wealthy and fastidious," Helen 
 replied, repenting the next instant the part concerning 
 Mr. Cameron's wealth, as that might look like boasting to 
 Miss Hazelton, whose head was bent lower over the mag- 
 
GETTING READY TO BE MARRIED. 79 
 
 azine as she said: "Did I understand that the gentle- 
 man's name was Cameron?" 
 
 "Yes, Wilford Cameron, from New York," Helen an- 
 swered, holding up her skirts and s-s-kt-ing at the kitten 
 which came running toward her, evidently intent upon 
 springing into her lap. 
 
 Fear of cats was Helen's weakness, if weakness it can 
 be called, and in her efforts to frighten her tormentor 
 she did not look again at Miss Hazelton until startled by 
 a gasping cry and heavy fall. Marian had fainted, and 
 Helen was just raising her head from the floor to her lap 
 when Morris appeared, relieving her of her burden, of 
 whom he took charge until she showed signs of life. In 
 her alarm Helen forgot entirely what they were talking 
 about when the faint came on, and her first question put 
 to Marian was: "Were you taken suddenly ill? Why 
 did you faint?" 
 
 There was no answer at first, except tears, which quiv- 
 ered on the long eyelashes, and then rolled down the 
 cheeks ; but when she did speak she said : "I am still so 
 ■weak that the least exertion affects me, and I was bend- 
 ing over the table ; it will soon pass off." 
 
 If she was so weak, she was not able to work, Helen 
 said, proposing that the plan be for the present aban- 
 doned; but to this 'Marian would not listen; her great 
 eager eyes had in them so scared a look that Helen said 
 no more on that subject, but made arrangements for her 
 coming to them at once. Morris was to leave his patient 
 some medicine, and while he wac preparing it Helen had 
 time to notice her more carefully, admiring her ladylike 
 manners, and thinking her smile the sweetest she had ever 
 seen. Especially was this the case when it was given 
 to Morris, and Helen felt that in his presence Miss Hazel- 
 ton was, if possible, softer, sweeter, more gracious than 
 before; and still there was nothing immodest or un- 
 womanly in her m.anner, nothing but that peculiar air 
 which attractive women sometimes put on before the other 
 sex. She might not have been conscious of it herself ; and 
 yet, when once she met Helen's eyes as she was smiling 
 gratefully upon Dr. Morris, there came a sudden change 
 into her face, and she bit her lip with evident vexation. 
 Could it be that she was fascinated by the young physi' 
 
80 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 cian who had attended her so long, and who, withlii the 
 last few months, had grown so popular? Helen asked 
 herself this question several times on her way home, and 
 inquired of Morris what he knew of her. 
 
 "Nothing, except that she came to North Silverton a 
 year ago, opening her shop, and by her faithfulness, and 
 pleasant, obliging manners, winning favor with all who 
 employed her. Previous to her sickness she had- a few 
 times -attended St. Paul's at South Silverton, that being 
 the church of her choice. Had Helen never observed 
 her?" 
 
 No, Helen had not. And then she spoke of her famt- 
 ing, telling how sudden it was, and wondering if she was 
 subject to such turns. Marian Hazelton had made a 
 strong impression on Helen's mind, and she talked of her 
 so much that Katy waited her appearance^ at the farm- 
 house with feverish anxiety. It was evening when she 
 came, looking v.ery white, and seeming to Helen as if she 
 had changed since she saw her first. In her eyes there 
 was a kind of hopeless, weary expression, while her smile 
 made one almost wish to cry, it was so sad, and yet so 
 strangely sweet. Katy felt its influence at once, growing 
 very confidential with the stranger, who, during the half 
 hour in which they were accidentally left alone, drew 
 from her every particular concerning her intended mar- 
 riage. Very closely the dark blue eyes scrutinized little 
 Katy, taking in first the faultless beauty of her face, and' 
 then going away down into the inmost depths of her char- 
 acter, as if to find out what was there. 
 
 "Pure, loving, innocent, and unsuspecting," was Ma- 
 rian Hazelton's verdict, and she followed wistfully every 
 movement of the young girl as she flitted around the 
 room, chatting as familiarly with the dressmaker as if she 
 were a friend long known instead of an entire stranger. 
 
 "You look very young to be married," said Miss Ha- 
 zelton to her once, and shaking back her short rings of 
 hair Katy answered : "Eighteen next Fourth of July ; but 
 Mr. Cameron is thirty." 
 
 "Is he a widower?" was the next question, which Katy 
 answered with a merry laugh. "Mercy, no ! I marry a 
 widower! How funny! I don't believe he ever cared a 
 fig for anybody but me. I mean to ask him." 
 
GETTING EEADY TO ?E MARRIED. 81 
 
 ■■f would," a«d the pale lips shut tightly together, while 
 a resentful gleam shot for a moment across Marian's face ; 
 but it quickly passed away,' and her smile was as sweet as 
 ever as she at last bade the family good-night and repaired 
 to the little room where Wilford Cameron once had slept. 
 
 A long time she stood before the glass, brushing her 
 dark, abundant hair, and intently regarding" her own f ea- 
 tures.-vfhile in her eyes there was a hard, terrible look, 
 from which Katy Lennox would have shrunk abashed. 
 But that too passed, and the eyes grew soft with tears as 
 she turned away, and falling on her knees moaned sadly : 
 "I never will — no, I never will. God help me to keep the 
 promise. Were it the other — Helen — J might, for she 
 could bear it ; but Katy, that.child — no, 1 never will," and 
 as the words died on her lipfr, there came struggling up 
 from her heart a prayer for Katy Lennox's happiness, as 
 fervent and sincere as any which had ever been made for 
 her since she was betrothed. 
 
 They grew to liking each other rapidly, Marian and 
 Katy, the latter of whom thought her new friend greatly 
 out of place as a dressmaker, telling her she ought to 
 marry some rich man, calling her Marian altogether, and 
 questioning her very closely of her previous life. But 
 Marian only told her that she was born in London; that 
 she learned her trade on the Isle of Wight, near to the 
 Osborne House, where the royal family sometimes came, 
 and that she had often seen the present Queen, thus try- 
 ing to divert Katy's mind from asking what there was 
 besides that apprenticeship to the Misses True on the Isle 
 of Wight. Once, indeed, she went further, learning that 
 Marian's friends were dead ; that she had come to Amer- 
 ica in hopes of doing, better than she coiild at home ; that 
 she had stayed in New York until her health began ,to 
 fail, and then had tried what country air would do, com- 
 ing to North Silverton because a young woman who 
 worked in the same shop was acquainted there, and rec- 
 ommended the place. This was all Katy could learn, and 
 Marian's heart history, if .she had one, was guarded care- 
 fully. One day as they sat together alone, when Helen 
 had gone to the village to do some shopping for Katy, 
 Marian abruptly said: "I have lived iO isew York, you 
 
82 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 know, and why do you not ask if I ever saw these Cam- 
 erons ?" 
 
 "You ! did you ? — ^have you, really ? — and what are they 
 like ?" Katy almost screamed, skipping across the floor 
 and seating herself by Marian, who repHed : "Much like 
 other ladies of their stamp — ^proud and fashionable. The 
 father I never saw, but your Mr. Cameron I used to see 
 in the street driving his handsome bays," 
 
 Anything relating to the pride and fashion of her fu- 
 ture relations made Katy uncomfortable, ainl she re- 
 mained silent, cutting into bits a piece of silk, until Ma- 
 rian continued: "Sometimes there was a child in the 
 Cameron carriage. Do you know who it was?" 
 
 Delighted that she too could impart information, Katy 
 hastened to sa,y that it was probably "little Jamie, the or- 
 phan grandchild, whose parents died in Italy. Morris 
 told me he met them in Paris, and he said Jamie's father 
 died of consumption, and the mother, too, either then or 
 afterward. At all events Jamie is an orphan and a crip- 
 ple. He will never walk, Morris says ; and he told me so 
 much about him — how patient he was and how good." 
 
 Katy did not see the tears which threatened to mar the 
 silk on which Marian Hazelton was working, for they 
 were brushed away almost as quickly as they came, while 
 in her usual voice she asked: "What was the cause of 
 his lameness?" 
 
 "I don't know just how it happened," Katy replied^ 
 "but believe it resulted from the carelessness of a servant 
 in leaving him alone, or something." 
 
 "A servant!" Marian repeated, a flush rising to her 
 cheek and a strange Ught flashing on her eye. 
 
 She had heard all she cared to hear of the Camerons 
 that day, and she was glad when Helen returned from the 
 village, as her appearance diverted Katy's mind into an- 
 other channel, and .in examining the dress trimmings 
 which Helen had brought, she forgot to talk of Jamie 
 Cameron. The trimmings, fringe and buttons were for 
 the wedding dress, the one in which Katy was to be mar- 
 ried, and which Helen reserved the right to make to her- 
 self. Miss Hazelton must fit it, of course, but to her 
 belonged the privilege of making it, every stitch; Katy 
 would think more of it if she did it all, she said ; but she 
 
GETTING READY TO BE MARRIED. 83 
 
 did not confess how the bending over that one dress, both 
 early and late, was the escape valve foi the feeling which 
 otherwise would have found vent in passionate tears. 
 Helen was very wretched during the pleasant May days 
 she usually enjoyed so much, but over which now a dark 
 pall was spread, shutting out all the brightness and leav- 
 ing only the terrible cerffeinty that Katy was lost to her 
 forever — ^bright, frolicsome Katy, who, without a shadow 
 on her heart sported amid the bridal finery, unmindful of 
 the anguish tugging at the hearts of both the patient 
 women, Marian and Helen, who worked on so silently, 
 reserving their tears for the night time, when Katy lay 
 sweetly sleeping and dreaming of Wilford Cameron. 
 Helen had ceased to think that Miss Hazelton had any 
 designs on Dr. Grant, for her manner toward Uncle 
 Ephraim was just as soft and conciliating, and she dis- 
 missed that subject from her mind with the reflection that 
 it was the nature of some girls to be very pretty to the 
 gentlemen, without meaning any harm. She liked Mar- 
 ian on the whole, regarding her as a quiet woman, who 
 knew her business and kept to it, but never guessing that 
 her feelings, too, were stirred to their very depths as tlie 
 bridal preparations progressed. She only knew how 
 wretched she was herself, and how hard it was to fight 
 her tears back as she bent over the plaided silk, weaving 
 in with every stitch a part of the clinging love which each 
 day grew stronger for the only sister, who would soon be 
 gone, leaving her alone. Only once did she break entirely 
 down, and that was when the dress was done and Katy 
 tried it on, admiring its effect, and having a second glass 
 brought that she might see it behind. 
 
 •"Isn't it lovely?" she exclaimed; "and the more valuable 
 because you made it. I shall think of you every time 
 I wear it," and the impulsive girl found her arms around 
 Helen's neck, kissing her lovingly, while Helen sank into 
 a chair and sobbed aloud : "Oh, Katy, darling Katy ! you 
 won't forget me when you are rich and admired and can 
 have all you want? You will remember us here at home, 
 so sad and lonely ? You don't know how desolate it will 
 be, knowing you are gone, never to come back again, just 
 as you go away." 
 
 In an instant Katy was on her knees h»f'-'-° Helen- 
 
84 FAMILY PRIDB. 
 
 whom she tried to comfort by telling her how she should 
 come back, come often, too, staying a long while; and 
 that when she had a city home of her own she should live 
 with her for good, and they would be so happy. 
 
 "I cannot quite give Wilford up to please you," she 
 said, when that gigantic sacrifice suggested itself as some- 
 thing which it was possible Helen might require of her; 
 "but I will do anything else, only please don't cry, darling 
 Nellie — please don't cry. It spoils all my pleasure," and 
 Katy's soft hands wiped away the tears running so fast 
 over her sister's face. 
 
 After that Helen did not cry again in Katy's presence, 
 but the latter knew she wanted to and it made her rather 
 sad, particularly when she saw reflected in the faces of 
 the other members of the family the grief she had wit- 
 nessed in Helen. Even Uncle Ephraim was not as cheer- 
 ful as" usual, and once when Katy came upon him in the 
 woodshed chamber, where he was shelling corn, she found 
 him resting from his work and looking from the window 
 far off across the hills, with a look which made her guess 
 he was thinking of her, and stealing up beside him she 
 laid her hand upon his wrinkled face, whispering softly: 
 "Poor Uncle Eph, are you sorry, too?" 
 
 He knew what she meant, and the aged chin quivered, 
 while a big tear dropped into the tub of corn, as he re- 
 plied : "Yes, Katy-did — ^very sorry." 
 
 That was all he said, and Katy, after smoothing his 
 cheek a moment kissed his silvery hair and then stole 
 away, wondering if every girl's family felt so badly be- 
 fore she was married, and wondering next if the love to 
 which she was going was equal to the love of home, 
 Vv^hich, as the days went by, grew stronger and stronger, 
 enfolding her in a mighty embrace, which could only be 
 severed by bitter tears and fierce heart-pangs, such as 
 death itself sometimes brings. In that household there 
 was, after Katy, no one glad of that marriage except 
 the mother, and she was only glad because of the position 
 it would bring to her daughter. But among them all 
 Morris suffered most, and suffered more because he had 
 to endure in secret, to cover up his sorrow so that no one 
 guessed the pain it was for him to go each day where 
 Katy v/as, and watch her as she sometimes donned a part 
 
GETTING EEADY TO BE MAERIEL 85 
 
 of her finery for his benefit, asking him once if he did 
 not almost wish he were in Wilford's place, so as to have 
 as pretty a bride as she should make. Then Marian 
 Hazelton glanced up in time to see the expression of his 
 face, a look whose meaning she readily recognized, and 
 when Dr. Grant left the farmhouse that day, another 
 than himself knew of his love for Katy, drawing her 
 breath hurriedly as she thought of > taking back the words 
 "I never will," of revoking the decision and telling Katy 
 what Wilford Cameron should have told her long before. 
 But the wild wish fled, and Wilford's secret was safe, 
 while Marian watched Morris 'Grant with a pitying in- 
 terest as he came among them, speaking always in the 
 same kind, gentle tone, and trying so hard to enter into. 
 Katy's- joy. 
 
 "His burden is greater than mine. God help us, both," 
 Marian said, as she resumed her work. 
 
 And so amid joy and gladness, silent tears and break- 
 ing hearts the preparations went on until all was done, 
 and only three days remained before the. eventful tenth. 
 Marian Hazelton was going home, for she would not 
 stay at the farmhouse until all was over, notwithstanding 
 Katy's entreaties, joined to those of Helen! 
 
 "Perhaps she would come to the church," she said, 
 "though she could not promise ;" and her manner was so 
 strange as she gathered up her things that Katy wondered 
 if in any way she could have been offended, and at last 
 said to her timidly, as she stood with her bonnet on wait- 
 ing for Uncle Ephraim: "You are not angry with me for 
 anything, are you?" 
 
 "Angry with you!" and Katy never forgot the glitter 
 of the tearful eyeg, or their peculiar expression as they 
 turned upon her. "No, oh, no ; I could not be angry with 
 you, and yet, Katy Lennox, some in my position would 
 hate you, contrasting your prospects with their own; but 
 I do not ; I love you ; I bless you, and pray that you may 
 be happy with your husband ; honor him, obey him if need 
 be, and above all, never give him the slightest cause to 
 doubt you. You will have admirers, Katy Lennox; In 
 New York others than your husband will speak to you 
 words of flattery, but don't you listen. Remember what 
 T tell you ; ar.d now, again, God bless you." 
 
86 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 She touched her lips to Kat/s forehead, and when 
 they were withdrawn there were great tears there which 
 she had left! Marian's tears. on Katy's brow; and truly, 
 it was very meet that just before her bridal day Wilford 
 Cameron's bride should receive such baptism from 
 Marian Hazelton. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 BEFORE THE MARRIAGE. 
 
 On the morning of the ninth day of June, i8 — , Wil- 
 ford Cameron stood in his father's parlor, surrounded by 
 the entire family, who, after their usually early breakfast, 
 had assembled to bid him good-by, for Wilford was go- 
 ing for his bride, and it would be months, if not a year, 
 ere he returned to them again. They had given him up 
 to his idol, asking only that none of the idol's family 
 should be permitted to cross their threshold, and also 
 that the idol should not often be allowed the privilege of 
 returning to the place from whence she came. These i ' 
 strictions had emanated from the female portion of t 
 Cameron family, the mother, Juno and Bell. The father, 
 on the contrary, had sworn roundly as he would some- 
 times swear at what he called the contemptible pride of 
 his wife and daughters. Katy was sure of a place in 
 his heart just because of the pride which was building up 
 so high a wall between her and her friends, and when at 
 parting he held his son's hand in his, he said : 
 
 "I charge you, Will, be kind to that young girl, and 
 don't, for Heaven's sake, go to cramming her with airs 
 and nonsense which she does not understand. Tell her 
 I'll be a father to her; her own, you say, is dead, and 
 give her this as my bridal present." 
 
 He held out a small-sized box containing a most ex- 
 quisite set of pearls, such as he fancied would be becom- 
 ing to the soft, girlish beauty Wilford had described. 
 Something in his father's manner touched Wilford 
 closely, making him resolve anew that if Kitty were not 
 happy as Mrs. Cameron it should not be his fault. His 
 mother had said all she wished to say, while his sisters had 
 
BEFORE THE MARRIAGE. 87 
 
 been gracious enough to send their love to the bride, Bell 
 hoping she would look as well in the poplin and little plaid 
 as she had done. Either was suitable for the wedding 
 day, Mrs. Cameron said, and she might take her choice, 
 only Wilford must see that she did not wear with the 
 poplin the gloves and belt intended for the silk ; country 
 people had so little taste, and she did want Katy to look 
 well, even if she were not there to see her. And with 
 his brain a confused medley of poplins and plaids, belts 
 and gloves, pearls and Katy, Wilford finally tore himself 
 away, and at three o'clock that: afternoon drove through 
 Silverton village, past the little church which the Silver- 
 ton maidens were decorating with flowers, pausing a 
 moment in their work to look at him as he went by. 
 Among them was Marian Hazelton, but she did not look 
 up, she only bent lower over her work, thus hiding the 
 tear which dropped from the delicate buds she was fash- 
 ioning into the words, "Joy to the Bride," intending the 
 whole as the center of the wreath to be placed over the 
 altar just where all could see it. 
 
 "The handsomest man I ever saw," was the verdict of 
 most of the girls as they came back to their work, while 
 Milford drove on to the farmhouse where Katy had been 
 so anxiously watching for him. 
 
 When he came in sight, however, and she knew he was 
 actually there, she ran away to. hide her blushes and the 
 feeling of awe which had com? suddenly over her for the 
 man who was to be her husband. But Helen bade her go 
 back, and so she went coyly in to AYilford, who met her 
 with loving carresses, and then put upon her finger the 
 superb diamond which he said he had thought to send as 
 a pledge of their engagement, but had finally concluded 
 to wait and present himself. Katy had heard much' of 
 diamonds, and seen some in Canandaigua; but the idea 
 that she, plain Katy Lennox, would ever wear them, had 
 never once entered her mind; and now as she looked at 
 the brilliant gem sparkling upon her hand, she felt a 
 thrill of something more than joy at that good fortune 
 which had brought her to diamonds. Vanity, we sup- 
 pose it was — such vanity as was very natural in her case, 
 and she thought she should never tire of looking at the 
 precious stone; but when Wilford showed her next the 
 
88 FAMILY PEIDB. 
 
 plain broad band of gold, and tried it on her third 
 finger, asking if she knew what it meant, the true woman 
 spoke within her, and she answered, tearfully; 
 
 "Yes, I know, and I will try to prove worthy of what 
 I shall be to you when I wear that ring for good." 
 
 Katy was very quiet for a moment as she sat with her 
 head nestled against Wilford's bosom, but when he ob- 
 served that she was looking tired, and asked if she had 
 been working hard, the quiet fit was broken, and she 
 told him of the dress "we had made," that "we" referring 
 solely to Helen and Marian, for Katy had hardly done a 
 tl'mg. But it did not matter; she fancied she had, and 
 the asked if he did not wish to see her dresses. Wilford 
 luiew it would please Katy, and so, though he cared very 
 little about it, he followed her into the adjoining room 
 vhere tliey were still spread out upon the tables and 
 cnairs, with Helen in their midst, ready to pack them 
 av.ay. Wilford thought of Mrs. Ryan and the check, but 
 ].e shook hands with Helen very civilly, saying to her, 
 playfully: 
 
 "I suppose that you are willing I should take your 
 si?:ter with me this time." 
 
 Helen could not answer, but turned away to hide her 
 face, while Katy showed to her lover one dress after an- 
 other, until she came to the little plaid, which, with a 
 bright blush she told him "was the very thing itself — ^the 
 one intended for to-morrow, and asked if he did not 
 like it." 
 
 Wilford could not help telling her yes, for he knew she 
 wished him to do so, but in his heart he was thinking bad 
 thoughts against the wardrobe of his bride-elect — 
 thoughts which would have won for him the title of hen- 
 huzzy from Helen, could she have known them. And 
 yet Wilford did not deserve that name. Accustomed all 
 his life to hearing dress discussed in his mother's parlor, 
 and in his sister's boudoir, it was natural he should think 
 more of it and notice it more than Morris Grant would 
 do, while for the last five weeks he had heard at home of 
 little else than the probably tout ensemble of Katy's ward- 
 robe, bought and made in the country, his mother de- 
 ciding finally to write to her cousin, Mrs. Harvey, who 
 boarded at the Revere, and have her see it before Katy 
 
BEPOEE THE MARRIAGE. 89 
 
 left the city. Under these circumstances, it was not 
 strange that Wilford did not enter into Katy's Jelight, 
 even after she told him how Helen had made every stitch 
 of the dress herself, and that it would on that account be 
 very dear to her. This was a favorable time for getting 
 the poplin Off his mind, and with a premonitory ahem, 
 he said : "Yes, it is very nice, no doubt ; but," and here 
 he turned to Helen, "after Mrs. Ryan's services were de- 
 clined, my mother determined to have two dresses fitted 
 to Sister Bell, who I think is just Katy's size and figure. 
 I need not say" — and his eyes still rested on Helen, who 
 gave him back an unflinching* glance — "I need not say 
 that no pains have been spared to make these garments 
 everythinig they should be in point of quality and style. 
 I have them in my trunk," and, tuning now to Katy, 
 "it is my mother's special request that one of them be 
 worn to-morrow. You could take your choice, she said— 
 either was suitable. I will bring them for your in- 
 spection." 
 
 He left the room, while Helen's face resembled a dark 
 thundercloud, whose lightnings shone in her flashing 
 "eyes as she looked after him and then back to where Katy 
 stood, bewildered and wondering what was wrong. 
 
 "Who is Mrs. Ryan?" she asked. "What does he 
 mean?" but before Helen could command her voice to 
 explain, Wilford was with them again, bringing the 
 dresses, over which Katy nea:i^ly went wild. 
 
 She had never seen anything as elegant as the rich 
 heavy poplin or the soft lustrous silk, while even Helen 
 acknowledged that there was about them a finish which 
 threw Miss Hazelton's quite in the shade. 
 
 "Beautiful!" Katy exclaimed; "and trimmed so ex- 
 quisitely ! I do so hope they will fit !" ^ 
 
 "I dare say they will," Wilford replied, enjoying her 
 appreciation of his mother's gift. "At all events they will 
 answer for to-morrow, and any needful alterations can be 
 made in Boston. Which will you wear ?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. I wish I could wear both. Helen, 
 which shall I?" and Katy appealed to her sister, who 
 could endure no fnore, but hid her head among the pil- 
 lows of the bed and cried. 
 
 Katy understood the whole, and dropping upon the 
 
90 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 floor the silk to which she inclined the most, she flew to 
 Helen's side, and whispered to her : "Don't, Nellie, right 
 before Wilford. I won't wear either of them. I'll wear 
 the one you made. It was mean and vain in me to think 
 of doing otherwise." 
 
 During this scene Wilford had stolen from the room, 
 and with him gone Helen was herself, capable of judg- 
 ing candidly and sensibly. She knew the city silk, wiiich 
 cost three dollars per yard, and was fastened with but- 
 tons of gold, having Katy's initial upon their face, was 
 handsomer and better suited for Wilford Cameron's bride 
 than the country plaid, costing one dollar per yard, and 
 trimmed with buttons at eighteen pence per dozen, and so 
 she said to Katy : "I would rather you should wear the 
 one they sent. It will become you better. Suppose you 
 try it on," and in seeking to gratify her Sister Helen for- 
 got in part her own cruel disappointment, and that her 
 work of days had been for naught. The dress fitted well, 
 though Katy pronounced it too tight and too long. A 
 few moments, however, accustomed her to the length, 
 and then her mother. Aunt Hannah, and Aunt Betsy 
 came to see and admire, while Katy proposed going out 
 to Wilford, but Helen kept her back, Aunt Betsy remark- 
 ing, under her breath, that "she didn't see for the life on 
 her how Catherine could be so free and easy with that 
 man when just the sight of him was enough to take away 
 a body's breath." 
 
 "More free and easy than she will be by and by," was 
 Helen's mental comment as she proceeded quietly to pack 
 the trunk which Morris had brought for the voyage 
 across the sea, dropping into it many a tear as she folded 
 away one article after another, and wondered under what 
 circumstances she should see them again if she saw them 
 ever. 
 
 Helen was a Christian girl, and many a time had she 
 prayed in secret that He who rules the deep would keep 
 its waters calm and still while her sister was upon them, 
 and she prayed so now, constantly, burying her face once 
 in her hands, and asking that Katy might come back to 
 them unchanged, if possible, and asking next that God 
 would remove from her heart all bitterness toward the 
 bridegroc'-i, who was to be her brother, and whom, after 
 
BEFORE THE MARRIAGE. 91 
 
 tKa^ short, earnest prayer, she found herself liking better. 
 He loved Katy, she was sure, and that was all she cared 
 for, though she did wish he would release her before 
 twelve o'clock on that night, the last she would spend 
 with them for a long, long time. But Wilford kept her 
 with him in the parlor, kissing away the tears which 
 flowed so fast when she recalled the prayer said that 
 night by Uncle Ephraim, with her kneeling by him as she 
 might never kneel again. He had called her by her name 
 and his voice was very sad as he commended her to God, 
 asking that he wotald "be with our little Katy wherever 
 she might go, keeping her in all the mewandering scenes 
 of life, and bringing her at last to his own heavenly 
 home." 
 
 Wilford himself was touched, and though he noticed 
 the deacon's pronunciation, he did not even smile, and 
 his manner was very respectful, when after the prayer 
 over and they were alone, the white-haired deacon felt it 
 incumbent upon him to say a few words concerning Katy. 
 
 "She's a young, rattle-headed creature, not much like 
 your own kin, I guess ; but, young man, she is as dear as 
 the appfe of our eyes, and I charge you to treat her well. 
 She has never had a crossways word spoke to her all 
 her life, and don't you be the first to speak it, nor let 
 your folks browbeat her." 
 
 As they were alone, and it was easier for Wilford to 
 be humble and conciliatory, he promised all the old man 
 required, and then went back to Katy, going into raptures 
 over the beautiful little Geneva watch which Morris had 
 just sent over as her bridal gift from him. Even Mrs. 
 Cameron herself could have found no fault with this, and 
 Wilford praised it as much as Katy could desire, noticing 
 the inscription : "Katy, from Cousin Morris, June ^.oth, 
 i8 — ," wishing that after the "Katy" had come the name 
 Cameron, and wondering if Morris had any design in 
 ■omitting it. Wilford had not yet presented his fatherfe 
 gift, but he did so now, and Katy's tears dropped upon 
 the pale, soft pearls as she whispered : "I shall like your 
 father. I never thought of having things like these." 
 
 Nor had she, but she would grow to them very soon, 
 while even the family gathering around and sharing in 
 her joy'began to realize how great a lady their Katy was 
 
92 FAMILY PEIDB. 
 
 to be. It was late that night ere anybody slept, it sieei* 
 at all they did, which was doubtful, unless it were the 
 bride, who with Wilford's kisses warm upon her lips, 
 crept up to bed just as the clock was striking twelve, nor 
 woke until it was again chiming for six, and over her 
 Helen bent, a dark ring about her eyes and her face very 
 white as she whispered: "Wake, Katy darling, this is 
 your wedding day." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MARRIAGE AT ST. JOHN's. 
 
 There were more than a few lookers-on to see Katy 
 Lennox married, and the church was literally jammed 
 for full three-quarters of an hour before the appointed 
 time. Back by the door, where she commanded a full 
 view of the middle aisle, Marian Hazelton sat, her face 
 as white as ashes, and her eyes gleaming strangely wild 
 even from beneath the thickly dotted veil she wore over 
 her hat. Doubts as to her wisdom in coming there were 
 agitating her mind, but something kept her sitting just 
 as others sat waiting for the bride until the sexton, open- 
 ing wide the doors, and assuming an added air of conse- 
 quence, told the anxious spectators that the party had ar- 
 rived — Uncle Ephraim and Katy, Wilford and Mrs. 
 Lennox, Dr. Morris and Helen, Aunt Hannah and Aunt 
 Betsy — ^that was all, and they came slowly up the aisle, 
 while countless eyes were turned upon them, every 
 woman noticing Katy's dress sweeping the carpet with so 
 long a trail, and knowing by some queer female instinct 
 that it was city-made, and not the handiwork of Marian 
 Hazelton, panting for breath in that pew near the door, 
 and trying to forget herself by watching Dr. Grant. She 
 could not have told what Katy wore; she would not have 
 sworn that Katy was there, for she saw only two, Wil- 
 ford and Morris Grant. She could have touched the 
 former as he passed her by, and she did breathe the odor 
 of his garments while her hands clasped each other 
 tightly, and then she turned to Morris Grant, growing 
 content with lier own pain, so much less than his_ as he 
 
SfAERIAGE AT ST. JOHN'S. 93 
 
 stood before the altar with Wilford Cameron between 
 him and the bride which should have been his. How 
 pretty she was in her wedding garb, and how like a bird 
 her voice rang out as she responded to the solemn 
 question : 
 
 "Will you have this man to be thy wedded husband?" 
 etc. 
 
 Upon Uncle Ephraim devolved the duty of giving hei- 
 away, a thing which Aunt Betsy denounced as a " 'Pis- 
 copal quirk," classing it in the same category with 
 dancing. Still if Ephraim had got it to do she wanted 
 him to do it well, and she had 'taken some pains to study 
 that part of the ceremony, so as to know when to nudge 
 her brother in case he failed of coming up to time. 
 
 "Now, Ephraim, now; they've reached the quirk," she 
 whispered, audibly, almost before Katy's "I will" was 
 heard, clear and distinct ; but Ephraim did not need .her 
 prompting, and his hand rested lovingly upon Katy's 
 shoulder as he signified his consent, and then fell back to 
 his place next to Hannah. But when Wilford's voice 
 said: "I, Wilford, take thee Katy to be my wedded 
 wife," there was a slight confusion near the door, and 
 those sitting by said to those in front that some one had 
 fainted. ' 
 
 Looking around, the audience saw the sexton leading 
 Marian Hazelton out into the open air, where, at her re- 
 quest, he lieft her, and went back to see the closing of 
 the ceremony which made Katy Lennox a wife. Morris' 
 carriage was at the door, and the newly married pair 
 moved slowly out, Katy smiling upon all, kissing her 
 hand to some and whispering a good-by to others, her 
 diamond flashing in the light and her rich silk' rustling 
 as she walked, while at her side was Wilford, pr^dly 
 erect, and holding his head so high as not to see one of 
 the crowd around him, until arrived at the vestibule he 
 stopped a moment and was seized by a young man with 
 curling hair, saucy eyes, and that air of ease and as- 
 surance which betokens high breeding and wealth. 
 
 "Mark Ray!" was Wilford's astonished exclamation, 
 while Mark Ray replied: 
 
 "You did not expect to see me here, neither did I ex- 
 pect to come until last night, when I four.d myself in the 
 
94 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 little village where you know Scranton lives. Then it 
 occurred to me that as Silverton was only a few miles 
 distant I would drive over and surprise you, but I am too 
 late for the ceremony, I see," and Mark's eyes rested ad- 
 miringly upon Katy, whose graceful beauty was fully 
 equal to what he had imagined. 
 
 Very modestly she received his congratulatory greet- 
 ing,, blushing prettily when he called her by the new name 
 she had not heard before, and then at a motion from 
 Wilford, entered the carriage waiting for her. Close be- 
 hind her came Morris and Helen, the former quite as 
 much astonished at meeting Mark as Wilford had been. 
 There was no time for conversation, and hurriedly in- 
 troducing Helen as Miss Lennox, Morris followed her 
 into the carriage with the bridal pair, and was driven to 
 the depot, where they were joined by Mark, whose pleas- 
 ant, good-humored sallies did much toward making the 
 parting more cheerful than it would otherwise have been. 
 It was sad enough at the most, and Katy's eyes were very 
 red, while Wilford was beginning to look chagrined and 
 impatient, when at last the train swept around the corner 
 and the very last good-by was said. Many of the village 
 people were there to see Katy off, and in the crowd 
 Mark had no means of distinguishing the Barlows from 
 the others except it were by the fond caresses given to 
 the bride. Aunt Betsy he had observed from all the rest, 
 both from the hanging of her pongee and the general 
 quaintness of her attire, and thinking it just possible that 
 it might be the lady of herrin' bone memory, he touched 
 Wilford's arm as she passed them by, and said: 
 
 "Tell me. Will', quick, who is that woman in the poke 
 bonnet and short, slim dress?" 
 
 Wilford was just then too much occupied in his efforts 
 to rescue Katy from the crowd of plebeians who had 
 seized upon her to hear his friend's query, but Helen 
 heard it, and with a cheek which crimsoned with anger, 
 she replied : 
 
 "That, sir, is my aunt. Miss Betsy Barlow." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, I really do. I was not aware " 
 
 Mark began, lifting his hat involuntarily, and mentally 
 cursing himself for his stupidity in not observing who 
 was near to him before asking personal questions. 
 
MARKIAGB AT ST. JOHN'S. 95 
 
 With a toss of her head Helen turned away, forgetting 
 her resentment in the more absorbing thought that Katy 
 was really leaving her. 
 
 The bell had rung, the heavy machinery groaned and 
 creaked, and the long train was under way, while from 
 an open window a little white hand was thrust, waving its 
 handkerchief until the husband quietly drew it in, expe- 
 riencing a feeling of relief that all was over, and that 
 unless he chose, his wife need never go back again to that 
 vulgar crowd standing upon the platform and looking 
 with tearful eyes and aching hearts after the fast re- 
 ceding train. 
 
 For a moment Mark talked with Morris Grant, ex- 
 plaining how he came there, and adding that on the mor- 
 row he, too, intended going on to Boston, to remain for a 
 few days before Wilford sailed; then, feeling that he 
 must in some way atone for his awkward speech regard- 
 ing Aunt Betsy, he sought out Helen, still standing like a 
 statue and watching the feathery line of smoke rising 
 above the distant trees. Her bonnet had partially fallen 
 from her head, revealing her bands of rich brown hair 
 and the smooth, broad forehead, while her hands were 
 locked together, and a tear trembled on her dark eye- 
 lashes. Taken as a whole she made a striking picture 
 standing apart from the rest and totally oblivious to them 
 all, and Mark gazed at her a moment curiously ; then as 
 her attitude changed and she drew her hat back to its 
 place he advanced toward her, and making some pleasant 
 iremark .about the morning and the appearance of the 
 country generally. He knew he could not openly apolo- 
 gize, but he made what amends he could by talking to 
 her so familiarly tjiat Helen almost forgot how she hated 
 him and all others who like him lived in New Yorl^ and 
 resembled Wilford Cameron. It was Mark who led her 
 to the carriage which Morris said was waiting, Mark 
 who handed her in, smoothing down carefully the folds 
 of her dress, and then stood leaning against the door, 
 chatting with Morris, who thought once of asking him 
 to enter and go back to Linwood. But when he remem- 
 bered how unequal he was to entertaining any one that 
 day, he hesitated, saying merely: 
 
96 FAMILY PKIDE. 
 
 "On your way from Boston call and see me. I shau 
 be glad of your company then." 
 
 "Which means that" you do not wish it now," Mark 
 laughingly rejoined, as, offering his hand to both Morria 
 and Helen, he again touched his hat politely and walked 
 away. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 AFTER THE MARRIAGE. 
 
 "Why did you invite him to Linwood?" Helen began. 
 "I am sure we have had city guests enough. Oh, if Wil- 
 ford Cameron had only never come, we should have had 
 Katy now," and the sister-love overcame every other feel- 
 ing, making Helen cry bitterly as they drove back to the 
 farmhouse. 
 
 Morris could not comfort her then, for he needed it 
 the most, and so in silence he left her and went on his 
 way to Linwood, which seemed as if a funeral train had 
 left it, bearing away all Morris' life and love, and leav- 
 ing only a cheerless blank. It was well for him that 
 there were many sick ones on his list, for in attending to 
 them he forgot himself in part so that the day with him 
 passed faster than at the farmhouse, where life and its 
 interests seemed suddenly to have stopped. Nothing 
 had power to rouse Helen, who never realized how much 
 she loved her young sister until now, when, with swelling 
 heart she listlessly put to rights the room which had 
 been theirs so long, but which was now hers alone. It 
 was a sad task picking up that disordered chamber bear- 
 ing so many traces of Katy, and Helen's heart ached 
 terribly as she hung away the little pink calico dressing 
 gown in which Katy had looked so pretty, and picked up 
 from the floor the pile of skirts lying just where they had 
 been left the previous night; but when it came to the 
 little half-worn slippers which had been thrown one here 
 and another there as Katy danced out of them, she could 
 control herself no longer, and stopping in her work sobbed 
 bitterly: "Oh, Katy, Katy, how can I live without you?" 
 But tears could not bring Katy back, and knowing this. 
 
AFTER THH MARRIAGE. 97 
 
 Helen dried her eyes ere long and joined the family be- 
 low, who like herself were spiritless and sad. 
 
 It was some little solace to them all that day to follow 
 Katy in her journey, saying, she is at 'Vyorcester, or 
 Framingham, or Newtowii, and when at noon they sat 
 down to their dinner in the tidy kitchen, they said: "She 
 is in Boston," and the saying so made the time which had 
 elapsed since the morning seem interminable. Slowly 
 the hours dragged, and at last, before the sunsetting, 
 Helen, who could bear the loneliness of home no longer, 
 stole across the fields to Linwood, hoping in Morris' 
 companionship to forget her ' own grief in part. But 
 Morris was a sorry comforter then. If the day had been 
 sad to Helen, it had been doubly so to him. He had 
 ministered as usual to his patients, listening to their com- 
 plaints and answering patiently their inquiries; but amid 
 it all he walked as in a maze, hearing nothing except the 
 words: "I, Katy, take thee, Wilford, to be my wedded 
 husband," and seeing nothing but the airy Httle figure 
 which stood up on tiptoe for him to kiss its lips at part- 
 ing. His work for the day was over now, and he sat 
 alone in his library when Helen came hurriedly in, star- 
 ing at sight of his face, and asking if he was ill. 
 
 "I have had a hard day's work," he said. "I am al- 
 ways tired at night," and he tried to smile and appear 
 natural. "Are you very lonely at the farmhouse?" he 
 asked, and then Helen broke out afresh, mourning some- 
 times for Katy, and again denouncing Wilford as proud 
 and heartless. 
 
 "Positively, Cousin Morris," and Helen's eye flashed as 
 she said it, "he acted all the while he was in the church 
 as if he were doing something of which he was ashamed ; 
 and then did you notice how impatient he seemed jyvhen 
 the neighbors were shaking hands with Katy at the 'depot 
 and bidding her good-by? He looked as if he thought 
 they had no" right to touch her, she was so much their 
 superior, just because she had married him, and he even 
 hurried her away before Aunt Betsy had time to kiss her. 
 And yet the people think it such a splendid match for 
 Katy, because he is so rich and generous. Gave the cler- 
 gyman fifty dollars and the sexton five, so I heard; but 
 Siat dops not help him with me. I. know it's wicked. 
 
98 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 Morris, as well as you, but somehow I find myself taking 
 real comfort in hating Wilford Cameron." 
 
 "That is wrong, Helen, all wrong," and Morris tried 
 to reason with her; but his arguments this time were not 
 very strong, and he finally said to her, inadvertently: 
 "If I can forgive Wilford Cameron for marrying- our 
 Katy, you surely ought to do so, for he has hurt me the 
 most." 
 
 "You, Morris ! you, you I" Helen kept repeating, stand- 
 ing back still further and further from him, while 
 strange, overwhelming thoughts passed like lightning 
 through her mind as she marked the pallid face, where 
 was written since the morning more than one line of suf- 
 fering, and saw in the brown eyes a look such as they 
 were not wont to wear. "Morris, tell me — tell me truly 
 — did you love my Sister Katy ?'' and with an impetuous. 
 rusV. Helen knelt beside him, as, laying his head upoii 
 the table he answered: 
 
 "Yes, Helen. God forgive me if it were wrong. I 
 did love your Sister Katy, and love her yet, and that is 
 the hardest to bear." 
 
 All the tender, pitying woman was roused in Helen, 
 and like a sister she smoothed the locks of damp, dark 
 hair, keeping a perfect silence as the strong man, no 
 longer able to bear up, wept like a very child. For a 
 time Helen felt as if bereft of reason, while earth and 
 sky seemed blended in one wild chaos as she thought: 
 "Oh, why couldn't it have been? Why didn't you tell 
 her in time ?" and at last she said to him : "If Katy had 
 known it! Oh, Morris, why didn't you tell her? She 
 never guessed it, never ! If she had — if she had," Helen's 
 breath came chokingly: "I am very sure — yes, I know 
 it might have been!" 
 
 "Of all sad words of tongue or pen. 
 The saddest are these — it might have been." 
 
 Morris involiuatarily thought of these lines, but they 
 only mocked his sorrow as he answered Helen : "I doubt 
 if you are right ; I hope you are not ; hope that it might 
 not have been, as it is not now. Katy loved me as her 
 brother, nothing more, I am confident. Had she waited 
 till she was older, God only knows what might have been. 
 
AFTER THE MAERIAGE. 98 
 
 but now she is gone and our Father will help me to bear, 
 will help us both, if we ask him, as we must." 
 
 And then as only he could do, Morris talked with 
 Helen until she felt her hardness toward Wilford giving 
 way, while she wondered how Morris could speak thus 
 Kindly of one who. was his rival. 
 
 "Not of myself could I do it," Morris said ; "but I trust 
 in One who says : 'As thy day shall thy strength be,' and 
 He, you know, never fails." 
 
 There was a fresh bond of sympathy now between 
 Morris and Helen, and the latter needed no caution 
 against repeating what she had discovered. The secret 
 was safe with her, and by dwelling on what "might have 
 been" she forgot to think so much of what was, and so 
 the first days after Katy's departure were more tolerable; 
 than she had thought it possible for them to be. At the 
 close of the fourth there came a short note from Katy, 
 who was still in Boston at the Revere, and perfectly 
 happy, she said, going into ecstasies over her husband, 
 the best in the world, and certainly the most generous and 
 indulgent. "Such beautiful things as I am having 
 made," she wrote, "when I already had more than I 
 needed, and so I told him, but he only smiled a queer 
 kind of smile as he said: 'Very true; you, do not need 
 them.' I wonder then why he gets me more. Oh, I for- 
 got to tell you how much I liked his cousin, Mrs. Har- 
 vey, who boards at the Revere, and whom Wilford con- 
 sults about my dress. I am somewhat afraid of her, too,, 
 she is so grand, but she pets me a great deal and laughs 
 at my speeches. Mr. Ray is here too, and I think him 
 splendid. 
 
 "By the way, Helen, I heard him tell Wilford that you 
 had one of the best shaped heads he ever saw, and that 
 he thought you decidedly good looking. I must tell you 
 now of the only thing which troubles me in the least, and 
 I shall get used to that, I suppose. It is so strange Wil- 
 ford never told me a word until she came, my waiting 
 maid. Think of that ! little Katy Lennox with a waiting 
 maid, who jabbers French half the time, for she speaks 
 that language as well as her own, having been abroad 
 with the family once before. That is why they sent her 
 
100 FABtUY PBIDK. 
 
 to me; they knew her services would be invaluable in, 
 Paris, Her name is Esther, and she came the day after 
 we did and brought me such a beautiful mantilla from 
 iWilford's mother, and the loveliest dress. Just the pat- 
 tern was fifty dollars, she said. 
 
 "The steamer sails in tliree days, and I will write again 
 before that time, sending it by Mr. Ray, who is to stop 
 over one train at Linwood. Wilford has just come in 
 and says I have written enough for now, but I will tell 
 you how he has bought me a diamond pin and earrings, 
 which Esther, who knows the value of everything, says 
 never cost less than five hundred dollars. 
 
 "Yours, loving, Katy Cameron." 
 
 "Five hundred dollars !" and Aunt Betsy held up her 
 hands in horror, while Helen sat a long time with the 
 letter in her hand, cogitating upon its contents, and espe- 
 cially upon the part referring to herself, and what Mark 
 Ray said of her. 
 
 Every human heart is susceptible of flattery, and Helen 
 was not an entire exception. Still with her ideas of city 
 men she could not at once think favorably of Mark Ray, 
 just for a few complimentary words which might or 
 might not have been in earnest, and she found herself 
 locJcing forward with nervous dread to the time when 
 he would stop at Linwood, and of course call on her, as 
 he would bring a letter from Katy, 
 
 Very sadly to the inmates of the farmhouse rose the 
 morning of the day when Katy was to sail, and as if they 
 could really see the tall masts of the vessel which was to 
 bear her away, the eyes of the whole family were turned 
 often to the eastward with a wistful, anxious gaze, while 
 on their lips and in their hearts were earnest prayers for 
 the safety of that ship and the precious freight it bore. 
 But hours, however sad, will wear themselves away, and 
 so the day went on, succeeded by the night, until that 
 too had passed and another day had come, the second of 
 Katy's ocean life. At the farmhouse the work was all 
 done up, and Helen in her neat gingham dress, with her 
 bands of brown hair bound about her head, sat listlessly 
 at her sewing, when she was startled by the sound of 
 wheels, and looking up saw the boy employed to carry 
 
AFTER THE MAREIAGK 101 
 
 packages from the express ofRce, driving to their door 
 with a trunk, which he said had come that morning from 
 Bostcm. 
 
 In some stirprise Helen hastened to unlock it with the 
 key which she found appended to it. The trunk was 
 full, and over the whole a linen towel was folded, while 
 on the top of that lay a letter in Katy's handwriting, di- 
 rected to Helen, who, sitting down upon the floor, broke 
 the seal and read aloud as follows: 
 
 "Boston, June — , Revere House, 
 "Nearly midnight, 
 i "My Dear Sister Helen : I have just come in from 
 a .little party given by one of Mrs. Harvey's friends, and 
 i am so tired, for you know I am not accustcMned to such 
 late hours. Wilford says I will get accustomed to them, 
 that in New York they are seldom in bed before eleven 
 or twelve, but I never shall. It will kill me, I am sufe, 
 and yet I rather enjoy the sitting up if I did not feel so 
 wretchedly next day. The party was very pleasant in- 
 deed, and everybody was so kind to me, especially Mr. 
 Ray, who stood by me all the time, and who somehow 
 seemed to help me, so that I knew just what to do, and 
 was not awkward at all. I hope not, at least for Wil- 
 ford's sake. 
 
 "You do not know how grand and dignified he is here 
 in Boston among his own set'; he is so different from 
 what he was in Silverton that I should be afraid of him 
 if I did not know how much he loves me. He shows 
 that in every action, and I am perfectly happy, except 
 when I think that to-morrow night at this time I shall 
 be on the sea, going away from you all. Here it does 
 not seem far to Sifverton, and I often look toward home, 
 wondering what you are doing, and if you miss me any. 
 I wish I could see you once before I go, just to tell you 
 all how much I love you — ^more than I ever did before, I 
 am sure. 
 
 "And now I come to the trunk. I know you will be 
 surprised at its contents, but you cannot be more so than 
 I was when Wilford said I must pack them up and send 
 them back — all the dresses you and Marion made." 
 
 "No, oh no." and Helen felt her strength leave her 
 
102 FAMILY PRffiE. 
 
 wrists in one sudden throb as the letter dropped from 
 her hand, while she tore off the linen covering and saw 
 for herself that Katy had written truly. 
 
 She could not weep then, but her face was white as 
 marble as she again took up the letter and commenced 
 at the point where she had broken off. 
 
 "It seems that people traveling in Europe do not need 
 many things, but what they have must be just right, and 
 so Mrs. Cameron wrote for Mrs. Harvey to see to my 
 wardrobe, and if I had not exactly what was proper she 
 was to procure it. It is very funny that she did not find 
 a single proper garment among them all, when we 
 thought tiiem so nice. They were not just the style, she 
 said, and that was very desirable in Mrs. Wilford Cam- 
 eron. Somehow she tries to impress me with the idea 
 that Mrs. Wilford Cameron is a very different person 
 from little Katy Lennox, but I can see no difference ex- 
 cept that I am a great deal happier and have Wilford all 
 the time. 
 
 "Well, as I was telling you, I was measured and fitted, 
 and my figure praised, until my head was nearly turned, 
 only I did not like the horrid stays they put on me, 
 stjueezing me up and making me feel so stiff. Mrs. 
 Harvey says no lady does without them, expressing much 
 surprise that I had never worn them, and so I submit to 
 the powers that be; but every chance I get here in my 
 room I take them off and throw them on the floor, where 
 Wilford has stumbled over them two or three times. 
 
 "This afternoon the dresses came home, and they do 
 look beautifully, while every one has belt, and gloves, 
 and ribbons, and sashes, and laces or muslins to match- 
 fashionable people are so particular about these things. 
 I have tried them on, and except that I think them too 
 tight, they fit admirably, and do give me a different air 
 from what Miss Hazelton's did. But I really believe I 
 like the old ones best, because you helped to make them ; 
 and when Wilford said I must send them home, I went 
 where he could not see me and cried, because — ^well, I 
 hardly know why I cried, unless I feared you might feel 
 badly. Dearest Helen, don't, will you? I love you just 
 z! much, and shall remember you the same as if I wore 
 
AFTER THE MABEIAGE. 103 
 
 the dresses. Dearest sister, I can fancy the look that 
 will come on your face, and I wish I could be present 
 to kiss it away. Imagine me there, will you ? with my 
 arms around your neck, and tell mother not to mind. 
 Tell her I never loved her so well as now, and that when 
 I come home from Europe I shall bring her ever so 
 many things. There is a new black silk for her in the 
 trunk, and one for each of the aunties, while for you 
 there is a lovely brown, which Wilford said was just your 
 style, telling me to select as nice a silk as I pleased, and 
 this he did I think because he guessed I had been crying. 
 He asked what made my eyes so red, and when I would 
 not tell him he took me with him to the silk store and 
 bade me get what I liked. Oh, he is the dearest, kindest 
 husband, and I love him all the more because I am the 
 least bit afraid of him. 
 
 "And ' now I must stop, for Wilford says so. Dear 
 Helen, dear all of you, I can't help crying as I say~ good- 
 by. Remember little Katy, and if she ever did anything 
 bad, don't lay it up against her. Kiss Morris and Uncle 
 Ephraim, and say how much I love them. Darling sist 
 ter, darling mother, good-by." 
 
 This was Katy's letter, and it brought a gush of tears 
 from the four women remembered so lovingly in it, the 
 mother and the aunts stealing away to weep in secret, 
 without ever stopping to look at the new dresses sent to 
 ■ them by Wilford Cameron. They were very soft, very 
 handsome, especially Helen's rich golden brown, and as 
 she looked at it she felt a thrill of satisfaction in knowing 
 it was hers, but this quickly passed as she took out one 
 by one the garments she had folded with so much care, 
 wondering when Katy would wear each one and where 
 she would be. 
 
 "She will never wear them, never — they are not fine 
 enough for her now !" she exclaimed, and as she just then 
 came upon the little plaid, she laid her head upon the 
 trunk lid, while her tears dropped like rain in among the 
 discarded articles condemned by Wilford Cameron. 
 
 It seemed to her like Katy's grave, and she was still 
 sobbing bitterly, when a step sounded outside the win- 
 
104 FAMILY PRIDB. 
 
 dow, and a voice called her name. It was Morris, and 
 lifting up her head Helen said, passionately : 
 
 "Oh, Morris, look ! he has sent back all Katy's clothes, 
 which you bought and I worked so hard to make. They 
 were not good enough for his wife to wear, and so he 
 insulted us. Oh, Katy, I never fully realized till now 
 how wholly she is lost to us !" 
 
 "Helen, Helen," Morris kept saying, trying to stop 
 her, for close behind him was Mark Ray, who heard her 
 distinctly, and glancing in, saw her kneeling before the 
 trunk, her pale face stained with tears, and her dark eyes 
 shining with excitement. 
 
 Mark Ray understood it at a glance, feeling indignant 
 at Wilford for thus unnecessarily wounding the sensitive 
 girl, whose expression, as she sat there upon the floor, 
 with her face upturned to Morris, haunted him for 
 months. Mark was sorry for her — so sorry that his first 
 impulse was to go quietly away, and so spare her the 
 mortificaticMi of loiowing that he had witnessed that little 
 scene; but it was now too late. As she finished speaking 
 her eye fell on him, and cojoring scarlet she struggled to 
 her feet, and covering' her face with her hands wept still 
 more violently. Mark was in a dilemma, and whispered 
 stfftly to Morris : "I think I had better leave. You <^n 
 tell her all I had to say;" but Helen heard him, and mas- 
 tering her agitation she said to him : 
 
 "Please, Mr. Ray, don't go — ^not yet at least, not till I 
 have asked you of Katy. Did you see her off ? Has she 
 gone ?" 
 
 Thus importuned, Mark Ray came in, and sitting down 
 where his boot almost touched the new brown silk, he 
 very politely began to answer her rapid questions, put- 
 ting her entirely at her ease by his pleasant, affable man- 
 ner, and making her forget the littered appearance of the 
 room as she listened to his praises of her sister, who, he 
 said, seemed so very happy, attracting universal admira- 
 tion wherever she went. No allusion whatever was 
 made to the trunk during the time of Mark's stay, which 
 was not long. If he took the next train to New York, he 
 had but an hour more to spend, and feeling that Helen 
 would raiher he should spend it at LinAvood he soon arose 
 to go. Offering his hand to Helen, there passed from 
 
AFTER TBE MARRUGK 105 
 
 his ^es into bers a look which had over her a strangely 
 quieting influence, and prepared her for a remark which 
 otherwise might have seemed out of place. 
 
 "I have known Wilford Cameron for years; he is my 
 best friend, and I respect him as a brother. In some 
 things he may be peculiar, but he will make your sister 
 a kind husband. He loves her devotedly, I know, choos- 
 ing her from the throng of ladies who would gladly have 
 taken her place. I hope you will like him for my sake 
 as well as Katy's." 
 
 His warm hand unclasped from Helen's, and with an- 
 other good-by he was gone, without seeing either Mrs. 
 Lennox, Aunt Hannah or Aunt Betsy. This was not the 
 time for extending his acquaintance, he knew, and he 
 went away with Morris, feeling that the farmhouse, so 
 far as he could judge, was not exactly what Wilford had 
 pictured it. But then he came for a wife, and I did not," 
 he thought, while Helen's face came before him as it 
 looked up to Morris, and he wondered, were he obliged 
 to choose between the sisters, which he should prefer. 
 During the few days passed in Boston he had become 
 more than half in love with Katy himself, almost envying 
 his friend the pretty little creature he had won. She yjjis 
 very beautiful and very fascinating in her simplicity, but 
 there was something in Helen's face more attractive than 
 mere beauty, and Mark said to Morris as they walked 
 along ; 
 
 "Miss Lennox is not much like her sister." 
 
 "Not much, no; but Helen is a splendid girl — more 
 strength of character, perhaps, than Katy, who is 
 younger than her years even. She has always been petted 
 from babyhood; iit will take time or some great sorrow 
 to show what she really is." 
 
 This was Morris' reply, and the two then proceeded on 
 in silence until they reached the boundary line between 
 Morris' farm and Uncle Ephraim's, where they found the 
 deacon mending a bit of broken fence, his coat lying on 
 a pile of stones, and his wide, blue cotton trousers hang- 
 ing loosely around him. When told who Mark was and 
 that he brought news of Katy, he greeted him cordially, 
 and sitting down upon his fence listened to all Mark had 
 to say. Between the old and young man there seemed 
 
106 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 at once a mutual liking, the former saying to himself as 
 Mark went on, and he resumed his work : 
 
 "I most wish it was this chap with Katy on the sea. I 
 like his looks the best," while Mark's thoughts were : 
 
 "Will need not be ashamed of that man, though I don't 
 suppose I should really want him coming suddenly in 
 among a drawing-room full of guests." 
 
 Morris did not feel much like entertaining Mark, but 
 Mark was fully competent to entertain himself, and 
 thought the hour spent at Linwood a very pleasant one, 
 half wishing for some excuse to tarry longer; but there 
 was none, and so at the appointed time he bade Morris 
 good-by and went on his way to New York. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FIRST MONTH OF MARRIED LIFE. 
 
 If Katy's letters, written, one on board the steamer 
 and another from London,, were to be trusted, she was 
 as nearly perfectly happy as a young bride well can be, 
 and the people at the farmhouse felt themselves more and 
 more kindly disposed toward Wilford Cameron with each 
 letter received. They were going soon into the northern 
 part of England, and from thence into Scotland, Katy 
 wrote from London, and two weeks after found them 
 comfortably settled at the inn at Alnwick, near to Aln- 
 wick Castle. Wilford had seemed very anxious to get 
 there, leaving London before Katy was quite ready to 
 leave, and hurrying across the country until Alnwick was 
 reached. He had been there before, years ago, he said, 
 but no one seemed to recognize him, though all paid due 
 respect to the distinguished-looking American and his 
 beautiful young wife. An entranpe into Alnwick Castle 
 was easily obtained, and Katy felt that all her girlish 
 dreams of grandeur and magnificence were more than 
 realized here in this home of the Percys, where ancient 
 and modern styles of architecture and furnishing were 
 so blended together. She would never tire of that place, 
 she thought, but Wilford's taste led him elsewhere, and 
 he took more delight, it would appear, in wandering 
 
FIRST MONTH OP MARRIED LIFE. 107 
 
 around St. , Mary's Church, which stood upon a hill com- 
 manding a view of the castle and of the surrounding 
 country for miles away. Here Katy also came, rambling 
 with him through the village graveyard where slept the 
 dust of centuries, the gray, mossy tombstones bearing 
 date backward for more than a hundred years, their 
 quaint inscriptions both puzzling and amusing Katy, who 
 studied them by the hour. 
 
 One quiet summer morning, however, when the heat 
 was unusually great, she felt too listless to wander about, 
 and so sat upon the grass, listening to the birds as they 
 sang above her head, while Wilford, at some distance 
 from her, stood leaning against a tree and thinking sad, 
 regretful thoughts, as his eye rested upon the rough 
 headstone at his feet. 
 
 "Genevra Lambert, aged twenty-two/' was the letter- 
 ing upon it, and as he read it a feeling of reproach was in 
 his heart, while he said : "I hope I am not glad to know 
 that she is dead." 
 
 He had come to Alnwick for the sole purpose of find- 
 ing that humble grave, of assuring himself that after 
 life's fitful fever, Genevra Lambert slept quietly, forget- 
 ful of the wi^ong once done to her by him. It is true he 
 had not doubted her death before, but as seeing was be- 
 lieving, so now he felt sure of it, and plucking from the 
 turf above her a little flower growing there, he went 
 back to Katy and sitting down beside her with his arm 
 around her waist, tried to devise some way of telling her 
 what he had promised himself he would tell her there 
 in that very yard, where Genevra was buried. But the 
 task was harder now than before. Katy was so happy 
 with him, trusting his love so fully that he dared not lift 
 the veil and read to her that page hinted at once before 
 in Silverton, when they sat beneath the butternut tree, 
 with the fresh young grass springing around them. Then 
 she was not his wife, and the fear that she would not be 
 if he told her all had kept him silent, but now she was 
 his alone; nothing could undo that, and there, in the 
 shadow of the gray old church through whose aisles 
 Genevra had been borne out to where the rude headstone 
 was gleaming in the English sunlight, it seemed meet 
 that he should tell her sad story. And Katy would have 
 
108 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 for^ven him then, for not a shadow of regret had dark- 
 ened her life since it was linked with his, and in her per- 
 fect love she could have pardoned much. But Wilford 
 did not tell. It was not needful, he made himself be- 
 lieve — ^not necessary for her ever to know that once he 
 met a maiden called Genevra, almost as beautiful as she, 
 but never so beloved. No, never. Wilford said that 
 truly, when that night he bent over his sleeping Katy, 
 comparing her face with Genevra's, and his love for her 
 with his love for Genevra. 
 
 "That was a boyish fancy, this love of mature years," 
 and Wilford pressed a kiss upon Katy's pure forehead, 
 showing so white in the moonlight. 
 
 Wilford was very fond of his girlish wife and very 
 proud of her, too, when strangers paused, as they often 
 did, to look back after her. Thus far nothing had arisen 
 to mar the happiness of his first weeks of married life; 
 nothing except the letters from Silverton, over which 
 Katy always cried, until he sometimes wished that the 
 family could not write. But they could and they did; 
 even Aunt Betsy inclosed in Helen's letter a note, won- 
 derful both in orthography and composition, and conclud- 
 ing with the remark that she would be glad when Cath- 
 erine returned and was settled in a home of her own, as 
 she would then have a new place to visit. 
 
 There was a dark frown on Wilford's face, and for a 
 moment he felt tempted to withhold the note from Katy, 
 but this he could not do then, so he gave it into her hands, 
 watching her as with burning cheeks, she read it through, 
 and asking her at its clos« why she looked so red. 
 
 "Oh, Wilford," and she crept closely to him, "Aunt 
 Betsy spells so queerly, that I was wishing you would not 
 always open my letters first. Do all husbands do so?" 
 
 It was the only time Katy had ventured to question a 
 single act of his, submitting without a word to whatever 
 was his will. Wilford knew that his father would, never 
 have presumed to break a seal belonging to his mother, 
 but he had broken Katy's and he should continue break- 
 ing them, so he answered, laughingly : 
 
 "Why, yes, I guess they do. My little wife has surely 
 no secrets to hide from me?" 
 
FIRST MONTH OF MAERBED LIFE. 109 
 
 "No secrets," Katy answered, "only I did not want 
 you to see Aunt Betsy's letter, that's all." 
 
 "I did not marry Aunt Betsy — I married you," was 
 Wilford's reply, which meant far more than Katy 
 guessed. 
 
 With three thousand miles between him and his wife's 
 relatives, Wilford could endure to think of them; but 
 whenever letters came to Katy bearing the Silverton 
 postmark, he was conscious of a far different sensation 
 from what he experienced when the postmark was New 
 York and the handwriting that of his own family. But 
 not in any way did this feeling manifest itself to Katy, 
 who, as she always wrote to Helen, was very, very happy, 
 and never more so, perhaps, than while they were at Aln- 
 wick, where, as if he had something for which, to atone, 
 he was unusually kind and indulgent, caressing her with 
 unwonted tenderness, and making her ask him once if he 
 loved her a great deal more now than when they were 
 first married. 
 
 "Yes, darting, a great deal more," was Wilford's an- 
 swer, as he kissed her upturned face, and then went for 
 the last time to Genevra's grave ; for on the morrow they 
 were to leave the neighborhood of Alnwick for the 
 heather blooms of Scotland. 
 
 There was a trip to Edinburgh, a stormy passage 
 across the Straits of Dover, a two months' sojourn in 
 Paris, and then they went to Rome, where Wilford in- 
 tended to pass the winter, journeying in the spring 
 through different parts of Europe. He was in no haste 
 to return to America; be would rather stay where he 
 could have Katy all to himself, away from her family 
 and his own. But it was not so to be, and not very long 
 after his arrival at Rome there came a letter from his 
 mother apprising him of his father's dangerous illness, 
 and asking him to come home at once. The elder Cam- 
 eron had not been well since Wilford left the country, 
 and the physician was fearful that the disease had as- 
 snmed a consumptive form, Mrs. Cameron wrote, adding 
 that her husband's only anxiety was to see his son again. 
 To this there was no demur, and about the first of De- 
 cember, six months from the time he had sailed, Wilford 
 arrived in Boston, having taken a steamer for that city. 
 
lip FAMILY PRros. 
 
 His first act was to telegraph for news of his father, re- 
 ceiving in reply that he was better; the alarming symp- 
 toms had disappeared, and there was now great hope of 
 his recovery. 
 
 "We might have stayed longer in Europe," Katy said, 
 feeling a little chill of disappointment — ^not that hef 
 father-in-law was better, but at being called home for 
 nothing, when her life abroad was so happy and free 
 from care. 
 
 Somehow the atmosphere of America seemed different 
 from what it used to be. It was colder, bluer, the little 
 lady said, tapping her foot uneasily and looking from 
 her windows at the Revere out upon the snowy streets, 
 through which the wintry wind was blowing in heavy 
 gales. 
 
 "Yes, it is a heap colder," she sighed, as she returned 
 to the large chair which Esther had drawn for her before 
 the cheerful fire, charging her disquiet to the weather 
 once, never dreaming^ of imputing it to her husband, who 
 was far more its cause than was the December cold. 
 
 He, too, though glad of his father's improvement^ was 
 sorry to have been recalled for nothing to a country 
 which brought his old life back again, with all its forms 
 and ceremonies, reviving his dread lest Katy should not 
 acquit herself as was becoming Mrs. Wilford Cameron. 
 In his selfishness he had kept her almost wholly to him- 
 self, so that the polish she was to acquire from her travels 
 abroad was not as perceptible as, now that he looked at 
 her with his family's eyes, he could desire. Katy was 
 Katy still, in spite of London, Paris, or Rome. To be 
 sure there was about her a little more maturity and self- 
 assurance, but in all essential points she was the same; 
 and Wilford winced as he thought how the free, im- 
 pulsive manner which, among the Scottish hills, where 
 there was no one to criticise, had been so charming to 
 him, would shock his lady mother and Sister Juno. And 
 this it was which made him moody and silent, replying 
 hastily to Katy when she said to him : "Please, Wilford, 
 telegraph to Helen to be with mother at the West depot 
 when we pass there to-morrow. The train stops five 
 minutes, you know, and I want to see them so much. 
 Will you, Wilford?" 
 
FIRST MONTH OF MARRIED LIFE. Ill 
 
 _ She had come up to him now, and was standing behind 
 him, with her hands upon his shoulder; so she did not 
 see the expression of his face as he answered quickly : 
 
 "Yes, yes." 
 
 A moment after he quitted the room, and it was then 
 that Katy, standing before the window, charged the day 
 with what was strictly Wilford's fault. Returning at 
 last to her chair she went off into a reverie as to the new 
 home to which she was going and the new friends she 
 was to meet, wondering much what they would think of 
 her, and wondering most if thej would like her. Once 
 she had said to Wilford : 
 
 "Which of your sisters shall I like best?" 
 
 And Wilford had answered her by asking: 
 
 "Which do you like best, books or going to parties in 
 full dress?" 
 
 "Oh, parties and dress," Katy had said, and Wilford 
 had then rejoined: 
 
 "You will like Juno best, for she is all fashion and 
 gayety, while Bluebell prefers her books and the quiet 
 of her own room." 
 
 Katy felt afraid of Bell, and in fact, now that they were 
 so near, she felt afraid of them all, notwithstanding Es- 
 ther's assurances that they could not help loving her. 
 During the six months they had been together Esther had 
 learned to feel for her young lady that strong affection 
 which sometimes exists between mistress and servant. 
 Everything which she could do for her she did, smooth- 
 ing as much as possible the meeting which she also 
 dreaded, for though the Camerons were too proud to ex- 
 press before her their opinion of Wilford's choice, she 
 had guessed it readi|y, and pitied the young wife brought 
 up with ideas so different from those of her husbaqd's 
 family. More accustomed to Wilford's moods than 
 Katy, she saw that something was the matter, and it 
 prompted her to unusual attentions, stirring the fire into 
 a still more cheerful blaze and bringing a stool for Katy, 
 who in blissful ignorance of her husband's real feelings, 
 sat waiting his return from the telegraph office, whither 
 she supposed he had gone, and building pleasant pictures 
 of to-morrow's meeting with her mother and Helen, and 
 possibly Df. Morris, if not Uncle Ephraim hirtiself. 
 
112 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 The voyage home had been long and wearisome, and 
 Katy, who had suffered from seasickness, was feeling 
 jaded and tired, wishing, as she told Esther, that insteafl 
 of going to New York direct she could go straight to the 
 farinhouse and "rest on mother's bed," that receptacif. 
 for all her childish ills. 
 
 "I mean to ask Wilford if I may," she said to herself, 
 and her cheeks grew brighter as she thought of really go- 
 ing home to mother and Helen and the kind old people 
 who would pet and love her so much. 
 
 So absorbed was she in her reverie as not to hear Wil- 
 ford's step as he came in, but when he stood behind her 
 and took her head playfully between his hands, she 
 started up, feeling that the weather had changed; it was 
 not as cold and dreary in Boston as she imagined, neither 
 did mother's bed seem as desirable a place to rest upon 
 as the shoulder where she laid her head, playing with 
 Wilford's buttons, and saying to him at last : 
 
 "You went out to telegraph, didn't you ?" 
 
 He had gone out with the intention of telegraphing as 
 she desired, but in the hall below he had met with an 
 old acquaintance who talked with him so long that he 
 entirely forgot his errand until Katy recalled it to his 
 mind, making him feel very uncomfortable as he frankly 
 told her of his forgetfulness. 
 
 "It is too late now," he added ; besides you could only 
 see them for a moment, just long enough to make you cry 
 ■ — a thing I do not greatly desire, inasmuch as I wish my 
 wife to look her best when I present her to my family, 
 and with red eyes she couldn't, you know." 
 
 Katy knew it was settled, and choking back her tears 
 she tried to listen, while Wilford, having fairly broken 
 the ice Avith regard to his family, told her how anxious he 
 was that she should make a good first impression upon 
 his mother. Did Katy remember that Mrs. Morey whom 
 they met at Paris, and could she not throw a little of her 
 air into her manner — that is, could she not drop her girl- 
 ishness when in the presence of others and be a little more 
 dignified? When alone with him he liked to have her 
 just what .she was, a loving, affectionate little wife, but 
 the world looked on such things differently. Would Katy 
 try? 
 
PntST MONTH OF MARRIED LIFE. 112 
 
 Wilford, when he commenced, had no definite idea as 
 to what he should say, and without meaning it he made 
 Katy moan piteously: 
 
 "I don't know what you mean. I would do anything 
 if I knew how. Tell me, how shall I be dignified?" 
 
 She was crying so hard that Wilford, while meritally 
 calling Wmself a fool and a brute, could only try to coiii- 
 fort her, telling her she need not be anything but what 
 rfie was — that his mother and sisters would love her just 
 as he did — and that daily association with them would 
 teach her all that was necessary. 
 
 Katy's tears were stopped at liast; but the frightened, 
 anxious look did not leave her face, even though Wilford 
 tried his best to divert her mind. A nervous terror of her 
 new relations had gained possession of her heart, and 
 nearly the entire night she lay awake, pondering in her 
 mind what WiKord had said, and thinking how terrible 
 it would be if he should be disappointed in her after all. 
 The consequence of this was that a very white, tired face 
 sat opposite Wilford next morning at the breakfast 
 served in their private parlor; nor did it look much 
 fresher even after they were in the cars and rolling out 
 of Boston. But when Worcester was reached, and the 
 old home waymarks began to grow familiar, the color 
 came stealing back, until the cheeks burned with an un- 
 natural red, and the blue eyes fairly danced as they rested 
 on the hills of Silverton. 
 
 "Only three miles from mother and Helen! Oh, if I 
 could go there !" Katy thought, working her fingers nerv- 
 ously; but the express" train did not pause there, and it 
 went so swiftly by the depot that Katy could hardly dis- 
 cover who was standing there, whether friend or stranger. 
 
 But when at last iSiey came to West Silverton, and the 
 long train slowly stopped, the first object she saw was 
 Dr. Morris, driving down from the village. He had no 
 intention of going to the depot, and only checked his 
 horse a moment, lest it should prove restive if too near 
 the engine ; but when a clear young voice called from the 
 window: "Morris! oh. Cousin Morris! I've come!" his 
 heart gave a great heavy throb, for he knew whose voice 
 that was and whose the little hand beckoning to him. 
 He had supposed her *ar away beneath Italian skies, for 
 
114 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 at the farmhouse no intelligence had been received of her 
 intended return, and in much surprise he reined up to the 
 rear door, apd throwing his lines to a boy, went forward 
 to where Katy stood, her face glowing with delight as 
 she flew into his arms, wholly forgetful of the last night's 
 leptiire on dignity, also forgetful of Wilford, standing 
 close beside her. He had not tried to hold her back" 
 when, at the sight of Morris, she sprang away from him; 
 but he followed after, biting his lip, and wishing she had 
 a little more discretion. Surely it was not necessary to 
 half strangle Dr. Grant as she was doing, kissing his 
 hand even after she had kissed his face a full half dozen 
 times, and all the people looking on. But Katy did not 
 care for people. She only knew that Morris was there- — 
 the Morris whom, in her great happiness abroad, she had 
 perhaps slighted by not writing directly to him but once. 
 In Wilford's sheltering care she had not felt the need of 
 this good cousin, as she used to do; but she was so glad 
 to see him, wondering why he looked so thin and sad. 
 Was he sick? she asked, gazing up into his face with a 
 pitying look, which made him shiver as he answered : 
 
 "No, not sick, though tired, perhaps, as I have at pres- 
 ent an unusual amount of work to do." 
 
 And this was true — he was usually busy. But that was 
 not the cause of the thin face, which others than Katy 
 remarked. Helen's words: "It might have been," 
 spoken to him on the night of Katy's bridal, had never 
 left his mind, much as he had tried to dislodge them. 
 Some men can love a dozen times ; but it was not so with 
 Morris. He could overcome his love so that it should 
 not be a sin, but no other could ever fill the place where 
 Katy had been ; and as he looked along the road through 
 life he felt that he must travel it alone. Truly, if Katy 
 were not yet passing through the fire, he was, and it had 
 left its mark upon him, purifying as it burned, and bring- 
 ing his every act into closer submission to his God. Only 
 Helen, and Marian Hazelton interpreted aright that look 
 upon his face, and knew it came from the hunger of his 
 heart, but thev kept silence; while others said that he was 
 working far too hard, urging him to abate his unwearied 
 labors, for they would not lose their young physician yet. 
 But Morris smiled his patient, kindly smile on all their 
 
FIRST MONTH OF MARRIED LIFE. 115 
 
 fears and went his way, doing his work as one who knew 
 he must render strict account for the popularity he was 
 daily gaining, both in his own town and those around. 
 He could_ think of Katy now without a sin, but he was 
 not thinking of her when she came so unexpectedly upon 
 him, and for an instant she almost bore his breath away 
 in her vehement joy. - 
 
 Quick to note a change in those he knew, he saw that 
 her form was not quite so full, nor her cheeks so round ; 
 but she was weary with the voyage, she said, and know- 
 ing how seasickness will wear upon one's strength, Mor- 
 ris imputed it wholly to that, and believed she was, as she 
 professed to be, perfectly happy. 
 
 "Come, Katy, we must go now," Wilford said, as the 
 bell rang its first alarm, and the passengers, some with 
 sandwiches and some with fried cakes in their hands, ran 
 back to find their seats. 
 
 "Yes, I know, but I have not asked- half I meant to. 
 Oh, how I want to go home with you, Morris," Katy ex- 
 claiftied, again throwing her arms around the doctor's 
 neck as she bade him good-by, and sent fresh messages of 
 love to the friends at home, who, had they known she 
 was to be there at that time, would have walked the entire 
 distance for the sake of looking once more into her dear 
 face. 
 
 "I intended to have brought them heaps of things," she 
 said, "but we came home so suddenly I had no time. 
 Here, take Helen this. Tell her it is real," and the im- 
 pulsive creature drew from her finger a small diamond 
 set in black enamel, which Wilford had bought in Paris. 
 "She did not need it; she had two more, and she was 
 sure Wilford woyld not mind," she said, turning to him 
 for his approbation. 
 
 But Wilford did mind, and his face indicated as much, 
 although he tried to be natural as he replied : "Certainly, 
 send it if you like." - 
 
 In her excitement Katy did not observe it, but Morris 
 did, and he at first declined taking it, saying Helen had 
 no use for it and would be better pleased with something 
 not half as valuable. Katy, however, insisted, appealing 
 to Wilford, who, ashamed of his first emotion, now 
 seemed quite as anxious as Katy herself, until Morris 
 
116 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 placed the ring in his purse, and then bade Katy hasten 
 or she would certainly be left. One more wave of the 
 hand, one more kiss thrown from the wiijdow, and the 
 train moved on, Katy feeling like a different creature for 
 having seen some one from home. 
 
 "I am so glad I saw him — so glad I sent the ring, ^or 
 now they will know I am the same Katy Lennox, and I 
 think Helen sometimes feared I might get proud with 
 you," she said, while Wilford pulled her rich fur around 
 her, smiling to see how bright and pretty she was look- 
 ing since that meeting with Dr. Grant. "It was better 
 than medicine," Katy said, when beyond Springfield he 
 referred to it a second time, and leaning her head upon 
 his shoulder she fell into a refreshing sleep,, from which 
 she did not waken until New York was reached, and 
 Wilford, lifting her gently up, whispered to heri "Come, 
 darling, we are home at last." 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 KATy'S first evening in new YORK. 
 
 The elder Cameron was rer-lly better, and more than 
 once he had regretted recalling his son, who he knew had 
 contemplated a longer stay abroad. But that could not 
 now be helped ; Wilford had arrived in Boston, as his tele- 
 gram of yesterday announced — he would be at home to- 
 day ; and No — Fifth Avenue was all the morning and a 
 portion of the afternoon the scene of unusual excitement, 
 for both Mrs. Cameron and her daughters wished to give 
 the six months' wife a good impression of her new home. 
 At first they thought of inviting company to dinner, but 
 to this the father objected. "Katy should not be troubled 
 the first day," he said; "it was bad enough for her to 
 meet them all ; they could ask Mark if they chose, but no 
 one else." 
 
 And so only Mark Ray was invited to the dinner, gotten 
 up as elaborately as if a princess had been expected in- 
 stead of little Katy, trembling in every joint, when, about 
 four P. M., Wilford awoke her at the depot and whis- 
 peredj^"Co!re, darling, we are home at last," 
 
KATY'S first evening in new YORK 117 
 
 "Why do you shiver so?" he asked, wrapping her 
 cloak around her, and almost lifting her from the car. 
 
 "I don't — know. I guess — I'm cold," and Katy drew 
 a long breath as she thought of Silverton and the farm- 
 house, wishing so much that she was going into its low- 
 wafled kitchen, where the cook-stove was, and where the 
 chairs were all spUnt-bottomed, instead of into the hand- 
 some carriage, where the cushions were so soft and yield- 
 ing, and the whole effect so grand, 
 
 She knew it was the Cameron carriage, for Wilford had 
 said it would meet them ; but ^he had not expected it to be 
 just what it was, and she bowed humbly to the polite 
 coachman greeting Wilford and herself so respectfully. 
 "What would our folks say?" she kept repeating to her- 
 self as she drove along the streets,, where they were be- 
 ginning to light the street lamps, for the December day- 
 was dark and cloudy. It seemed so like a dream that she, 
 who once had picked huckleberries on the Silverton hills, 
 and bound coarse, heavy shoes to buy herself a pink ging- 
 ham dress, should now be riding in her carriage toward 
 the home which she knew was magnificent ; and Katy's 
 tears fell like rain as, nestling close to Wilford, who asked 
 what was the matter, she whispered: "I can hardly be- 
 lieve that it is I — it is so unreal." 
 
 "Please don't cry," Wilford rejoined, brushing her tears 
 away. "You know I don't like your eyes to be red." 
 
 With a great effort, Katy kept her tears back, and was 
 very calm when they reached the brownstone front, far 
 enough uptown to save it from the slightest approach to 
 plebeianism from contact with its downtown neighbors. 
 In the hall the chandelier was burning, and as the carriage 
 stopped a flame of light seemed suddenly to burst from 
 every window as the gas heads were turned up, so that 
 Katy caught glimpses of rich silken curtains and costly 
 lace as she went up the steps, clinging to Wilford and 
 looking ruefully around for Esther, who had disappeared 
 through the basement door. Another moment and they 
 stood within the marbled hall, Katy conscious of nothing 
 definite — nothing but a vagvte consciousness of refined ele- 
 gance, and that a handsome, richly-dressed lady came out 
 to meet them, kissing Wilford quietly, and calling him her 
 
118 FAMILY PRroE. 
 
 son— that the same lady later turned to her, saying, 
 kindly : "And this is my new daughter ?" , 
 
 Then Katy came to life, and did that at the very thought 
 of which slie shuddered when a few months' experience 
 had taught her the temerity of the act-r-she wound her 
 arms impulsively around Mrs. "Cameron's neck, rumpling 
 her point lace collar, and sadly displacing the coiffeur of 
 the astonished lady, who had seldom received so genuine 
 a greeting as that which Katy gave her, kissing her lips 
 and whispering softly : "I love you now, because you are 
 Wilford's mother, but by and by because you are mine. 
 And you will love me some because I am his wife." 
 
 Wilford was horrified, particularly when he saw how 
 startled his mother looked as she tried to release herself 
 and adjust her tumbled headgear. It was not what he 
 had hoped, nor what his mother had expected, for she was 
 unaccustomed to such demonstrations ; but under the cir- 
 cumstances Katy could not have done better. There was 
 a tender spot in Mrs. Cameron's heart, and Katy touched 
 it, making her feel a throb of affection for the childish 
 creature suing for her love. 
 
 "Yes, darling, I love you now," she said, removing 
 Katy's clinging arms and taking care that they should not 
 enfold her a second time. "You are tired and cold," she 
 continued ; "you had better go at once to your rooms. You 
 ■will find them in order, and I will send Esther up. There 
 is plenty of time to dress for dinner," and with a wave 
 of her hand she dismissed Katy up the stairs, noticing as 
 she went the exquisite softness of her fur cloak ; but think- 
 ing it too heavy a garment for her slight figure, and no- 
 ticing, too, the graceful ankle and foot which the little 
 high-heeled gaiter showed to good advantage. "I did not 
 see her face distinctly, but she has a well-turned instep and 
 ■walks easily," was the report she carried to her daugh- 
 ters, who in their own room, over Katy's, were dressing 
 for dinner. 
 
 "She will undoubtedly make a good dancer, then, unless 
 like Dr. Grant, she is too blue for that," Juno said, while 
 Bell shrugged her shoulders, congratulating herself that 
 she had a mind above such frivolous matters as dancing 
 and well-turned insteps, and wondering if Katy cared in 
 the leas' ':<f r*"*-^ 
 
KATY'S first evening in new YORK. 119 
 
 "Couldn't you see her face at all, mother?" Juno asked. 
 
 "Scarcely; but the glimpse I did get was satisfactory. 
 I think she is pretty," 
 
 And this was all the sisters could ascertain until their 
 toilets were finished, and they went down into the library, 
 where their brother waited for them. He had seen his 
 father and Jamie, and now he arose to meet his sisters, 
 kissing them both afifectionately, and complimenting them 
 on their good looks. 
 
 "I wish we could say the same of you," saucy Juno an- 
 swered, playfully pulling his mustache; "but, upon my 
 word, Will, you are fast settling down into an oldish mar- 
 ried man, even turning gray," and she ran her fingers 
 through his dark hair, where there was now and then a 
 thread of silver. "Disappointed in your domestic rela- 
 tions, eh?" she continued, looking him archly in the face. 
 , Wilford was rather proud of his good looks, and during 
 his sojourn abroad, Katy had not helped him any in over- 
 coming this weakness, but,, on the contrary, had fed his 
 vanity by constant flattery. And still he was himself 
 conscious of not looking quite as well as usual just now, 
 for the sea voyage had tired him as well as Katy, but he 
 did not care to be told of it, and Juno's ill-timed remarks 
 aroused him at once, particularly as they reflected some- 
 what on Katy. 
 
 "I assure you I am not disappointed," he answered, 
 "and the six months of my married life have been the 
 happiest I ever knew. Katy is more than I expected her 
 to be." 
 
 Juno elevated her eyebrows slightly, but made no direct 
 reply, while Bell began to ask about Paris and the places 
 he had visited. 
 
 Meanwhile Katy had been ushered into her room, which 
 was directly over the library and separated fromi»Mrs. 
 Cameron's only by a range of closets and presses, a por- 
 tion of which were to be appropriated to her own use. 
 Great pains had been taken to make her rooms attractive, 
 and as the large bay window in the library below extended 
 to the third story, it was really the pleasantest chamber in 
 the house. To Katy it was perfect, and her first ex- 
 clamation was one of delight. 
 
 "Oh, how pleasant, how beautiful," she cried, skipping 
 
120 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 across the soft carpet to the warm fire blazing in the grate. 
 "A bay window, too, .when I like them so much, and such 
 handsome curtains and furniture. I shall be happy here." 
 
 But happy as she was, Katy could not help feeling tired, 
 and she sank into one of the luxurious easy-chairs, wish- 
 ing she could stay there all the evening, instead of going 
 down to that formidable dinner with her new relations. 
 How she dreaded it, especially when she remembered that 
 Mrs. Cameron had said there would be plenty of time to 
 dress, a thing which Katy hated, the process was so tire- 
 some, particularly to-night. Surely, her handsome travel- 
 ing dress, made in Paris, was good enough, and she was 
 about settling in her own mind to venture upon wearing it, 
 •when Esther demolished her castle at once. 
 
 "Wear your traveling habit !" she exclaimed, "when the 
 young ladies, especially Miss Juno, are so particular about 
 their dinner costimie? There would be no end to the 
 scolding I should get for suffering it. So there's no help, 
 you see," and she began good-naturedly to remove her 
 mistress' collar and pin, while Katy, standing up, sighed 
 as she ^aid : "I wish I was in Silverton to-night. I could 
 wear anything there. What must I put on? How I 
 dread it !" and she began to shiver again. 
 
 Fortunately for Katy, Esther had been in the family 
 long enough to know just what they regarded as proper, 
 as by this means the dress selected, a delicate pearl-col- 
 ored silk was sure to please. It was very becoming to 
 Katy, and having been made in Paris, was not open to 
 criticism. Esther's taste was perfect, so that Katy was 
 never over-dressed, and she was very simple and pretty 
 this night, with the rich, soft lace around her neck and 
 around her white, plump arms, where the golden bands 
 were shining. 
 
 "Very pretty, indeed," was Mi's. Cameron's verdict 
 when at half-past five she knocked at the door and then 
 came in to see her daughter, kissing her cheek and strok- 
 ing her head, wholly unadorned, except by the short, 
 silken curls which could not be coaxed to grow faster than 
 they chose, and which had sometimes annoyed Wilford. 
 ■They made his wife seem so young beside him. Mrs. 
 Can'^roi was annoyed, too, for she had no idea of a head. 
 
KATY'S first evening in new YORK. 121 
 
 except as it was connected with a hairdresser, and her an- 
 noyance showed itself as she asked : 
 
 "Did you have your hair cut on purpose ?" 
 But when Katy explained, she answered, pleasantly : 
 "Never mind ; it is a fault which will mend every day, 
 only it makes you look like a child." 
 
 "I am eighteen and a half," Katy said, feeling a lump 
 rising in her throat, for she guessed that her mother-in- 
 law was not quite pleased with her hair. 
 
 For herself, she liked it ; it was so easy to brush and fix. 
 She should go wild if she had to submit to all Esther had 
 told her of hairdressing and what it involved, 
 
 Mrs. Cameron had asked if she would not like to see 
 Mr. Cameron, the elder, before going down to dinner, and 
 Katy had answered that she wottld ; so as soon as Esther 
 had smoothed a refractory fold and brought her handker- 
 chief, she followed to the room where Wilford's father 
 was sitting. He might not have felt complimented could 
 he have known that something in his appearance reminded' 
 Katy of Uncle Ephraim. He was not nearly as old or as 
 tall, nor was his hair as white, but the resemblance, if 
 there were any, lay in the smile with which he greeted 
 Katy, calling her his youngest child, and drawing her 
 closely to him. 
 
 It was remarked of Mr. Cameron that since their baby- 
 hood he had never kissed one of his own children ; but 
 when Katy, who looked upon such a salutation as a matter 
 of course, put up her rosy lips, making the first advance, 
 he could not resist them, and he kissed her twice. Hearty, 
 honest kisses they were, for the man was strongly drawn 
 toward the young girl, who said to him, timidly : 
 
 "I am glad to have a father — mine died before I could 
 remember him. May I call you so ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes ; God bless you, my child," and Mr.' Cam- 
 eron's voice shook as he said it, for neither Bell nor Juno 
 were wont to address him just as Katy did — Katy, -stand- 
 ing close to him, with her hand upon his shoulder and her 
 kiss yet fresh upon his lips- 
 She had already crept a long way into his heart, and he 
 took her hand from his shoulder and holding it betv/een 
 his own,- said to her : 
 
 "I did not think you were so small or yoi; - You are 
 
122 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 my little daughter, my baby, instead of my son's wife. 
 How do you ever expect to fulfill the duties of Mrs. Wil- 
 ford Cameron ?" 
 
 "It's my short hair, sir. I am not so young," Katy an- 
 swered, her eyes filling with tears as she began to wish 
 back the heavy braids which Helen cut away when the 
 fever was at its height. 
 
 "Never mind, child," Mr. Cameron rejoined, playfully. 
 "Youth is no reproach; there's many a one would give 
 their right hand to be young like you. Juno, for instance, 
 who is " 
 
 "Hus-band!" came reprovingly from Mrs. Cameron, 
 spoken as only she could speak it, with a prolonged buz- 
 zing sound on the first syllable, and warning the hus-band 
 that he was venturing too far. 
 
 "It is time to go down if Mrs. Cameron sees the young 
 ladies before dinner," she said, a little stiffly; whereupon 
 her better half startled Katy with the exclamation : 
 
 "Mrs. Cameron ! Thunder and lightning, wife, call her 
 Katy, and don't go into any nonsense of that kind." 
 
 The lady reddened, but said nothing until she reached 
 the hall, when she whispered to Katy, apologetically : 
 
 'T)on't mind it. He is rather irritable since his illness, 
 and sometimes makes use of coarse language. 
 
 Katy had been a little frightened at the outburst, but she 
 liked Mr. Cameron, notwithstanding, • and her heart was 
 lighter as she went down to the library, where Wilford 
 met her at the door, and taking her on his arm led her in 
 to his sisters, holding her back as he presented her, lest 
 she should assault them as she had his mother. But Katy 
 felt no desire to hug the tall, queenly girl whom Wilford 
 introduced as Juno, and whose large, black eyes seemed to 
 read her through as she offered her hand and very daintily 
 kissed her forehead, murmuring something about a wel- 
 come to New York. Bell came next, broad-faced, plainer- 
 looking Bell, who yet had many pretentions to beauty, but 
 whose manner, if possible, was frostier, cooler, than her 
 sister's. Of the two, Katy liked Juno best, for there was 
 about her a flash and sparkle very fascinating to one who 
 had never seen anything of the kind and did not know that 
 much of this vivacity was the result of patient study and 
 practice. Katy would have known they were high-bred, 
 
KATT'S FIRST EVENING IN NEW YORK. 123 
 
 as the world defines high breeding, and something in their 
 manner reminded her of the ladies she had seen abroad, 
 ladies in whose veins lordly blood was flowing. She could 
 not help feeling uncomfortable in their presence, especially 
 as she felt that Juno's black eyes were on her constantly. 
 Not that she could ever meet them looking at her, for they 
 darted away the instant hers were raised, but she knew 
 just when they returned to her again, and how closely they 
 were scanning her. 
 
 "Your wife looks tired, Will. Let her sit down," Bell 
 said, herself wheeling the easy-chair nearer to the fire, 
 while Wilford placed Katy in it ; then, thinking she would 
 get on better if he were not there, he left the room, and 
 Katy was alone with her new sisters. 
 
 Juno had examined her dress and found no fault with 
 it, simply because it was Parisian make; while Bell had 
 examined her head, deciding that there might be some- 
 thing in it, though she doubted it, but that, at all events, 
 short hair was very becoming to it, showing all its fine 
 proportions, and half deciding to have her own locks cut 
 away. Juno had a similair thought, wondering if it were 
 the Paris fashion, and if she would look as young in pro- 
 portion as Katy did were her hair worn on her neck. 
 
 With their brother's departure, the tongues of both the 
 girls were loosened, and standing near to Katy, they began 
 to question her qf what she had seen, Juno asking if she 
 did not hate to leave Italy, and did not wish herself back 
 again. Wholly truthful, Katy answered : "Oh, yes, I was 
 very sorry. I would rather be there than here." 
 
 "Complimentary to us, very," Bell murmured audibly 
 in French, blushing as Katy's eyes were lifted quickly to 
 hers, and she knew she was understood. 
 
 If there was anything which Katy liked more than an- 
 other in the way of study, it was French. She had ex- 
 celled in it at Canandaigua, and while abroad had taken 
 great pains to acquire a pure pronunciation, so that she 
 spoke it with a good deal of fluency, and readily com- 
 prehended Bell. 
 
 "I did not mean to be rude," she said, earnestly. "I 
 liked Italy so much, and we expected to stay longer ; but 
 that does not hinder my liking to be here. I hope I did 
 not offend you." 
 
124 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 "Certainly not ; you are an honest little puss," Bell re- 
 plied, placing her hand caressingly upon the curly head 
 laying back so wearily on the chain "Here in New York 
 we have a bad way of not telling the whole truth, but 
 you will soon be used to it." 
 
 "Used to not telling the truth ! Oh, I hope not !" and 
 this time the blue eyes lifted so wonderingly to Bell's face 
 had in them a startled look. , 
 
 "Simpleton," was Juno's comment, while Bell's was : "I 
 rather like the child," as she continued to smooth the 
 golden curls and wound them around her finger, wonder- 
 ing if Katy had a taste for metaphysics, that fong the last 
 branch of science which she had taken up. 
 
 "I suppose you will find Will a pattern husband," Juno 
 said, after a moment's pause, and Katy replied: "There 
 never could be a better, I am sure, and I have been very 
 happy." 
 
 "Has he never said one cross word to you in all these 
 six months?" was Juno's next question, to which Kaiy 
 answered, truthfully : "Never." 
 
 "And lets you do as you please?" 
 
 "Yes, just as I please," Katy replied, while Juno con- 
 tinued : "He must have changed greatly, then, from what 
 he used to be ; but marriage has probably improved him. 
 He tells you all his secrets, too, I presume ?" 
 
 Anxious that Wilford should appear well in every light, 
 Katy replied at random : "Yes, if he has any." 
 
 "Well, then," and in Jurw's black eyes there was a 
 wicked look, "perhaps you will tell me who was or is the 
 original of that picture he guards so carefully ?" 
 
 "What picture ?" and Katy looked up inquiringly, while 
 Juno, with a little sarcastic laugh, continued r "Oh, he has 
 not told you, then. I thought he would not, he seemed 
 so angry and annoyed when he saw me with it once three 
 or four years ago. I found it in his room, where he had 
 accidentally left it, and was looking at it when he came 
 in. It was the picture of a young girl, who must 
 have been very beautiful, and I did not blame Will 
 for loving her, if he ever did, but he need not have 
 been so indignant at me for wishing to know who it was. 
 I never saw him so angry or so much disturbed. I hope 
 you will_ ferret the secret out and tell me, for I have a 
 
KATY'S FIRST EVENINQ IN NEW YORK. 125 
 
 great deal of curiosity, fancying that picture had some- 
 thing to do with his remaining so long a bachelor. I do 
 not mean that he does not love you," she added, as she 
 saw how white Katy- grew. "It is not to be expected that 
 a man can live to be Siirty without loving more than one. 
 There was Sybil Grey, a famous belle, whom I thought at 
 one time he would marry ; but when Judge Grandon of- 
 fered she accepted, and Will was left in the lurch. I do 
 not really believe he cared, though, for Sybil was too 
 much of a flirt to suit his jealous lordship, and I will do 
 him the justice to say that, however many fancies he may 
 have had, he likes you best of all,",, and this Juno felt con- 
 strained to say because of the look in Katy's face, a look 
 which warned her that in her thoughtlessness she had 
 gone too far and pierced the young wife's heart with a 
 pang as cruel as it was unnecessary. 
 
 Bell had tried to stop her, but she had rattled on until 
 now it was too late, and she could not recall her words, 
 however much she might wish to do so. "Don't tell 
 ■Will," she was about to say, when Will himself appeared, 
 to take Katy out to dinner. Very beautiful and sad were 
 the blue eyes which looked up at him so wistfully, and 
 nothing but the remembrance of Juno's words, "He likes 
 you best of all," kept Katy from crying outright, when he 
 took her hand, passing it between his own and asking if 
 she was tired, 
 
 "Let us try what dinner will do for you," he said, and 
 in silence Katy went with him to the pleasant dining-room, 
 where the glare and the ceremony bewildered her, bring- 
 ing a homesick feeling as she thought of Silverton, con- 
 trasting the elegance around her with the plain tea table, 
 graced with the mulberry set instead of the costly china 
 before her. ♦ 
 
 Never had Katy felt so embarrassed in her life as sjie 
 did this night, when seated for the first time at dinner in 
 her husband's home, with all those criticising eyes upon 
 her, as she knew they were. She had been very hungry, 
 but her appetite was gone, and she almost loathed the rich 
 food offered her, feeling so glad when the dinner was 
 ended, and Wilford asked if she would go then to Jamie's 
 room. He was sitting in his wheel-chair when they went 
 in, and his eyes turned eagerly toward them, lighting UR 
 
]26 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 with pleasure when Wilford said: "This is your Aunt 
 Katy. You will love each other, I am sure." 
 
 That they would love each other was very apparent 
 from the kisses Katy pressed upon his^lips, and the way in 
 which his arms clung around her neck as he said : "I am 
 glad you have come, Aunt Katy, and you will tell me of 
 the good doctor. He is your cousin, Uncle Wilford 
 says." 
 
 With Jamie Katy was perfectly at her ease. There was 
 some affinity between him and herself, and she was glad 
 when Wilford left them alone, as he wisely did, going 
 back to where his mother and sisters were freely discuss- 
 ing his bride, his mother calling her a mere child, who 
 would improve, and Juno saying she had neither manner 
 nor style, while Bell offered no opinion, except that she 
 was pretty. A part of these criticisms Wilford heard, 
 and they made bis blood tingle, for he had great faith in 
 their opinions, even though he sometimes savagely com- 
 bated them, and into his heart there crept a slight feeling 
 of dissatisfaction toward Katy, now kneeling on the floor 
 by Jamie's side, and with her head almost in his lap, talk- 
 ing to him of Morris Grant, whose very name had a 
 strange power to soothe her. 
 
 "You don't seem like an aunt," Jamie said at last, 
 smoothing her short hair; "you look so like a girl. I 
 wonder, must I call you so? I guess I must, though, for 
 Uncle Will told me to, and we all mind him, grandma 
 and all ! Do you ?" and the child looked curiously at her. 
 
 Had Jamie's question been put to her two weeks ago, 
 she would have hesitated in her answer^ and even now she 
 had not waked to the fact that in all essential points her 
 husband's wish was the law she could not help obey, but 
 she replied, laughingly: "Yes, I mind him," while Jamie 
 continued : "I love him so much, and he loves us and you. 
 I heard him tell grandma so, and by his voice I knew he 
 was in earnest. He never loved any one half so well be- 
 fore, he said, not even — somebody — I forget who — a 
 funny name it was." 
 
 Katy felt almost as if she were doing wrong, but re- 
 membering what Juno had said of Sybil Grey, she faintly 
 
 "Was Sybil the name?" 
 
KATY'S FIRST EVENING IN NEW YORK. 127 
 
 Jamie hardly thought it was. It seemed more like 
 some town ; still, it might have been, he said, and Katy's 
 heart grew lighter, for Juno's idle words had troubled 
 her, and Sybil Grey most of all ; but if her husband now 
 loved her best, she did not care so much ; and when Wil- 
 ford came for her to join them in the parlor, he foundher 
 like herself both in looks and spirits. Mark Ray had been 
 obliged to decline Mr. Cameron's invitation to dinner^ but 
 he was now in the library, Wilford said, and Katy was 
 glad, for she remembered how he had helped her during 
 that week of gayety in Boston, when society was so new 
 to her. As he had been then, so he was now, and his 
 friendly, respectful manner put Katy as mudi at her ease 
 as it was possible for her to be in the presence of Wilford'" 
 mother and sisters, who watched her so narrowly. 
 
 "I suppose you have not seen your Sister Helen? You 
 ■ know I called there, of course ?" Mark said to Katy ; but 
 before she could reply^ a pair of black eyes shot a keen 
 glance at the luckless Mark, and Juno's sharp voice said, 
 quickly : "Called on her ! When, pray ? I did not know 
 you had the honor of Miss Lennox's acquaintance." 
 
 Mark was in a dilemma. He had kept his call at Sil- 
 verton to himself, as he did not care to be questioned about 
 Katy's family ; and now, when it accidentally came out, he 
 tried to make some evasive reply, pretending that he had 
 spoken of it, and Juno had forgotten. But Juno knew 
 better, and from that night dated a strong feeling of dis- 
 like, almost hatred, for Helen Lennox, whom she affected 
 to despise, even though she could be jealous of her. 
 Wisely changing the conversation, Mark asked Katy next 
 to play, and as she seldom refused, she went at once to the 
 piano, astonishing both Mrs. Cameron and her daughters 
 with the brilliancy of her performance. Even Juno com- 
 plimented her, saying she must have taken lessons very 
 young. 
 
 "When I was ten," Katy answered. "Cousin Morris 
 gave me my first exercises himself. He plays some- 
 times." 
 
 "Yes, I knew that," Juno replied. "Does your sister 
 play as well as you ?" 
 
 Katy knew that Helen did not, and she, answered 
 frankly : "Morris thinks she does not. She is not as fond 
 
128 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 of it as I am." Then feeling that she must in some way 
 make amends for Helen, she added: "But she knows a 
 great deal more than I do about books. Helen is very 
 smart." 
 
 There was a smile on every lip at this ingenuous re- 
 mark, but only Mark and Bell liked Katy the better for it. 
 Wilford did not care to have her talking of her friends, 
 and he kept her at the piano until she said her fingers were 
 tired, and begged leave to stop. 
 
 It was late ere Mark bade them good-nig^; so late 
 that Katy began to wonder if he would never go, yawning 
 once so perceptibly that Wilford gave her a reproving 
 glance, which sent the hot blood to her face and drove, 
 from her every feeling of drowsiness. Even after he had 
 gone the family were in no haste to retire, but sat chatting 
 with Wilford until the city clock struck twelve. and Katy 
 was actually nodding in her chair. 
 
 "Poor child, she is very tired," Wilford said, apolo- 
 getically, gently waking Katy, who, really mortified, 
 begged them to excuse her, and folfowed her husband to 
 her room, where she was free to ask him what she must 
 ask before she could ever be quite as happy as she had 
 been before. 
 
 Notwithstanding what Jamie had said, Juno's words 
 kept recurring to her mind, and going np to the chair 
 where Wilford was sitting before the fire, and standing 
 partly behind him, she said, timidly : "Will you answer me 
 one thing truly ?" 
 
 Alone with Katy, Wilford felt all his old tenderness re- 
 turning, and drawing her into his lap, he asked her what 
 it was she wished to know. 
 
 "Did you love anybody three or four years ago, or 
 ever — that is, love them well enough to wish to make them 
 your wife ?" 
 
 Katy could feel how Wilford started, as he said : "What 
 put that .idea into your head ? Who has been talking 
 to you ?" 
 
 "Juno," Katy answered. "She told me she believed 
 that it was some other love which kept you a bachelor so 
 long. Was it, Wilford?" and Katy's lips quivered H a 
 grieved kind of way as she put the question. 
 
 "Juno t»e " 
 
KATY'S first EVE>aNG IN NEW YORK. 129 
 
 Wtlford did not say -what, for he seldom swore, and 
 never in a lady's presence, even if the lady were his wife. 
 So he said, instead : 
 
 "It was very unkind in Juno to distress you thus with 
 matters about which she knew nothing." 
 
 "But did you?" Katy asked again. "Was there not a 
 Sybil Grey, or some one of that name?" 
 
 At mention of Sybil Grey, Wilford looked relieved, and 
 answered her at once : 
 
 "Yes, there was a Sybil Grey, Mrs. Judge Grandon 
 now, and a dashing widow. Don't sigh so wearily," he 
 continued, as Katy drew a gasping breath. "Knowing 
 she was a widow, I chose you, thus showing which I pre- 
 ferred. Few men live to be thirty without more or less 
 fanci^, which under some circumstances might ripen into 
 something stronger, and I am not an exception. I never 
 loved Sybil Grey, nor wished to make her my wife. I ad- 
 mired her very. much. I admire her yet, and among all 
 my acquaintances there is not one upon whom I would 
 care to have you make-so good an impression as upon her, 
 nor one whose manner you could better imitate." 
 
 "Oh, will she call? Shall I see her?" Katy asked, be- 
 ginning to feel alarmed at the very thought of Sybil Grey, 
 with all her polish and manner, 
 
 "She is spending the winter in New Orleans with her 
 bte husband's relatives. She will not return till spring," 
 Wilford replied. "But do not look so distressed, for I 
 tell you solemnly that I never loved another as I love you, 
 my wife. Do you believe me ?" 
 
 "Yes," and Katy's head drooped upon his shoulder. 
 
 She was satisfied with regard to Sybil Grandon, only 
 hoping she would not have to meet her when she came 
 home. But the picture. Whose was that? Not Sybil's 
 certainly, else Juno would have known. The picture 
 troubled her, but she dared not speak of it, Wilford had 
 seemed so angry at Juno. Still, she would probe him a 
 little further, and so she continued : 
 
 "I do believe you, and if I ever see this Sybil I will try 
 to imitate her ; but tell me, if, after her, there was among 
 your friends one better than the rest, one almost as dear 
 as I am, one whom you sometimes remember even now — 
 is she living, or is she dead?" 
 
130 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 Wilford thought of that humble grave far off in St. 
 Mary's churchyard, the grave whose headstone bore the in- 
 scription : "Genevra Lambert, aged 22," and he answered 
 quickly : 
 
 "If there ever was such a one, she certainly is not liv- 
 ing. Are you satisfied?" 
 
 Katy answered that she was, but perfect confidence in 
 her husband's affection had been terribly shaken by Juno's 
 avowal and his partial admission of an earlier love, and 
 Katy's heart was too full to sleep, even after she had re- 
 tired. Visions of Sybil Grey, blended with visions of an- 
 other whom she called the "dead fancy," flitted before her 
 mind, as she lay awake, while hour after hour went by, 
 until tired nature could endure no longer, and just as the 
 great city was waking up and the rattle of wheels was 
 beginning to be heard upon the distant pavements, she fell 
 away to sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 EXTRACTS FROM BELL CAMERON'S DIARY. 
 
 New York, December — . 
 After German philosophy and Hamilton's metaphysics* 
 it is a great relief to have introduced into the family an 
 entirely new element — a character the dissection of which 
 is at once a novelty and a recreation. It is absolutely re- 
 freshing, and I find myself returning to my books, with 
 increased vigor after an encounter with that simple- 
 hearted, unsophisticated, mnocent-minded creature, our 
 sister-in-law, Mrs. Wilford Cameron. Such pictures as 
 Juno and lused to draw of the stately personage who was 
 one day coming to us as Wilford's wife, and of whom 
 even mother was to stand in awe. Alas! how hath our 
 idol fallen ! Tell it not in Gath, nor yet in Gotham ! And 
 still I rather like the little creature, who, the very first 
 night, nearly choked mother to death, giving her lace 
 streamers a most uncomfortable twitch, and actually kiss- 
 ing father — a thing I have not done since I can remember. 
 But, then, with the exception of Will and Jamie, the Cam- 
 erons are all a set of icicles, encased in a refrigerator at 
 that. If we were not, we should thaw out, when Katy 
 
EXTKACTS FROM BELL CAMERON'S DIARY. 131 
 
 leans on us so affectionately and looks up at us so wist- 
 fully, as if pleading for our love. Wilford does wonders ; 
 he used to be so grave, so dignified and silent, that I never 
 supposed he would bear having a wife meet him at the 
 door with cooing and kisses, and climbing into his lap 
 right before us all. Juno says it makes her sick, while 
 mother is dreadfully shocked; and even Will sometimes 
 seems annoyed, gently shoving her aside and telling her 
 he is tired. 
 
 After all, it is a query in my mind whether it is not 
 better to be. like Katy than like Sybil Grandon, about 
 whom Juno was mean enough to tell her the first day of 
 her arrival. On the whole, I would rather be Katy, but 
 better yet, would prefer remaining myself, Bell Cameron, 
 the happy medium between the two extremes, of art per- 
 fected and nature in its primeval state, just as it existed 
 among the Silverton hills. From my own standpoint, I 
 can look on and criticise, giving my journal the benefit 
 of my criticisms and conclusions. 
 
 Very pretty, but shockingly insipid, is Juno's verdict 
 upon Mrs. Wilford, while mother says less, but looks a 
 great deal more, especially when she talks about "my 
 folkSj" as she did to Mrs. General Reynolds the very first- 
 time she called. Mother and Juno were so annoyed, while 
 Will looked like a thundercloud, particularly when she 
 spoke of Uncle Ephraim, saying so and so. He was bet- 
 ter satisfied with Katy in Europe, where he was not 
 known, than he is here, where he sees her with other 
 people's eyes. One of his weaknesses is a too great rev- 
 erence for the world's opinion, as held and expounded by 
 our very fashionable mother, and as in a quiet kind of 
 way she has arrayed* herself against poor Katy, while 
 Juno is more open in her acts and sayings, I predict that 
 it will not be many months before he comes to the con- 
 clusion that he has made a mesalliance, a thing of which 
 no Cameron was ever guity (query, by the way). 
 
 I wonder if there is any truth in the rumor that Mrs. 
 General Reynolds once taught a district school, and if she 
 did, how much would that detract from the merits of her 
 son. Lieutenant Bob. But what nonsense to be writing 
 about him. Let me go back to Katy, who has no more 
 idea of etiq—tte than Jamie in his wheel-ch-Jir. Still, 
 
132 pamIjY PRroE. 
 
 there is something very attractive about her, and Mrs, 
 General Reynolds took to her at once, petting her as she 
 would a kitten, and laughing merrily at her naive speeches, 
 as she called iJiem — speeches which made Will turn black 
 in the face, they betrayed so much of rustic life and breed- 
 ing, I fancy that he has given Katy a few hints, and that 
 she is beginning to be somewhat afraid of him, for she 
 watches him constantly when she is talking, and she does 
 not now slip her hand into his as she used to when guests 
 are leaving and she stands at his side ; neither is she quite 
 so demonstrative when he comes up from the office at 
 night, and there is a look upon her face which was nofr 
 there when she came. They are taming her down, mother 
 and Juno, and to-morrow they are actually going to com- 
 mence a systematic course of training, preparatory to her 
 debut into society, said debut to occur on the night of the 
 — , when Mrs. General Reynolds gives the party talked 
 about so long. I was present when they met in solemn 
 conclave to talk it over, mother asking Will if he had any 
 objections to Juno's instructing his wife with regard to 
 certain things of which she was ignorant. Will's fore- 
 head knit itself together at first, and I half hoped he would 
 veto the whole proceedings, but after a moment he re- 
 plied: 
 
 "No, providing Katy is willing. Her feelings must not 
 be hurt." 
 
 "Certainly not," mother said. "Katy is a dear little 
 creature, and we all love her very much, but that does not 
 blind us to her deficiencies, and as we are anxious that she 
 should fill that place in society which Mrs. Wilford Cam- 
 eron ought to fill, it seems necessary to tone her down a 
 little before her first appearance at a party." 
 
 To this Will assented, and then Juno went on to enu- 
 merate her deficiencies, which, as nearly as I can remem- 
 ber, are these : She laughs too much and too loud ; is too 
 enthusiastic over novelties, conducting as if she never saw 
 anything before ; has too much to say about Silverton and 
 "my folks," quotes Uncle Ephraim and Sister Helen too 
 often, and is even guilty at times of mentionin'.T a certain 
 Aunt Betsy, who must have floated with the Ark and snuf- 
 fled the breezes of Ararat. She does not know how to 
 enter, or cross, or leave a room properly, or receive an 
 
TONING DOWN. 133 
 
 ,iitroduction ; or, in short, do anything according to New 
 York ideas as understood by the Camerons, etc. ; she is to 
 be taught — ^toned down, mother called it — dwelling upon 
 her high spirits as something vulgar, if not absolutely 
 wicked. How father would have sworn, for he calls her 
 his little sunbeam, and says he never should have gained 
 so fast if she had not come with her sunny face and lively, 
 merry, laugh to cheer his sickroom. Katy has a fast 
 friend in him and Jamie. But mother and Juno — ^well, I 
 shall be glad if they do not annihilate her altogether, and 
 I am surprised that Will allows' it, I wonder if Katy is 
 really happy with us? She says she is, and is evidently 
 delighted with New York life, clapping her hands when 
 the invitation to Mrs. Reynolds' party was received, and 
 running with it to Wilford as soon as he came home. It 
 is her first big party, slie says, she having never attended 
 any except that little sociable in Boston, and those insipid 
 schoolgirl affairs at the seminary. I may be conceited — 
 Juno thinks I am — ^but really and truly. Bell Cameron's 
 private opinion of herself is that at heart she is better than 
 the rest of her family, and so I pity this little sister of 
 ours, while at the same time I am exceedingly anxious 
 to be present whenever Juno takes her in hand, for I like 
 to see the fun. Were she at all bookish, I should avow' 
 myself her champion, and openly defend her; but she is 
 not, and so I give her into the hands of the Philistines, 
 hoping they will at least spare her hair and not worry her 
 life out on that head. It is very becoming to her, and 
 several young ladies have whispered their intention of 
 trying its effect upon themselves, so that Katy may yet be 
 a leader of the fashion. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 TONING DOWN. 
 
 Bell's Diary Continued. 
 
 Such fun as it was to see m.otner and Juno training 
 Katy, showing her how to enter the parlor, how to arrange 
 her dress, how to carry her hands and feet, and how to sit 
 
134 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 in a chair; — ^Juno going through with the performance 
 first, and then requesting Katy to imitate her, which I 
 must say she did to perfection, even excelling her teacher, 
 inasmuch as she is naturally very easy and graceful. Had 
 I been Katy I should have rebelled, but she is far too 
 sweet-tempered and anxious to please, while I half sus- 
 pect that fear of my lord Wilford had something to do 
 with it, for when the drill was over, she asked so earnestly 
 if we thought he would be ashamed of her, and there were 
 tears in her great blue eyes as she said it. Hang Wil- 
 ford ! Hang the whole of them ! I am not sure but I 
 shall espouse her cause myself, or else tell father, who will 
 do it so much better. 
 
 Dec. — th. — Another drill, with Juno commanding of- 
 ficer, while the poor little private seemed completely wor- 
 ried out. This time there were open doors, but so ab- 
 sorbed were mother and Juno as not to hear the bell, and 
 just as Juno was saying, "Now, imagine me Mrs. General 
 Reynolds, to whom you are being presented," while Katy 
 was bowing almost to the floor, who should appear but 
 Mark Ray, stumbling square upon that ludicrous re- 
 hearsal, and of course bringing it to an end. No explana- 
 tion was made, nor was any needed, for Mark's face 
 „ showed that he understood it, and it was as much as he 
 could do to keep from roaring with merriment ; I am sure 
 he pitied Katy, for his manner toward her was very af- 
 fectionate and kind, and when once she left the room he 
 complimented her highly, repeating many things he had 
 heard in her praise from those who had seen her both in the 
 street and here at home. Juno's face was like a thunder- 
 cloud, for she was as much in love with Mark Ray as she 
 was once with Dr. Grant, and is even jealous of his praise 
 of Katy. Glad am I that I never yet saw the man who 
 could make me jealous, or for whom I cared a pin. 
 There's Bob Reynolds up at West Point. I suppose I do 
 think his epaulettes very becoming to him, but his hair is 
 too light and he cannot raise whiskers big enough to cast 
 a shadow on the wall, while I know he looks with con- 
 tempt upon females who write, even though their writings 
 never see the light of day; thinks them strong-minded, 
 self-willed, and all that. He is expected to be present at 
 the party, but I shall not r ) I had rather stay at home 
 
TONING DOWN. 136 
 
 and finish that article entitled "Women of the Present 
 Century," and suggested to my mind by my Sister Katy, 
 who stands for the picture I am drawing of a pretty 
 woman, with more heart than brains, contrasting her with 
 such a one as Juno, her opposite extreme. 
 
 January lo. — The last time I wrote in my journal was 
 just before the party, which is over now, the long-talked- 
 of affair at which Katy was the reigning belle. I don't 
 know how it happened, but happen it did, and Juno's glory 
 faded before that of her rival, whose merry, ringing laugh 
 frequently penetrated to every room, and made more than 
 one look up in some surprise. But when Mrs. Humph- 
 reys said: "It's that charming little Mrs. Cameron, the 
 prettiest creature I ever saw, her laugh is so refreshing 
 and genuine," the point was settled, and Katy was free to 
 laugh as loudly as she pleased. 
 
 She did look beautiful, in lace and pearls, with her 
 short hair curling on her neck. She would not allow us 
 to put so much as a bud in her hair, showing in this re- 
 spect a willfulness we never expected ; but as she was per- 
 fectly irresistible, we suffered her to have her way, and 
 when she was dressed, sent her in to father, who had 
 asked to see her. And now comes the strangest thing in- 
 the world. 
 
 "You are very beautiful, little daughter," father said. 
 "I almost wish I was going with you to see the sensation 
 you are sure to create." 
 
 Then straight into his laj^ ciSnibed Katy — father's lap — > 
 where hone of us ever sat, i am sure, and began to coax 
 him to go, telling him she should appear better if he were 
 there, and that she should need him when Wilford left 
 her, as of course he must a part of the time. And father 
 actually dressed himself and went. But Katy did not 
 need him after the people' began to understand that Mrs. 
 Wilford Cameron was the rage. Even Sybil Grey, in her 
 palmiest days, never received such homage as was paid 
 to the little Silverton girl, whose great charm was her 
 perfect enjoyment of everything, and her perfect faith in 
 what people said to her. Juno was nothing, and I worse 
 than nothing, for I did go, wearing a plain black silk, 
 with high neck and long sleeves, looking, as Juno said, 
 like a Sister ©f Charity. But Bell Cameron can afford 
 
186 FAMILY PRroE. 
 
 to dress plainly if she chooses, and I am glad, as it saves 
 a deal of trouble, and somehow people seem to like me 
 quite as well in my Quakerish dress as they do the fash- 
 ionable Juno in diamonds and flowers, with uncovered 
 neck and shoulders. 
 
 Lieutenant Bob was there, his light hair lighter than 
 ever, and his chin as smooth as my hand. He likes to 
 dance, and I do not, but somehow he persisted in staying 
 where I was, notwithstanding that I said my sharpest 
 things in hopes to get rid of him. He left me at last to 
 dance with Katy, who makes up in grace and airiness 
 what she lacks in knowledge. Once upon the floor, she 
 did not lack for partners, but, I verily believe, danced 
 every set, growing prettier and fairer as she danced, for 
 hers is a complexion which does not get red and blowsy 
 with exercise. 
 
 Mark Ray was there, too, and I saw him smile comically 
 when Katy met the people with that bow she was making 
 at the time he came so suddenly upon us. Mark is a good 
 fellow, and I really think we have him to thank in a meas- 
 ure for Katy's successful debut He was the first to take 
 her from Wilford, walking with her up and down the hall 
 by way of reassuring her, and once as they passed me I 
 4ieard her say : 
 
 "I feel so timid here — so much afraid of doing some- 
 thing wrong — ^something countrified." 
 
 "Never mind," he answered. "Act yourself just as you 
 would were you at home in Silverton, where you are 
 known. That is far better than affecting a manner not 
 natural to you." 
 
 After that Katy brightened wonderfully. The stiffness 
 which at first was perceptible passed off, and she was Katy 
 Lennox, queening it over all the city belles, who, because 
 she was married, would not be jealous — drawing after her 
 a host of gentlemen, and between the sets holding a min- 
 iature court at one end of the room, where the more de- 
 sirable of the guests crowded around, flattering her until 
 her little head ought to have been turned if it was not. 
 To do her justice, she bore her honors well, and when we 
 were in the carriage, and father complimented her upon 
 her success, she only said : 
 
 "If I pleased vou all I am glad." 
 
TONING DOWN. 137 
 
 So many calls as we bad the next day, and so many invi- 
 tations as there are now on our table for Mrs. Wilford 
 Cameron, while our opera box between the scenes is 
 packed with beatis, until one would suppose Wilford might 
 be jealous ; but Katy takes it all so quietly and modestly, 
 seeming only gratified for his sake, that I really believe he 
 enjoys it more than she does. At all events, he persists 
 in her going, even when she would rather stay at home, 
 so if she is sprfled, the fault will rest with him. 
 
 February — ^th. — Poor Katy. Dissipation is beginning 
 to wear ttpon her, for she is not accustomed to our late 
 hours, and sometimes falls asle4> while Esther is dressing 
 her. But go she must, for Wilford wills it so, and she is 
 but an automaton to do his bidding. 
 
 Why can't mother let her ajone, when everybody seems 
 so satisfied with her? Somehow, she does not believe that 
 people are as delighted as they pretend, and so she keeps 
 training and tormenting her until I do not wonder that 
 Katy sometimes hates to go out, lest she shall uncon- 
 sciously be guilty of an impropriety. I pitied her last 
 night, when, after she was ready for the opera, she came 
 into my room, where I was indulging in the luxury of a 
 loose dressing gown, with my feet on the sofa. Latterly 
 she has taken to me, and now sitting down before the fir*. 
 into which her blue eyes looked with a steady stare, she 
 said: 
 
 "I wish I might stay here with you to-night I have 
 heard this opera before, and it will be so tiresome. I get 
 so sleepy while they are singing, for I never care to watch 
 the acting. I did at first, when it was new, but now it 
 seems insipid to see them make-believe, while the theatre 
 is worse yet," and she gave a weary yawn. 
 
 In less than three months she has exhausted fashionable 
 life, and I looked at her in astonishment, asking What 
 would please her if the opera did not. What would she 
 like? 
 
 Turning her eyes full upon me, she exclaimed : 
 
 "I do like it some, I suppose, only I get so tired. I 
 like to ride, I like to skate, I Kke to shop, and all that ; 
 but, oh, you don't know how I want to go home to mother 
 and Helen. I have not seen them for so long, but I am 
 going in the spring— going in May. How many days are 
 
138 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 there in March and April? Sixty-one," she continued'; 
 "then I may safely say that in eighty days I shall see 
 . mother, and all the dear old places. It is not a grand 
 home like this. You, Bell, might laugh at it. Juno 
 would, I am sure, but you do not know how dear it is to 
 me, or how I long for a sight of the huckleberry hills and 
 the rocks where Hden and I used to play. Helen is a 
 darling sister, and I know you will like her." 
 
 Just then Will called to say the carriage was waiting, 
 and Katy was driven away, while I sat thinking of her 
 and the devoted love with which she clings to her home 
 and friends, wondering if it were the kindest thing which 
 could have been done, transplanting her to our atmos- 
 phere, so different from her own. 
 
 March 1st. — ^As it was in the winter, so it is now ; Mrs. 
 Wilford Cameron is the rage — the bright star of society — 
 which quotes and pets and flattprs, and even laughs at her 
 by turns; and Wilford, though still watchful, lest she 
 should do something outre, is very proud of her, insisting 
 upon her accepting invitations, sometimes two for one 
 evening, until the child is absolutely worn out, and said to 
 me once, when I told her how well she was looking and 
 how pretty her dress was : "Yes, pretty enough, but I am 
 ^^so tired. If I could lie down on mother's bed, in a shill- 
 ing calico, just as I used to do !" 
 
 Mother's bed seems at present to be the height of her 
 ambition — ^the thing she most desires ; and as Juno fancied 
 it must be the feathers she is sighing for, she wickedly 
 suggests that Wilford either buy a feather bed for his 
 wife, or else send to that Aunt Betsy for the one which 
 was to be Katy's setting out 1 They go to housekeeping 
 in May, and on Madison Square, too. I think Wilford 
 would quite as soon remain with us, for he does not fancy 
 change ; but Katy wants a home of her own, and I never 
 saw anything more absolutely beautiful than her face when 
 father said to Wilford that No. — Madison Square was 
 for sale, advising him to secure it. But when mother in- 
 timated that there was no necessity for the two families 
 to separate at present — ^that Katy was too young to have 
 charge of a house — ^there came into her eyes a look of such 
 distress that it went straight to father's heart, and calling 
 her to him. he said : 
 
TONING DOWN. ^ 139 
 
 "Tell me, sunbeam, what i& your choice — to stay with 
 us, or have a home of your own ?" 
 
 Katy was very white, and her voice trembled as she 
 replied : 
 
 "You have been kind to me here, and it is very pleas- 
 ant; but I guess — I think — I'm sure — I should like the 
 housekeeping best. I am not so young, either. Nineteen 
 in July, and when I go home next month I can learn so 
 much of Aunt Betsy and Aunt Hannah." 
 
 Mother looked at Wilford then; but he was looking 
 into the fire, with an expression anything but favorable 
 to that visit home, fixed now for April instead of May. 
 But Katy has no discernment, and believes she is 'actually 
 going home to learn how to make apple dumplings and 
 pumpkin pies. In spite of mother, the house, is bought, 
 and now she is gone all day, deciding how it shall be fur- 
 nished, always leaving Katy out of the question, as if she 
 were a cipher, and only consulting Wilford's choice. They 
 will be happier alone, I know. Mrs. General Reynolds 
 says that it is the way for young people to live ; that her 
 son's wife shall never come home to her, for of course 
 their habits could not be alike ; and then she looked queerly 
 at me, as if she knew I was thinking of Lieutenant Bob 
 and who his wife might be. 
 
 Sybil Grandon is corning home in April or May, and 
 Mrs. Reynolds wonders will she flirt as she used to do. 
 Just as if Bob would care for a widow. There is more 
 danger from Will, who thinks Mrs. Grandon a perfect 
 paragon, and who is very anxious that Katy may appear 
 well before her, saying nothing and doing nothing which 
 shall in any way approximate to Silverton and the shoes 
 which Katy told Esther she used to bind when a girl. 
 Will need not be disturbed, for Sybil Grandon was never 
 half as pretty as Katy, or half as much admired. Neither 
 need Mrs. General Reynolds fret about Bob, as if he 
 would care for her. Sybil Grandon, indeed ! 
 
140 FAMILY PRroB. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 KATY. 
 
 For nearly four months Katy had been in New York, 
 drinking deep draughts from the cup of folly and fashion 
 held so constantly to her lips ; but sh€ cloyed of it at last, 
 and what at first had been so eagerly grasped, began, from 
 daily repetition, to grow insipid and dull. To be the belle 
 of every place, to know that her dress, her style, and even 
 the fashion of her hair, was copied and admired, was 
 gratifying to her, because she knew how much it pleased 
 her hustend, who was never happier or prouder than 
 when, with Katy on his arm, he entered some crowded 
 parlor and heard the buzz of admiration as it circled 
 around, while Katy, simple-hearted and guileless still, 
 smiled and blushed like a little child, wondering at the at- 
 tentions lavished upon her, and attributing them mostly to 
 her husband, whose position she thoroughly imderstood, 
 marveling more and more that he should have chosen her 
 to be his wife. That he had so honored her made her 
 love him with a strange kind of grateful, clinging love^ 
 which as yet would acknowledge no fault in him, no 
 wrong, no error ; and if ever a shadow did cloud her heart, 
 she jvas the one to blame, not Wilford ; he was right — he 
 the idol she worshiped — he the one for whose sake she 
 tried so hard to drop her country ways ahd conform to 
 the rules his mother and sister taught, submitting with the 
 utmost good-nature to what Bell in her journal had called 
 the drill, but it must be confessed not succeeding very well 
 in imitating Juno. Katy could hardly be other than her 
 own easy, graceful self, and though the drills had theif 
 effect, and taught her many things, they could not divest 
 her of that natural, playful, airy manner which so charmed 
 the city people and made her the reigning belle. As Mar- 
 ian Hazleton had predicted, others than her husband had 
 spoken words of praise in Katy's ear; but such was her 
 nature that the shafts of flattery glanced aside, leaving her 
 unharmed, so that her husband, though sometimes startled 
 and disquieted, had no cause for jealousy, enjoying Katy's 
 
KATY. 141 
 
 success far more than she did herself, urging her out when 
 she would rather have stayed at home, and evincing so 
 much annoyance if she ventured to remonstrate that she 
 gave it up at last and floated on with the tide. 
 
 Mrs. Cameron had at first been greatly shocked at 
 Katy's want of propriety, looking on aghast when she 
 wound her arms around Wilford's neck, or sat upon his 
 knee ; but to the elder Cameron the sight was a pleasant 
 one, bringing back sunny memories of a summer time years 
 ago, when he was young, and a fair bride had for a few 
 brief weeks made this earth a paradise to him. But fash- 
 ion had entered his Eden — ^that summer time was gone, 
 and only the dun leaves of autumn lay where the buds 
 which promised so much had been. The girlish bride was 
 a stately matron now, doing nothing amiss, but making 
 all her acts conform to a prescribed rule of etiquette, and 
 frowning majestically upon the frolicsome, impulsive 
 Katy, who had crept so far into the heart of the eccentric 
 man that he always found the hours of her absence long, 
 listening intently for the sound of her bounding footsteps, 
 and feeling that her c<Miiing to his household had infused 
 into his veins a better, healthier life than he had known for 
 years. Katy was very dear to him, and he felt a thrill of 
 pain, while a shadow lowered on his brow when iirst the 
 toning down process commenced. He had heard them 
 talk about it, and in his wrath he had hurled a cut-glass 
 goblet upon the marble hearth, breaking it in atoms, while 
 he called them a pair of precious fools, and Wilford a 
 bi^er one because he suffered it. So long as his con- 
 valescence lasted, he was some restraint upon his wife, 
 but when he was well enough to resume his duties in his 
 Wall Street office,* there was nothing in the way, and 
 Katy's education progressed accordingly. For Wilford's 
 sake, Katy would do anything, and as from some things 
 he had dropped she guessed that her manner was not quite 
 what suited him, she submitted to much which would 
 crtherwise have been excessively annoying. But she was 
 growing tired now, and it told upon her face, which was 
 whiter than when she came to New York, while her figure 
 was, if possible, slighter and more airy ; but this only en- 
 hanced her kiveiiriess, Wilford thought, and so he paid no 
 heed to her complaints of weariness, but Isept her in the 
 
142 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 circle which welcomed her so warmly, and would have 
 missed her so much. 
 
 Little by little it had come to Katy that she was not 
 quite as comfortable in her husband's family as she would 
 be in a house of her own. The constant watch kept over 
 her by Mrs. Cameron and Juno irritated and fretted her, 
 making her wonder what was the matter, and why she 
 should so often feel lonely and desolate when surrounded 
 by every luxury which wealth could purchase. "It is his 
 folks," she always said to herself when cogitating upon 
 the subject. "Alone with Wilford I shall feel as light and 
 happy as I used to do in Silverton." 
 
 And so Katy caught eagerly at the prospect of a release 
 from the restraint of No. — , seeming so anxious that Wil- 
 ford, almost before he was aware of it himself, became the 
 owner of one of the most desirable situations on Madison 
 Square ; and> Katy was the envy of the belles, who had 
 copied and imitated her, even to the cutting off their hair, 
 which fashion may be fairly said to have originated from 
 Katy herself, whose short curls had ceased to be obnoxious 
 to the fastidious Mrs. Cameron, for Juno had tried the 
 e'ffect, looking, as Bell said, "like a fool," while Juno 
 would have given much to have again the long black 
 tresses, the cutting of which did not make her look like 
 Katy. Of all the household, after Katy, Juno was perhaps 
 the only one glad of the new house. It would be a change 
 for herself, for she meant to spend much of her time on 
 Madison Square, where everything was to be on the most 
 magnificent scale. Fortunately for Katy, she knew noth- 
 ing of Juno's intentions and built many a castle of her new 
 home, where mother could come with Helen and Dr. 
 Grant. Somehow she never saw Uncle Ephraim, nor his 
 wife, nor yet Aunt Betsy there. She knew how out of 
 place they would appear, and how they would annoy Wil- 
 ford ; but surely to her mother and Helen there could be 
 no objection, and when she first went over the house, she 
 designated mentally this room as mother's, and another 
 one as Helen's, thinking how each should be fitted up with 
 direct reference to their tastes, Helen's containing a great 
 many books, while her mother's should have easy-chairs 
 and lounges, with a host of drawers for holding things. 
 And Wilford heard it all, making no reply, but consider- 
 
KATY. 143 
 
 ing how he could manage best so as to have no scene, for 
 he had not the slightest intention of inviting either Mrs. 
 Lennox or Helen to visit him, much less to become a part 
 of his household. That he did not marry Katy's relatives 
 "was a fact as fixed as the laws of the Medes and Persians, 
 and Katy's anticipations were answering no other purpose 
 than to divert her mind for the time being, keeping her 
 bright and cheerful. 
 
 Very pleasant indeed were the picttares Katy drew of 
 the new house where Helen was to come, but pleasanter 
 far were her pictures of that visit to Silverton, to occur in 
 April, and about which she thought so much, dreaming 
 of it many a night, and waking in the morning with the 
 belief that she had actually been where the young buds 
 were swelling and the fresh grass was springing by the 
 door. Poor Katy, how much she thought about that visit 
 when she should see them all and go again with Uncle 
 Ephraim down into the meadows, making believe she was 
 Katy Lennox still — ^when she could limb the ladder in the 
 barn after new-laid eggs, or steal across the fields to Lin- 
 wood, talking with Morris as she used to talk in the days 
 which seemed so long ago. Morris she feared was not 
 liking her as well as of old, thinking her very frivolous 
 and silly, for he had only written her one short note in re- 
 ply to the letter she had sent, telling him of the opera, the 
 parties she attended, and the gay, happy life she led, for 
 to him she would not then confess that in her cup of joy 
 there was a single bitter dreg. All was bright and fair, 
 she said, and Morris had replied that he was glad. '^But 
 do not forget that death can find you even there amid your 
 splendor, or that after death the judgment comes, and 
 then what shall it profit you if you gain the whole world 
 and lose your own ioul." 
 
 These words had rung in Katy's ears for many a day, 
 following her to the dance and to the opera, where even 
 the music was drowned by the echo of the words, "lose 
 your own soul." But the sting grew less and less, til! 
 Katy no longer felt it, and now was only anxious to talk 
 with Morris and convince him that she was not as thoug:ht- 
 less as he- might suppose, that she still remembered his 
 teachings, remembered the Sunday school and the little 
 church in the valley, preferring it to the handsome, aristo- 
 
J44 FAMILY PEIDE. 
 
 cratic house where she went with the Camerons once on 
 every Sunday^ and would willingly go twice if Wilford 
 would go witfi her. But the Camerons were ijierely fash- 
 ionable churchgoers, and so their afternoons were spent 
 at home, Katy enjoying them vastly because she usually; 
 had Wilford all to herself in her own room, a thing which 
 did not often occur during the weekdays. 
 
 There was a kjpd of peace to be made with Helen, too, 
 Katy feared; for Helen had sent back the diamond ring-, 
 saying it was not suitable for her, but never hinting that 
 she had drawn from Morris the inference that Wilford 
 was not well pleased at having his wife thus dispose of his 
 costly presents. Katy had cried when she received the 
 ring, feeling that something was wrong and longing so 
 much for the time when she could make it right. 
 
 "One more week and then it is April," she said to Wil- 
 ford one evening after they had retired to their room, and 
 she was talking of Silverton. "I guess I had better go 
 about the tenth. Shall you stay as long as I do ?" 
 
 Wilford bit his lip, and after a moment replied : 
 
 "I have been talking with mother, and we think April 
 is not a good time for you to be in the country ; it is so wet 
 and cold. You had better not till summer, and then I 
 want you here to help order our furniture." 
 
 "Oh, Wilford," and Katy's voice trembled, for from 
 past experience she knew that for Wilford to object to hen 
 plans was equivalent to a refusal, and her heart throbbed 
 with disappointment as she tried to listen while Wilford 
 urged many reasons why she should not go, convincing 
 her at last that of all times for visiting Silverton spring 
 was the worst, that summer or autumn were better, and 
 that it was her duty to remain where she was until such 
 time as he saw fit for her to do otherwise. 
 
 This was the meaning of what he said, and though his 
 manner was guarded and his words kind, they were very 
 conclusive, and with one gasping sob Katy gave up Silver- 
 ton, charging it more to Mrs. Cameron than to Wilford, 
 and writing next day to Helen that she could not come 
 just then, but after she was settled they might surely ex-' 
 pect her. 
 
 With a bitter pang Helen read this letter to the three 
 women who had so much anticipated Katy*s_visit, and 
 
THE NEW HOUSE. 145 
 
 each of whom cried quietly over her disappointment, while 
 even Uncle Ephraim went back to his work that afternoon 
 with a sad, heavy heart, for now his labor was not light- 
 ened by thoughts of Katy's being there so soon. 
 
 "Please God she may come to us some time," be said, 
 pausing beneath the butternut in the meadow, and re- 
 membering just how Katy looked on that first day of her 
 return from Canandaigua, when she sat on the flat stone 
 while he piled up the hay and talked with her of different 
 paths through life, one of which she must surely tread. 
 
 She had said, "I will choose the straight and pleasant," 
 and some would think she had ; but Uncle Ephraim was 
 not so sure, and leaning against a tree, he asked silently 
 that, whether he ever saw his darling again or not, God 
 would care for her and keep her unspotted from the world. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE NEW HOUSE. 
 
 It was a crue! thing for Wilford Cameron to try thus 
 to separate Katy from the h«arts which loved her so 
 much ; and, as if he felt reproached, there was an increased 
 tenderness in -his manner toward her, particularly as he 
 saw how sad she was for a few days after his decision. 
 But Katy couiu not be sorry long, and in the excitement 
 of settling the new house her spirits rallied, and her merry 
 laugh thrilled like a bird through the rooms where the 
 workmen were so busy, and where Mrs. Cameron was the 
 real superintendent, though there was always a show of 
 consulting Katy, who nevertheless was a mere cipher in 
 the matter. In everything the mother had her way, imtil 
 it came to the room designed for Helen, and which Mrs. 
 Cameron was for converting into a kind of smoking or 
 lounging room for Wilford and his associates. Katy 
 must not expect him to be always as devoted to her as he 
 had been during the winter, she said. He had a great 
 many bachelor friends, and now that he had a house of his 
 own, it was natural that he should have some place where 
 they could spend an hour or so with him without the re- 
 straint of ladies' society, and this was just the room— 
 
146 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 large, airy, quiet, and so far from the parlors that the 
 odor of the smoke could not reach them. 
 
 "Oak and green will do nicely here," turning to Wil- 
 ford, "but yotf must have some very handsome cigar sets, 
 and one pr two boxes of chess. Shall I see to that ?" 
 
 Katy'had submitted to much without knowing that she 
 was submitting; but something Bell had dropped that 
 morning had awakened a suspicion that possibly she 
 was being ignored, and the wicked part of Helen would 
 have enjoyed the look in her eye as she said, decidedly, not 
 to Mrs. Cameron, but to Wilford : "I have from the very ' 
 first decided this chamber for Helen, and I cannot give it 
 up for a smoking room. You never had one at home. 
 Why did you not, if it is so necessary ?" 
 
 Wilford could not tell her that his mother would as 
 soon have brought into her house one of Barnum's shows 
 as to have had a room set apart for smoking, which she 
 specially disliked ; neither could he at once reply at all, so 
 astonished was he at this sudden flash of spirit. Mrs. 
 Cameron was the first to rally, and in her usual quiet tone 
 she said : "Indeed, I did not know that your sister was 
 to form a part of your household. When do you expect 
 her?" and her cold gray eyes rested steadily upon Kat^', 
 who never before so fully realized the distance there was 
 between her husband's friends and her own. But as the 
 worm will turn when trampled on, so Katy, though 
 hitherto powerless to defend herself, aroused in Helen's 
 behalf, and in a tone as quiet and decided as that of her 
 mother-in-law, replied : "She will come whenever I write 
 for her. It was arranged from the first. Wasn't it, Wil- 
 ford ?" and she turned to her husband, who, unwilling to 
 decide between a wife he loved and a mother whose judg- 
 ment he considered infallible, affected not to hear her, and 
 stole from the room, followed soon by Mrs. Cameron, so 
 that Katy was left mistress of the field. 
 
 After that no one interfered in her arrangement of 
 Helen's room, which, with far less expense than Mrs. 
 Cameron would have done, she fitted up sO' cosily that 
 Wilford pronounced it the pleasantest room in the house, 
 while Bell went into ecstasies over it, and even Juno niight 
 have tinbent enough to praise it, were it not that Mark 
 Ray, who from being tacitly claimed by Tuno was fre- 
 
THE NEW HOUSE, 147 
 
 quently admitted to their counsels, had asked the privilege 
 of contributing to Helen's room a handsome volume of 
 German poetry, such as he fancied she might enjoy. So 
 long as Mark's attentions were not bestowed in any other 
 quarter Juno was comparatively satisfied, but the moment 
 he swerved a hair's breadth from the line she had marked 
 out, her anger was aroused; and now, remembering his 
 commendations of Helen Lennox, she hated her as cor- 
 dially as one jealous girl can hate another whom she has 
 not seen, making Katy so uncomfortable, without know- 
 ing what was the matter, that she hailed the morning, of 
 her exit from No. — as the brightest since her marriage. 
 
 It was a very happy day for Katy, and when she first 
 sat down to dinner in her own handsome home her face 
 shone with a joy which even the presence of her mother- 
 in-law could not materially lessen. She would rather have 
 been alone with Wilford, it is true, but as her choice was 
 not consulted she submitted cheerfully, proudly taking her 
 rightful place at the table, and doing the honors so well 
 that Mrs. Cameron, in speaking of it to her daughters, ac- 
 knowledged that Wilford had little to fear if Katy always 
 appeared as much at ease as she did that day. A thought 
 similar to this passed through the mind of Wilford, who, 
 was very observant of such matters, and that night, after 
 his mother was gone, he warmly commended Katy, but 
 spoiled the pleasure his commendation would have given 
 by telling her next, as if one thought suggested the other, 
 that Sybil Grandon had returned, that he saw her on 
 Broadway, accepting her invitation to a seat in hef car- 
 riage which brought him to his door. She had made 
 many inquiries concerning Katy, he said, expressing a 
 great curiosity to see her, and saying that as she drove 
 past the house that morning, she was strongly tempted to 
 waive all ceremony and run in, knowing she should be 
 pardoned for the sake of Auld Lang Syne, when she was 
 privileged to take liberties with the Camerons. All this 
 Wilford repeated to Katy, but he did not tell her how at 
 the words Auld Lang Syne, Sybil had turned her fine 
 eyes upon him with an expression which made him color, 
 for he knew she was referring to the time when her name 
 and his were always coupled together. 
 
 Wilford would not h^^ve exchanged Katy for a dozen 
 
148 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 Sybils, but there was about the latter a Hash and sparkle 
 very fascinating to most men, and Wilford felt himself so 
 snuch exhilarated in her society that he half regretted leav- 
 ing it, wishing-as he did so that in some things Katy was 
 more like the brilliaijt woman of the world, who, flashirig 
 upon him her most bewitching smile, leaned back in her 
 handsome carriage with a careless, easy abandon, while he 
 ran up the steps of his own dwelling, where Katy waited 
 for him. In this state of mind her achievement at the 
 dinner table was exceedingly gratifyiT\g, Sybil herself 
 could not have done better. But alas, tliere were many 
 points where Katy fell far below this standard; so after 
 speaking of Sybil's inquiries for his wife, he went on to 
 talk of Sybil herself, telling how much she was admired 
 and how superior she was to the majority of ladies whom 
 Katy had met, adding that lie felt more anxious that Katy 
 should make a favorable impression upon her than any 
 one of his acquaintance, as she would be sure to note the 
 slightest departure from her code of etiquette. How Katy 
 hated the words etiquette, and style and manner, wishing 
 they might be stricken from the language, and how she 
 dreaded this Sybil Grandon, who seemed to her like some 
 ogress, instead of tb« charming creature she was described 
 to be. Thoughts oi the secret picture and the dread fancy 
 did not trouble he! now, for she was sure bf Wilford's 
 love ; but she had sometimes dreaded the return of Sybil 
 Grandon, and now that she had cofne, she felt for a mo- 
 ment a chill at her heart and a terror at meeting her which 
 she tried to shake off, succeeding at last, for perfect faith 
 in Wilford was to her a strong shield of defense, and her 
 only trouble was a fear lest she should fall in the scale of 
 comparison which might be instituted between herself 
 and Mrs. Grandon. 
 
 Nestling close to Wilford, she said, half earnestly, half 
 playfully : 
 
 "I will try not to disgrace you when I meet this Mrs. 
 Grandon." 
 
 Then, anxious to change the conversation to something 
 more agreeable to herself, she began to talk of their house, 
 thus diverting her own mind from Sybil Grandon, who 
 after a few days ceased to be a bugbear, Wilford never 
 mentioninT her again, and Katy only hearing of her 
 
THE NEW HOUSE. 149 
 
 throtigh Jtmo and Bell, the first of whom went into rap- 
 tures over her, while the latter styled her a silly, coquettish 
 widow, who would appear much better to have worn her 
 weeds -a little longer, and not throw herself quite so soon 
 into the market. That she should of course meet her some 
 time, Katy knew, but she would nof distress herself till the 
 time arrived, and so she dismissed her fears, or rather lost 
 them in the excitement of hfer new dignity as mistress of 
 a house. 
 
 In her girlhood ■ Katy had evinced a taste for house- 
 keeping, which now developed so rapidly that she won the 
 respect of all the servants, from the man who answerecf 
 the bell' 'to the accomplished cook, hired by Mrs. Cameron, 
 and 'who, like most accomplished cooks, was sharp and 
 cross and opinionated, but who did not find it easy to scold 
 the blithe little woman who every morning came flitting 
 into her dominions, not asking what they would have for 
 dinner, as she had been led to suppose she would, but 
 ordering it with a matter of course air, which amused the 
 usually overbearing Mrs. Phillips. But when the little 
 lady, rolling her sleeves above her dimpled elbows and 
 donning the clean white apron which Phillips was reserv- 
 ing for afternoon, announced her intention of surprising 
 Wilford, who was very particular about dessert, with a 
 pudding such as Aunt Betsy ttsed to make, there were 
 signs of rebellion, Phillips telling her bluntly that she 
 couldn't be bothered — that it was not a lady's place in the 
 kitchen under foot — that the other Mrs. Cameron never 
 did it, and would not like it in Mrs. Wilford. 
 
 For a moment Katy paused and looked straight at 
 Mrs. PhilUps; then without a word of reply to that 
 worthy's remarks, ssaid, quietly: "I have only six egg-s 
 here — ^the receipt is ten. Bring me four more, please.'^ 
 
 There was something in the blue eyes which compelled 
 obedience, and the dessert progressed without anotlier 
 word of remonstrance. But when the door bell rang, and 
 word came down that there were ladies in the parlor — 
 Juno with some one else — Phillips would not tell her of 
 the flour on her hair; and as Katy, after casting aside her 
 apron and putting down her sleeves, only glanced hastily 
 at herself in the hall mirror as she passed it, she appeared 
 in the parlor with this mark upon her curls, and greatly; 
 
150 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 to her astonishment was presented to "Mrs. Sybil Gran- 
 don," Juno explaining, that as Sybil was very anxious to 
 see her, and they were passing the house, she had pre- 
 sumed upon her privilege as a sister and brought her in. 
 
 For a moment the room turned dark, and Katy felt that 
 she was falling ; it Vas so sudden, so unexpected, and she 
 so unprepared; but Sybil's familiar manner soon quieted 
 her, and she was able at last^to look fully at her visitor, 
 finding her not as handsome as she expected, nor as young 
 but in all other points she had not perhaps been ex- 
 aggerated. Cultivated and self-possessed, she was still 
 very pleasing in her manner, making Katy feel wholly at 
 ease by a few well-timed compliments, which had the 
 merit of seeming genuine, so perfect was she in the art 
 of deception, practicing it with so much skill that few saw 
 through the mask, and knew it was put on. 
 
 To Katy she was very gracious, admiring her house, 
 admiring herself, admiring everything, until Katy won- 
 dered how she could ever have dreaded to meet her, laugh- 
 ing and chatting as familiarly as if the fashionable woman 
 were not criticising every movement and every act and 
 every feature of her face, wondering most at the flour 
 upon her hair ! 
 
 Juno wondered, too, but knowing Katy's domestic pro- 
 pensities, suspected the truth, and feigning some errand 
 with Phillips, she excused herself for a moment and de- 
 scended to the kitchen, where she was not long in hearing 
 about Katy's queer ways, coming where she was not 
 needed, and making country puddings after some heathen- 
 ish aunt's rule. 
 
 "Was it Aunt Betsy ?" Juno asked, her face betokening 
 its disgust when told that she was right, and her manner 
 on her return to the parlor very frigid toward Katy, who 
 had discovered the flour on her hair, and was laughing 
 merrily over it, telling Sybil how it happened — how cross 
 Phillips was — and lastly, how "our folks" often made the 
 pudding, and that was why she wished to surprise Wilford 
 with it. 
 
 There was a sarcastic smile upon Sybil's lip as she 
 wished Mrs. Cameron success and then departed, leaving 
 Katy to finish the dessert, which, when ready for the 
 table, was certainly very inviting, and would have tempted 
 
THE NEW HOUSE, 151 
 
 the appetite of any man who had not been listener to mat- 
 ters not wholly conducive to his peace of mind. ' 
 
 On his way home Wilford had stopped at his father's, 
 finding Juno, who had just come in, relating the particu- 
 lars of her call upon his wife, and as she did not think it 
 necessary to stop for him,. he heard of Katy's misdoings, 
 and her general appearance in the presence of Sybil Gran- 
 don, whom she entertained with' a description of "our 
 folks' " favorite dishes, together with Aunt Betsy's re- 
 ceipts. This was the straw too many, and since his mar- 
 riage Wilford had not been as. angry as he was While 
 listening to Juno, who reported Sybil's verdict on his wife, 
 "A domestic' little body and very pretty." 
 
 Wilford did not care to have his wife domestic ; he did 
 not marry her for that, and in a mood anything but favor- 
 able to the light, delicate dessert Katy had prepared with 
 so much care, he went to his luxurious home, where Katy 
 ran as usual to meet him, her face brimming with the sur- 
 prise she had in store for him, and herself so much excited 
 that she did not at first observe the cloud upon his brow, 
 ■ as he moodily answered her rapid questions. But when 
 the important moment arrived, and the dessert was 
 brought on, he promptly declined it, even after her ex- 
 planation that she made it herself, just to gratify an<f 
 astonish him, urging him to try it for the sake of pleasing 
 )ier, if nothing more. But Wilford was not hungry then, 
 and even had he been, he would have chosen anything 
 before a pudding formed from a receipt of Betsy Barlow, 
 so the dessert was untasted even by Katy herself, who, 
 knowing now that something had gone wrong, sat fight- 
 ing back her tears until the servant left the room, when 
 she timidly asked: ""What is it, Wilford? What makes 
 you seem so " She would not say cross, and sub- 
 stituted "queer," while Wilford plunged at once into the 
 matter by saying, "Juno tells me she called here this after- 
 noon with Mrs.. Grandon." 
 
 "Yes, I forgot to mention it," Katy answered, feelings 
 puzzled to know why that should annoy her husband ; but 
 his next remarks disclosed the whole, and Katy's tears 
 flowed fast as Wilford asked what he supposed Mrs. 
 Grandon thought, to see his wife looking as if fresh from 
 the flour barrel, and to hear her talk about Aunt Betsy's 
 
152 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 receipts and our folks. "That is a bad habit of yours, 
 Katy," he continued, "one of which I wish you to break 
 yourself, if possible. I have never spoken to you directly 
 on the subject before, but it annoys me exceedingly, inas- 
 much as it is an indication of low breeding." 
 
 There was no answer from Katy, whose heart was too 
 full to speak, and so Wilford went on: "Our servants 
 were selected by mother with a direct reference to your 
 youth and inexperience, and it is not necessary for you to 
 frequent the kitchen, or, indeed, to go there oftener than 
 once a week. Let them come to you for orders, not you go 
 to them. Neither need you speak quite so familiarly to 
 them, treating them almost as if they were your equals. 
 Try to remember your true position, that whatever you 
 may have been you are now Mrs. Wilford Cameron, equal 
 to any lady in New York," 
 
 They were in the library now, and the soft May breeze 
 came stealing through the open window, stirring the fleecy 
 curtain and blowing across the tasteful bouquet which 
 Katy had arranged; but Katy was too wretched to care 
 for her surroundings. It was the first time Wilford had 
 ever spoken to her just in this way, and his manner hurt 
 her more than his words, making her feel as if she were 
 an ignorant, ill-bred creature, whom he had raised to a 
 position she did not know how to fill. It was cruel thus 
 to repay her attempts to please, and so, perhaps, Wilford 
 thought, as with folded arms he sat looking at her weep- 
 ing so bitterly upon the sofa ; but he was too indignant to 
 make any concession then, and he suffered her to weep in 
 silence until he remembered that his mother had requested 
 him to bring her around that evening, as they were ex- 
 pecting a few of Juno's friends, and -among them Sybil 
 Grandon. If Katy went he wished her to look her best, 
 and he unbent so far as to try to check her tears. But 
 Katy could not stop, and she wept so passionately that 
 Wilford's anger subsided, leaving only tenderness and pity 
 for the wife he tried so hard to soothe, telling her he was 
 sorry, and suing for forgiveness, until the sobbhig ceased, 
 and Katy lay passively in his arms, her face so white and 
 the dark rings about her eyes showing so distinctly that 
 Wilford did not press her when she declined his motfier's 
 invitation. He could go, she said, urging so many rea- 
 
THK NEW HOUSE, 153 
 
 sons why he should, that, for the first time since their mar- 
 riage, he left her alone, and went to where Sybil Grandon 
 smiled her sunniest smile, and put forth her most per- 
 suasive powers to keep him at her side, expressing" so 
 much regret that he did not bring his charming little 
 wife, who completely won her heart, she was so child- 
 like and simple-hearted, laughing so merrily when she 
 discovered the flour on her hair, but not seeming to mind it 
 in the least. Really, she did not see how it happened 
 that he was fortunate enough to win such a domestic 
 treasure. Where did he find her? 
 
 If Sybil Grandon meant this to be complimentary it was 
 not received as such, Wilford almost grating his teeth 
 with vexation as he listened to it, and feeling doubly 
 mortified with Katy, whom he found waiting for him, 
 when at a late hour he left the society of Sybil Grandon 
 and repaired to his home. 
 
 To Katy the time of his absence had seemed an age, for 
 her thoughts had been busy with the past, gathering up 
 every incident connected with her married life since she 
 came to New York, and deducing from them the conclu- 
 sion that "Wilford's folks" were ashamed of her, and that 
 Wilford himself might perhaps become so, if he were not 
 already. That would be worse than death itself, and the 
 darkest hours she had ever known were those she spent 
 alone that night, sobbing so violently as to bring on a rack- 
 ing headache, which showed itself upon her face and 
 touched Wilford at once. 
 
 Sybil Grandon was forgotten in those moments of con- 
 trition, when he ministered so tenderly to his suffering 
 wife, whom he felt that he had wronged. But somehow 
 he could not tell her so then. It was not natural for him 
 to confess his errors. There had already been a struggle 
 between his duty and his pride when he had done so,*'and 
 now the latter conquered, especially as Katy, grown more 
 calm, began to take the censure to herself, lamenting her 
 ©hortcomings, and promising to do better, even to the 
 imitating of Sybil Grandon, if that would make him for- 
 get the past and love her as before. 
 
 Wilford could accord forgiveness far more graciously 
 than he could ask it, and so peace was restored again, and 
 Katy's face next day looked bright and happy when seen 
 
154 FAMILY PRIDE, 
 
 in her new carriage, which took her down Broadway to 
 Stewart's, where she encountered Sybil Grandon, and 
 with her Juno Camei-on. 
 
 From the latter Katy instinctively shrank, but she could 
 not resist the former, who greeted her so familiarly that 
 Katy readily forgave her the pain of which she had been 
 the cause, and could even speak of her to Wilford without 
 a pang when he next came home to dinner. Still she 
 could not overcome her dread of meeting her, and she 
 grew more and more averse to mingling in society, where 
 she might do many things to mortify her husband or his 
 family, and thus provoke a scene she hoped never again 
 to pass through. 
 
 "Oh, if Helen were only here," she thought, as she be- 
 gan to experience a sensation of loneliness she had never 
 felt before. 
 
 But Helen was not there, nor yet coming there at pres- 
 ent. One word from Wilford had settled that, 'convincing 
 Katy that it was better to wait until the autumn, inasmuch 
 as they were going so soon to Saratoga and Newport, 
 which .Katy had so much wished to visit, but from which 
 she now shrank, especially after she knew that Mrs. 
 Cameron and Juno were to be of the party, and probably 
 Sybil Grandon. Katy did not dislike the latter, but she 
 was never quite easy in her presence, and was conscious 
 of appearing to disadvantage whenever they were to- 
 gether, while she could not deny to herself that since 
 Sybil's return Wilford had not been quite the same, as be- 
 fore. In company he was more attentive than ever, but at 
 home he was sometimes moody and silent, while Katy 
 strove in vain to ascertain the cause. 
 
 They were not as happy in the new home as she had 
 expected to be, but the fault did not lie with Katy. She 
 performed well her part, and more, taking upon her young 
 shoulders the whole of the burden which her husband 
 should have helped her bear. Housekeeping far more 
 than boarding brings out a husband's nature, for whereas 
 in .the latter case one rightfully demands the services for 
 which he pays, in the former he is sometimes expected to 
 do arid think, and even wait upon himself. But this was 
 not Wilford's nature. The easy, indolent life he had led 
 so long ?p a jpetted son of a partial mother unfitted him 
 
MARIAN HAZELTON. 155 
 
 for £are, and he was as much a boarder in his own home 
 as he had ever been in the hotels in Paris, thoughtlessly 
 requiring of Katy more than he should have required, so 
 that Bell was not far from right when in her journal she 
 described her sister-in-law as "a little servant whose feet 
 were never supposed to be tired, and whose wishes were 
 never consulted." It is true Bell had put it rather strongly, 
 but the spirit of what she said was right, Wilford seldom 
 considering Katy, or allowing her wishes to interfere with 
 his own plans, while accustomed to every possible atten- 
 tion from his mother, he exacted the same from his wife, 
 whose life was not one of unmioced happiness, notwith- 
 standing that every letter home bore assurance to the 
 contrary. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MARIAN HAZELTON, 
 
 The last days of June had come, and Wilford was be- 
 ginning to make arrangements for removing Katy from 
 the city before the warmer weather. To this he had been 
 iirged by Mark Ray's remarking that Katy was not look- 
 ing as well, as when he first saw her, one year ago. "She 
 had grown thin and pale," he said. "Had Wilford re- 
 marked it?" 
 
 Wilfordj.had not. She complained much of headache; 
 but that was only natural. Still he wrote to the Mountain 
 House that afternoon to secure rooms for himself and 
 wife, and then at an earlier hour than usual went home to 
 tell her of the arrangement. Katy was out shopping, 
 Esther said, and had not yet returned, adding : "There is 
 a note for her upstaks, left by a woman who insisted on 
 seeing the house, until I took her over it, showing her 
 every room." 
 
 "A strange woman went over my house in Mrs, 
 Cameron's absence! Who was it?" Wilford asked, 
 hastily, visions of Helen, or possibly Aunt Betsy, rising 
 before his mind. 
 
 "She said she was a friend of Mrs. Cameron, and that 
 she knew she would allow the liberty," Esther replied, tl.us 
 confirming Wilford in his suspicions that some country. 
 
156 PAMItT PKIDE. 
 
 acqnaintance had thrust herself upon than, and hasten- 
 ing up to Kat/s room, where the note was lying, he took 
 it up and examined the superscription, examined it closely, 
 holding it up to the light full a minute, and forgetting to 
 open it in bis perplexity and the train of thought it 
 awakened. 
 
 "They are singularly alike," he said, and still holding 
 the note in his hand he went downstairs to the library, ana 
 ppemng a drawer of Ms writing desk, which was always 
 kept locked, he took from it a iwctnre and a Ht of soiled 
 paper, on which was written : "I am not guilty, Wilf ord, 
 and God will never forgive the wrong you have done to 
 me." 
 
 There was no name or date, but Wilford needed neither, 
 for he knew well whose hand had penned those lines, and 
 he sat looking at them, comparing them at last with the 
 "Mrs. Wilford Cameron" which the strange woman had 
 written. Then opening the note, he read that, having re- 
 turned to New York, and wishing employment either as 
 seamstress or dressmaker, Marian Hazelton had ventured 
 to call upon Mrs. Cameron, remembering her promise to 
 give her work if she should desire it. The note con- 
 cluded by saying : 
 
 "I am sure you will pardon me for the liberty I took 
 of going over the house. It was a temptation I could not 
 resist. You have a delightful home. God grant you may 
 be happy in it. You see I have also made bold to write 
 this in your library, for which I beg pardon. 
 
 "Yours truly, Marian Hazelton, 
 
 "No. — Fourth St., 4th floor, N. Y." 
 
 "Who is Marian Hazelton ?" Wilford asked himself as 
 he threw down the misave. "Somie of Katy's country 
 friends, I dare say. Seems to me I have heard that name. 
 She certainly writes as Genevra did, except that this 
 Hazelton's is more decided and firm. Poor Genevra!" 
 
 There was a pallor about Wilford's lips as he said this, 
 and taking up the picture he gazed for a long time upon 
 the handsome, girlish face, whose dark eyes seemed, to 
 look reproachfully upon him, just as they must have 
 looked when the words were penned: "God will w^T 
 forgive t'f^-^ wre^ you have done to me" 
 
MARUN HAZELTON. 157 
 
 ■'Genevra was mistaken," he said. "At least, if God 
 has not forgiven, he has prospered me, which amounts 
 to the same thing;" and without a single throb of grati- 
 tude to Him who had thus prospered him, Wilford laid 
 Genevra's picture and Genevra's note back with the with- 
 ered grass and flowers plucked from Genevra's grave, 
 and then went again upstairs, just as Katy's ring was 
 heard and Katy herself came in. 
 
 As thoughts of Genevra always made Wilford kinder 
 toward his wife, so now he kissed her white cheek, no- 
 ticing that, as Mark had said, it was whiter than last year 
 in June. But mountain air would bring back the roses, 
 he thought, as he handed her the note. 
 
 "Oh, yes, from Marian Hazelton," Katy said, glancing 
 first at Ae name and then hastily reading it through. 
 
 "Who is Marian Hazelton? Some intimate friend, I 
 judge, from the liberSy she took." 
 
 "Not very hitimate, though I liked her so much, and 
 thought her above her position," Katy replied, repeating 
 all she knew of Marian, and how she chanced to know 
 her at all. "Don't you remember Helen wrote that she 
 fainted at our wedding, and I was so sorry, fearing I. 
 mi^t have overworked her." 
 
 Wilford did remember something about it, and satisfied 
 that Marian Hazelton had no idea of intruding herself 
 Upon them, except as she might ask for work, he dis- 
 missed her from his min<! and told Katy of his plan for 
 taking her to the Mountain House a few weeks before 
 going to Saratoga. 
 
 "Would you not like it?" he asked, as she continued 
 silent, with her eyes fixed upon the window opposite. 
 
 "Yes," and Katy? drew a long and weary breath. "I 
 shall like any place where there are birds, and rocks, and 
 trees, and real grass, such as grows of itself in the coun- 
 try; but Wilford," and Katy crept close to him now, "if 
 I might go to Silverton, I should get strong so fast. 
 •You don't know how I long to see home once more. I 
 dream about it nights and think about it days, knowing 
 just how pleasant it is there, with the roses in bloom and 
 the meadows so fresh and green. May I go, Wilford? 
 iMay I go home to mother ?" 
 
 Had Katy asked for half bis foartune, jir/ -_s she asked 
 
158 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 to go home, Wilford would have given it to her, but Sil- 
 verton had a power to loclc all the -softer avenues of his 
 heart, and so he answered that the Mountain House was 
 preferable, that the rooms were engaged, and that as he 
 should enjoy it so much better he thought they would 
 make no change. 
 
 Katy did not cry, nor utter a word of remonstrance; 
 she was fast learning that quiet submission was better 
 than useless opposition, and so Silverton was again given 
 up. But there was one consolation. Seeing Marian 
 Hazelton would be almost as good as going home, for 
 had she not recently come from that neighborhood, bring- 
 ing with her the odor from the hills and freshness from 
 the woods. Perhaps, too, she had lately seen Helen or 
 Morris at church, and had heard the music of the organ 
 which Helen played, and the singing of the children just 
 as it sometimes came to Katy in her dreams, making her 
 start in her sleep and murmur snatches of the sacred 
 songs which Dr. Morris taught. Yes, Marian could tell 
 her of all this, and very impatiently Katy waited for the 
 morning when she would drive around to Fourth Street 
 with the piles of sewing she was going to take to Marian. 
 
 "Dear Marian, I wonder is she very poor?" Katy 
 thought, as she next day made her preparations for the 
 call, and had Wilford been parsimoniously inclined, he 
 might have winced could he have seen the numerous 
 stores gathered up for Marian and packed away in the 
 carriage with the bundle of cambric and linen and lace, 
 e!1 destined for that fourth-story chamber where Marian 
 Hazelton sat that summer morning, looking drearily out 
 upon the dingy court and contrasting its sickly patch of 
 grass, embellished with rain water barrels, coal hods and 
 ash pails, with the country she had so lately left, the 
 wooded hills and blooming gardens of Silverton, which 
 had been her home for nearly two years. 
 
 It was a fault of Marian's not to remain long contented 
 in any place, and so tiring of the country she had returned 
 to the great city, urged on by a strange desire it may be 
 to see Mrs. Wilford Cameron, to know just how she lived, 
 to judge if she were happy, -and perhaps — some time see 
 Wilford Cameron, herself unknown, for not for the world 
 would SIT-: ha\e met face to face the man \'. :-o had so 
 
iifARIAN HAZELTON. 159 
 
 often stood by Genevra Lambert's grave in the church- 
 yard b^cind the sea. Thinking she might succeed better 
 alone, she had hired a room far up the narrow stairway 
 of a high, somber-looking building, and then from her old 
 acquaintances, of whom she had several in the city, she 
 had solicited work. More than once she had passed the 
 handsome house on Madison Square where Katy lived, 
 walking slowly and gazing with dim eyes which could 
 not weep at Wilford Cameron's luxurious home, and con- 
 trasting it with hers, that one room, which yet was not 
 wholly uninviting, for where Marian went there was al- 
 ways an air of humble comfort; 'and Katy, as she crossed 
 the threshold, uttered an exclamation of delight at the 
 cheerful, airy aspect of the apartment, with its bright 
 ingrain carpet, its simple shades of white, its chintz-cov- 
 ered lounge, its one rocking-chair, its small parlor stove, 
 and its pots of flowers upon the broad window sill. 
 
 "Oh, Marian," she exclaimed, tripping across the floor, 
 and impulsively throwing her arms around Miss Hazel- 
 ton's neck, "I am so glad to meet some one from home. 
 It seems almost like Helen I am kissing," and her lips 
 again met those of Marian Hazelton, who amid her own 
 joy at finding Katy unchanged, wondered what the Cam- 
 erons would say to see their Mrs. Wilford kissing a poor 
 seamstress whom they would have spurned. 
 
 But Katy did not care for Camerons then, or even 
 think of them, as in her rich basquine and pretty hat, 
 with emeralds and diamonds sparkling on her fingers, she 
 sat down by Marian, whose hands, though delicate and 
 small, showed marks of labor such as Katy had never 
 known. 
 
 "You must forgive me for going over your house," 
 Marian said, after 'they had talked together a moment, 
 and Katy had told how sorry she was to miss the Call. 
 "I could not resist the temptation, and it did me so much 
 good, although I must confess to a good cry when I came 
 back and thoifght of the difference between us." 
 
 There was a quiver of her lip and a tone in her voice 
 which. touched Katy's heart, and she tried to comfort her, 
 forgetting entirely whether what she said was proper or 
 not, and impetuously letting out that even in houses like 
 hers there was trouble. Not that she was unhappy in the 
 
160 FAMILY PRIBB. 
 
 least, for she was not; but, oh! the fuss it was to de 
 fashionable and keep from doing anything to shock his 
 folks, who were so paiticular about every little thing, 
 even to the way she tied her bonnet and sat in a chair. 
 
 This was what Katy said, and Marian, looking straight 
 into Katy's face, fdt that she would not exchange places 
 with the young girl-wife whom so many envied. 
 
 "Tell me of Silverton," was Katy's next remark. "Yotl 
 don't know how I want to go there; but Wilford does 
 not think it best — ^that is, at present. Next fall I am 
 surely going. I picture to mjself just how it will look ; 
 Morris' garden, full of the autumnal flowers — ^the ripe 
 peaches in our orchard, the grapes ripening on the wtdl, 
 and the long shadows on the grass, just as I used to 
 watch them, wondering what made them move so fast, 
 and where they could be going. Will it be unchanged, 
 Marian? Do places seem the same when once we have 
 left them?" and Katy's eager eyes looked wistfully at 
 Marian, who replied: "Not always — ^not often, in fact; 
 but in your case they may. You have not been long 
 away." 
 
 "Only a year," Katy said. "I was as kHig as that in 
 Carmndaigua ; but this past year is different. I have seen 
 so much, and lived so much, that I feel ten years older 
 than I did last spring, when you and Helen made my 
 wedding dress. Darling Helen ! When did you see her 
 last?" 
 
 "I was there five weeks ago," Marian replied. "I saw 
 them all, and told them I was coming to New York." 
 
 "Do they miss me any? Do they talk of me? Do they 
 wish me back again?" Katy asked, and Marian replied: 
 "They talked of little else — ^tliat is, your own family. Dr. 
 Morris, I tliink, did not mention your name. He has 
 grown very silent and reserved," and Marian's eyes were 
 fixed inquiringly upon Katy, as if to ascertain how much 
 she knew of the cause for Morris' reserve. 
 
 But Katy had no suspidon, and only replied: "Per- 
 haps he is vexed that I do not write to him oftener, but I 
 can't. I think of him a great deal, and sometimes have 
 so wished I could sit in his public library, and forget that 
 there are such things as dinner parties, where you ?re in 
 constant terror lest you should do soon ling wrt j— • 
 
MARIAN HA2ELT0N. 161 
 
 «v«iiflg parties, where your dress and style are criticised 
 — ^ceptienB or calls, and all the things which make me 
 so cfflifused. Morris could idways quiet me. It rested 
 me just to hear him talk, and I respect him, more than 
 any living man, except, of course, Wilford; but when I 
 try to write, something comes in between me and what 
 I wish to say, for I want to convince him that I am not 
 as frivolous as I fear he fliinks 1 am. I have not for- 
 gotten the Sunday school, nor the church service, which 
 I BO loved to hear, especially when Morris read it, as he 
 did in Mr. Buownii^'s absence; but in the city it is so 
 hard to be good, particularly when one is not, you know 
 —that is, good like you and Helen and Morris — and the 
 service and music seem all for show, and I feel so hateful 
 whai I see Juno and Wilford's mother making believe, 
 and putting their heads down on velvet cushions, kunw- 
 jng as I do that they both are thinking either of ttt^r 
 own bonnets or those just in front." 
 
 "Are you not a little uncharitable?" Marian asked, 
 laughing in spite of herself at the picture Katy drew of 
 fashion trying to imitate religion in its humility, 
 
 "Perhaps so," Katy answered. "I grow bad from 
 looking behind the scenes, and the worst is that I do not 
 care. But te31 me, do you tliink Morris likes me less 
 than formerly?" 
 
 Marian, did not, and assured on that pcant, Katy went 
 back to the farmhouse, asking numberless questions 
 abotit its inmates, and at last coming to the business 
 which had brought her to Marian's room. 
 
 There were perceptible spots on Marian's neck, and 
 her lips were very white, while her hands grasped the 
 bundles tossed into' her lap — the yards and yards of lace 
 and embroidery, linen, and cambric, which she was ex- 
 pected to make for the wife of Wilford Camercm ," and her 
 vcMce was husky as she asked directions or made sug- 
 gKtions of her own. 
 
 "it's because she has no sodi joy in expectaticwi. I 
 should fed so, too, if I were thirty and unmarried," Katy 
 thought, as she noticed Marian's agitation, and tried to 
 divert her mind by telling her as delicately as possible 
 that she had brought with her sundry scores of which 
 she had such an abundance. 
 
162 PAMILt PRIDE. 
 
 "I knew you were not an object of charity," she said, 
 as she saw the flush on Marian's brow, "but when I have 
 so much I like to share it with others, and you seem like 
 
 our ^ollrs." 
 
 "Did Wilf — did Mr. Cameron know ?" Marian askecl, 
 and Katy answered "No; but it does not matter. He 
 lets me do as I like in these matters, and the greatest 
 pleasure I have is giving. You are not offended?" she 
 continued, as she saw a tear drop from Marian's eyelids. 
 
 "No — oh, no," and Marian quietly laid aside the pack- 
 ages which would find their way to many an humble gar- 
 ret or cellar, where biting poverty had its abode. 
 
 It would choke her to eat whatever came from Wil- 
 ford Cameron, but she could not tell Katy so, though she 
 ' d say: "I will keep these because you brought them, 
 ^ it do not do so again. There are many far more needy. 
 I sa-vcd something in Silverton. I shall not suffer so 
 long as my health is spared." 
 
 Then after a few more inquiries concerning the work, 
 about which she could now talk calmly, she asked where 
 Katy went when she was abroad, her blue eyes growing 
 almost black as Katy talked of Rome, of Venice, of Paris, 
 and then of Alnwick, where they had stopped so long. 
 
 "By the way, you were born in England ? Were you 
 ever at Alnwick?" Katy asked, and Marian replied: 
 "Once, yes. I've seen the castle and the church. Did 
 you go there — ^to St. Mary's, I mean?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, and I was never tired of that old churchyard. 
 Wilford liked it, too, and we wandered by the hour 
 among the sunken graves and quaint headstones." 
 
 "Do you remember any of the names upon the stones ? 
 Perhaps I may know thern?" Marian asked; but Katy 
 did not rempTiber any, or if she did, it was not "Genevra 
 Lambert, aged twenty-two." And so Marian asked her 
 no more questions concerning St. Mary's, at Alnwick, but 
 talked instead of London and other places, until three 
 hours went by, and down in the street the coachman 
 chafed and fretted at the long delay, wondering what 
 kept his mistress in that neighborhood so long. Had 
 she friends, or had she come on some errand of 
 mercy? The latter most likely, he concluded, and so his 
 face was not quite so cross when Katy at last appeared. 
 
MARIAN HAZELTON. 168 
 
 looking at her watch and exclaiming at the lateness of the 
 hour. But when, as they turned into the avenue, Katy 
 called to him to stop, bidding him drive back, as she had 
 forgotten something, he showed unmistakable signs of 
 irritation, but nevertheless obeyed, and Katy was soon 
 mounting a second time to the fourth story of No. — , 
 where Marian Hazelton knelt upon the floor, her head 
 resting upon the costly fabrics and her frame quivering 
 with the anguish of the sobs which reached Katy's ear 
 even before she opened the unbolted door. 
 
 "What is it, Marian?" she %sked, in great distress, 
 while Marian, struggling to her feet, remained for a mo- 
 ment speechless. 
 
 She had not expected Katy to return, else she had never 
 given way as she did, calling on her God to help her bear 
 what she now knew she was not prepared to bear. She 
 had thought the heart struggle conquered, and that she 
 could calmly look upon Wilford Cameron's wife ; but the 
 sight of Katy, together with the errand on which she 
 came, had unnerved her, and she wept bitterly in her 
 desolation, until Katy's reappearance startled her frorci 
 her position on the floor, making her stammer out some 
 excuse about "homesickness and the seeing Katy bring- 
 ing back the past." 
 
 Very lovingly Katy tried to comfort her, putting into 
 her manner just enough of pretty patronage to amuse 
 without annoying Marian, who soon grew calm, and then 
 listened while Katy told why she returned. She feared 
 she had talked too much of her own affairs — too much of 
 his folks, who, after all, were nice, kind people, and she 
 came to take it back, asking Marian never to speak of it, 
 as it might get to th§m indirectly, and Wilford would be 
 angry. 
 
 With a smile, as she thought how improbable it was 
 that anything said to her up in that humble room should , 
 reach to No. — Fifth Avenue, Marian promised silence; 
 and with a good-by kiss, given to convince Marian that 
 she was not proud, Katy again departed, and was soon 
 driving toward Madison Square. She was very happy 
 chat morning, for seeing Marian had brought Silverton 
 near to her, and airy as a bird she ran up the steps of her 
 own dwelling, where the door opened as by magic, and 
 
164 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 Wilford himself confronted her, asking, with the tone 
 which always made her heart beat, where -she had been, 
 and he waiting- for her two whole hours. Surely it was 
 not necessary to stop so long with a seamstress, 4ie con- 
 tinued when she tried to explain. Ten minutes would 
 suffice for directions, and he could not imagine what at-, 
 tractions there were in Miss Hazelton to keep her there 
 three hours, and then the real cause of his vexation came 
 out. He had come expressly for the carriage to take her 
 and Sybil Grandon to a picnic up the river, whither his 
 mother, Juno and Bell had already gone. Mrs. Grandon 
 must wonder why he stayed so long, and perhaps give up 
 going. Could Katy be ready soon; and Wilford walked 
 rapidly up and down the parlor as he talked, with a rest- 
 less motion of his hands which always betokened impa- 
 tience. Poor Katy, how the brightness of the morning 
 faded, and how averse she felt to joining that picnic, 
 which she knew had been in prospect for some time, and 
 had fancied she should enjoy. But not to-day, not with 
 that cold, proud look on Wilford's face, and the feeling 
 that he was vexed. Still she could think of no reasonable 
 excuse, and so an hour later found her driving into the 
 country with Sybil Grandon, who received her apologies 
 with as much good-natured grace as if she had not 
 worked herself into a passion at the delay, for Sybil had 
 been very cross and impatient ; but all this vanished when 
 she met Wilford and saw that he, too, was disturbed and 
 irritated. Soft and sweet and smooth was she both in 
 word and manner, so that by the time the pleasant grove 
 was reached Wilford's ruffled spirits had been soothed, 
 and he was himself 'again, ready to enjoy the pleasures of 
 the day as keenly as if no harsh word had been said to 
 Katy, who, silent and unhappy, listened to the graceful 
 badinage between Sybil and her husband, thinking how 
 differently his voice had sounded when addressing her 
 only a little while before. 
 
 "Pray put some animation into your face, or Mrs. 
 Grandon will certainly think we have been quarreling," 
 Wilford whispered, as he lifted his wife from the car- 
 riage, and with a great effort Katy tried to be gay and 
 natural. 
 
 But all the while was she fighting back her tears and 
 
MARIAN HAZELTON. 165 
 
 wishing she were away. Even Marian's room, looking 
 into the dingy court, was preferable to that place, and 
 she was glad when the long ddy came to an end, and she 
 with a fearful headache was riding back to the city. 
 
 The next morning was dai-k and rainy ; but in spite of 
 the leather Katy found her way to Marian's room, this 
 time taking the avenue cars, which left her in- 
 dependent- as regarded the length of her stay. About 
 Marian there was something more congenial than about 
 her dty friends, and day after day found her there, watch- 
 ing while Marian fashioned into shape the beautiful little 
 garments, the sight of which had over Katy a strangely 
 quieting influence, sobering her down and maturing her 
 more than all the years of her life had done. Those were 
 happy hours spent with Marian Hazelton, the happiest 
 of the entire day, and Katy felt it keenly when Wilford 
 at last interfered, telling her she was growing quite too 
 familiar with that sewing woman, and her calls had best 
 be discontinued, except, indeed, such as were necessary 
 to the work in progress. 
 
 There was a grieved look on Katy's face, but she ut- 
 tered no word of remonstrance; while her husband went 
 on to say, that of course he did not wish to be unreason- 
 able, nor interfere between her and her acquaintances'iis 
 a general thing, but when the acquaintance chosen was a 
 sewing woman, whose antecedents no one knew, and 
 whose society could not be improving, the case was 
 different 
 
 After this there were no more mornings spent in 
 Marian's room, no more talks of Silverton and Morris 
 Grant; talks which did Katy a world of good, and kept 
 her heart open to better influences, which, might other- 
 wise have been whSUy choked and destroyed by the life 
 she saw around her. With one great gush of tears, when 
 there was no one to see her, Katy gave Marian up, writ- 
 ing her a note, in which were sundry directions for the 
 work, which would go on even after she had left for the 
 Mountain House, as she intended doing the last of June. 
 And Marian, reading this note, guessed at more than 
 Katy meant she should, and with a bitter sigh laid it in 
 her basket, and then resumed the work, which seemed 
 doubly monotonous now that there was no p.nre lb»tesm^ 
 
166 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 for the little feet tripping up the stairs, or for the bird" 
 like voice which had brought so much of music and sun- 
 shine to her lonely room. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 SARATOGA AND NEWPORT. 
 
 For three weeks Katy had been at the Mountain House, 
 growing stronger every day, imtil now she was much 
 like the Katy of one year ago, and Wilford was very 
 proud of her, as he gaw how greatly she was admired by 
 those whose admiration he deemed worth having. But 
 their stay among the Catskills was ended, and on the 
 morrow they were going to Saratoga, where Mrs. Cam- 
 eron and her daughter were, and where, too, was Sybil 
 Grandon, the reigning belle of the United States. So Bell 
 had written to her brother, bidding him hasten on with 
 Katy, as she wished to see "that chit of a widow in her 
 proper place." And Katy had been weak enough for a 
 moment to feel a throb of satisfaction in knowing how 
 effectually Sybil's claims to belleship would be put aside 
 v*hen she was once in the field; even glancing at herself 
 in the mirror as she leaned on Wilford's shoulder, and 
 feeling glad that mountain air and mountain exercise 
 had brought the roses back to her white cheeks and the 
 brightness to her eyes. But Katy wept passionate tears 
 of repentance for that weakness, when an hour later she 
 read the letter which Dr. Grant had sent in answer to one 
 she had written from the Mountain House, and in which 
 she had told him much of her life in New York, confess- 
 ing her shortcomings, and lamenting that the evils and 
 excesses which shocked her once did not startle her now. 
 To this letter Morris had replied as a brother might 
 write to an only sister, first expressing his joy at her hap- 
 piness, and then coming to the subject which lay nearest 
 his heart, warning her against temptation, reminding her 
 of that other life to which this is only a preparation, and 
 beseeching her so to use the good things of this world, 
 given her in such profusion, as not to lose the life eternal. 
 
 This was the substance of Morris' letter, which Katy 
 
SARATOGA AND NEWPORT. 167 
 
 read with streaming eyes, forgetting Saratoga as Morris' 
 solemn words of warning and admonition rang in her 
 ears, and shuddering as she thought of losing the life 
 eternal of going where Morris would never come, nor 
 any of those she loved the best, unless it were Wilford, 
 who might reproach her with having dragged him there 
 when she could have saved him. 
 
 "Keep yourself unspotted from the world," Morris had 
 said, and she repeated it to herself, asking: "How shall 
 I do that ? How can one be good and fashionable, too ?" 
 
 Then laying her hand upon the rock where she was 
 sitting, Katy tried to pray as she had not prayed in 
 months, asking that God would teach her what she ought 
 to know, and keep her unspotted from the world. But 
 at the Mountain House it is easier to pray that one be 
 kept from temptation than it is at Saratoga, which this 
 summer was crowded to overflowing, its streets present- 
 ing a fitting picture of Vanity Fair, so full were they of 
 show and gala dress. At the United States, where Mrs. 
 Cameron stopped, two rooms, for which an enormous 
 price was paid, had been reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Wil- 
 ford Cameron, and this of itself would have given them 
 a certain eclat, even if there had not been present many 
 who remembered the proud, fastidious bachelor, and were 
 proportionately anxious to see his wife. She came, she 
 saw, she conquered; and within three days after her ar- 
 rival Katy Cameron was the acknowledged belle of Sara- 
 toga, from the United States to the Clarendon. And 
 Katy, alas! was not quite the same who on the mountain 
 ridge had sat with Morris' letter in her hand, praying 
 that its teachings might not be all forgotten. Nor were 
 they, but she did not heed them here where all was so 
 bright and gay, and where the people thought her • so 
 perfect. Saratoga seemed different to her from New 
 York, and she plunged into its gayeties, never pausing, 
 never tiring, and seldom giving herself time to think, 
 much Jess to priy, as Morris had bidden her do. And 
 Wilford, though hardly able to recognize the usually 
 timid Katy in the brilliant woman who led rather than 
 followed, was sure of her faith to him, and so was only 
 proud and gratified to see her bear off the palm from 
 every competitor, while even Juno, though she quarreled 
 
168 FAMILY PEIDE. 
 
 with the shadow into which she was so completely 
 thrown, enjoyed the eclat cast upon their party by the 
 presence of Mrs. Wilford, who had passed beyond her 
 criticism. Sybil Grandon, too, stood back in wonder that 
 a simple country girl should win and wear the laurels she 
 had so long claimed as her own ; but as there was no help 
 for it she contented herself as best she could with the 
 admiration she did receive, and whenever opportunity 
 occurred, said bitter things of Mrs. Wilford, whose par- 
 eitage and low estate were through her pretty generally 
 known. But it did not matter there what Katy had been ; 
 the people took her for what she was now, and Sybil's 
 glory faded like the early dawn in the coming of the 
 full day. 
 
 As it had been at Saratoga, so it was at Newport. 
 Urged on by Mrs. Cameron and Bell, who greatly en- 
 joyed her notoriety, Katy plunged into the mad excite- 
 ment of dancing and driving and coquetting, until Wil- 
 ford himself became uneasy, locking her once in her 
 room, where she was sleeping after dinner, and con- 
 veniently forgetting to release her until after the depar- 
 ture at evening of some young men from Cambridge, 
 whose attentions to the Ocean House belle had been more 
 strongly marked than was altogether agreeable to him. 
 Of course it was a mistake — the locking of the door — 
 and a great oversight in him not to have remembered it 
 sooner, he said to Katy, by way of apology; and Katy, 
 with no suspicion of the truth, laughed merrily at the joke, 
 repeating it downstairs to the old dowagers, who shrugged 
 their shoulders meaningly and whispered to each other 
 that it might be well if more young, handsome wives were 
 locked into their rooms and thus kept out of mischief. 
 
 Though flattered, caressed and admired, Katy was 
 not doing herself much credit at Newport, but after Wil- 
 ford there was no one to -raise a warning voice, until 
 Mark Ray came down for a few days' respite from the 
 heated city, where he spent the entire summer, taking 
 charge of the business which belonged as much to Wil- 
 ford as to himself. But Wilford had a wife ; it was more 
 necessary that he should leave, Mark had argued; his 
 time would come by and by. And so he had remained 
 at home until the last of August, when he appeared sud- 
 
SARATOGA AND NEWPORT. 169 
 
 denly at the Ocean House one night when Katy, in her 
 airy robes and childhke simplicity, was breaking hearts 
 by the score. Like others, Mark was charmed, and not 
 a little proud, for Katy's sake, to see her thus appre- 
 ciated; hut when one day's experience had shown him 
 more and given him a look behind the scenes, he trem- 
 bled for her, knowing how hard it would be for her to 
 come out of that sea of dissipation as pure and spotless 
 as she went in. 
 
 "If I were her brother I would warn her that her pres- 
 ent career, though very delightful now, is not one upon 
 which she will look back with pleasure when the excite- 
 ment is over," he said to himself; "but if Wilford is sat- 
 isfied it is not for me to interfere. It is surely nothing 
 to me what Katy Cameron does," he kept repeating to 
 himself ; but as often as he said it there came up before 
 him a pale, anxious face, shaded with Helen Lennox's 
 bands of hair, and Helen Lennox's voice whispered to 
 him : "Save Katy, for my sake ;" and . so next day, when 
 Mark found himself alone with Katy, while most of the 
 guests were at the beach, he questioned her of her life 
 at Saratoga and Newport, and gradually, as he talked, 
 there crept into Katy's heart a suspicion that he was not 
 altogether pleased with her account, or with what ffe 
 had seen of her since his arrival. 
 
 For a moment Katy was indignant, but when he said 
 to her kindly: "Would Helen be pleased?" her tears 
 started at once, and she attempted an excuse for her weak 
 folly, accusing SybilGrandon as the first cause of the 
 ambition for which she hated herself. 
 
 "She had been held up as my pattern," she said, half 
 bitterly, and forgetting to whom she was talking — "she 
 the one whom I w&s to imitate; and when I found that 
 if I would I could go beyond her, I yielded to the terri^ta- 
 tion, and exulted to see how far she was left behind. 
 Besides that," she continued, "is it no gratification, think 
 you, to let Wilford's proud mother and sister see the poor 
 country girl, whom ordinarily they would despise, stand 
 where they cannot come, and even dictate to. them if 
 she chooses so to do ? I know it is wrong — I Imow it is 
 wicked — but I rather like the excitement, and so long as 
 I am with these people I shall never be any better. Marb 
 
170 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 Ray, you don't know what it is to be surrounded by a set 
 who care for nothing but fashion and display, and how 
 they may outdo each other. I hate New York society. 
 •There is nothing there but husks." 
 
 Katy's tears had ceased, and on her white face there was 
 a new look of womanhood, as if in that outburst she had 
 changed, and would never again be just what she was 
 before. 
 
 "Say," she continued, "do you like New York society ?" 
 
 "Not always — not wholly," Mark answered; "and 
 still you misjudge it greatly, for all are not like the peo- 
 ple you describe. Your husband's family represent one 
 extreme, wl\jle there are others equally high in the social 
 scale who do not make fashion the rule of their lives — 
 sensible, cultivated, intellectual people, of whose ac- 
 quaintance one might be glad — people whom I fancy your 
 Sister Helen would enjoy. I have only met her twice, 
 it is true, but my impression is that she would not find 
 New York utterly distasteful." 
 
 Mark did not know why he had dragged Helen into 
 that conversation, unless it were that she seemed very 
 near to him as he talked with Katy, who replied : 
 
 "Yes, Helen finds some good in all. She sees differ- 
 eatly from what I do, and I wish so much that she was 
 here." 
 
 "Why not send for her ?" Mark asked, casting about in 
 his mind whether in case Helen came, he, too, could tarry 
 for a week and leave that business in Southbridge, which 
 he must attend to ere returning to the city. 
 
 It would be a study to watch Helen Lennox there at 
 Newport, and in imagination Mark was already her sworn 
 knight, shielding her from criticism, and commanding her 
 respect from those who respected him, when Katy tore 
 his castle down by answering impulsively : 
 
 "I doubt if Wilford would let me send for her here, 
 nor does it matter, as I shall not remain much longer. I 
 do not need her now, since you have showed me how 
 foolish I have been. I was angry at first, but now I thank 
 you for it, and so would Helen. I shall tell her when 
 I am in Silverton. I am going there from here, and oh, "I 
 so wish it was to-day." 
 
 The guests were beginning to return from the beach by 
 
SARATOGA AND NEWPORT. 171 
 
 this time, and as Mark had said all he had intended say- 
 ing, and even more, he left Katy with Wilford, who had 
 just come in and joined a merry party of Bostonians only 
 that day arrived. That night at the Ocean House the 
 guests missed something from their festivities; the dance 
 was not so exhilarating or the small-talk between them so 
 lively, while more than one white-kidded dandy swore men- 
 tally at the innocent Wilford, whose wife declined to join 
 in the gayeties, and in a plain white muslin, with only a 
 pond lily in her hair, kept by her husband's side, notwith- 
 standing that he more than once bade her leave him and 
 accept some of her numerous invitations to join the giddy 
 dance. This sober phase of Katy did not on the whole 
 please Wilford as much as her gayer ones had done. 
 Perfectly sure of her devotion to himself, he liked to 
 watch her as she glided amid the throng which paid her so 
 much homage. All he had ever dreamed of the sensation 
 his bride would create was more than verified. Katy had 
 fulfilled his highest expectations, reaching a point from 
 which, as she had said to Mark, she could even dictate to 
 his mother, i-f she chose, and he did not care to see her 
 relinquish it. 
 
 But Katy remained true to herself. Dropping her girl- 
 ish playfulness she assumed a quiet, gentle dignity, which 
 became her even better than her gayer mood had done, 
 making her ten times more popular and more sought after, 
 until she begged to go away, persuading Wilford at last 
 to name the day for their departure, and then, never 
 doubting for a moment that her destination was Silverton, 
 she wrote to Helen that she was coming on such a day, 
 and as they would come by way of Providence and Wor- 
 cester, they would probably reach West Silverton at ten 
 o'clock, A. M. 
 
 "Wilford," she added, in a postscript, "has gone down 
 to bathe, and as the mail is just closing, I shall send this 
 letter without his seeing it. Of course it can make no dif- 
 ference, for I have talked all summer of coming, and he 
 understands it." 
 
172 TAmUY VBXDB. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 MARK. RAY AT SILVERTON. 
 
 The last day of summer was dying' out in a fierce 
 storm of rain which swept in sheets across the Silvertai 
 hills, hiding the pond from view, and beating the windows 
 of the farmhouse, whose inmates were nevertheless mi- 
 mindful of tiie storm save as they hoped the morrow 
 would prove bright and fair, such as the day should be 
 which brought them back tlieir Katjv Nearly worn out 
 with constant reference was her letter, the mother catch- 
 ing it up from time to time to read the part referring to 
 herself, the place where Katy hdd told how blessed it 
 would be "to rest again on mother's bed," just as she had 
 often wished to do, "and benr mother's vcace ;" the deacon 
 spelling- out by his spluttering tallow candle, with its 
 long, smoky wick, what she had said of "darling old 
 Uncle Eph," and the rides into tiie fields which she should 
 have with him; Aunt Betsy, too, reading mostly from 
 memory the words : "Good old Aunt Betsy, with her 
 skirts so limp and short, tell her rfie will look handsomer 
 to me than the fairest belle at Newport;" and as often as 
 Aunt Betsy read it she would ejaculate : "The land ! what 
 kind of company must the child have kept?" wondering 
 next if Helen had never written of the hoop, for which 
 she had paid a dollar, and which was carefully hung in 
 her closet, waiting for the event of to-morrow, while the 
 hem of her pongee had been let down and one breadth 
 added to accommodate the hoop. On the whole. Aunt 
 Betsy expected to make a stylish appearance before the 
 little lady of whom she stood slightly in awe, always 
 speaking of her to the neighbors as "My niece, Miss 
 Cameron, from New York," and taking good care to re- 
 port what she had heard of "Miss Cameron's" costly dress 
 and the grandeur of her house, where the furniture of the 
 best chamber cost over fifteen hundred dollars. 
 
 "What could it be— gold?" Aunt Betsy had asked in 
 her simplicity, feeling an increased respect for Katy, and 
 
MARK RAY AT SILVERTON. 173 
 
 consenting the more readily to the change in her pongee, 
 as suggested to her by Helen. 
 
 But that was for to-morrow when ICaty came ; to-night 
 she only wore a dotted brown, whose hem just reached 
 the top of her "bootees," as she stood by the window, 
 wondering, first, if the rain wbuld ever stop, and won- 
 dering, secondly, where all them fish worms, squirm- 
 ing on the grass by the back door, did come from. 
 Needn't tell her they crawled out of the ground ; she knew 
 better — they rained from the clouds, though she should 
 s'pose that somebody would sometime have catched one 
 on their bunnet or umberill. Dummed if she didn't mean 
 to stand out o' doors some day till she was wet to the skin, 
 and see what would come, and having thus settled a 
 way by which to decide the only question, except that of 
 the " 'Piscopal Church and its quirks," on which she was 
 still obstinate. Aunt Betsy went to strain the milk just 
 brought by Uncle Epliraim, while Helen took her position 
 near the window, looking drearily out upon the leaden 
 clouds, and hoping it would brighten before the mor- 
 row. Like the others, Helen had read Katy's letter many 
 times, dwelling longest upon the part which said : "I have 
 been so bad, so frivolous and wicked here at Newport, 
 that it will be a relief to make you my confessor, depend- 
 ing, as I .do, upon your love to grant me absolution." 
 
 From a family at Silverton, who had spent a few days 
 at a private house in Newport, Helen had heard some- 
 thing of her sister's life; the lady had seen her once 
 driwng a tandem team, or as Aunt Betsy had it, "driving 
 tanterum," down the avenue, with Wilford at her side 
 ^ving her Instructions. Since then there had been some 
 anxiety felt for her at the farmhouse, and more than. Dr. 
 Grant had prayed that she might be kept unspotted from 
 the world; but when her letter came, so full of love and 
 self-reproaches, the burden was lifted, and there was 
 nothing to mar the anticipations of the events for which 
 they had made so many preparations. Uncle Ephraim 
 going to the expense of buying at auction a half-worn, 
 covered buggy, which he fancied would suit Katy better 
 than the corn-colored wagon in which Katy used to ride. 
 To pay for this the deacon had parted with the money 
 set aside for the "greatcoat" he so much needed for .the 
 
174 FAMILY PRroE. 
 
 coming winter, his old gray one having done him service 
 for fifteen years. But his comfort was nothing compared 
 with Katy's happiness, and so, with his wrinkled face 
 beaming with delight, he had brought home his buggy, 
 which he designated a carriage, putting it carefully in the 
 barn, and saying no one should ride in it till Katy came, 
 the corn-color was good enough for them, but Katy was 
 different — Katy was Mrs. Cameron, and used to some- 
 thing better. With untiring patience the old man mended 
 up his harness, for what he had heard of Katy's driving 
 had impressed him strongly with her powers of horse- 
 manship, and, truth to tell, raised her somewhat in his 
 respect. Could he have afforded it Uncle Ephraim in 
 his younger days would have been a horse jockey, and 
 even now he liked nothing better than to make Old 
 Whitey run when alone in the strip of woods between 
 the house and the head of the pond. 
 
 "Katy inherits her love of horses from me," he said, 
 complacently, and with a view of improving Whitey's 
 style and metal, he took to feeding him on corn and oats, 
 talking to him at times, and telling him who was coming. 
 
 Dear, simple-hearted Uncle Ephraim, the days which 
 he must wait seemed long to him as they did to the female 
 portion of his family, to Mrs. Lennox, Aunt Hannah and 
 Aunt Betsy, who each did what she could to make the 
 house attractive. They were ready for Katy at last, or 
 could be early on the morrow, and with the shutting in 
 of night the candles were lighted in the sitting-room, and 
 Helen sat down to her work, wishing it was to-night that 
 Katy was coming,. As if in answer to her wish there was 
 the sound of wheels, which stopped before the house, and 
 dropping her work, Helen ran quickly to the door, just 
 as from under the dripping umbrella held by a driver boy, 
 a tall young man, sprang upon the step, nearly up- 
 setting her, but passing an arm around her shoulders. in 
 time to keep her from falling. 
 
 "I beg pardon for this assault upon you," the stranger 
 said ; and then, turning to the boy, he continued : "It's all 
 right, you need not wait. ' 
 
 With a chirrup and a blow the horse started forward, 
 and the mud-bespattered vehicle was rapidly moving down 
 the Toad ere Helen had recovered her surprise at feeog^ 
 
MARK RAY AT SILVERTON. 175 
 
 nizing Mark Ray, who shook the rahidrops from his hair, 
 and offering her his hand said in reply to her involuntary 
 exclamation: "I thought it was Katy." "Shall I infer, 
 then, that I am the less welcome?" and his bright, saucy 
 eyes looked laughingly into hers. "Business had brought 
 him to Southbridge," he said, "and it was his intention to 
 take the cars that afternoon for New York, but having 
 been detained longer than he expected, and not liking 
 the looks of the hotel arrangements, he had decided to 
 presume upon his acquaintance with Dr. Grant and spend 
 the night at Linwood. But,'* and again his eyes looked 
 straight at Helen, "it rained so hard and the light from 
 your window was so inviting that I ventured to stop, 
 so here I am, claiming your hospitality until morning, if 
 convenient; if not, I will find my way to Linwood." 
 
 There was something in this pleasant familiarity which 
 won Uncle Ephraim at once, and he bade the young man 
 stay, as did Aunt Hannah and Mrs. Lennox, who now 
 for the first time were presented to Mark Ray. Always 
 capable of adapting himself to the circumstances around 
 him, Mark did so now with so much ease and courteous- 
 ness as to astonish Helen, and partly thaw the reserve 
 she had assumed when she found the visitor was from the 
 hated city. 
 
 "Are you expecting Mfs. Cameron?" he asked, adding 
 as Helen explained that she was coming to-morrow: 
 "That is strange. Wilford wrote decidedly that he should 
 be in New York to-morrow. Possibly, though, he does 
 not intend himself to stop." 
 
 "I presume not^" Helen replied, a weight suddenly 
 lifting from her heart at the prospect of not having to 
 entertain the fornfidable brother-in-law who, if he stayed 
 long, would spoil all her pleasure. 
 
 Thus at her ease on this point, she grew more talkative, 
 half wishing that her dress was not a shilling calico, or 
 her hair combed back quite so straight, giving her that 
 severe look which Morris had said was unbecoming: It 
 was very smooth and glossy, and even Sybil Grandon 
 would have given her best diamond to have had in" her 
 own natural right the long heavy coil of hair bound so 
 many times around the back of Helen's head, ornamented 
 with neither ribbon, comb, nor bow — only a single ger- 
 
176 PA3BILY PEIDE. 
 
 anium leaf, with a white and scarlet blossom, was fastened 
 just below the ear, and on the side where Mark could see 
 it best, admiring its effect and forgetting the arrange- 
 ment of the hair in his admiration of the well-shaped 
 head, bending so industriously over the work which Helen 
 had resumed — not crocheting, nor yet embroidery, but the 
 very homely work of darning Uncle Ephraim's socks, a 
 task which Helen always did, and on that particular night. 
 Helen knew it was not delicate employment and there 
 was a moment's hesitancy as she wondered what Mark 
 would think — then with a grim delight in letting bim see 
 that she did not care, she resumed her darning needle, 
 and as a kind of penance of the flash of pride in which 
 she had indulged, selected from the basket the very coars- 
 est, ugliest sock she could find, stretching out the huge 
 fracture at the heel to its utmost extent, and attacking it 
 with a right good will, while Mark, with a comical look 
 on his face, sat watching her. She knew he was looking 
 at her, and her cheeks were growing very red, while her 
 hatred of him was increasing, when he said, abruptly: 
 "You follow -my mother's custom, I see. She used to 
 mend my socks on Tuesday nights." 
 
 "Your mother mend socks !" and Helen started so sud- 
 denly as to run the point of her darning needle a long 
 way into her thumb, the wound bringing a stream of blood 
 which she tried to wipe away with her handkerchief. 
 
 "Bind it tightly around. Let me show you, please," 
 Mark said, and ere she was aware of what she was do- 
 ing Helen was quietly permitting the young man to wind 
 her handkerchief around her thumb which he held in his 
 hand, pressing it until the blood ceased flowing, and the 
 sharp pain had abated. 
 
 Perhaps Mark Ray liked holding that small, warm 
 hand, even though it were not as white and soft as Juno's; 
 at all events he did hold it until Helen drew it from him 
 with a quick, sudden motion, telling him it would now do 
 very well, and she would not trouble him. Mark did not 
 look as if he had been troubled, but went back to his seat 
 and took up the conversation just where the needle had 
 stopped it. 
 
 "My mother did not always mend • herself, but she 
 caused ijt to be done, and sometimes helped. I remem- 
 
MARK RAT AT SILVERTON. 177 
 
 ber she used to say a woman should know how to do 
 everything pertaining to a household, and she carried out 
 her theory in the education of my sister." 
 
 "Have you a sister?" Helen asked, now really inter- 
 ested, and listening intently while Mark, told her of his 
 only sister, Julia, now Mrs. Ernst, whose home was in 
 New Orleans, though she at present was in Paris, and 
 his mother was there with her. "After Julia's marriage, 
 nine years ago, mother went to live with her," he said, 
 "but latterly, as the little Ernsts increase so fast, she 
 wishes for a more quiet home, and this winter she is 
 coming to New York .to keep house for me." 
 
 Helen thought she might like Mark's mother, who, he 
 told her, had been twice married, and was now Mrs. 
 Banker, and a widow. She must be different from Mrs. 
 Cameron; and Helen let herself down to another degree 
 of toleration for the man whose mother taught her daugh- 
 ter to mend the family socks'. Still there was about her 
 a chilling reserve, which Mark wondered at, for it was 
 not thus that ladies were accustomed to receive his ad- 
 vances. He did not guess that Wilford Cameron stood 
 between him and Helen's good opinion ; but when, after 
 the family came in, the conversation turned upon Katy 
 and her life in New York, the secret came out in the 
 sharp, caustic manner with which she spoke of New 
 York and its people. 
 
 "It's Will and the Camerons," Mark thought, blaming 
 Helen less than he would have done, if he, too, had not 
 known something of the Cameron pride. 
 
 It was a novel position in which Mark found himself 
 that night; an inmate of a humble farmhouse, where he 
 could almost touch' the ceiling with his hand, and where 
 his surroundings were so different from wliat he nad 
 been accustomed to ; but, unlike Wilford Cameron, he did 
 not wish himself away, nor feel indignant at Aunt Betsy's 
 odd, old-fashioned ways, or Uncle Ephraim's grammar. 
 He noticed Aunt Betsy's oddities, it is true, and noticed 
 Uncle Ephraim's grammar, too; but the sight of Helen 
 sitting there, with so much dignity and self-respect, made 
 him look beyond all else, straight into her open face and 
 clear brown eyes, where there was nothing obnoxious or 
 distasteful. Her grammar was correct, her manner, sav- 
 
178 FAMILY PRIDE. ^ 
 
 ing a little stiffness, ladylike and refined ; and Mark rather 
 enjoyed his situation as self-invited guest, making him- 
 self so agreeable that Uncle Ephraim forgot his hour of 
 retiring, nor discovered his mistake until, with a loud 
 yav/n, Aunt Betsy told him that it was half-past nine, 
 and she was "desput sleepy." 
 
 Owing to Helen's influence there had been a change 
 of the olden customs, and instead of the long chapter, 
 through which Uncle Ephraim used to plod so wearily, 
 there was now read the Evening Psalms, Aunt Betsy her- 
 self joining in the reading, which she mentally classed with 
 the "quirks," but confessed to herself that it "was most 
 as good as the Bible." 
 
 As there were only Prayer Books enough for the fam- 
 ily, Helen, in distributing them, purposely passed Mark 
 by, thinking he might not care to join them. But he 
 did, and when the verse came around to Helen he quickly 
 drew his chair near to hers, and taking one side of her 
 book, performed his part, while Helen's face grew red 
 as the blossoms in her hair, and her hand so near to 
 Mark's trembled visibly. 
 
 "A right nice chap, and not an atom stuck up," was 
 Aunt Betsy's mentstl commeiit, and then, as he often will 
 do, Satan followed the saintly woman even to her knees, 
 making her wonder if "Mr. Ray hadn't some notion after 
 Helen." She hoped not, for she meant that Morris should 
 have Helen, "though if 'twas to be it was, and she should 
 xiot go agin' it;" and while Aunt Betsy thus settled the 
 case. Uncle Ephraun's prayer ended, and the conscience- 
 smitten woman arose from her knees with the conviction 
 that "the evil one had got the better of her once," men- 
 tally asking pardon for her wandering thoughts, and 
 promising to do better. 
 
 Mark was in no haste to retire, and when Uncle 
 Ephraim offered to conduct him to his room, he frankly 
 answered that he was not sleepy, adding, as he turned to 
 Helen : "Please let me stay until Miss Lennox finishes 
 her socks. There are several pairs yet undarned. I will 
 not detain you, though," he continued, bowing to Uncle 
 Ephraim, who, a little uncertain what to do, finally de- 
 parted, as did Aunt Hannah and his sister, leaving Helen 
 and her mother to entertain Mark Ray. It had been Mrs. 
 
MARK BAY AT SILVfiETON. 179 
 
 Lennox's first intention to retire also, but a look from 
 Helen detained her, and she sat down by that basket of 
 socks, while Mark wished her away. Still it was proper 
 for her to remain, he knew, and he respected Helen, for 
 keeping her, as he knew she did. A while they ta^lked of 
 Katy and New York, Mark laboring to convince Helen 
 that its people were not all heartless and fickle, and at 
 last citing his mother as an instance. 
 
 "You would like mother, Miss Lennox. I hope you 
 will know her some time," he said, and then they talked 
 of books, Helen forgetting that Mark was city bred in 
 the interest with which she listened to him, while Mark 
 forgot that the girl who appreciated and understood his 
 views almost before they were expressed was country 
 born, and sitting there before him clad in homely garb, 
 with no ornaments save those of her fine mind and the 
 sparkling face turned so fully toward him. 
 
 "Mark Ray is not like Wilford Cameron," Helen said 
 to herself, when as the clock was striking eleven she bade 
 him good-night and went up to her room. "But of course 
 in his heart he feels above us all," and opening her win- 
 dow she leaned her hot cheek against the wet casement, 
 and looked out upon the night, now so beautiful and clear, 
 for the rain was over, and up in the heavens the bright 
 stars were shining, each one bearing some resemblance to 
 Mark's eyes as they kindled and grew bright with his ex- 
 citement, resting always kindly on her — on Helen, who, 
 leaning thus from the window, felt stealing over her that 
 feeling which, once bom, can never be quite forgotten. 
 * Helen did not recognize the feeling, for it was a strange 
 one to her. She was only conscious of a sensation half 
 pleasurable, half sad, of which Mark Ray had been the 
 cause, and which she tj-ied in vain to put aside, wonder- 
 ing what he thought of them all, and if he did not secretly 
 despise them even while making himself so familiar. And 
 then there swept over her a feeling of desolation such as 
 she had never experienced before, a shrinking from living 
 all her life in Silverton, as she fully expected to do, and 
 laying her head upon the little stand, she cried passion- 
 ately. 
 
 "This is weak, this is folly," she suddenly exclaimed, as 
 she became conscious of aitirg r^s Helen Lennox was not 
 
180 /AMILY PRIDE. 
 
 wont to act, and with a strong effort of the will she dried 
 her tears and crept quietly to bed just as Mark was fall- 
 ing into his first sleep, and dreaming of smothering. 
 
 Helen would not have acknowledged it, and yet it was 
 a truth not to be denied, that she stayed next morning a 
 much longer time than usual before her glass, arranging- 
 her hair, which was worn more ^becomingly than on the 
 previous night, softening the somewhat too intellectual 
 expression of her face, and making her seem more wom- 
 anly and modest. Once she thought to wear the light 
 buff gown in which she looked so well, but the thought 
 was repudiated as soon as formed, and donning the same 
 dark calico she would have worn if Mark had not been 
 there, she finished her simple toilet and went- downstairs, 
 just as Mark came in at the side door, his hands full of 
 water lilies and his boots bearing marks of what he had 
 been through to get them. 
 
 "Early country air is healthful," he said, "and as I do 
 not often have a chance to try it I thought I would im- 
 prove the present opportunity. So I have been down by 
 the pond, and spying these lilies I persevered until T 
 reached them, in spite of mud and mire. There is no 
 blossom I like so well. Were I a yount:: girl I would al- 
 ways wear one in my hair, just as your sister did one 
 night at Newport, and I never saw her look better. Just 
 let me try the effect on you ;" and selecting a half-opened 
 bud, Mark placed it among Helen's braids as if hair- 
 dressing were one of his accomplishments. "The effect 
 is good," he continued, turning her blushing face to the 
 glass and asking if it were not. 
 
 "Yes," Helen stammered, seeing more the saucy eyes 
 looking over her head than the lily in her hair. "Yes, 
 good enotigh, but hardly in keeping with this old dress," 
 and vanity whispered the wish that the buff had really 
 been worn. 
 
 "Your dress is suitable for morning, I am sure," Mark" 
 replied, turning a little more to the right the lily and no- 
 ticing as he did so how very white and pretty was the 
 neck and throat seen above the collar. 
 
 Mark liked a pretty neck, and he was glad to know 
 that Helen had one, though why he should care was a 
 puzzle. He could hardly have analyzed his feelings then. 
 
MARK RAY AT SILVERTON. 181 
 
 or told what he did think of Helen. He only knew that 
 by her eflforts to repel him she attracted him the more, 
 she was so different from any young ladies he had known ; 
 so different from Juno, into whose hair he had never 
 twined a water lily. It would not become her as it did 
 Helen, he thought, as he sat opposite her at the table, 
 admiring his handiwork, which even Aunt Betsy ob- 
 served, remarking that "Helen was mightily spruced up 
 for morning," a compliment which Helen acknowledged 
 with a painful blush, while Mark began a disquisition 
 upon the nature of lilies generally, which lasted until 
 breakfast was ended. 
 
 It was arranged that Mark should ric^e to the cars with 
 Uncle Ephraim when he went for Katy, and as this gave 
 him a goo^ two hours of leisure, he spoke of Dr. Grant, 
 asking Helen if she did not suppose he would call around. 
 Helen thought it possible, and then remembering how 
 many things were to be done that morning, she excused 
 herself from the parlor, and repairing to the platform 
 out by the back door, -where it was shady and cool, she 
 tied on a broad check apron, and rolljng her sleeves above 
 her elbows, was just bringing the churn-dasher to bear 
 vigorously upon the thick cream she was turning into 
 butter, when, having finished his cigar, Mark went out 
 into the yard, and following the winding path came sud- 
 denly upon her. Helen's first impulse was to stop, but 
 with a strong nerving of herself she kept on while Mark, 
 coming as near as he dared, said to her : "Why do you do 
 that ? Is there no one else ?" 
 
 "No," Helen answered; "that is, we keep no servant, 
 and my young arms are stronger than the others." 
 
 "And mine are stronger still," Mark laughingly re- 
 joined, as he put Helen aside and plied the dasher him- 
 self, in spite of her protestations that he would certainly 
 ruin his clothes. 
 
 "Tie that apron around me, then," he said, with the 
 utmost nonchalance, and Helen obeyed, tying her check 
 apron around the young man's neck, who felt her hands 
 as they touched his hair and knew that they were brushing 
 queer fancies into his brain, fancies which made him won- 
 der what his mother would think of Helen, or Virhat she 
 would say if she knew just how he was occupied ,that 
 
182 FAMILX PRIDE. 
 
 morning, absolutely churning cream until it turned to 
 butter, for Mark persisted until ,the task was done; stand- 
 ing by while Helen gathered up the golden lumps, and 
 admiring her plump, round arms quite as much as he 
 had done her neck. 
 
 She would be a belle like her sister, though of a dif- 
 ferent stampj he thought, as he again bent down his head 
 while she removed the apron and disclosed more than one 
 big spot upon his broadcloth. Mark assured her that it 
 did not matter; his coat was nearly worn out; and any- 
 way he never should regret that he had churned once in 
 his life, or forget it either; and then he asked if Helen 
 ■would be in New York the coming winter, talking of the 
 pleasure it would be to meet her there until Helen her- 
 self began to feel what she never before had felt, a desire 
 to visit Katy in her own home. 
 
 "Remember if you come that I am your debtor for 
 numerous hospitalities," he said, when he at last bade 
 her good-by, and sprang into the covered buggy, which 
 Uncle Ephraim had brought out in honor of Katy's 
 arrival. 
 
 Old Whitey was hitched at a safe distance from all 
 possible harm. Uncle Ephraim had returned from the 
 store nearby, laden with the six pounds of crush sugar 
 and the two pounds of real old Java, he had been com- 
 missioned to purchase with a view to Katy's tastp, and 
 now upon the platform at West Silverton, he stood with 
 Mark Ray, waiting for the arrival of the train just ap- 
 pearing in view across the level plain. 
 
 "It's fifteen months since she went away," he said, 
 and Mark saw that the old man's form trembled with 
 the excitement of^^.meeting her again, while his eyes 
 scanned eagerly every window and door of the cars now 
 slowly stopping, before him. "There, there," and he laid 
 his hand nervously on Mark's shoulder as a white, jaunty 
 feather appeared in view ; but no, that was not Katy, and 
 the dim eyes ran again along the whole line of the cars, 
 from which so many were alighting, for that was an 
 eating house. 
 
 But Katy did no* come, and with a long breath of won- 
 
MARK RAY AT SILVERTON. l83 
 
 der and disappointment the deacon said : "Can it be she 
 is asleep. Young man, you are spryer than I. Go 
 through the cars and find her." 
 
 Mark knew there was plenty of time, and so, he made 
 the tour of the cars, but found, alas ! no Katy. 
 
 "She's not there," was the report carried to the poor 
 old man, who tremblingly repeated his words : "Not there, 
 not come," while over his aged face there broke a look 
 of touching sadness, which Mark never forgot, remem- 
 bering it always just as he remembered the big tear drops 
 which from his seat by the window he saw the old man 
 wipe away with his coat sleeve, whispering softly to 
 Whitey of his disappointment as he unhitched the horse 
 and drove away alone. 
 
 "Maybe she's writ. I'll go and see," he said, and driv- 
 ing to their regular office he found a letter directed by 
 Wilford Cameron, but written by Katy. 
 
 This last he knew, for he tore the envelope open ; but 
 he could not read it then, and thrusting it into his pocket 
 he went slowly back to the home where the tempting- 
 dinner was prepared, and the family waiting so eagerly 
 for him. Even before he reached there they knew of the 
 disappointment, for from the garret window Helen had 
 watched the road by which he would come, and when 
 the buggy appeared in sight she saw he was alone. 
 
 There was a mistake; Katy had missed the train, she 
 said to her mother and aunts, who hoped she might be 
 right. But Katy had not missed the train, as was in- 
 dicated by the letter which Uncle Ephraim without a word 
 put into Helen's hand, leaning on old Whitey's neck 
 while she read aloud the attempt at an explanation which 
 Katy had hurried written, a stain on the paper where a 
 tear had fallen attesting her distress at the bitter^dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 "Wilford did not know of the other letter," she said, 
 "and had made arrangements for her to go back with him 
 to New York, inasmuch as the house was already opened, 
 and the servants there wanting a head;* besides that, Wil- 
 ford had been absent so long that he could not possibly 
 stop at Silverton himself, and as he would not think 
 of living without her, even for a few days, there was no 
 alternative but for her to. go with him on the boat directly 
 
184 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 to New York. I am sorry, oh, so sorry, but indeed 1 am 
 not to blame," she added, in conclusion, and this was the 
 Hearest approach there was to an admission that any- 
 body was to blame for this disappointment which cut so 
 cruelly, making even Uncle Ephraim cry as out in the 
 barn he hung away the mended harness and covered the 
 new buggy, which had been bought for naught. 
 
 "I might have had the overcoat, for Katy will never 
 come home again, never. God grant that it's the Cam- 
 eron pride, not hers, that kept her from us," the old man 
 said, as on the hay he knelt down and prayed that Katy 
 had not learned to despise the hcHine where she was so 
 beloved. 
 
 "Katy will never come to us again," seemed the pre- 
 vailing opinion at Silverton, where more than Uncle 
 'Ephraim felt a chilling doubt at times as to whether she 
 really wished to come or not. If she did, it seemed 
 easy of accomplishment to those who knew not how per- 
 fect and complete were the fetters thrown around her, 
 and how unbending the will which governed hers. Could 
 they have seen the look in Katy's face when she first un- 
 derstood that she was not going to Silverton, their hearts 
 would have bled for the thwarted creature who fled up 
 the stairs to her own room, where Esther found her 
 twenty minutes later, cold and fainting upon the bed, her 
 face as white as ashes, and her hands clinched so tightly 
 that the nails left marks upon the palms. 
 
 "It was not strange that the poor child should faint — 
 indeed, it was only natural that nature should give way 
 after so many weeks of gayety, and she very far from 
 being strong," Mrs. Cameron said to Wilford, who was 
 beginning to repent of his decision, and who but for that 
 remark perhaps might have revoked it. 
 
 Indeed, he rfiade an attempt to do so when, as con- 
 sciousness came back, Katy lay so pale and still before 
 him; but Katy did not understand him or guess that he 
 wished her to meet him more than half the way, and so 
 the verdict was unchanged, and in a kind of bewilder- 
 ment, Katy wrote the hurried letter, feeling less actual 
 pain than did its readers, for the disappointment had 
 stunned her for a time, and all she could remember of the 
 passage home on that same nijht when Mark Ray sat 
 
A NEW LIFE. 185 
 
 with Helen in the sitting-room at Silverton, was that there 
 was a fearful storm of rain mingled with lightning flashes 
 and thunder peals, which terrified the other ladies, but 
 brought to her no other sensation save that it would not 
 be so very hard to perish in the dark waters dashing so 
 madly about the vessel's side. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A NEW UFE. 
 
 "New Yokk, December i6th. 
 "To Miss Helen Lennox, Silverton, Mass. : 
 
 "Your sister is very ill. Come as soon as possible. 
 
 "W. Cameron." 
 
 This was the purport of a telegram received at the 
 farmhouse toward the close of a chill December day, and 
 Helen's heart almost stopped its beating as she read it 
 aloud, and then looked in the vi'hite, scared faces of those 
 around her. Katy was very ill— dying, perhaps— or Wil- 
 ford had never telegraphed. What coiild it be? What 
 was the matter ? Had it been somewhat later, they would 
 have known ; but now all was conjecture worse than use- 
 less, and in a half-distracted state Helen made her hasty 
 preparations for the journey on the morrow, and then 
 sent for Morris, hoping he might offer some advice or 
 suggestion for her to carry to that sick-room in New 
 York. 
 
 "Perhaps you will go with me," Helen said. "You 
 know Katy's constitution. Yoti might save her life." 
 , But Morris shook his head. If he was needed they 
 might send and he would come, but not without; and so 
 next day he carried Helen to the cars, saying to her, as 
 they were waiting for the train : "I hope for the best, 
 but it may be Katy will die. If you think so, tell her. 
 Oh, tell her! of the better world, and ask if she is pre- 
 pared. I cannot lose her in heaven." 
 
 And this was all the message Morris sent, though his 
 heart and prayers went after the rapid train vvhich bore 
 Helen safely onward, until Hartford was re - -d, where 
 
186 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 there was a long detention, so that the dark wintry night 
 had closed over the city ere Helen had reached it, timid, 
 anxious, and wondering what she should do if Wilford 
 ■was not there to meet her. "He will be, of course," she 
 kept repeating to herself, looking around in dismay, as 
 passenger after passenger left, seeking in stages and street 
 cars a swifter passage to their homes. 
 
 "I shall soon be all alone," she said, feeling some re- 
 lief as the car in which she was seated began at last to 
 move, and she knew she was being taken whither the 
 others had gone, wherever that might be. 
 
 "Is Miss Helen Lennox here?" sounded cheerily in her 
 ears as she stopped before the depot, and Helen uttered 
 a cry of joy, for she recognized the voice of Mark Ray, 
 who was soon grasping her hand, and trying to reassure 
 her, as he saw how she shrank from the noise and clamor 
 of New York, heard now for the first time. "Our car- 
 riage is here," he said, and in a moment she found her- 
 self in a close-covered vehicle, with Mark sitting op- 
 posite, tucking the warm blanket around her, asking if 
 she were cold, and paying those numberless little atten- 
 tions so gratifying to one always accustomed to act and 
 think for herself. 
 
 Helen could not see Mark's face distinctly ; but full of 
 fear for Katy, she fancied there was a sad tone in his 
 voice, as if he were keeping something back, something 
 he dreaded to tell her; and then, as it suddenly occurred 
 to her that Wilford should have met her, not Mark, her 
 great fear found utterance in words, and leaning forward 
 so that her face almost touched Mark's, she said : "Tell 
 me, Mr. Ray, is Katy dead?" 
 
 "Not dead, oh, no, nor yet very dangerous, my mother 
 hopes; but she kept asking for you,. and so my — that is, 
 3\Ir. Cameron, sent the telegram." 
 
 There was an ejaculatory prayer of thankfulness, and 
 then Helen continued : "Is it long since she was taken 
 sick?" 
 
 "Her little daughter will be a week old to-morrow," 
 Mark replied; while. Helen, with an exclamation of sur- 
 prise she could not repress, sank back into the corner, 
 faint and giddy with the excitement of this fact, which in- 
 vested li'.ile Katy with a new dignity, but drew her, oh. 
 
A NEW LIFE. 187 
 
 SO much nearer to the sister who could scarcely wait for 
 the carriage to stop, so anxious was she to be where 
 Katy was, to kiss her dear face onc/^ more^ and 
 whisper the words of love she knew she milst have longed 
 to hear. / 
 
 Awe-struck, bewildered and half terrified, Helen looked 
 •up at the huge brown structure, which Mark designated 
 as "the place." It was so lofty, so high, so like the Cam- 
 erons, and so unlike the farmhouse far away, that Helen 
 trembled as she followed Mark into the rooms flooded 
 with light, and seeming to her' like fairyland. They were 
 so different from anything she had imagined, so much 
 handsomer than even Katy's vivid descriptions had im- 
 plied, that for the moment the sight took her breath away, 
 and she sank passively into the chair Mark brought for 
 her, himself taking her muff and tippet, and noting, as 
 he did so, that they were not mink, nor yet Russian sable, 
 but well-worn, well-kept fitch, such as Juno would laugh at 
 and criticise. But Helen's dress was a matter of small 
 moment to Mark, as he thought more of the look in her 
 dark eyes as she saidto him: "You are very kind, Mr. 
 Ray. I cannot thank you enough," than of all the furs 
 in Broadway. This remark had been wrung from Helen 
 by the feeling of homesickness and desolation which 
 swept over her, as she thoifght how really alone she should 
 be there, in her sister's house, on this first night of her ar- 
 rival, if it were not ifor Mark, thus virtually taking the 
 place of the brother-in-law, who should have been there 
 to greet her. 
 
 ' He was with Mrs. Cameron," the servant said, and 
 taking out a card Mark wrote down a few words, and 
 handing it to the servant who had been looking curiously 
 at Helen, he continijed Standing until a step was heard . 
 on the stairs and Wilford came quietly in. 
 
 It was not a very loving meeting, but Helen was civil 
 and Wilford was polite, offering her his hand and asking 
 some questions. about her journey. 
 
 "I was intending to meet you myself," he said, "but 
 Mrs. Cameron does not like me to leave her, and Mark 
 kindly offered to take the trouble off my hands." 
 
 This was the most gracious thing he had said ; this the 
 nearest approach to friendliness, and Helen felt herself 
 
188 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 hating him less than she had supposed she should. He 
 was looking very pale and anxious, while there was on 
 his face the light of a new joy, as if the little life begun 
 so short a time ago had brought an added good to him, 
 softening his haughty manner and making him even en- 
 durable to the prejudiced sister watching him so closely ! 
 
 "Does Phillips knoW you are here ?" he asked, answer- 
 ing his own queVy by ringing the bell and bidding Esther, 
 who appeared, tell Phillips that Miss Lennox had ar- 
 rived and wished for supper, explaining to Helen that 
 since Katy's illness they had dined at three, as that ac- 
 commodated them the best. 
 
 This done and Helen's baggage ordered to her room, 
 he seemed to think he had discharged his duty as host, 
 and as Mark had left he began to grow fidgety, for a 
 tete-a-tete with Helen was not what he desired. He had 
 said to her all he could think to say, for it never once oc- 
 curred to him to inquire after the deacon's family. He 
 had asked for Dr. Grant, but his solicitude went no 
 further, and the inmates of the farmhouse might have 
 been dead and buried for aught he knew to the contrary. 
 The omission was not made purposely, but because he 
 really did not feel enough of interest in people so widely 
 different from himself even to ask for them, much less to 
 suspect how Helen's blood boiled as she detected the 
 omission and imputed it to intended slight, feeling so 
 glad when he at last excused himself, saying he must go 
 back to Katy, but would send his mother down to see 
 her. His mother. Then she was there, the one whom 
 Helen dreaded most of all, whom she had invested with 
 every possible terror, hoping now that she would not be 
 in haste to come down. She might have spared herself 
 anxiety on this point, as the lady in question was not 
 anxious to meet a person who, could she have had her 
 way, would not have been there at all. 
 
 From the first moment of consciousness after the long 
 hours of suffering, Katy had asked for Helen, rather than 
 her mother, feeling that the former would be more wel- 
 come, and could more easily conform to their customs. 
 
 "Send for Helen ; I am so tired, and she could always 
 rest me," was her reply, when asked by Wilford what he 
 could do for her. "Send for Helen ; I want her so much," 
 
A NEW LIFE. 189 
 
 sAe had said to Mrs. Cameron, when she came, repeating 
 the wish until a consultation was held between the mother 
 and son, touching the propriety of sending for Helen. 
 "She would be of no use whatever, and might excite our 
 Katy. Quiet is highly important just now," Mrs. Cam- 
 eron had said, thus veiling under pretended concern for 
 Katy her aversion to the girl whose independence in de^ 
 dining her dressmaker had never been, forgiven, and 
 whom she had set down in her mind as rude and ignorant. 
 
 She was well suited with Katy now, petting and ca- 
 ressing and talking constantly of. her ; but it did not fol- 
 low that she must like the sister, too, and so she checked 
 the impulse which would have prompted Wilford to send 
 for her as Katy so much desired. 
 
 "If her coming would do Katy harm she ought not to 
 come," and so Wilford's conscience was partially quieted, 
 while Katy in her darkened room moaned on. 
 
 "Send for Sister Helen, please send for Sister Helen." 
 
 At last on the fourth day came Mrs. Banker, Mark 
 Ray's mother, to the house, and in consideration of the 
 strong liking she had evinced for Katy ever since her ar- 
 rival in New York,- and the great respect felt for her by 
 Mrs. Cameron, she was admitted to the chamber and heard 
 the plaintive pleadings : "Send for Sister Helen," until her 
 motherly heart was touched, and as she sat with her son 
 at dinner she spoke «f the young girl-mother moaning so 
 for Helen. 
 
 Whether it was Mark's great pity for Katy, or whether 
 he was prompted by some more selfish motive, we do not 
 profess to say, but that he was greatly excited was very 
 evident from his manner, as he exclaimed: 
 
 "Why not send fpr Helen, then? She is a splendid 
 girl, and they idolize each other. Talk of her injuriijg 
 Katy, that's all a humbug. She is just fitted for a nur^e. 
 Almost the sight of her would cure one of nervousness, 
 she is so calm and quiet." 
 
 This was what Mark said, and again the next morn- 
 ing Mrs. Banker's carriage stood at the door of No. — 
 Madison Square, while Mrs. Banker herself was talking 
 to Wilford in the library, and trging that Helen be sent 
 for at once. 
 
 "It may save her life. She is more feverish to-dajr 
 
190 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 than yesterday, and this constant asking for her sister 
 will wear her out so fast," she added, and that last argu- 
 ment prevailed. 
 
 Helen was sent for and now sat waiting in the parlor 
 for the coming of Mrs. Cameron. Wilford did not mean 
 Katy to hear him as he whispered to his mother that 
 Helen was below; but she did, and her blue eyes flashed 
 brightly as she started from her pillow, exclaiming : 
 
 "I am so glad, so glad. Kiss me, Wilford, because I 
 am so glad. Does she know? Have you told Ber? 
 Wasn't she surprised, and will she come up quick?" 
 
 They could not quiet her at once, and only the as- 
 surance that unless she were more composed Helen 
 should not see her that night had any effect upon her; 
 but when they told her that, she lay back upon her pil- 
 low submissively, and Wilford saw the great tears drop- 
 ping from her hot cheeks, while the pallid lips kept softly 
 whispering "Helen." Then the sister love took another 
 channel, and she said : 
 
 "She has not been to supper, and Phillips is always 
 cross at extras. Will somebody see to it? Send Esther 
 to me, please. Esther knows and is good-natured." 
 
 "Mother will do all that is necessary. She is going 
 down," Wilford said ; but Katy had quite as much fear of 
 leaving Helen to "mother" as to Phillips, and insisted 
 upon Esther until the latter came, receiving numerous in- 
 junctions as to the jam, the sweetmeats, the peaches and 
 the cold ham Helen must have, each one being remem- 
 bered as her favorite. 
 
 Wholly unselfish, Katy thought nothing of herself or 
 the effort it cost her thus to care for Helen, but when it 
 was over and Esther had gone, she seemed so utterly ex- 
 hausted that Mrs. Cameron did not leave her, but stayed 
 at her bedside, ministering to her until the extreme pale- 
 ness was gone, and her eyes were more natural. Mean- 
 while the supper, which as Katy feared had made Phillips 
 cross, had been arranged by Esther, who conducted Helen 
 to the dining-room, herself standing by and waiting upon 
 her because the one whose duty it was had gone out for 
 the evening, and Phillips had declined the "honor," as she 
 styled it. 
 
 There was a homesick feeling tugging at Helen's heart, 
 
A NEW LIFE. 191 
 
 while she tried to eat, and only the certainty that Katy 
 was not far away kept her tears back. , To her the very 
 grandeur of the house made it desolate, and she was so 
 glad it was Katy who lived there and not herself as she 
 went up the soft carpeted stairway, which gave back no 
 sound, and through the marble hall to the parlor, where 
 by the table on which her cloak and furs were still lying, 
 a lady stood, as dignified and unconscious as if she had 
 not been inspecting the self-same fur which Mark Ray 
 had observed, but not like him thinking it did not mat- 
 ter, for it did matter very materially with her, and a smile 
 of contempt had curled her lip as she turned over the 
 tippet which even Phillips would not have worn. 
 
 "I wonder how long she means to stay, and if Wilford 
 will have to take her out," she was thinking, just as Helen 
 appeared in the door and advanced into the room. 
 
 By herself, it was easy to slight Helen Lennox, but in 
 her presence Mrs. Cameron found it very hard to appear 
 as cold and distant as she had meant to do, for there was 
 something about Helen which commanded her respect, 
 and she went forward to meet her, offering her hand, and 
 saying, cordially: 
 
 "Miss Lennox, I presume — my daughter Katy's 
 sister?" 
 
 Helen had not expected this, and the warm flush which 
 came to her cheeks made her very handsome, as she re- 
 turned Mrs. Cameron's greeting, and then asked more 
 particularly for Katy than she had yet done. For a while 
 they talked together, Mrs. Cameron noting carefully every 
 item of Helen's attire, as well as the purity of her language 
 and her perfect repose of manner after the first stiffness 
 had passed away. ' 
 
 "Naturally a lady -as well as Katy; there must be good 
 blood somewhere, probably on the Lennox side," was 
 Mrs. Cameron's private opinion, while Helen, after a few 
 moments, began to feel far more at ease with Mrs. Cam- 
 eron than she had done in the dining-room with Esther, 
 waiting on her, and the cross Phillips stalking once 
 through the room for no ostensible purpose except to get 
 a sight of her. 
 
 Helen wondered at herself as much as Mrs. Cameron 
 wondered at her, trying to decide whether it were ig- 
 
192 FAMILY PRffiE. 
 
 norance, conceit, obtuseness, or what, which made her 
 so self-possessed when she was expected %D appear so 
 different. 
 
 "Strong-minded," was her final decision, as she said at 
 last: "We promised Katy she should see you to-night. 
 Will you go now ?" 
 
 Then the color left Helen's face and Hps, and her limbs 
 shook perceptibly, for the knowing she was soon to meet 
 her sister unnerved her ; but by the time the door of Katy's 
 room was reached she was herself again, and there was 
 no need for Mrs. Cameron to whisper: "Pray do not 
 excite her." 
 
 Katy heard her coming, and it required all Wilford's 
 and the nurse's efforts to keep her quiet, so great was her 
 
 joy- 
 
 "Helen, Helen, darling, darling sister," she cried, as- she 
 wound her arms around Helen's neck, and laid her'golden 
 head on Helen's bosom, sobbing in a low, mournful way 
 which told Helen more how much she was beloved and 
 had been longed for than did the weak, childish voice 
 which whispered : "I've wanted you so much, oh, Helen ; 
 you don't know how much I've missed you all the years 
 I've been away. You will not leave me now," and Katy 
 clung closer to the dear sister who gently unclasped the 
 clinging arins and put back upon the pillow the quivering 
 face, which she kissed so tenderly, whispering in her own 
 old half-soothing, half-commanding way : "Be quiet now, 
 Katy. It's best that you should. No, I will not leave 
 you." 
 
 Next to Dr. Grant, Helen had more influence overKaty 
 than any living being, and it was very apparent now, for 
 as if her presence had a power to soothe, Katy grew 
 very quiet, and utterly wearied out, slept for a few mo- 
 ments with Helen's hand fast locked in hers. When 
 she awoke the tired look was gone, and turning to her 
 sister, she said: "Have you seen my baby?" while the 
 young mother love which broke so beautifully over her 
 pale face, made, it the face of an angel. 
 
 "It seems so funny that it is Katy's baby," Helen said, 
 taking the puny little thing, which with its wrinkled face 
 and red, clinched fists was not very attractive to her, 
 save as she looked at it with Katy's eyes. 
 
A NEW LIFE. 193 
 
 She did not even kiss it, but her tears dropped upon its 
 head as she thought how short the time since up in the 
 old garret at home she had dressed rag dolls for the Katy 
 who was now a mother. And still in a measure she was 
 the same, hugging Helen fondly when she said good- 
 night, and welcoming her so joyfully in the morning 
 when she came again, telling her how just the sight of her 
 sitting there by baby's crib did her so much good. 
 
 "I shall get well so fast," she said ; and she was right, 
 for Helen was worth far more to her than all the physi- 
 cian's powders, and Wilford, wl^en he saw how she im- 
 proved, was glad that Helen came, even if she did some- 
 times shock him with her independent ways, upsetting 
 all his plans and theories with regard to Katy, and meet- 
 ing him on other grounds with an opposition as puzzling 
 as it was new to him. 
 
 To Mrs. Cameron, Helen was also a study, she seemed 
 to care so little for what others might think of her, 
 evincing no hesitation, no timidity, when told one day, 
 the second day after her arrival, that Mrs. Banker was 
 in the parlor and had asked to see Miss Lennox. Mrs. 
 Cameron did not suspect how under that calm, unmoved 
 exterior, Helen was hiding a heart which beat most pain- 
 fully as she went down to meet the mother of Mark Ray, 
 going first to her own room to make some little change in 
 her toilet, and wishing that her dress was more like the 
 dress of thos.e around her — like Mrs. Cameron's, or even 
 Esther's and the fashionable nurse's. One glance she 
 gave to the brown silk, Wilford's gift, but her good sense 
 told her that the plain merino she wore was far more 
 suitable to the sick-room, where she spent her time, and 
 so with a fresh collar and cuffs, and another brush of her 
 rich hair, she went to Mrs. Banker, forgetting herself»in 
 her pleasure at finding in the stranger a lady so wholly 
 congenial and familiar, whose mild, dark eyes, so like 
 Mark Ray's, rested so kindly on her, and whose pleasant 
 voice had something motherly in its tone, putting her 
 wholly at her ease, and making her appear at her very 
 best. 
 
 Mrs. Banker was pleased with Helen, while she felt 
 a kind of pity for the young girl thrown so suddenly 
 
194 FAMILY PRIDS,. 
 
 among strangers, without even her sister to Kid and as- 
 sist her. 
 
 "Have you been out at all?" she asked, and upon 
 Helen's replying that she had not, she answered : "That is . 
 not right. Accustomed to the fresh country air, you will 
 suffer from too close confinement. Suppose you ride 
 with me. My carriage is at the door, and I have a. few 
 hours' leisure. Tell your sister I insist," she continued, 
 as Helen hesitated between inclination and what she 
 fancied was her duty. 
 
 To see New York with Mrs. Banker was a treat in- 
 deed, and Helen's heart bounded high as she ran up to 
 Katy's room with the request. 
 
 "Yes, by all means," Katy said. "It is so kind in Mrs. 
 Banker, and so like her, too. I meant that Wilford should 
 have driven with you to-day, and spoke to him about it, 
 but Mrs. Banker will do better. Tell her I thank her so 
 much for her thoughtfulness," and with a kiss Katy sent 
 Helen away, while Mrs. Cameron, after twisting her 
 rings nervously for a moment, said to Katy : 
 
 "Perhaps your sister would do well to wear your furs. 
 Hers are small and common fitch." 
 
 "Yes, certainly. Take them to her," Katy answered, 
 knowing intuitively the feeling which had prompted this 
 suggestion from her mother-in-law, who hastened to 
 Helen's room with the rich sable she was to wear in place 
 of the old fitch. 
 
 Helen appreciated the difference at once between her 
 furs and Katy's, and felt a pang of mortification as she 
 saw how old and poor and dowdy hers were beside the 
 others. But they were ner own ; the best she could afford. 
 She would not begin by borrowing, and so she declined 
 the offer, and greatly to Mrs. Cameron's horror went 
 down to Mrs. Banker clad in the despised furs, which 
 Mrs. Cameron would on no account haye had beside her 
 on Broadway in an open carriage. Mrs, Banker noticed 
 them, too, but the eager, happy face, which grew each 
 moment brighter as they drove down the street, more 
 than made amends; and in watching that and pointing 
 out the places which they passed, Mrs. Banker forgot the 
 furs and the coarse straw hat whose strings of black had 
 undeniably been dyed. Never in her life had Helen en- 
 
A NEW LIFE. 195 
 
 joyed a ride as she did that pleasant winter day, when 
 her kind friend took her wherever she wished to go, show- 
 ing her Broadway in its glory from Union Square to Wall 
 Street, where they encountered Mark in a bustling crowd. 
 He saw them, too, and beckoned to them, while Helen's 
 face grew red as, lifting his hat to her, he came up to 
 the carriage, and at his mother's suggestion took a seat 
 just opposite, asking where they had been and jocosely 
 laughing at his mother's taste in selecting such localities 
 as the Bowery, the Tombs and Barnum's Museum, when 
 there were so many finer places to.be seen. 
 
 Helen felt the hot blood pricking the roots of her hair, 
 for the Bowery, the Tombs and Barnum's Museum had 
 been her choice as the points of which she had heard the 
 most. So when Mark continued : 
 
 "You shall ride with me. Miss Lennox, and I will show 
 you something worth your seeing," she frankly answered : 
 
 "Your mother is not in fault, Mr. Ray. She asked me 
 where I wished to go, and I mentioned these places; so 
 please attribute it wholly to my country breeding, and not 
 to your mother's lack of taste." 
 
 There was something in the frank speech which won 
 Mrs. Banker's heart, while she felt an increased respect 
 for the young girl, who, she saw, was keenly sensitive?' 
 even with all her strength of character. 
 
 "You were quite right to commence as you have," she 
 said, "for now you have a still greater treat in store, and 
 Mark shall drive you to the park some day. I know you 
 will like that," 
 
 Helen felt that she should like anything with that 
 friendly voice to reassure her, and leaning back she was 
 thinking how pleasanfeit was to be in New York, how dif- 
 ferent frgm what she had expected, when a bow from 
 Mark made her look up in time to see that they were 
 meeting a carriage, in which sat Wilford, and with two 
 gayly-dressed ladies, both of whom gave her a super- 
 cilious, stare as they passed by, while the younger of the 
 two half turned her head, as if for a more prolonged gaze. 
 
 "Mrs. Grandon and Juno Cameron," Mrs. Banker said, 
 making some further remark to her son; while Helen 
 felt that the brightness of the day changed, for she could 
 not be unco ~^ious of the look with which she had been 
 
196 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 regarded by these two fashionable ladies, and again her 
 furs came tip before her, bringing a feeling of which she 
 was ashamed, especially as she had fancied herself above 
 all weakness of the kind. 
 
 But Helen was a woman, with a woman's nature, and 
 so that ride was not without its annoyance, though her 
 face was very bright as she bade Mrs. Banker and Mark 
 good-by, and then ran up the steps to Katy's home. That 
 night at the dinner, from which Mrs. Cameron was ab- 
 sent, Wilford was unusually gracious, asking "had she en- 
 joyed her ride, and if she did not find Mrs. Banker a very 
 pleasant acquaintance." 
 
 The fact was, Wilford felt a little uncomfortable him- 
 self for having suffered a stranger to do for Katy's sister 
 what devolved upon himself. Katy bad asked him to 
 drive with Helen ; but he had found it very convenient 
 to forget it, and take a seat instead with Juno and Mrs. 
 Grandon, the latter of whom complimented "Miss Len- 
 nox's fine intellectual face," after they had passed, and 
 complimented it the more as she saw how it vexed Juno, 
 who could see nothing "in those bold eyes and that mas- 
 culine forehead," just because their vis-a-vis chanced to 
 be Mark Ray's. Juno was not pleased with Helen's first 
 ^pearance in the street, but nevertheless she called upon 
 her next day, with Sybil Grandon and ber sister. Bell. To 
 this she was urged by Sybil, who, having a somewhat 
 larger experience of human nature, foresaw that Heler 
 would be popular just because Mrs. Banker had thus 
 early taken her up, and who, besides, had conceived a 
 capricious fancy to patronize Miss Lennox. But in this 
 she was foiled, for Helen was not to be patronized, and 
 she received her visitors with that calm, assured manner 
 so much a part of herself. 
 
 "Diamond cut diamond," Bell thought, as she saw how 
 frigidly polite both Juno and Helen were, each recog- 
 nizing in the other something antagonistic, which could 
 never harmonize. 
 
 Had Juno never cared for Dr. Grant, or suspected 
 Helen of standing between herself and him, and had 
 Mark Ray never stopped at Silverton, or been seen on 
 Broadway with her, she might have judged her differ- 
 ently, for there was something attractive in Helen's face 
 
A NEW LIFE. 197 
 
 ana appearance as she sat talking to her guests, not awk- 
 wardly nor timidly, but with as much quiet dignity as if 
 she had never mended Uncle Ephraim's socks, or made a 
 pound of butter among the huckleberry hills. Bell waa 
 delighted, detecting at once traces of the rare mind which 
 Helen Ixiuiox possessed, and wondering to find it so. 
 
 "I hope we shall see each other often," she said, at 
 parting. "I do not go out a great deal myself — ^that is, 
 not as much as Juno — ^but I shall he always glad to wel- 
 come you to my den. You may find something there to 
 interest you." , , 
 
 This was Bell's leave-taking, while Sybil's was, if pos- 
 sible, even more friendly, for aside from really fancying, 
 Helen, she took a perverse kind of pleasure in annoying 
 Juno, who wondered "what she or Bell could see to like 
 in that awkward country girl, whom she knew had on one 
 of Katy's cast-off collars, and her wardrobe was the most 
 ordinary she ever saw ; fitch furs, think of that I" and 
 Juno gave a little pull at the fastenings of her rich ermine 
 collar, showing so wdl over her velvet basquine. 
 
 "Fitch furs or not, they rode with Mark Ray on Broad- 
 way," Bell retorted, with a wicked look in her eyes, which 
 aroused Juno to a still higher pitch of anger, so that by 
 
 the time the carriage stopped at No. ■ -, the youn'g 
 
 lady was in a most unamiable frame of mind as regarded 
 both Helen Lennox and the offending Mark. 
 
 That evening there was at Mrs. Reynolds' a little com- 
 pany of thirty or more, and as Ma^k was present, Juno 
 seized the opportunity for ascertaining, if possible, his 
 real opinion of Helen Lennox, joking him first about his 
 having taken her to ride so soon, and insinuating that 
 he must have a penckant for every new aijd pretty face. 
 
 "Then you think her pretty ? You have called on her ?" 
 Mark replied, his manner evincing so much pleasure that 
 Juno bit her lip to keep down her wrath, and flashing 
 upon him her scornful eyes, replied : "Yes, Sybil and Bell 
 insisted that I should. Of myself I would never have 
 done it, for I have now more acquaintances than I can 
 attend to, and do not care to increase the list. Besides 
 that, I do not imagine that Miss Lennox can in any 
 way add to my happiness, brought up as she has been 
 Hmong the woods and hills, you know." 
 
198 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 "Yes, I have been there^to her home, I mean," Mark 
 rejoined, and Juno continued : 
 
 "Only for a moment, though. You should have stayed, 
 like Will, to appreciate it fully. I wish you could hear 
 him describe the feather beds in which he slept — that is, 
 describe them before he decided to take Katy; for after 
 that he was chary of his remarks, and the feathers by some 
 marvelous process were change*' into hair, for what he 
 knew or cared." 
 
 Mark hesitated a moment, and then said, quietly: 
 
 "I have stayed there all night, and have tested that 
 feather bed, but found nothing disparaging to Helen, who 
 was as much a lady in the farmhouse as here in the city." 
 
 There was a look of withering scorn on Juno's face as 
 she replied: 
 
 "As much a lady as here ! That may very well be ; but, 
 pray, how long since you took to visiting Silverton so fre- 
 quently — ^becoming so familiar as to spend the night?" 
 
 There was no mistaking the jealousy which betrayed 
 itself into every tone of Juno's voice as she stood before 
 Mark a fit picture of the enraged goddess whose name she , 
 bore. Soon recollecting herself, however, she changed 
 her mode of attack, and said, laughingly : 
 •' "Seriously, though, this Miss Lennox seems a very nice 
 girl, and is admirably fitted, I think, for the position she is 
 to fill — that of a country physician's wife," and in the black 
 eyes there was a wicked sparkle as Juno saw that her 
 meaning was readily understood, Mark looking quickly at 
 her and asking if she referred to Dr. Grant. 
 
 "Certainly; I imagine that was settled as long ago as 
 we met him in Paris. Once I thought it might have been 
 our Katy, but was mistaken. I think the doctor and M^ss 
 Lennox well adapted to each other — it is an excellent 
 match." 
 
 There was for a moment a dull, heavy pain at Mark's 
 heart, caused by that little item of information which made 
 him so uncomfortable. On the whole he did not doubt it, 
 for everything he could recall of Morris had a tendency to 
 strengthen the belief. Nothing could be more probable, 
 thrown together as they had been, without other congenial 
 society, and nothing could be more suitable 
 
A NEW LIFE. 199 
 
 "They are well matched," Mark thought, as he walked 
 listlessly through Mrs. Reynolds' parlors, seeing only one 
 face, and that the face of Helen Lennox, with the lily in 
 her hair, just as it looked when she had tied the apron 
 about his neck and laughed at his appearance. 
 
 Helen was not the ideal which in his boyhood Mark had 
 cherished of the one who was to be his wife, for that was 
 of a more brilliant, beautiful woman, a woman more like 
 Juno, with whom he had always been on the best of terms, 
 giving her some reason, it is true, for believing herself the 
 favored one ; but ideals change as years go on, and Helen 
 Lennox had more attractions for him now than the most 
 dashing belle of his acquaintance. 
 
 "I do not believe I am in love with her," he said to him- 
 self that night, when, after his return from Mrs. Rey- 
 nolds' he sat for a long time before the fire in his dress- 
 ing-room, cogitating upon what he had heard, and won- 
 dering why it should affect him so much. "Of course I 
 am not," he continued, feeling the necessity of reiterating 
 the assertion by way of making himself believe it. "She 
 is not at all what I used to imagine the future Mrs. Mark 
 Ray to be. Half my friends would say she had no style, 
 no beauty, and perhaps she has not. Certainly she does, 
 not look just like the ladies at Mrs. Reynolds' to-night, 
 but give her the same advantages and she would surpass 
 them all." 
 
 And then Mark Ray went off into a reverie, in which he 
 saw Helen Lennox his wife, a.'-l with the aids by which he 
 would surround her rapidly developing into as splendid a 
 woman as little Katy Cameron, who did not need to be de- 
 veloped, but took all hearts at once by that natural, witch- 
 ing grace so much a part of herself. It was a very pleas- 
 ant picture which Mark painted upon the mental canvas ; 
 but there came a great blur blotting out its brightness as 
 he remembered Dr. Grant, and felt that Linwood was one 
 day to be Helen's home. 
 
 "But it shall not interfere with my being just as kind to 
 her as before. She will need some attendant here, and 
 Wilford, I know, will be glad to shove her off his hands. 
 He is so infernal proud," Mark said, and taking a fresh 
 cigar he finished his reverie with the magnanimous re- 
 solve that were Helen a hundred times engaged she 
 
200 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 should be his especial care during her sojourn in Ne* 
 iYork. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 HELEN IN SOCIETY. 
 
 It was three days before Christmas, and Katy was talk- 
 ing confidentially to Mrs. Banker, whom she had asked to 
 see the next time she should call. 
 
 "I want so much to surprise her," she said, speaking in 
 a whisper, "and you have been so kind to us both that I 
 thought it might not trouble you very much if I asked you 
 to make the selection for me, and see to the engraving. 
 iWilford gave me fifty dollars, all I needed, as I had fifty 
 more of my own, and now that I have a baby, I am sure 
 I shall never again care to go out. My darling baby, 
 how small the whole world seems to me now when com- 
 pared with her," and the little mother glanced lovingly at 
 the crib where slept the baby, worth more than all the 
 world. 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Banker said, thoughtfully, as she rolled up 
 the bills, "you wish me to get as heavy bracelets as I can 
 fold — for the hundred dollars." 
 
 "Yes," Katy replied, "I think that will please her, don't 
 you?" 
 
 Mrs. Banker knew Katy's fondness for jewelry, and 
 knowing, too, that her girlhood was spent in comparative 
 poverty, she could readily understand how she would 
 gratify her taste when circumstances were favorable ; but 
 Helen was different, and she felt certain that the hundred 
 dollars could be spent to better advantage and in a manner 
 more satisfactory to her. Still she hardly liked to inter- 
 fere until Katy, observing her hesitancy, asked again if 
 she did not think Helen would be pleased. 
 
 "Yes, pleased with anything you choose to give her, but 
 ■ — excuse me, dear Mrs. Cameron, if I speak as openly as 
 if I were the mother of you both. Bracelets are suitable 
 for yon who can have everything else, but is there not 
 something your sister needs more, something which will 
 do more good? Now, allowing me to suggest, I should 
 say, buy her some fnrs, and let the bracelets go. In Sil- 
 
HELEN IN SOCIETY. 201 
 
 verton her furs were well fenough, but here, as the sister of 
 Mrs. Wilford Cameron, she is deserving of better." 
 
 It was the first time that Katy had thought that in New 
 York her sister might need more than at home. Seeing 
 her only in the dim sickroom, the contrast between Helen 
 and her and her husband's sisters had not struck her, or if 
 it had, she gave the preference to Helen in her dark me- 
 rino and linen collar, rather than to Juno in her silks and 
 velvet; but she understood Mrs. Banker at once, her 
 cheeks reddening as there flashed upon her the reason 
 why Wilford had never yet been in the street with Helen, 
 notwithstanding that she had more than once requested it. 
 
 "You are right," she said. "It was thoughtless in me 
 not to think of this myself. Helen shall have the furs, 
 and whatever else is necessary. I am so glad you re- 
 minded me of it. You are kind as my own mother," and 
 Katy kissed her friend fondly as she bade her good-by, 
 charging her a dozen times not to let Helen know the sur- 
 prise in store for her. ^ 
 
 There was little need of this caution, for Mrs. Banker 
 ■understood hum.an nature too well to divulge a matter 
 which might wound one as sensitive as Helen. Between 
 the latter and herself there was a strong bond of friend- 
 ship, and to the kind patronage of this lady Helen ow^S 
 most of the attentions she had as yet received from her 
 sister's friends ; while Mark Ray did much toward lifting 
 her to the place she held in spite of the common country 
 dress, which Juno unsparingly criticised, and which, in 
 fact, kept Wilford from taking her out, as his wife so often 
 asked him to do. And Helen, too, keenly felt the differ- 
 ence between herself and those with whom she came in 
 contact, crying over it more than once, but never dreaming 
 of the surprise in sfore for her, when on Christmas morn- 
 ing she went as usual to Katy's room, finding her alone, 
 her face all aglow with excitement, and her bed ajperfect 
 showcase of dry goods, which she bade Helen examine 
 and say how she liked them. 
 
 Wilford was no niggard with his money, and when 
 Katy had asked for more, it had been given unsparingly, 
 even though he knew the purpose to which it was to be 
 applied. 
 
 "Oh, Katy, Katy, why did you do it?" Helen cried, her 
 
202 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 tears falling like rain through the fingers she clasped over 
 her eyes. 
 
 "You are not angry ?" Katy said,, in some dismay, as 
 Helen continued to sob without looking at the handsome 
 furs, the stylish hat, the pretty cloak, and rich patterns of 
 blue and black silk, which Mrs. Banker had selected. 
 
 "No, oh, no !" Helen replied. "I know it was all meant 
 well; but there is Something in me which rebels against 
 taking this from Wilford. He had better have sent to 
 Silverton for that trunk. Its contents have never been 
 disturbed, and surely there might be something found 
 good enough for me." 
 
 It was the first time Helen had alluded to that trunk ; 
 but Katy did not think that anything ill-natured was 
 meant by the remark. She only felt that Helen shrank 
 from receiving so much from Wilford, as it was natural 
 she should, and she hastened to reassure her, using all her 
 powers to comfort her until she at last grew calm enough 
 to examine and admire the Christmas gifts upon which no 
 expense had been spared. Much as we may ignore dress, 
 and sinful as is an inordinate love for it, there is yet about 
 it an influence for good, when the heart of the wearer is 
 right, holding it subservient to all higher, holier affections, 
 •^t least Helen Lennox found it so, when, clad in her new 
 garments, which added so much to her good looks, she 
 drove with Mrs. Banker, or returned Sybil Grandon's call, 
 feeling that there was about her nothing for which Katj 
 need to blush, or even Wilford, who blandly invited her 
 one pleasant day to drive with him to the Park, seeming 
 so disappointed when told that he had been forestalled by 
 Mr. Ray, whose fine turnout attracted less attention that 
 afternoon than did the handsome lady at his side, Helen 
 Lennox, who bade fair to rival even her Sister Katy tarry- 
 ing at home, and listening with delight to the flattering 
 things which Wilford reported as having been said of 
 Helen by those for whose opinion he cared the most. He 
 was not afraid to be seen with her now, and Helen, while 
 knowing the reason of the change, did not feel like quar- 
 reling with him for it, but accepted with a good-natured 
 grace of what made her life in New York very happy. 
 With Bell Cameron she was on the best of terms ; )vhile 
 Sybil Grandon, always going with the tide, professed for 
 
HELEN IN SOCIETY. 203 
 
 her an admiration, which, whether fancied or real, did 
 much toward making her popular ; and when, as the mis- 
 tress of her brother's house, she issued cards of invita- 
 tion for a large party, she took especial pains to insist upon 
 Helen's attending, even if Katy were not able. But from 
 this Helen shrank. She could not meet so many strangers 
 alone, she said, and so the matter was dropped, until Mrs. 
 Banker offered to chaperone her, when Helen began to 
 waver, changing her mind at last and promising to go. 
 
 Never since the days of her first party had Katy been so 
 "wild with excitement as she was in deciding upon Helen's 
 dress, which well became the wearer, who scarcely knew 
 herself when, before the mirror, with the blaze of the 
 chandelier falling upon her, she saw the picture of a young 
 girl arrayed in rich pink silk, with an overskirt of lace, 
 and the light pretty cloak, just thrown upon her uncovered 
 neck, where Katy's pearls were shining. Even Wilford 
 was pleased, and stood by admiring her almost as much as 
 Katy. 
 
 "What would they say at home if they could only see 
 yau ?" Katy exclaimed, throwing back the handsome cloak 
 so as to show more of the well-shaped neck, gleaming' so 
 white beneath it. 
 
 "Aunt Betsy would say I had forgotten half my dress," 
 
 Helen replied, blushing as she glanced at the uncovered 
 
 arms, which never since her childhood had been thus ex- 
 
 . posed to view, except at such times as her household duties 
 
 had required it. 
 
 Even this exception would not apply to the low neck, 
 at which Helen long demurred, yielding finally to Katy's 
 entreaties, but often wondering what Mark Ray would 
 think, and if he would not be shocked. Mark Ray had 
 been strangely blended with all Helen's thoughts as she 
 submitted herself to Esther's practiced hands, and when 
 the hairdresser, summoned to her aid, asked what flowers 
 she would wear, it was a thought of him which led her to 
 select a single water lily, which looked as natural as if its 
 bed had really been the bosom of Fairy Pond. 
 
 "Nothing else? Surely mademoiselle will have these 
 ..V.W green leaves ?" Celine had said, but Helen would have 
 nothing save the lily, which was twined tastefully amid 
 the heavy braids of the brown hair, whose length and lux- 
 
204 FAMILY PRroE, 
 
 uriance had thrown the hairdresser into ecstasies of de- 
 light, and made Esther lament that in these days of false 
 tresses no one would give Miss Lennox credit for what 
 was wholly her own. 
 
 "You will be the belle of the evening," Katy said, as 
 she kissed'her sister good-night and then ran back to her 
 baby, while Wilford, 3aelding to her importunities that he 
 should not remain with her, followed Mrs. Banker's car- 
 riage in his own private conveyance, and was soon set 
 down at Sybil Grandon's door. 
 
 Meanwhile, at the elder Cameron's there had been a dis- 
 cussion touching the propriety of their taking Helen under 
 their protection, instead of leaving her to Mrs. Banker to 
 chaperone. Bell insisting that it ought to be done, while 
 the father swore roundly at the imperious Juno, who 
 would not "be bothered with that country girl." 
 
 "You would rather leave her wholly to Mark Ray and 
 his mother, I suppose," Bell said, adding, as she saw the 
 flush on Juno's face. "You know you are dying of jeal- 
 ousy, and nothing annoys you so much as to hear people 
 talk of Mark's attentions to Miss Lennox." 
 
 "Do they talk?" Mrs. Cameron asked quickly, while in 
 her gray eyes there gleamed a light far more dangerous 
 and threatening to Helen than Juno's open scorn. 
 
 Mrs. Cameron had long intended Mark Ray for her 
 daughter, and accustomed to see everything bend to her 
 wishes, she had come to consider the matter as almost cer- 
 tain, even though he had never proposed in words. He 
 had done everything else, she thought, attending Juno con- 
 stantly and frequenting their house so much that it was a 
 standing joke for his friends to seek him there when he 
 was not at home or at his office. Latterly, however, there 
 had been a change, and the ambitious mother could not 
 deny that since Helen's arrival in New York Mark had 
 visited them less frequently and stayed a shorter time, 
 while she had more than once heard of him at her son's in 
 company with Helen. Very rapidly a train of thought 
 passed\ through her mind; but it did not manifest itself 
 upon her face, which was composed and quiet as she d^"- 
 eided with Juno that Helen should not trouble them. 
 With the utmost care Juno arrayed herself for the party, 
 thinking with a great deal of complacency how impossible 
 
HELEN IN SOCIETY. 205 
 
 it was for Helen Lennox to compete with her in point of 
 dress. 
 
 "She is such a prude, I daresay she will go in that blue 
 silk with the long sleeves and high neck, looking like a 
 Dutch doll," she said to Bell, as she shook back the folds 
 of her rich crimson, and turned her head to see the effect 
 of her wide braids of hair. 
 
 "I am not certain that a high dress is worse than bones," 
 Bell retorted, playfully touching Juno's neck, which, 
 though white and gracefully formed, was shockingly 
 guiltless of flesh. , 
 
 There was an angry reply, and then wrapping her cloak 
 about her Juno followed to their carriage, and was ere 
 long one of the gay crowd thronging Sybil Grandon's par- 
 lors. Helen had not yet arrived, and Juno was hoping 
 she would not come, when there was a stir at the door and 
 Mrs. Banker, in her velvet and diamonds, appeared, and 
 with her Helen Lennox, but so transformed that Juno 
 hardly knew her, looking twice ere she was sure that the 
 beaut-iful young lady, so wholly self-possessed, was indeed 
 the country girl she affected to despise. 
 
 "Who is she?" was asked by many, who at once ac- 
 knowledged her claims to their attention, and as soon as 
 practicable sought her acquaintance, so that Helen sud- 
 denly found herself the center of a little court of which 
 she was the queen and Mark her sworn knight. 
 
 Presuming upon his mother's chaperonage, he claimed 
 the right of attending her, and Juno's glory waned quite 
 as effectually as it had done when Katy was the leading 
 star to which New York paid homage. 
 
 Juno had been aijpoyed then, but now fierce jealousy 
 took possession of her heart as she watched the girl wh^ih 
 all seemed to admire, even Wilford feeling a thrill of 
 pride that the possession of so attractive a sister-in-law re- 
 flected credit upon himself. 
 
 He was not ashamed of her now, nor did he retain a 
 single thought of the farmhouse or Uncle Ephraim as he 
 made his way to her side, standing protectingly at her 
 left, just as Mark was standing at her right, and at last 
 asking her to dance. 
 
 With a heightened color Helen declined, saying frankly : 
 
206 FAMILY PRIDK. 
 
 "I have never learned." 
 
 "You miss a great deal," Wilford rejoined, appealing to 
 Mark for a confirmation of his words. 
 
 But Mark did not heartily respond. He, too, had so- 
 licited Helen as a partner when the dancing first com- 
 menced, and her quiet refusal had disappointed him a 
 little, for Mark was fond of dancing, and though as a 
 general thing he disapproved of waltzes and polkas when 
 he was the looker-on, he felt that there would be some- 
 thing vastly agreeable and exhilarating in clasping Helen 
 in his arm and whirling her about the room just as Juno 
 was being whirled by a young cadet, a friend of Lieuten- 
 ant Bob's. But when he reflected that not his arm alone 
 would encircle her waist, or his breath touch her snowy 
 neck, he was glad she did not dance, and professing a 
 weariness he did not feel, he declined to join the dancers 
 on the floor, but kept with Helen, enjoying what she en- 
 joyed, and putting her so perfectly at her ease that no 
 one would ever have dreamed of the curdy cheeses she 
 had made, or the pounds of butter she had churned. But 
 Mark thought of it as he secretly admired the neck and 
 arms seen once before on that memorable day when he as- 
 sisted Helen in the labors of the dairy. If nothing else 
 had done so, the lily in her hair would have brought that 
 morning to his mind, and once as they walked up and 
 down the hall he spoke of the ornament she had chosen, 
 and how well it became her. 
 
 "Pond I'lilies are my pets," she said, "and I have kept 
 one of those I gathered last fall when at Silverton. Do 
 you remember them?" and his eyes rested upon Helen 
 with a look that made her blush as she faintly answered 
 "yes"; but she did not tell him of a little box at home, a 
 box made of cones and acorns, and where was hidden a 
 withered water lily, which she could not throw away, even 
 after its beauty and fragrance had departed. 
 
 Had she told him this it might have put to flight the 
 doubts troubling Mark so much, and making him wonder 
 if Dr. Grant had really a claim upon the girl stealing his 
 heart so fast. 
 
 "I mean to sound her," he thought, and as just then 
 Lieutenant Bob passed by, making some jocose remark 
 about his offending all the fair ones by the course he was 
 
HELEN IN SOCIETY. 207 
 
 taking, Mark said to Helen, who suggested returning to 
 the parlor : 
 
 "As you like, though it cannot matter ; a person known 
 to be engaged is above Bob Reynolds' jokes." 
 
 Quick as thought the hot blood stained Helen's face and 
 neck, for Mark had made a most egregious blunder, giv- 
 ing her only the impression that he was the engaged one 
 referred to, not herself, and for a moment she forgot the 
 gay scene around her in the sharpness of the pang with 
 which she recognized all that Mark Ray was to her. 
 
 • "It was kind in him to warn me. I wish it had been 
 sooner," she thought, and then with a bitter feeling of 
 shame she wondered how much he had guessed of her real 
 feelings, and who the betrothed one was. "Not Juno 
 Cameron," she hoped, as after a few moments Mrs. Cam- 
 eron came up, and adroitly detaching Mark from her side, 
 took his place while he sauntered to a group of ladies and 
 •was ere long dancing merrily with Juno, whose crimson 
 Tobe once brushed against Helen's pink, and whose black 
 eyes looked exultingly into Helen's face. 
 
 "They are a well-matched pair," Mrs. Cameron said, 
 assuming a very confidential manner toward Helen, who 
 assented to the remark, while the lady continued : "There 
 is but one thing wrong about Mark Ray. He is a most 
 unscrupulous flirt, pleased with every new face, and this 
 of course annoys Juno." 
 
 "Are they engaged?" came faintly and involuntarily 
 from Helen's lips, while Mrs. Cameron's foot beat the 
 carpet with a very becoming hesitancy, as she replied : 
 *'Oh, that was settled in our family a long time ago. Wil- 
 ford and Mark have always been like brothers." 
 
 If Helen had been on the watch for equivocations she 
 ■would not have plaiSed as much stress as she did on Mrs. 
 Cameron's words, for that lady did not say positively 
 *'They are engaged." She could not quite bring herself 
 to a deliberate falsehood, which, if detected, would reflect 
 upon her character as a lady, but she could mislead Helen, 
 and she did so effectually, as was evinced by the red spot 
 ■which burned on her cheeks, and by her uncertain way of 
 replying to a gentleman who stood by her for a moment, 
 addressing to her some casual remark and departing with 
 the impression that Miss Lennox was verv timid and 
 
208 FAMILY PRffiE. 
 
 shy. After he was gone, Mrs. Cameron continued, "It is 
 not like jus to bruit our aflf airs abroad, and were my daugh- 
 ter ten times engaged, the world would be none the 
 wiser. I doubt if even Katy suspects what I have admit- 
 ted ; but knowing how fascinating Mark can be, and that 
 just at present he seems to be pleased with you, I have 
 acted as I should wish a friend to act toward my oy/ta 
 child. Were it not that you are one of our farpily, t 
 might not have interfered, and I trust you not, to repeat 
 even to Katy what I have said." 
 
 Helen nodded assent, while in her heart was a wild tu- 
 mult of feelings — flattered pride, disappointment, indigna- 
 tion and mortification all struggling for the mastery — 
 mortification to feel that she who had quietly ig- 
 nored such a passion as love when connected with her- 
 self, had, nevertheless, been pleased with the attentions 
 of one who was only amusing himself with her, as a child 
 amuses itself with some new toy soon to be thrown aside 
 — ^indignation at him for vexing Juno at her expense — dis- 
 appointment that he should care for such as Juno, and flat- 
 tered pride that Mrs. Cameron should include her in 
 "our family." Helen had as few weak points as most 
 young ladies, but she was not free from them all, and 
 the fact that Mrs. Cameron had taken her into a confi- 
 dence which even Katy did not share, was soothing to 
 her ruffled spirits, particularly as after that confidence 
 Mrs. Cameron was excessively gracious to her, introdu- 
 cing her to many whom she did not know before, and pay- 
 ing her numberless little attentions, which made Juno 
 stare, while the clearer-seeing Bell arched her eyebrows, 
 and wondered for what Helen was to be made a catspaw 
 by her clever mother. Whatever it was, it did not appear, 
 save as it showed itself in Helen's slightly changed de- 
 meanor when Mark again sought her society, and tried to 
 bring back to her face the look he had left there. But 
 something evidently had come between them, and the 
 young man racked his brain to find the cause of this sud- 
 den indifference in one who had been pleased with him 
 only a short half hour before. 
 
 "It's that confounded waltzing which disgusted her," 
 he said, "and no wonder, for if ever a man looks like an 
 idiot, it is when he is kicking up his heels to the sound of a 
 
HELEN ii; SOCIETY. 209 
 
 \ioi, and wheeling around some woman whose skirts 
 sweep everything within the circle of a rod, and whose 
 face wears that die-away expression I have so often no- 
 ticed. I've half a mind to swear I'll never dance again." 
 
 But Mark was too fond of dancing to quit it at once, 
 ^nd finding Helen still indifferent, he yielded to circum- 
 stances, and the last she saw of him, as at a comparatively 
 early' hour she left the gay scene, he was dancing again 
 with Juno, whose face beamed with a triumphant look, as 
 if she in some way guessed the aching heart her rival car- 
 ried home. It ^as a heavy blow to Helen, for she had be- 
 come greatly interfested in Mark Ray, whose attentions 
 had made her stay in New York so pleasant. But these 
 were over now — at least the excitement they brought was 
 over, and Helen, as she sat in her dressing-room at home, 
 and thought of the future as well as the past, felt stealing 
 over her a sense of desolation and loneliness such as she 
 had experienced but once before, and that on the night 
 when leaning from her window at the farmhouse where 
 Mark Ray was stepping she had shuddered and shrank 
 from living all her days among tlie rugged hills of Silver- 
 ton. New York had opened an entirely new world to her, 
 showing her much that was vain and frivolous, with much 
 too, that was desirable and good; and if there. had crept 
 into her heart the vague thought that a life with such peo- 
 ple as Mrs. Banker and those who frequented her house 
 would be preferable to a life in Silverton, where only Mor- 
 ris understood her, it was but the natural result of daily 
 intercourse with one who had studied to please and inter- 
 est as Mark Ray had done. But Helen had too much good 
 sense and strength of will long to indulge in what she 
 would have called "love-sick regrets" in others, and she 
 began to devise the best course for her to adopt hereafter, 
 concluding finally to treat him much as she had done, lest 
 he should suspect how deeply she had been wounded. 
 Now that she knew of his engagement, it would be an 
 easy matter, she thought, so to demean herself as neither 
 to annoy Juno new really to vex him. Thoroughly now 
 she understood why Juno Cameron had seemed to dislike 
 her so much. 
 
 "It is natural," she said, "and yet I honestly believe I 
 like her better for knowing what I dOi_. .There must be 
 
210 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 some good beneath that proud exterior, or Mark would 
 never seek her." 
 
 Still, look at it from any point she chose, it seemed a 
 strange, unsuitable match, and Helen's heart ached sadly 
 as she finally retired to rest, thinking what might have 
 been had Juno Cameron found some other lover more like 
 her than Mark could ever be. 
 
 CHAPTER XXni. 
 
 GENEVRA. 
 
 Far more elated with her sister's success than Helen, 
 herself, Katy could talk of little else next morning, telling 
 Helen how many complimentary things Wilford had said 
 of her, and how much he had heard others say, while 
 Mark Ray had seemed perfectly fascinated. 
 
 "I never thought till last night how nice it would be for 
 you to marry Mark and settle in New York," Katy said, 
 never dreaming how she was wounding Helen, who, but 
 for Mrs. Cameron's charge, would have proclaimed 
 Mark's engagement with Juno. 
 
 As it was, she felt the words struggling against her lips ; 
 but she forced them back, and tried to laugh at Katy's 
 castles in the air, as she called them. 
 
 "You looked beautiful, Wilford said," Katy con- 
 tinued, "and I am so glad, only," and Katy's voice fell, 
 while her eyes rested upon the crib where the baby was 
 sleeping, "only I think Wilford is more anxious than 
 ever for me to go again into society. He will not hear of 
 my staying home for the entire season, as I wish to do, for 
 baby is better to me than all the parties in the world. I 
 am so tired of it all, and have been ever since I was at 
 Newport. I was so vain and silly there, and I have been 
 so sorry since. But that summer cured me entirely, and 
 you don't know how I loathe the very thought of entering 
 society again. For your sake I should be willing to go 
 sometimes, if there were no one else. But Mrs. Banker 
 has kindly offered to take you under her charge, and so 
 there is no necessity for me to matronize you. 
 
 Helen laughed merrily at the idea of being matronized 
 
GENEVRA. 211 
 
 by the little girlish creature not yet twenty years of age, 
 kissing fcwidly the white, thin cheek so much whiter and 
 thinner than it used to be. 
 
 "You are confining yourself too much," she said. "You 
 are losing all your color. Fresh air will do you good, 
 even if parties will not. Suppose we drive this after- 
 noon to Marian Hazleton's and show her the baby." 
 
 Nothing could please Katy better. Several times since 
 baby's birth she sent a message to Fourth Street, begging 
 of Marian to come and see her treasure, and once, urged 
 by her entreaties, Wilford himself had written a brief 
 note asking that Miss Hazletoa would call if perfectly 
 convenient. But there had always been some excuse, 
 some plea of work, some putting off the coming, until Katy 
 feared that something might be wrong, and entered heart- 
 ily into Helen's propositions. It was a pleasant winter's 
 day, and toward the middle of the afternoon the Cameron 
 carriage stopped before the humble dwelling where Mar- 
 ian Hazleton was living. 
 
 "You needn't go up," Katy said to the nurse, feeling 
 that she would rather meet Marian without the presence 
 of a stranger. "Miss Lennox will carry baby and you can 
 wait here. It is not cold," she added, as the nurse showed 
 signs of remonstrance, "and if it is, John can drive you 
 around a square or two." 
 
 After this there was no further demur, and Katy soon 
 stood with Helen at the door of Marian's room. She was 
 at home, uttering an exclamation of astonishm.ent when 
 she saw who her visitors were, and turning white as ashes, 
 when Katy, taking her baby from Helen's arms, placed it 
 in her lap, saying. 
 
 "You would not come to see it and so I brought it to 
 you. Isn't she a bfeauty?" 
 
 There was a blur before Marian's eyes, a pressure 
 about her heart which seemed congealing into stone, but 
 she tried to stammer out something, bending over the 
 tiny thing. Wilford Cameron's child, which she could 
 not see for the thick blackness around her. Tears and 
 bitter pangs of grief had the news of that child's birtl> 
 wrung from Marian, bringing back all the dreadful past, 
 and making her hear again as if it were but yesterday, 
 the cold, decisive words: 
 
212 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 "If thert *ere a child it would of course be tfifferent." 
 
 There was a cliild now, and it lay in Marian's lap, clad 
 in the garments she had made, the cambric and the lace, 
 the flannel and the merino, which nevertheless could not 
 take from it that look of sickly infancy, or make it beau- 
 tiful to others beside the mother. But it was Wilford's 
 child, and so when for a moment both Helen and Katy 
 turned to examine a rosebush just in bloom, Marian 
 Hazleton hugged the little creature to her bosom, whisper- 
 ing over it a blessing which, coming from one so wronged, 
 was doubly valuable. There was a tear, one of Marian's, 
 on its face, when Katy came back to it, and there were 
 more in Marian's eyes, falling like rain, as Katy asked, 
 "What makes you cry?" 
 
 "I was thinking of what might have been," came strug- 
 gling from Marian's pale lips, and Helen felt a throb of 
 pain as she remembered Dr. Grant, and then thought of 
 herself in connection with this sad "Might have been." 
 
 Marian, too, knew the full meaning of those words, as 
 was attested by the gush of tears which dropped so fast on 
 baby's face that Katy, alarmed for the safety of the crim- 
 son cloak wrapped around it for effect, took the child in 
 her own arms, commencing that cooing conversation 
 which shows how much young mothers love their first 
 born. Marian's tears ceased at last, and after question- 
 ing Helen of Silverton and its people, she turned abruptly 
 to Katy, still rocking and talking to her child, and asked : 
 
 "What do you intend to call her ?" 
 
 "Genevra," Katy said, and simultaneously with that 
 word Marian Hazleton dropped without sound or motion 
 to the floor. 
 
 Had Helen and Katy been put upon their oath, both 
 would have testified that even before the answer came, 
 •Marian had fainted, just as she did when Helen first went 
 to secure her services for Katy's bridal wardrobe. This 
 time, however, there was no Dr. Grant at hand, and so the 
 frig^htened ladies did what they could, bathing her face 
 and chafing her cold hands until the life came slowly back, 
 and with a frightened expression Marian looked around 
 her, asking what had happened? 
 
 "Yes, I know now," she said, as baby's cry fell on her 
 ear, but restoring her wholly to herself. "Fainting is 
 
THE NAME. 213 
 
 one of my weaknesses," she continued, turning to welen. 
 "You have seen me so before. It is my heart," and with 
 this explanation she satisfied her visitors, though Katy 
 expressed much solicitude and proposed to send her medi- 
 cal aid. 
 
 But Marian declined, and when it was time for Katy to 
 go, she took the child in her own arms again, and as if 
 there was now a new link which bound her to it, she 
 kissed it many times, while in the eyes fastened so lov- 
 ingly, so wistfully upon its face, there was a strange, 
 yearning look which neither Helen nor Katy could 
 fathom. Certain it is they had no suspicion of the truth, 
 and on their way home they spoke with much concern o£ 
 these fainting attacks, wondering if nothing could be done 
 to ward them off. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE NAME. 
 
 Wilford had wished for a son, and in the first moment 
 of disappointment he had almost been conscious of a half- 
 resentful feeling toward Katy, who had given him only a 
 daughter. A boy, a Cameron heir, was something of 
 which to be proud, especially as Jamie would always re- 
 main a helpless cripple; but a little girl, scarcely larger 
 than the last doll with which Katy had played, was a dif- 
 ferent thing, and it required all Wilford's philosophy and 
 common sense to keep him from showing his chagrin to 
 the girlish creature, whose love had fastened with an idol- 
 atrous grasp upon»her child, clinging to it with a devo- 
 tion which made Helen tremble as she thought what if 
 God should take it from her. 
 
 "He won't, oh. He won't," Katy had said, when once 
 she suggested the possibility, and in the eyes usually so 
 soft and gentle there was a fierce gleam, as Katy hugged 
 her baby closer to her, and said : 
 
 "God- does not willfully torment us. He will not take 
 my baby, when my whole life would die v.nth it. I had 
 almost forgotten to pray, there was so much else to do, 
 till baby came, but now I never go to sleep at night or 
 
214 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 ■waken in the morning, that there does not come a prayer 
 of thanks for baby given to me. I could hardly love God 
 if He took her away." 
 
 There was a chill feeling at Helen's heart as she listened 
 to her sister and then glanced at the baby so passionately 
 loved. In time it would be pretty, for it had Katy's per- 
 fect features, and the hair just beginning to grow was a 
 soft, golden brown ; but it was too small now, too puny to 
 be handsome, while in its eyes there was a scared, hunted 
 kind of look, which chafed Wilford more than aught else 
 could have done, for that was the look which had crept 
 into Katy's eyes at Newport when she found she was not 
 going home. Still it was a Cameron, of royal lineage, 
 loved at least by four, its mother, its grandfather, Helen 
 and Jamie, while the others looked forward to a time when 
 they should be proud of it, even if they were not so now. 
 
 Many discussions had been held at the elder Cameron's 
 concerning its name, Mrs. Cameron deciding finally that it 
 should bear her own, Margaret Augusta, while Juno ad- 
 vocated that of Rose Marie, inasmuch as their new clergy- 
 man would Frenchify the pronunciation so perfectly, roll- 
 ing the "r," and placing so much accent on the last syllable. 
 At this the Father Cameron swore as cussed nonsense — 
 "better call it Jemima, a grand sight, than saddle it with 
 such a silly name as Rose Mah-ree, with a roll to the 'r,' " 
 and with another oath the disgusted old man departed, 
 while Bell suggested that Katy might wish to have a 
 voice in naming her own child. 
 
 This was a possibility that had formed no part of Mrs. 
 Cameron's thoughts, or Juno's. Of course Katy would 
 acquiesce in whatever Wilford said was best, and he al- 
 ways thought as they did. Consequently there would be 
 no trouble whatever. It was time the child had a name 
 • — time it wore the elegant christening robe, Mrs. Camer- 
 on's gift, which cost more money than would have fed a 
 hungry fainily for weeks. The matter must be decided, 
 and so with a view of deciding it a family dinner party 
 was held at No. — Fifth Avenue, the day succeeding the 
 call on Marian Hazleton. 
 
 Very pure and beautiful Katy looked as she once more 
 took her old place in the chair they called hers at Father 
 Cameron's, because it was the one she had always pre- 
 
THE NAME. 215 
 
 ferred to any other — a large, niatherly easy-chair, which 
 took in nearly the whole of her petite figure, and against 
 whose soft cushioned back she leaned her curly head with 
 a pretty air of importance, as after dinner was over, she 
 came back to the parlor With the other ladies, waiting for 
 the gentlemen to join them, when they were to talk up 
 baby's name. 
 
 Katy knew exactly what it would be called, but as Wil- 
 ford had never asked her, she was keeping it a secret, not 
 doubting that the others would be quite as much delighted 
 as herself with the novel name, "Genevra." Not long be- 
 fore her illness she had read an English story, which had 
 in it a Genevra, and she had at once seized upon it as the 
 most delightful cognomen a person could well possess. 
 "Genevra Cameron!" She had repeated it to herself 
 many a time as she sat with her baby on her lap. She 
 had written it on sundry slips of paper, which had after- 
 ward found their way into the grate; and once she had 
 scratched with her diamond ring upon the window pane 
 in her dressing-room, where it now stood in legible char- 
 acters, "Genevra Cameron !" There should be no middle 
 name to take from the sweetness of the first— only Ge- 
 nevra — ^that was sufficient; and the little lady tapped her 
 foot impatiently upon the carpet, wishing Wilford and 
 father would hurry and come in. 
 
 Never for an instant had it entered her mind that she, 
 as .the mother, would not be permitted to call her baby 
 what she chose ; so when she heard Mrs. Cameron speak- 
 ing to Helen of Margaret Augusta, she smiled compla- 
 cently, tossing her curls of gblden brown, and thinking to 
 herself, "Maggie Cameron — pretty enough, but not like 
 Genevra. Indeed I shall not have any Margarets now; 
 next time perhaps I may." 
 
 Since the party at Mrs. Grandon's, Mrs. Cameron had 
 been very kind and gracious to Helen, while Juno, who 
 understood that Helen believed her engaged to Mark, 
 treated her with far more attention than before, and now 
 both kept near to her, chatting familiarly, Mrs. Cameron 
 about th| opera, and Juno the matinee, to which they were 
 to take her, without waiting for Katy. Helen's success at 
 the party, together with Mrs. Banker's and SyMl's evi- 
 dent determination to bring her forward, had taught then* 
 
216 MMILT PRIDE. 
 
 that she couid not well be^onger ignored, and as Juno did 
 not greatly dread her as a rival now, she could afford to 
 be gracious; and she was, making herself so agreeable 
 that Helen observed the change, imputing it to the fact 
 that Mark had probably returned to his allegiance, and 
 blaming herself for having unwittingly wounded Juno by 
 receiving his attentions. The belief that she was adding 
 to another's happiness made it easier to bear the pang, 
 which would make itself felt whenever she recalled the 
 kindly manner, the handsome face, and more than all the 
 expressive eyes, which had looked whole volumes into 
 hers; and Helen quite enjoyed her first dinner party at 
 the Camerons, though she began to wish, with Katy, that 
 the gentlemen would join them. 
 
 They came at last, and Father Cameron drew his chair 
 close to Katy's side, laying his hand on her little soft, 
 warm one, giving it a squeeze as the bright face glanced 
 lovingly into his. Father Cameron was a milder, gentler 
 man than he was before Katy came, going much oftener 
 into society, and not so frequently shocking his wife with 
 expressions and opinions which she held as' hetei^odox. 
 Katy had a softening influence over him, and he loved her 
 as well perhaps as he had ever loved his own children. 
 
 "Better," Juno said, and now she touched Bell's arm, 
 to have her see "how father was petting Katy." 
 
 But Bell did not care, while Wilford was pleased, and 
 drew himself nearer the chair, standing just behind it, 
 so that Katy could not see him as he smoothed her curly 
 head, and said, half indifferently, "Now for the all-im- 
 portant name. What shall we call our daughter ?" 
 
 "Let your mother speak first," Katy said, and thus ap- 
 pealed to Mrs. Cameron came up to Wilford and ex- 
 pressed her preference for Margaret, as being a good 
 name — ^an aristocratic name, and her own. 
 
 "Yes, but not half so pretty and striking as Rose 
 IMarie," Juno chimed in. 
 
 "Rose Mary! Thunder!" Father Cameron exclaimed. 
 "Call her a marygold, or a sunflower, just as much. Don't 
 go to being fools by giving a child a heathenish name. 
 Give us your opinion, Katy." 
 
 "I have known from the first," Katy replied, "and I am 
 sure you will agree with me. 'Tis such a beautiful name 
 
THE NAME. 217 
 
 of a sweet young girl, and there was a great i.ec»et about 
 her,_ too— Genevra, baby will be called," and Katy looked 
 straight into the fire, wholly unconscious of the effect that 
 name had produced upon two of her auditors, Wilford 
 and his mother. 
 
 They did not faint, like Marian, but Wilford's face was 
 white as marble, and his eyes turned quickly to his mother, 
 who, in her. first shock, started so violently as to throw 
 down from the stand a costly vase, which was broken in 
 many pieces. This occasioned a little diversion, and by 
 the time the flowers and fragments were gathered up, Wil- 
 ford's lips were not quite as livid, but he dared not trust 
 his voice yet, and listened while his sisters gave their opin- 
 ion of the name, Bell deciding for it at once, and Juno 
 hesitating until she had heard from a highertpower than 
 Katy. One there was in that family council who seized 
 upon it eagerly. Jamie had been brought into the parlor 
 in his wheel-chair, and sat leaning his cheek upon his 
 hand when the name was spoken. Then, with a sudden 
 lighting up of his face, he exclaimed, "Genevra! I've 
 heard it before. Where was it, grandma? Didn't you 
 talk of it once ,with^ " 
 
 "Hush-h, Jamie. Don't interrupt us now," Wilford 
 said, in a voice so much sterner than he was wont to use 
 when addressing the little boy, that Jamie shrank back 
 abashed and frightened; while Mrs. Cameron, still with 
 her back to Katy, asked, what had put that fanciful name 
 into her mind ? Where had she heard it ? 
 
 Katy explained, and, with the removal of the fear 
 which for a few moments had chilled his blood, Wil- 
 ford grew calm again; while into his heart there crept 
 the thought that by giving that name to his child some 
 slight atonement might be made to the occupant of that 
 grave in St. Mary's churchyard — to her above whose 
 head the English daisies had blossomed and faded many 
 a year. But not so with his mother — the child shoula 
 not be called Genevra if she could prevent it; and she 
 opposed it with all her powers; offering at last, as a 
 great concession on her part, to let it bear the name of 
 any of Katy's family — Hannah and Betsy mentally ex- 
 cepted, of course — Lucy Lennox, Helen Lennox, Katy 
 Lennox, anvthing but Genevra. As usual, Wilford. 
 
218 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 when he had learned her mind, joined with her, notwith- 
 standing the secret preference, and the discussion be- 
 came quite warm, especially as Katy evinced a willful- 
 ness for which Helen had never given her credit. 
 Hitherto she had been as yielding as wax, but on this 
 point she was firm, gathering strength from the fact that 
 Wilford did not oppose her as he usually did. She could 
 not, perhaps, have resisted him, but his manner was not 
 very decided, and so she quietly persisted. "Geneyra, 
 or nothing," until the others gave up the contest, hoping 
 she would feel differently after a few days' reflection. 
 But Katy knew she shouldn't ; and Helen could not over- 
 come the exultation with which she saw her little sister 
 put the Camerons to rout and remain master of the 
 field. 
 
 "After all it does not matter," Mrs. Cameron said to 
 her daughters, when, after Mrs. Wilford had gone, she 
 sat talking of Katy's queer fancy and her obstinacy in 
 adhering to it. "It does not matter ; and on the whole I 
 had as soon the christening would be postponed until 
 the child is more presentable than now. It will be pret- 
 tier by and by, and the dress will become it better. We 
 can afford to wait." 
 
 This heartless view of the case was readily adopted 
 hy Juno, while Bell professed to be terribly shocked at 
 hearing them talk thus of a baptism, as if it were a mere 
 show and nothing more, wondering if the Savior thought 
 either of dress or personal appearance when the Hebrew 
 mothers brought their children to Him. But little did 
 Mrs. Cameron or Juno care for the baptism except as a 
 display, and as-both would be much prouder of a fine look- 
 ing child, they were well content to wait until such time 
 as Katy should incline more favorably to their Marga- 
 ret or Rose Marie. To Helen it seemed highly prob- 
 able that after a private interview vfith Wilford Katy 
 would change her mind, and she felt a wickedly agree- 
 able degree of disappointment when, on the day follow- 
 ing the dinner party, she found her sister even more re- 
 solved than ever upon having her own way. Like the 
 Camerons, she did not feel the necessity of haste — ^time 
 enough by and by, when she would not have so much 
 opposition to encounter, she said; and as Wilford did 
 
TROUBLE IN THE HOUSEHOLD. 219 
 
 notcare, it was finally arranged that they would wait a 
 while, ere they gave a cognomen to the little nameless 
 child, only known as Baby Cameron. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 TROUBLE IN THE HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 As soon as it was understood that Mrs, Wilford Cam- 
 eron was able to go out, there were scores of pressing 
 invitations from the gay world which had missed her so 
 much, but Katy declined them all on the plea that baby 
 needed her care. She was happier at home, and as a 
 mother it was her place to stay there. At first Wilford 
 listened quietly, but when he found it was her fixed de- 
 termination to abjure society entirely, he interfered in 
 his cool, decisive way, which always carried its point. 
 
 "It was foolish to take that stand," he said. "Other 
 mothers went and why should not she ? She had already 
 stayed in too much. She was injuring herself, and" — 
 what was infinitely worse to Wilford — "she was losing 
 her good looks." 
 
 As proof of this he led her to the glass, showing her 
 the pale, thin face and unnaturally large eyes, so dis- 
 tasteful to him. Wilford Cameron was very proud of 
 his handsome house, proud to know that everything there 
 was in keeping with his position and wealth, but when 
 Katy was immured in the nursery, the bright picture 
 was obscured, for it needed her presence to make it per- 
 fect, and he began to grow dissatisfied with his sur- 
 roundings, while abroad he missed her quite as much, 
 finding the opera, the party or the reception insipid 
 where she was not, and feeling fully conscious that "wil- 
 ford Cameron, without a wife, and that wife Katy, was 
 not a man of half the consequence he had thought him- 
 self to be. Even Sybil Grandon did not think it worth 
 her while to court his attention, especially if Katy were 
 not present, for unless some one saw and felt her t-v 
 umph it ceased directly to be one. On the whole "W :- 
 ford was not well pleased with society, as he found it 
 this winter, and knowing where the trouble lay he resolved 
 
220 FAMILT PRIDE. 
 
 that Katy should no loiiger remain at home, growing 
 pale and faded and losing her good looks. Wilford 
 would not have confessed it, and perhaps was not him- 
 self aware of the fact, that Katy's beauty was quite as 
 dear to him as Katy herself. If she lost it her value 
 was decreased accordingly, and so as a prudent husband it 
 behooved him to see that what was so very precious was 
 not unnecessarily thrown away. It did not take long 
 for Katy to understand that her days of quiet were at 
 an end, that neither crib nor cradle could avail her 
 longer. Mrs. Kirby, selected from a host of applicants, 
 was wholly competent for Baby Cameron, and Katy 
 must throw aside the mother which sat so prettily upon 
 her and become again the belle. It was a sad trial, but 
 Katy knew that submission was the only alternative, and 
 so when Mrs. Banker's invitation came, she accepted it 
 at once, but there was a sad look upon her face as she 
 kissed her baby for the twentieth time ere going to her 
 dressing-maid. 
 
 Never until this night had Helen realized how beautiful 
 Katy was when in full evening dress, and her exclama- 
 tions of delight brought a soft flush to Katy's cheek» 
 while she felt a thrill of the olden vanity as she saw her- 
 self once more arrayed in all her costly apparel. Helen 
 did not wonder now at Wilford's desire to have Katy 
 with him, and very proudly she watched her young sister 
 as Esther twined the flowers in her hair and then brought 
 out the ermine cloak she was to wear as a protection 
 against the cold. 
 
 "If they could only see you at home," she said, while 
 instantly there arose a thought of Dr. Grant, and Helen 
 felt a throb of keen regret as she contrasted the gay, 
 airy figure vnth the grave, quiet Morris, who found 
 his chief delights in works of charity, and whose feet lin- 
 gered amid the haunts of poverty and suffering, rather 
 than such scenes as that to which she was going. 
 
 But Katy's path lay far from Dr. Grant's, and only 
 Wilford Cameron had a right to say whither she should 
 go or when return. He was standing by her now, mak- 
 ing a few suggestions and expressing his approbation in 
 a way which reminded Helen of that night before the 
 marriage, when Katy's dress had been condemned, and 
 
TROtTBLB E» THE HOUSEHOLD. 221 
 
 of that sadder, bitterer time when she had poured her 
 tears like rain into that trunk returned. All she had 
 thought of Wilford then was now more than confirmed, 
 but he was kind to her and very proud of Katy, so'she 
 forced back her feelings of disquiet, which, however, 
 were roused again when she saw the dark look on his 
 face, as Katy, at the very last, ran to the nursery to kiss 
 baby again, succeeding this time in waking it, as was 
 proven by the cry that made Wilford scowl angrily and 
 brought to his lips a word of rebuke for Katy's child- 
 ishness. 
 
 "You are like a girl with her first doll," he said, as 
 he opened the door for her to pass, and Helen, though 
 she felt the truth of the remark, knew there was no neces- 
 sity for him to throw so much of lordly displeasure into 
 his manner, and make poor Katy look so distressed and 
 worried as they drove rapidly along the streets to Mrs. 
 Banker's. 
 
 The party was not-so large as that at Sybil Grandon's, 
 but it was more select, and Helen enjoyed it better, meet- 
 ing people like Morris, who readily appreciated the pe- 
 culiarities of her mind, and who would have made her 
 forget all else around her if she had not been a giiest at 
 (Mark Ray's house. It was the first time she had met 
 him away from home since the night of Mrs. Grandon's, 
 and as if forgetful of her reserve, he paid her number- 
 less attentions, which, coming from the master of the 
 house, were the more to be valued. 
 
 With a quiet dignity Helen received them all, the 
 thought once creeping into her heart that she was pre- 
 ferred, notwithstanding that engagement. But she soon 
 repudiated this idea* as unworthy of her. She could not 
 be wholly happy with one who, to win her hand, had 
 trampled upon the affections of another, even if that other 
 were Juno Cameron. 
 
 And so she kept out of his way as much as possible, 
 watching her sister admiringly as she moved about with 
 an easy, assured grace, or floated like a snowflake through 
 the dance in which Wilford persuaded her to join, looking 
 after her with a proud, all-absorbing feeling, which left 
 no room for Sybil Grandon's coquettish advances. 
 
 As if the reappearance of Katy had av.'akened all that 
 
222 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 was weak and silly in Sybil's nature, she now put forth 
 her full powers of attraction, but met only with defeat. 
 Ka^y, and even Helen, was preferred before her — both 
 belles of a different type ; but both winning golden laurels 
 from those who hardly knew which to admire most— -- 
 Katy, with her pure, delicate beauty and charming sim- 
 plicity, or Helen, with her attractive face and sober, quiet 
 manner. But Katy grew tired early. She could not 
 endure what she once did ; and when she came to Wilford 
 with a weary look upon her face and asked him to go 
 home, he did not refuse, though Mark, who was near, 
 prdtested against their leaving so soon. 
 
 "Surely Miss Lennox might remain; the carriage could 
 be sent back for her; and he had hardly seen her at all." 
 
 But Miss Lennox chose to go; and after her white 
 cloak and hood passed down the stairs and through the 
 door into the street, there was nothing attractive for 
 Mark in his crowded parlors, and he was glad when the 
 last guest had departed and he was left alone with his 
 mother. i 
 
 Operas, parties, receptions, dinners, matinees, inorning 
 calls, drives, visits and shopping; how fast one crowded 
 upon the other, leaving scarcely an hour of leisure to the 
 devotee of fashion who attended to them all. How as- 
 tonished Helen was to find what high life in New York 
 implied, ceasing to wonder that so many of the young 
 girls grew haggard and old before their time, or that the 
 dowagers grew selfish and hard and scheming. She 
 would die outright, she thought, and she pitied poor little 
 Katy, who, having once returned to the world, seemed 
 destined to remain there, in spite of her entreaties and 
 the excuses she made for declining the invitations which 
 poured in so fast.. 
 
 "Baby was not well — ^baby needed her," was the plea 
 with which she met Wilford's arguments, until the men- 
 tion of his child was sure to bring a scowl upon his face, 
 and it became a question in Helen's mind whether he 
 would not be happier if baby had never come between 
 him and his ambition. 
 
 To hear Katy's charms extolled, and know that she 
 was admired, and he was envied the possession of so 
 rare a gem, feeling all the while sure of her faith, was 
 
TROUBLE IN THE HOUSEHOLD. 223 
 
 Wilferd's great delight, and it is not strange that, with- 
 out any very strong fatherly feeling or principle of right 
 in that respect, he should be irritated by the little life so 
 constantly interfering with his pleasure and so surely 
 undermining Katy's health. For Katy did not improve, 
 as Wilford hoped she might ; and with his two hands he 
 could almost span her slender waist, while the beautiful 
 neck and shoulders, once his chiefest pride, were no 
 longer worn uncovered, for Katy would not display her 
 bones, whatever the fashion might be. In this dilemma 
 Wilford sought his mother, and the result of that con- 
 sultation brought a more satisfied look to his face than it 
 had worn for many a day. 
 
 "Strange he had never thought of it, when it was -what 
 so many people did," he said to himself as he hurried home. 
 "It was the very best thing both for Katy and the child, 
 and would obviate every difficulty." 
 
 Next naorning, as she sometimes did when more than 
 usually fatigued, Katy breakfasted in bed; while Wil- 
 ford's face, as he sat opposite Helen at the table, had on 
 it a look of quiet determination, such as she had rarely 
 seen there before. In a measure accustomed to his 
 moods, she felt that something was wrong, and never 
 dreaming that he intended honoring her with his confi- 
 dence, she was wishing he would finish the coffee and 
 leave, when, motioning the servant from the room, he 
 said abruptly, and in a tone which roused Helen's an- 
 tagonistic powers at once, it was so cool, so decided: "I 
 believe ^-ou have more influence over your sister than I 
 have ; at leajt, she has latterly shown a willfulness in dis- 
 regarding me and a willingness to listen to you, which 
 confirms me in this conclusion " 
 
 "Well," and Helen twisted her napkin ring nervously, 
 waiting for him to say more; but her manner, so differ- 
 ent from Katy's, disconcerted him, making him a little 
 uncertain what might be hidden behind that rigid face, 
 confronting him so steadily, a little doubtful as to the 
 expression it would put on when he had said all he 
 meant to say. 
 
 He did not expect it to wear a look as frightened and 
 hopeless as Katy's did when he last saw it upon the pillow, 
 for he knew how different the two sisters were, and much 
 
224 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 as he had affected to despise Helen Lennox, he was afraid 
 of her now. It had never occurred to him before that 
 he was somewhat uncomfortable in her presence, that her 
 searching brown eyes held him often in check; but it 
 came to him now that his wife's sister was in his way, 
 for what could he do with a will almost as firm as his 
 own, and she was sure to take Katy's part. He saw it 
 in her face, even though she had no idea of what he 
 meant to say. 
 
 "Well ;" that was the last sound heard in the quiet 
 room ; but since its utterance the relative positions of the 
 two individuals sitting opposite each other had changed, 
 Wilford regarding Helen as an obstacle in his path, and 
 Helen regarding him as a tyrant contemplatii^ some 
 direful harm against her sister. 
 
 He must explain some time, and so at last he con- 
 tinued : "You must have seen how opposed Katy is to com- 
 plying with my wishes, setting them at naught, when she 
 knows how much pleasure she would give me by yielding 
 as she used to do." 
 
 "I don't know what you mean," Helen replied, "unless 
 it is her aversion to going out, as that I think is the only 
 point where her obedience has not been absolute." 
 
 Wilford did not like the words "obedience" and "abso- 
 lute;" that is, he did not like the sound. Their defi- 
 nition suited him, but Helen's enunciation was at fault, 
 and he answered quickly: "I do not require absolute 
 obedience from Katy. I never did; but in the matter to 
 which you refer, I think she might consult my wishes 
 as well as her own. There is no reason fCi her seclud- 
 ing herself in the nursery as she does. Do you think 
 there is?" 
 
 He put the question direct, and Helen answered it. 
 
 "I do not believe Katy means to displease you, but she 
 has conceived a strong aversion for festive scenes, and 
 besides baby is not healthy, you know, and like all young 
 mothers she may be over-anxious, while I fancy she has 
 not the fullest confidence in the nurse, and this may ac- 
 count for her unwillingness to leave the child with her." 
 
 Kirby was all that was desirable, Wilford replied. 
 His mother had taken her from a genteel, respectable 
 house in Bonn "Street, and he paid her an enormous prict- 
 
TROUBLE IN THE HOUSEHOLD. 225 
 
 consequently she must be right; and then there came 
 out the story how his mother had decided that neither 
 Katy nor baby would improve so long as they remained 
 together — that for both a separation was desirable — that 
 she had recommended sending the child into the country, 
 where it would be better cared for than it could be at 
 home with Katy constantly undoing all Mrs. Kirby had 
 done, disregarding her orders, waking it from sleep when- 
 ever the fancy took her, and in short treating it much as 
 ^e probably dtd her doll when she was a little girl. With 
 the child away there would be npthing to prevent Katy's 
 going out as she used to do, and getting back her good 
 looks, which were somewhat impaired. 
 
 "\Vhy, she looks older than you do," Wilford said, 
 thinking thus to conciliate Helen, who quietly replied: 
 
 "There is not two years difference between us, ard I 
 have always been well, keeping regular hours until I carne 
 here." 
 
 Wilford's compliment had failed, and more annoyed 
 than))efore, he asked, not what Helen thought of the ar- 
 ran^ment, but if she would influence Katy to act and 
 think rationally upon it; "at least you will not make it 
 worse," he said, and this time there was something quite 
 deferential and pleading in his manner. 
 
 Helen knew the matter was fixed, that neither Katy's 
 tears nor entreaties would avail to revoke the d,ecision, 
 and so, though her whole soul rose in indignation against 
 a man who would deliberately send his nursing baby from 
 his roof because it was in his way, and was robbing his 
 bride's cheek of its girlish bloom, she answered com- 
 posedly : 
 
 "I will do what I can, but I must confess it seems to 
 me an unnatural thing. I had supposed parents less self- 
 ish than that." 
 
 Wilford did not care what Helen had supposed, and 
 her opposition only made him more resolved. Still he 
 did not say so, and he even tried to smile as he quitted the 
 table and remarked to her : 
 
 "I hope to find Katy reconciled when I come home. I 
 think I had better not go up to her again, so tell her I 
 send a good-by kiss by you. I leave h.--': f>ase in your 
 bands." 
 
226 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 It was a far more difficult case than either he or Helen 
 imagined, and the latter started back in alarm from the 
 white face which greeted her view as she entered Katy's 
 room, ar.c !:hen with a moan hid itself in the pillow. 
 
 "Wilford thought he had better not come up, but he 
 sent a kiss by me," Helen said, softly touching the bright, 
 disordered hair, all she could see of her sister. 
 
 "It does not matter," Katy gasped. "Kisses cannot 
 help me if they take my baby away. Did he tell you?" 
 and she turned now partly toward Helen, who nodded 
 affirmatively while Katy continued: "Had he taken a 
 knife and cut a cruel gash it would not have hurt me half 
 so badly. I could bear that, but my baby — oh, Helen, do 
 you think they will take her away?" 
 
 She was looking straight at Helen, who shivered as she 
 met an expression so unlike Katy, and so like to that a 
 hunted deer might wear if its offspring were in danger. 
 
 "Say, do you think they will ?" she continued, shedding 
 back with her thin hand the »^ass of tangled curls which 
 had fallen about her eyes. 
 
 "Whom do you mean by 'they' ?" Helen asked, coming 
 near to her, and sitting down upon the bed. 
 
 There was a resentful gleam in the blue eyes usually 
 so gentle, as Katy answered : 
 
 "Whom do I mean ? His folks of course ! They have 
 been the instigators of every sorrow I have knbwn since 
 I left Silverton. Oh, Helen, never, never marry anybody 
 who has folks, if you wish to be happy." 
 
 Helen could not repress a smile, though she pitied her 
 sister, who continued : 
 
 "I don't mean Father Cameron, nor Bell, nor Jamie, 
 for I love them all, and I believe that they love me. 
 Father does, I Icnow, and Jamie, while Bell has helped 
 me so often ; but Mrs. Cameron and Juno — oh, Helen, you 
 will never know what they have been to me." 
 
 "I notice you always say 'father' and 'Mrs. Cameron.' 
 Why is that ?" Helen asked, hoping thus to divert Katy's 
 mind from her present trouble, and feeling a little anx- 
 ious to hear Katy's real sentiments with regard to her 
 husband's family. 
 
 Since Helen came to New York there has been so much 
 to talk about that, though Katy had told her of her fash- 
 
TROUBLE IN THE HOUSEHOLD. 227 
 
 ionable life, sue had said comparatively little of the Camer- 
 ons. Now, however, there was no holding back on 
 Katy's part, and beginning with the first night of her ar- 
 rival in New York she told what is already known to the 
 reader, and more, exonerating Wilford in word, but deal- 
 ing out full justice to his mother and Juno, the former 
 of whom controlled him so completely. 
 
 "I tried so hard to love her," Katy said, "and if she 
 had given me ever so little in return I would have been 
 satisfied, but she never did— that is, when I hungered 
 for it most, missing you at horqe, and the loving care 
 which sheltered me in childhood. After the world took 
 me into favor she too began to caress me, but I was 
 wicked enough to think it all came of selfishness. I 
 know I am hard and bad, for when I was sick Mrs. 
 Cameron was really very kind, and I began to like her; 
 but if she takes baby away, I shall surely die." 
 
 Katy had come back to the starting point, and in her 
 eye there was the same fierce look which Helen had at 
 first observed. 
 
 "Where is baby to be sent?" Helen asked, and Katy 
 answered : 
 
 "Up the river, to a house which Father Cameron owas, 
 and which is kept by a farmer's family. I can't trust 
 Kirby. I do not like her. She keeps baby asleep too 
 long, and acts so cross if I try to wake her, or hint that 
 she looks unnatural. I cannot give baby to her care, with 
 no one to look after her, though Wilford says I must." 
 
 "Why then do you try to resist, when you know how 
 useless it. is?" Helen asked, and something in her manner 
 brought a sudden flush of shame to Katy's cheek, as she 
 said: 
 
 "What do you mean ? Of what are you thinking?" .. 
 
 Helen did not stop to consider the propriety of her re- 
 marks, but replied: 
 
 "I was thinking that you reminded me of a bird beat- 
 ings wings against the bars of its cage, vainly hoping to 
 escape into the freedom which it feels is outside its prison 
 house, but falling back bruised and bleeding with its ef- 
 forts, and no nearer escape." 
 
 For a moment Katy regarded her sister intently, while 
 she seemed trying to digest the meaning of her words; 
 
228 FAMILY PKIDE. 
 
 then, as it vaguely flashed upon her, tears gathered OH 
 her eyelashes and rolled down her cheeks, while with a 
 quivering lip she asked : 
 
 "If you were that, bird, what would you do?" 
 
 "I? What would I do? I should beat my wings un- 
 til I died; but your nature is different. You are more 
 yielding, more loving, more submissive. You can bear it 
 better." 
 
 This was not the first time since she came to New York 
 and saw how firm, how unbending was the will which 
 held Katy in its grasp, that Helen had thought how surely 
 she, with her high, imperious spirit, should die, from the 
 very resistance she should offer to that wiU. But as she 
 had truly expressed it, Katy's gentle, submissive nature 
 saved her, for never had she offered so violent opposition 
 to any plan as she did now to that of sending her child 
 away. 
 
 "I can't, I can't," she repeated constantly, and Mrs. 
 Cameron's call, made that afternoon with a view to recon- 
 cile the matter, only made it worse, so that Wilford, on his 
 return at night, felt a pang of self-reproach as he saw 
 the drooping figure holding his child upon its lap and 
 singing it a lullaby in a plaintive voice, which told how 
 sore was its heart. 
 
 Wilford did not mean to be either a savage or a brute. 
 On the contrary he had made himself believe that he was 
 acting only for the good of both mother and child; but 
 the sight of Katy touched him, and he might have given 
 up the contest had not Helen unfortunately taken up the 
 cudgels in Katy's defense, neglecting to conceal the weap- 
 ons, and so defeating her purpose. It was at the dinner 
 from which Katy was absent that she ventured to speak, 
 not asking that the plan be given up, but speaking of it as 
 an unnatural one which seemed to her not only useless 
 but cruel. 
 
 Wilford did not tell her that her opinion was not de- 
 sired, but his manner implied as much, and Helen felt the 
 angry blood prickling through her veins as she listened 
 to his reply, that it was neither unnatural nor cruel, that 
 many people did it, and his would not be an isolated case. 
 
 "Then if it must be," Helen said, "pray let it go to Sil- 
 
ffiOUBLB IN THE HOUSEHOIA,. 229 
 
 verton, and I will be its nurse. Katy will not object to 
 that." 
 
 In a very ironical tone Wilford thanked her for hen 
 oflfer, which he begged leave to decline, ifl'timating a pref- 
 erence for settling his own matters according to his own 
 ideas. Helen knew that further argument was useless, 
 and but for Katy, wished herself at home, where there 
 were no wills like this with which she had unwittingly 
 come in contact, and which, ignoring Katy's tears and 
 Katy's pleading face, would not retract one iota, or even 
 stoop to reason with the suffering mother, except to reiter- 
 ate, "It is only for your good, and every one with com- 
 mon sense will say so." 
 
 Next morning Helen was surprised at Katy's proposi- 
 tion to drive around to Fourth Street, and call on Marian, 
 whom they had not seen for several days. 
 
 "I am always better after talking with her," Katy said, 
 "And I have a strong presentiment that she can do me 
 good." 
 
 "Shall you tell her ?" Helen asked in some surprise ; and 
 Katy replied, "perhaps I may. I'll see." 
 
 An hour later, and Katy, up in Marian's room, sat with 
 her hands clasped together upon the table, listening in- 
 tently while Marian spoke of a letter received a few days 
 since from an old friend who had worked with her at 
 Madam 's, and to whom she had been strongly at- 
 tached, keeping up a correspondence with her after her 
 marriage and removal to New London, in Connecticut.; 
 and whose little child, born two months before Katy's, 
 was dead, and the mother, finding her home so desolate, 
 had written, beseeching Marian to come to her for the re- 
 mainder of the winter, adding in conclusion : "If you know 
 of any little homeless baby, bring it to me in plac^" of 
 mine, which God has taken. I shall thus be doing good, 
 and in part forget my sorrow." 
 
 Instantly Helen and Katy glanced at each other, the 
 same thought flashing upon both, and finding form in 
 Katy's vehement outburst, "If Mrs. Hubbell would take 
 baby, and Marian would go, too, I should be so happy." 
 
 In a few moments Marian had heard Katy's trouble- 
 struggling hard to fight back the giddy faintness she felt 
 
230 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 stealing over her, as she thought of nursing Wilford 
 Cameron's child. 
 
 "Write to her, Marian — -write to-day — now, before I 
 go," Katy continued, clasping Marictn's hand, with an ex- 
 pression which, more than aught else won Marian Hazle- 
 ton's consent to a plan which seemed so strange. 
 
 "Yes, I will write," she answered; "I will tell Amelia 
 ■what you desire." 
 
 "But, Marian, you, too, must go. I'll trust baby with 
 you. Say, Marian, will you take care of my darling?" 
 
 It was hard to refuse, with those great, wistful, plead- 
 ing eyes looking so earnestly into hers ; but Marian must 
 have time to consider. She had thought of going to New 
 London to open a shop, and if she did she should board 
 with Mrs. Hubbell, and so be with the child. She would 
 decide when the answer came to the letter. 
 
 This was all the encouragement she would give; but 
 it was enough to change the whole nature of Katy's feel- 
 ings, and her face looked bright and cheerful as she 
 tripped down the stairway, talking to Helen of what 
 seemed to both like a direct interposition of Providence, 
 and what she was sure' would please Wilford quite as well 
 as the farmhouse up the river. 
 
 ^'Surely he will yield to me in this," she said. Nor was 
 she wrong; for glad of an opportunity to make some 
 concessions, and still in the main have his own way, Wil- 
 ford raised no objection to the plan as (communicated to 
 him by Katy, when, at an earlier hour than usual, he 
 came home to dinner, drawn thither by a remembrance 
 of the face which had haunted him the entire day, and 
 bringing as a peace offering to both wife and sister — 
 a new book for the one, and for the other a set of hand- 
 some coral, which he had heard her admire only the 
 week before. 
 
 These he presented with that graceful, winning manner 
 he knew so well how to assume, and with the harmony 
 of his household once more restored, felt himself a model 
 husband as he listened to Katy's plan of sending baby 
 to New London. On the whole, it might be better even 
 than the farmhouse up the river, he thought, for it was 
 farther away, and Katy could not be tiring herself with 
 driving out every few days, and keeping herself constantly 
 
TROUBLE IN THE HOUSEHOLD. 231 
 
 uneasy and excited. The distance between New York 
 and New London was the best feature of the whole; and 
 he wondered Katy had not thought of it as an objection. 
 But she had not, and but for the pain when she remem- 
 bered the coming separation, she would have been very 
 happy that evening, listening with Wilford and Helen 
 to the opera of "Norma," and sympathizing so keenly with 
 the poor distracted mother. 
 
 Very differently from this was Marian's evening passed, 
 and on her face there was a look such as Katy's had 
 never worn, as on her knees she asked for guidance to 
 choose the right, to lay all self aside, and if it were her 
 duty and care for the child which had stirred the pulsa- 
 tions of her heart and made the old wound bleed and 
 throb with bitter anguish as she remembered what she 
 once hoped would be, and what but for a cruel wrong 
 might still have been. And as she prayed there crept into 
 her face another look which told that self was sacrificed 
 at last, and Katy Cameron was safe with her. 
 
 Mrs. Hubbell was willing — aye, more than that — was 
 glad to take the child, and the generous remuneration 
 offered would make them so comfortable in their little 
 cottage, she wrote to Marian, who hastened to confer by 
 note with Katy, adding in a postscript, "Is it still your 
 wish that I should go? if so, I am at your disposal." 
 
 It was Katy's wish, and she hastened to reply, going 
 next to the nursery to confer with Mrs. Kirby. Dark 
 were the frowns and dire the displeasure of that ladj 
 when told that her services would soon be no longer 
 needed on. Madison Square — ^that instead of going up the 
 river as she had hoped, she was free to return to the 
 "genteel and highly respectable home on Bond Street,* 
 where Mrs. Cameron had found her. 
 
 "Wait, till the madam comes and then we'll see,' sht 
 thought, referring to Mrs. Cameron, and feeling de- 
 lighted when that very day she heard that lady's voice 
 in the parlor. 
 
 But Mrs. Cameron, though a little anxious with re- 
 gard to both Mrs. Hubbell's and Marian's aniecedents, 
 and a little doubtful as to the effect a common dress- 
 
232 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 maker's nursing might have upon the child, saw at once 
 th^t Wilford was in favor of New London and so voted 
 accordingly, only asking that she might see and talk with 
 'Marian Hazelton herself. 
 
 "One can judge so much better from hearing one con- 
 verse. If her manner should be very bad and her gram- 
 mar execrable, I should consider it my duty to withdraw 
 my consent," she said, with as mUch deliberation as if 
 the matter were wholly at her disposal. "Would Katy 
 drive around with her to Marian Hazelton's to-morrow ?" 
 
 Katy would be delighted; and so next day Mrs. Cam- 
 eron, the elder, was holding high her aristocratic skirts 
 and glancing ruefully around as she followed Mrs. Cam- 
 eron, the younger, up the three flights of stairs to Ma- 
 rian's door, which did not open to the assured knock, nor 
 yet yield to the gentle pressure. Marian was out, and 
 there was no alternative but for Katy to scribble a few 
 lines upon the card she left upon the knob, telling Marian 
 who had been there, and requesting her to call that even- 
 ing at No. — Fifth Avenue, as the elder Mrs. Cameron 
 was particularly anxious to see her before committing her 
 grandchild to her care. "Please go, Marian, for my sake," 
 Katy added, but in reading to Wilford's mother what 
 she had written, she omitted that, and so escaped a lecture 
 from that lady upon undue familiarity with inferiors. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 HOW IT ENDED. 
 
 "Will Marian go to No. — Fifth Avenue?" Marian 
 asked herself that question many times, as with Katy's 
 card in her hand she stood pondering the subject and 
 feeling glad of the good fortune which had sent her from 
 home when Wilford's mother called. 
 
 Yes, Marian would ; and at the hour between the day- 
 light and the dark, just as the lamps are lighted in the 
 street, and before they are usually lighted in the parlors 
 there was a ring at the door, whose massive plate bore 
 the name of Cameron, and the colored man who answered 
 that ring stared at the figure he ushered in, seating it 
 in the dim hall and asking for the name. 
 
HOW IT KNDED. 233 
 
 "Miss Hazelton wishes to see Mrs. Cameron," was the 
 reply, and at the sound of that musical, well-bred voice, 
 the servant half opened the parlor door, but closed it 
 again as he went for his mistress, who expressed her 
 surprise that Marian Hazelton should presume to enter 
 where she did. 
 
 "Maybe she is a lady, mother; Katy raves about her 
 continually," Bell said; but with an air of incredulity 
 at the lady part, Mrs. Cameron swept haughtily down the 
 broad staircase, the rustle of her heavy silk sending a chill 
 of fear through Marian's frame, but not affecting her so 
 much as did the voice; the cold, proud, metallic voice, 
 which said to her as she half arose to her feet, "Miss 
 Hazelton, I believe?" 
 
 At that sound there crept over her the same sensation 
 he had felt years ago, whenever the tones of that voice 
 i'ell on her ear, for this was not the first meeting of Mrs. 
 Cameron and Marian Hazelton. But for all the former 
 guessed or knew, it was the first, and she looked curiously 
 at the graceful figure, but dimly seen in the shadowy 
 twilight, noticing the thick green veil which so nearly 
 concealed the face, and wondering why it was worn, or 
 being worn, why it was kept so nearly down. 
 
 "Miss Hazelton, I believe ?" was all that had passed .Jje- 
 tween them as yet, for at these words a great fear had 
 come upon Marian lest her own voice should seem as 
 natural as did the one which had just spoken to her. 
 
 But she could not stand there long without answering, 
 and so she ventured at last to say: 
 
 "Yes, I found Mrs. Wilford Cameron's note, and came 
 around as she requested." 
 
 There was nothing objectionable in that remark, while 
 the voice was verjT, very sweet and musical, so musical, 
 indeed, so like a voice heard before, that Mrs. Cameron 
 involuntarily went a step nearer to the stranger, and even 
 thought of calling up a servant to light the gas. But 
 that would perhaps be too great a civility, or at least be- 
 token too great a curiosity, and so she forebore, while she 
 began to question Marian of her own and Mrs. Hubbell's 
 antecedents. Both were English, both had worked upon 
 the Isle of Wight, and later in New York, at Madam 
 • ^'s ; one had married, living now in New London, and 
 
284 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 the other stood there as Marian Hazehon, puzzling and 
 bewildering Mrs. Cameron, who tried to recall the person 
 of whom she was reminded by that voice and that man- 
 ner, so wholly ladylike and refined. 
 
 Marian Hazelton pleased her, as was apparent from 
 her expressing a wish that "as far as practicable Miss 
 Hazelton should take charge of the child. We cannot 
 tell how early life-long impression may be made, and it 
 is desirable that they be of the right nature, and wholly 
 in accordance with refinement and good-breeding." 
 
 There was a curl on Marian's lip as she remembered 
 another meeting with the proud lady whose words were 
 not as complimentary as now, but she merely bent her 
 head in supposed acquiescence to the belief that Baby 
 Cameron was, or soon would be, capable of discriminating 
 between a nurse refined and one the opposite. There was 
 a moment's silence and then Marian asked if baby had 
 been christened? 
 
 "Not yet, we cannot decide upon a name," was the re- 
 ply, while Marian continued: 
 
 "I understood your daughter that it was to be Genevra." 
 
 Marian Hazelton was growing too familiar, and so the 
 lady deigned no answer, but stepped a little to one side, 
 a»i if she would thus indicate that the conference was 
 ended. 
 
 Dropping her veil entirely over her face, for the servant 
 was now lighting the parlor lamps, Marian turned toward 
 the door which Mrs. Cameron opened, and she passed 
 out just as up the steps came Wilford, Marian's skirts 
 brushing him as she passed, and her heart beating pain- 
 fully as she thought of her escape and^ began to realize 
 the danger she incurred when she accepted the office of 
 partial nurse to his child. 
 
 "Dark, mother? How is that? Why is the hall not 
 lighted?" she heard him say, and the old, familiar tones, 
 so little changed, vibrated sadly in her ear, as she dashed 
 away a tear, and then hurried on through the darkened 
 streets toward her humble home, so different from the 
 Cameron's. 
 
 "Who was that, mother?" Wilford said, expressing 
 regret that he had not happened in a little earlier, so 
 
HOW IT ENDED. 235 
 
 as to have seen her himself^ and asking what his mother 
 thought of her." 
 
 "I liked her. She seemed a well-b!"ed person, and her 
 voice is much like Genevra's." 
 
 Wilford turned his eyes quickly upon his mother, who 
 continued : 
 
 "I did not think of her, it is true, until Miss Hazelton 
 inquired about baby's name, and said she understood from 
 Katy that it was to be Genevra. Then it came to me 
 whose her voice was like. Genevra's, you know, was very 
 musical." 
 
 "Yes," Wilford answered, and in his eyes there was a 
 look of pain, such as thoughts of Genevra always brought. 
 
 She was in his mind when he ran up his father's steps, 
 not Genevra living, but Genevra dead — she who slept 
 in that lone corner of the churchyard across the sea. 
 "Genevra Lambert, aged twenty-two," and not Genevra, 
 aged nearly thirty-two, if she had", been still living. 
 Kindly, regretfully, he always spoke of her now, separat- 
 ing her entirely from the little fairy who was mistress of 
 his house and love — Katy, who was preferred before 
 Genevra, and to whom no wrong was done, he thought, by 
 his sad memories of the beautiful English girl, whose 
 grave was at St. Mary's, and whose picture was so se- 
 curely hidden from every eye save his own. He never 
 liked to talk of her now, and he changed the subject at 
 once,, asking when it would be best to send his child away. 
 
 "Miss Hazelton is ready any time, and so I decided 
 upon the day after to-morrow — that will be Saturday — 
 thus giving Katy the benefit of Sunday in which to get 
 over it and recover her usual spirits." 
 
 "You are sure it is right?" Wilford asked, for now 
 that the time drew near whe^the little crib at home would 
 be empty, the nursery desolate, with no fretful, plaintjve 
 wail to annoy and worry him, he began to feel that after 
 all that cry was not so very vexing as he had imagined 
 it to be ; that he might miss it when it was gone, and wish 
 back the little creature which had been so greatly in his 
 way. 
 
 Besides this, there was a sense of injustice to Katy. 
 Perhaps he had not been considerajte enough of her feel- 
 ings; at all events, his mother's arranging the time of 
 
236 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 baby's departure looked like ignoring Katy altogether, 
 and he ventured a remonstrance. But his mother soon 
 convinced him of her infallible judgment; not only in that 
 matter, but in all others pertaining to his household ; and 
 so with his good opinion of himself restored, he went 
 home to where Katy waited for him, with her baby in her 
 lap, both tastefully attired, and making a most lovely 
 picture. Wilford kissed them both, and took his daughter 
 in his arms, an act he had not often been guilty of, for 
 baby tending was not altogether to his taste. 
 
 In the dark hours of agony which came to him after- 
 ward, he remembered that night, feeling again the touch 
 of the velvet cheek and the warmth of the faint breath 
 which floated across his face as he held his little girl for 
 a moment to it, laughing at Katy's distress because "his 
 whiskers scratched it." 
 
 It was strange how much confidence Katy had in Mar- 
 ian Hazelton, and how the fact that she was going to 
 New London reconciled her to the plan, making her even 
 cheerful during the last day of baby's stay at home. But 
 as the daylight waned and the night came on, a shadow 
 began to steal across her sunny face, and her step was 
 slower as it went up the stairs to the nursery, while only 
 herself that night could disrobe the little creature and 
 hush it into sleep. 
 
 " 'Tis the last time, you know," she said to Kirby, who 
 readily yielded her post and went out, leaving the young 
 mother and child alone. 
 
 Mournfully sad and sweet was the lullaby Katy sang, 
 and Helen, in the hall, listening to the low, sad moaning, 
 half prayer, half benediction, likened it to a farewell 
 between the living and the dead. Half an hour later, 
 when she glanced into the r*)m, lighted only by the moon- 
 beams, baby was sleeping in her crib, which Katy knelt 
 beside, her face buried in her hands, and her form quiver- 
 ing with the sobs she tried to smother as she softly 
 prayed that her darling might come back again ; that God 
 would keep the little child and forgive the erring mother 
 who had sinned so deeply since the time she used to 
 pray in the home among the hills of Massachusetts. She 
 was very white next morning, and to Helen she seemed 
 to be expanding into something more womanly, more 
 
HOW IT BNDEa). 237 
 
 mature, as she disciplined herself to bear the pain welling' 
 up so constantly from her heart, and at last overflowing 
 in a flood of tears when Marian was announced as in the 
 parlor below waiting for her charge. Fortunately there 
 was but little time for parting kisses and fond good-byes, 
 for Marian had purposely waited as long as possible ere 
 coming, and expedition was necessary if she reached the 
 train. 
 
 It was Katy who made her baby ready, trusting her to 
 no one else, and repelling with a kind of fierce decision 
 all offers of assistance made either by Helen, Mrs. Cam- 
 eron, Bell, or the nurse, who were present. While Katy's 
 hands drew on the little bright, soft socks of wool, tied 
 the hood of satin and lace, and fastened the scarlet cloak, 
 her tears falling like rain as she met the loving, knowing 
 look the baby was just learning to give her, half smiling, 
 half cooing, as she bent her face down to it. 
 
 "Please all of you go out," she said, when baby was 
 ready — "Wilford and all. I had rather be alone." 
 
 They granted her request, but \yilford stood beside 
 the open door, listening while the mother bade farewell 
 to her baby. 
 
 "Darling," she murmured, "what will poor Katy do 
 when you are gone, or what will comfort her as you have 
 done? Precious baby, my heart is breaking to give you 
 up ; but will the Father in Heaven who knows how much 
 you are to me, keep you from harm and bring you back 
 again? Some time I'd give the world to keep you, but 
 I cannot do it, for Wilford says that you must go, and 
 Wilford is your father." 
 
 At that moment Wilford Cameron would have given 
 half his fortune to have kept his child for Katy's sake, 
 but it was now too late ; the carriage was at the door, and 
 Marian, whom no one had seen but Helen, was waiting 
 in the hall, her thick green veil dropped before her face, 
 and a muffler about her mouth as if suffering from the 
 toothache. Helen had asked if it were so, but Marian's 
 answer was prevented by the little procession filing down 
 the stairs — Mrs. Cameron and Bell, Wilford and Katy, 
 who carried the baby herself, her face bent over it and her 
 tears still droppii^ like rain. But it was Wilford who 
 put his child into Maiian's extended arms, forgetting ia 
 
238 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 his excitement to notice aught in the new nurse except 
 the long, green veil which was not raised at all, even 
 when Katy said, pleadingly, "You will care for her, Mar- 
 ian, as if she were your own." 
 
 "Yes, I will, I will," was the response, spoken huskily 
 and having in it no tone like Genevra's. "I will as if 
 it were my own," were the last words Marian said as she 
 went down the steps, followed by Wilford, to whom the 
 thought had just occurred that he ought to see her off. 
 
 Marian had not expected this, and the tension of her 
 nerves was hardly equal "to the task of sitting there with 
 Wilford Cameron opposite, his baby in her lap, his voice 
 in' her ear, and his eyes turned upon her as if curious to 
 know what manner of woman she was. But the thick 
 veil did its duty well, while the muffler answered the pur- 
 pose intended; it changed the voice which was only nat- 
 ural once, and that when it addressed the baby, which 
 began to grow restless as they drew near the depot. 
 Then Wilford was reminded of Genevra, and the thought 
 carried him across the sea^ so that he forgot all else until 
 the station was reached and he was busy, procuring 
 checks and ticket. He saw her into the car, procuring for 
 her a double seat, and speaking a word for her to the 
 conductor, whom he knew. And this he did partly for 
 Katy's sake, and partly because in spite of the plain attire 
 he recognized the lady and felt that Marian Hazelton 
 was no ordinary person. He offered her his hand, won- 
 dering why hers trembled so in his grasp, wondering why 
 it was so cold, and wondering, too, why, if she had never 
 been a wife, she wore that plain gold circlet which glit-- 
 tered upon her third finger. 
 
 "They certainly call her Miss Hazelton," he thought, 
 as he bade her good-by and then left her alone, going back 
 to the house which even to him seemed lonely, with all the 
 paraphernalia of babyhood removed. Still, now that the 
 worst was over, he rather enjoyed it, for Katy was free 
 from care; there was nothing to hinder her gratifying 
 his every wish, and with his spirits greatly enlivened as 
 he reflected how satisfactory everything had been man- 
 s^ed at the last, he proposed taking both Helen and Katy 
 to the theatre that night. But Katy answered: "No^ 
 
AUNT BETSY GOES ON A JOURNEY. 239 
 
 Wilford, not to-night; it seems too much like baby's 
 funeral. I'll go next week, but not to-night." 
 
 So Katy had her way, but among the worshipers who 
 next day knelt in Grace Church with words of prayer 
 upon their lips, there was not one more in earnest than 
 she whose only theme was, "My child, my darling child." 
 
 She did not get over it by Monday, as Mrs. Cameron 
 had predicted. She did not get over it at all, though she 
 went without a word where Wilford willed that she 
 should go, and even Helen, with her sounder health and 
 stronger constitution, grew tired of that endless round, 
 which gave her scarcely a quiet hour at home. And Katy 
 was a belle again, her name on every lip, her praise in 
 every heart, for none could feel jealous, she bore her 
 honors so meekly, wondering why people liked her so 
 much and loving them because they did. And none ad- 
 mired her more than Helen, who, scarcely less a belle 
 herself, yielded everything to her young sister whom she 
 pitied while she admired, for nothing had power to draw 
 one look from her blue eyes, the look which many ob- 
 served, and which Helen knew sprang from the mother 
 love, hungering for its child. Only once before had 
 Helen seen a look like this, and that came to Morris' face 
 on the sad night when she said to him, "It might have 
 been." It had been there ever since, and Helen, though 
 revering him before, felt that by the pangs with which 
 that look was born he was a better man, just as Katy 
 was growing better for that hunger in her heart. God 
 was taking his own way to purify them both, but the 
 process was going on and Helen watched it intently, won- 
 dering what the end would be. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 AUNT BETSY GOES ON A JOURNEY. 
 
 Just through the woods, where Uncle Ephraim wa3 
 wont to exercise old Whitey, was a narrow strip of 
 land, extending from the highway to the pond, and fertile 
 in nothing except the huckleberry bushes," where the 
 large, dark fruit gr.-^w so abundantly, and the rocky ledges 
 
240 S'AMILT PRffiB. 
 
 over which a few sheep roamed, seeking for the 3hor( 
 grass and stunted herbs, which gave them a meager sus- 
 tenance. As a whole it was comparatively valueless, but 
 to Aunt Betsy Barlow it was of great importance, as it 
 was her own — her property — her share — set off from 
 the old estate — ^the land on which she paid 'taxes willingly 
 —the real estate the deed of which was lying undisturbed 
 in her hair trunk, where it had lain for years. Several 
 dispositions the good old lady had mentally made of 
 this property, sometimes dividing it equally between 
 Helen and Katy, sometimes willing it all to the former, 
 and again, when she thought of Mark Ray, leaving the 
 interest of it to some missionary society in which she was 
 greatly interested. 
 
 How then was the poor woman amazed and confounded 
 when suddenly there appeared a claimant to her property ; 
 not the whole, but a part, and that part taking in the big 
 sweet apple tree and the very best of the berry bushes, 
 leaving her nothing but rocks and bogs, a pucker cherry 
 tree, a patch of tansy, and one small tree, whose gnarly 
 apples were not fit, she said, to feed the pigs. 
 
 Of course she was indignant, and all the more so be- 
 cause the claimant was prepared to prove that the line 
 fence was not where it should be, but ran into his own 
 dominions for the width of two or three rods, a fact he 
 had jus^ discovered by looking over a bundle of deeds, 
 in which the boundaries of his own farm were clearly 
 defined. 
 
 In her distress Aunt Betsy's first thoughts were turned 
 to Wilford as the man who could redress her wrongs if 
 any one, and a long letter was written to him in which 
 her grievances were told in detail and his advice solicited. 
 Commencing with "My dear Wilford," closing with 
 "Your respected ant," sealed with a wafer, stamped with 
 her thimble, and directed bottom side up, it nevertheless 
 found its way to No. — Broadway, and into Wilford's 
 hands. But with a frown and pish of contempt he tosged 
 it into the grate, and vain were all Aunt Betsy's inquiffes 
 as to whether there was any letter for her when Uncle 
 Ephr?im came home from the office. Letters there were 
 from Helen, and sometimes one from Katy, but none from 
 IWilford, none for her, and her days were passed in great 
 
AUNT BETSY GOES ON A JOURNEY. 241 
 
 perplexity and distress, until another idea took possession 
 of her mind. She would go to New York herself ! She 
 had never traveled over half a dozen miles in the cars, it 
 was true,, but it was time she had, and now that she had 
 a new bonnet and shawl, as good as anybody's, she could 
 go to York as well as not 1 
 
 Wholly useless were the expostulations of the family, 
 for she would not listen to them, nor believe that she 
 would not be welcome at that house on Madison Square, 
 to which even Mrs. Lennox had never been invited since 
 Katy was fairly settled in it. M.ych at first had been said 
 of her coming, and of the room she was to occupy; but 
 all that had ceased, and in the mother's heart there had 
 been a painful doubt as to the reason of the silence, until 
 Helen's letters enlightened her, telling her it was not 
 Katy, for she was still unchanged — was still the loving, 
 impulsive creature who, if she could, would take all Silver- 
 ton to her arms. It was Wilford who had built so high 
 a wall between Katy and her friends; V/ilford who at 
 first had endured Helen because he must, but who now 
 kept her with him from choice, even though she was 
 sometimes greatly in his way, especially when her will 
 clashed with his and her stronger arguments for the right 
 swept his own asid*. Far better than she used, did Mrs. 
 Lennox understand her son-in-law, and she shrank in 
 horror from suffering her aunt to go where she would be 
 so serious an annoyance, frankly telling her the reason 
 for her objections, and asking if she wished to mortify 
 the girls. 
 
 . At this Aunt Betsy took umbrage at once. 
 
 "She'd like to know what there was about her to mor- 
 tify anybody? Wasn't her black silk dress made long 
 and full, and the old pongee fixed into a Balmoral, and 
 hadn't she a bran-new cap with purple ribbon, and couldn't 
 she travel in her delaine, and didn't she wear hoops always 
 now, except at cleanin' house times? Didn't she nuss 
 both the girls, especially Catherine, carrying her in her 
 arms one whole night when she had the canker-rash, and 
 everybody thought she'd die; and when she swallered 
 that tin whistle didn't she spat her on the back and swing 
 her in the air till she came to and blew the whistle clear 
 
242 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 across the room? Tell her that Catherine would be 
 ashamed? she knew better!" 
 
 Then as a doubt began to cross her own mind as to 
 Wilford's readiness to entertain her at his boiise, she 
 continued : 
 
 "At any rate, the Tubbses, who moved from Silverton 
 last fall, and who were living in such style on the Bowery, 
 wouldn't be ashamed, and I can stop with them at first, 
 till I see how the land lies. They have invited me to come, 
 both Miss Tubbs and 'Tilda, and they are nice folks, who 
 belong to the. Orthodox Church. Tom is in town now, 
 and if I see him I shall talk with him about it, even if I 
 never go." 
 
 Most devoutly did Mrs. Lennox and Aunt Hannah 
 hope that Tom would return to New York without hon- 
 Qj-ing the farmhouse with a call; but unfortunately for 
 tnfem he came that very afternoon, and instead of throw- 
 ing obstacles in Aunt Betsy's way, urged her warmly to 
 make the proposed visit. 
 
 "Mother would be so glad to see an old neighbor," the 
 honest youth said, "for she did not know many folks in 
 the city. 'Till had made some flashy acquaintances, of 
 whom he did not think much, and they kept a few board- 
 ers, but nobody had called, and mother was real lonesome. 
 He wished Miss Barlow would come; she would have no 
 difficulty in finding them," and on a bit of paper he 
 marked out the route of the Fourth Avenue cars, which 
 passed their door, and which Aunt Betsy would take 
 after arriving at the New Haven depot. "If he knew 
 when she was coming he would meet her," he said, but 
 Aunt Betsy could not tell; she was not quite certain 
 whether she should go at all, she was so violently opposed. 
 
 Still she did not give it up entirely, and when, a few 
 days after Tom's return to New York, there came a 
 pressing invitation from the daughter Matilda, or Mattie, 
 as she signed herself, the fever again ran high, and this 
 time with but little hope of its abating. 
 
 "We shall be delighted, both mother and me," Mattie 
 wrote. "I will show you all the lions of the city, and whefi 
 you get tired of us you can go up to Mrs. Cameron's. I 
 know exactly where they live, and have seen her at the 
 opera in full dress, looking like a queen." 
 
AUNT BETST GOES ON A JOURNEY. 243 
 
 Over the last part of this letter Aunt Betsy pondered 
 for some time. That as good an orthodox as Miss -Tubbs 
 should let her girl go to the opera, passed her. She had 
 wondered at Helen's going, but then she was a 'Piscopal, 
 and them 'Piscopals had queer notions about usih' the 
 world and not abusin' it. Still, as Helen did not attend 
 the theatre and did attend the opera, there must be a dif- 
 ference in the two places, and into the old lady's heart 
 there slowly crept the thought that possibly she might try 
 the opera too, if 'Tilda Tubbs would go, and promise never 
 to tell the folks at Silverton ! She should Uke to see what^ 
 it was, and also what full dress meant, though she s'posed 
 it was pilin' on all the clothes you had so as to make a 
 show ; but if she wore her black silk gown with her best 
 bunnet and shawl, she guessed that would be dress enough 
 for her. ^ 
 
 This settled. Aunt Betsy began to devise the Best 
 means pf getting off with the least opposition. Both 
 Morris and her brother would be absent from town dur- 
 ing the next week, and she finally resolved to take that 
 opportunity for starting on her visit to New York, wisely 
 concluding to keep her own counsel until she was quite 
 ready. Accordingly, on the very day Morris and the 
 deacon left Silverton, she announced her intention so 
 quietly and decidedly that further opposition was useless, 
 and Mrs. Lennox did what she could to make her aunt 
 presen^'-jble. And Aunt Betsy did look very respectable 
 in her dark delaine, with her hat and shawl, both Morris' 
 gift, and both in very good taste. As for the black silk 
 and the new cap, they were carefully rfolded away, one in 
 a box and the other in a satchel she carried on her arm, 
 and in one compartment of which were sundry papers o£ 
 fennel, caraway, and catnip, intended for Katy's baby, 
 and which could be sent to it from New York. Thert was 
 also a package of dried plums and peaches for Katy her- 
 self, and a few cakes of yeast of her own make, better than^ 
 seny they had in the city ! Thus equipped she one morning 
 took her seat in the Boston and New York train, which 
 carried her swiftly on toward Springfield. 
 
 "If anybody can find their way in New York, it is 
 Betsy," Aunt Hannah said "to Mrs. Lennox, as the day 
 wore on and their thoughts went after the lone womaoi. 
 
244 FAMILY PEIDB. . / 
 
 who with satchel, umbrella and capbox, was felicitating 
 in the luxury of a whole seat, and the near neigh)bc>rhood 
 of a very nice young man, who listened with well-bred 
 interest while she told of her troubles concerning the 
 sheep pasture, and how she was going to New York 
 to consult a first-rate lawyer. 
 
 Once she thought to tell who the lawyer was, and 
 perhaps enhance her own merits in the eyes of her 
 auditors by announcing herself as aunt to Mrs. Wilford 
 Cameron, of whom she had no doubt he had heard — 
 nay, more, whom he possibly knew, inasmuch as his home 
 was in New York, though he spent much of his time at 
 West Point, where he had been educated. But certain 
 disagreeable remembrances of Aunt Hannah's parting 
 injunction, "not to tell everybody in the cars that she 
 was Katy's aunt," kept her silent on that point, and so 
 Lieutenant Bob Reynolds failed to be enlightened with 
 regard to the relationship existing between the fastidious 
 Wilford Cameron of Madison Square, and the quaint old 
 lady whose very first act on entering the car amused 
 him vastly. At a glance he saw that she was unused to 
 traveling, and as the car was crowded, he had kindly 
 oflFered his seat near the door, taking the side one under 
 the window, and so close to her that she gave him her 
 capbox to hold while she adjusted her other bundles. 
 This done and herself comfortably settled, she was just 
 remarking that she liked being close to the door in "ase of 
 a fire, when the conductor appeared, extending his hand 
 officially toward her as the first one convenient. For an 
 instant Aunt Betsy scanned him closely, thinking she 
 surely had never seen him before, but as he seemed to 
 claim acquaintance she could not find it in her kind heart 
 to ig-nore him altogether, and so she grasped the offered 
 hand, which she tried to shake, saying apologetically: 
 
 "Pretty well, thank you, but you've got the better of 
 me, as I don't justly recall your name." 
 
 Instantly the eyes of the young man tinder the win- 
 dow met those of the conductor with a look which 
 changed the frown gathering in the face of the latter 
 into a comical smile as he withdrew his hand and shouted : 
 
 "Ticket, madam, your ticket!" 
 
 "For the land's sake, have I got to give that up so 
 
AUNT BETSY GOES ON A JOURNEY. £45 
 
 quick, when it's at the bottom of my satchel," Aunt Betsy 
 replied, somewhat crestfallen at her mistake, and fum- 
 bling in her pocket for the key, which was finally pro- 
 duced, and one by one the paper parcels of fennel, car- 
 away, and catnip, dried plums, peaches and yeast cakes, 
 were taken out, until at the very bottom, as she had said, 
 the ticket was found, the conductor waiting patiently, 
 and advising her, by way of avoiding future trouble, 
 to pin the card to her shawl, where it could be seen. 
 
 "A right nice man," was Aunt Betsy's mental com- 
 ment, but for a long time there was a red spot on her 
 cheeks as she felt that she had made herself ridiculous, 
 and hoped the girls would never hear of it. 
 
 The young- man, however, helped to reassure her, and 
 in telling him her troubles she forgot her chagrin, feeling 
 very sorry that he was going on to Albany, and so down 
 the river to West Point. West Point was associated in 
 Aunt Betsy's mind with that handtul of noble men who 
 within the walls of Sumter were then the center of so 
 much interest, and at parting with her companion she 
 said to him: 
 
 "Young man, you are a soldier, I take it, from your 
 havin' been to school at West Point. Maybe you'll 
 never have to use your learning, but if you do, stick to 
 the old flag. Don't you go against that, and if an old 
 woman's prayers for your safety can do any good, be 
 sure you'll have mine." 
 
 She raised her hand reverently, and Lieutenant Bob felt 
 a kind of awe steal over him as if he might one day need 
 that benediction, the first perhaps given in the cause now 
 so terribly agitating all hearts both North and South." 
 
 "I'll remember what you say," he answered, and then 
 as a new idea was presented he took out a card, and 
 writing a few lines upon it, bade her hand it to the con- 
 ductor just as she was getting into the city. 
 
 Without her glasses Aunt Betsy could not read, and 
 thinking it did not matter now, she thrust the card into 
 her pocket, and bidding her companion good-by, took her 
 seat in the other train. Lonely and a very little homesick 
 she began to feel; for her new neighbors were not one- 
 half as willing to talk as Bob had been, and she finally 
 relapsed into silence, which resulted in a ^ i'=<- sleep, 
 
246 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 from which she awoke just as they were entering the long, 
 dark tunnel, which she would have likened to Purgatory 
 had sne believed in such a place. 
 
 "I didn't know we ran into cellars," she said, faintly; 
 but nobody heeded her, or cared for the anxious and 
 now timid-looking wOman, who grew more and more 
 anx'Dus, until suddenly remembering the card, she drew 
 it Trom her pocket, and the next time the conductor ap- 
 peared handed it to him, watching him while he read 
 that "Lieutenant Robert Reynolds would consider it as a 
 personal favor if he would see the bearer into the Fourth 
 Avenue cars." 
 
 Surely there is a Providence which watches over all; 
 and Lieutenant Reynolds' thoughtfulness was not a mere 
 chance, but the answer to the simple trust Aunt Betsy 
 had that God would take her safely to New York, never 
 doubting until she reached it that she had been heard. 
 And even then she did not doubt it long, for the con- 
 ductor knew Lieutenant Bob, and attended as faithfully 
 to his wishes as if it had been a born princess instead of 
 Aunt Hetsy Barlow whom he led to a street car, ascer- 
 taining the number on the Bowery where she wished to 
 stop, and reporting to that conductor, who bowed in 
 acquiescence, after glancing at the woman, and knowing 
 intuitively that she was from the country. Could she 
 have divested herself wholly of the fear that the con- 
 ductor would forget to put her off at the right place. Aunt 
 Betsy would have enjoyed that ride very much ; and as it 
 ■was, she looked around with interest, thinking New York 
 a mightily cluttered-up place, and wondering if all the 
 folks were in the streets. "They must be a gadding set," 
 she thought; and then, as a lady in flaunting robes took 
 a seat beside her, crowding her into a narrow space, the 
 good old dame thought to show that she did not resent 
 it, by an attempt at sociability, asking if she knew "Mrs. 
 Peter Tubbs, whose husband kept a store on the Bow- 
 ery ?" 
 
 "I have not that honor," was the haughty reply, the 
 lady drawing up her costly shawl and moving a little 
 away from b-.r interlocutor, who continued: "I thought 
 like enou[;r. you iiiight have seen 'Tilda, or Mattie she 
 
AUNT BETSY GOES ON A JOURNEY. 247 
 
 calls herself now. She is a right nice girl, and Tom 
 is a very forrard boy." 
 
 To this there was no reply; and as the lady soon left 
 the car, Aunt Betsy did not make another attempt at 
 conversation, except to ask once how far they were from 
 the Bowery, adding, as she received a civil answer, "You 
 don't know Mr. Peter Tubbs?" 
 
 The worthy man was evidently a stranger to the occu- 
 pants of that car, and so Aunt Betsy employed her time 
 in wondering if they kept up a sight of style. She pre- 
 sumed they did from what 'T^lda had written to one of 
 Captain Perry's girls about their front parlor, and back 
 parlor, and library; but she did so hope their boarders 
 were not the stuck up kind. In Mrs. Peter Tubbs her- 
 self she had the utmost confidence, knowing her to be a 
 kind, friendly woman; and so her heart did not beat 
 quite as fast as it would otherwise have done when the 
 car stopped at last upon a crossing, and the conductor 
 pointed back a few doors to the right, telling her thit 
 was her number. ^ 
 
 "I should s'pose he might have driv right up, instead 
 of leaving me here," she said, looking wistfully at the re- 
 treating car, which now seemed almost like home. "Coats, 
 and trousers, and jackets ! I wonder if there is nothinr;^ 
 else to be seen here," she continued, as her eye caught the 
 long line of clothing so conspicuously displayed in that 
 part of the Bowery. " 'Tain't no great shakes," v.-as the 
 feeling struggling into Aunt Betsy's mind, as with Tom's 
 outline map in hand she peered at the numbers of the 
 doors, finding the right one at last, and ringing the bell 
 with a force which brought Mattie at once to the rescue. 
 
 If Mattie was not glad to see her guest, she seemed to 
 be, which answered every purpose for the tired woman, 
 who followed her into the dark, narrow hall, filled with 
 the sickly odor of the kitchen, and up the narrow stairs, 
 through a still darker hall, and into the front parlor, 
 which looked out upon the Bowery. This was compara- 
 tively comfortable, for there was a fire in the stove, and 
 the carpet the same which Aunt Betsy remembered to 
 have seen in Mrs. Tubbs' best room at Silverton. But 
 the diminutive dimensions of the apartment struck her 
 at once, and she mentally decided that it must be the 
 
248 PAMILT PRIDE. 
 
 "libry." But, alas! the so-called "library" was a large- 
 sized closet, or single room, at the other end of the hall, 
 and now used as an omnium gatherum for the various 
 articles Mrs. Tubbs found necessary for her "back par- 
 lor," or dining-room, where the table was set cornerwise, 
 its soiled linen and dingy napkins presenting a striking 
 contrast to the snowy cloth which always covered the 
 table at the farmhouse, while the dry, baker's bread, and 
 the frowsy butter were almost more than Aunt Betsy 
 could swallow, hungry as she was. 
 
 But all this was half an hour after the time when Mrs, 
 Tubbs came in to meet her, expressing genuine pleasure 
 at seeing her there, and feeling what she said; for Mrs. 
 Tubbs did not take kindly to city life, and the sight of 
 a familiar face, which brought the country with it, was 
 very welcome to her. Mattie, on the contrary, liked 
 New York, and there was scarcely a street where she 
 had not been, with Tom for a protector; while she was 
 perfectly conversant with all the respectable places of 
 amusement — with their dififerent prices and different 
 grades of patrons. She knew where Wilford Cameron's 
 office was, and also his house, for she had walked by the 
 latter many times, admirin.g the elegant curtains and 
 feasting her eyes upon the glimpses of inside grandeur, 
 which she occasionally obtained as some one came out or 
 went in. Once she had seen Helen and Katy enter their 
 carriage, which the colored coachman drove away, but she 
 had never ventured to accost them. Katy would not 
 have known her if she had, for the family had come to 
 Silverton while she was at Canandaigua, and as, after 
 her return to Silverton, until her marriage, Mattie had 
 been in one of the Lawrence factories, they had never 
 met. With Helen, however, she had a speaking acquaint- 
 ance ; but she had never presumed upon it in New York, 
 though to some of her young friends she had told how she 
 once sat in the same pew with Mrs. Wilford Cameron's 
 sister when she went to the "Episcopal meeting," and 
 the consideration which this fact procured for her from 
 those who had heard of Mrs. Wilford Cameron, of Madi- 
 son Square, awoke in her the ambition to know more of 
 that lady, and, if possible, gain an entrance to her dwell- 
 ing. To this end she favored Aunt Betsy's visit, hoping 
 
AUNT BETSY GOES ON A JOURNEY. 249 
 
 thus to accomplish her object, for, of course, when Miss 
 Barlow went to Mrs. Cameron's, she was the proper per- 
 son to go with her and point the way.- This was the 
 secret of Mattie's letter to Aunt Betsy, and the wamnth 
 with which she welcomed her to that tenement on the 
 Bowery, over a clothing store, and so small that it is not 
 strange Aunt Betsy wondered where they all slept, never 
 dreaming of the many devices known to city house- 
 keepeffs, who can change a handsome parlor into a 
 kitchen or sleeping-room, atid vice versa, with little or no 
 trouble. But she found it out at last, lifting her hands in 
 speechless amazement, when;' as the hour for retiring 
 came, what she imagined the parlor bookcase was con- 
 verted into a comfortable bed, on which her first night in 
 New York was passed in comfort if not in perfect quiet. 
 
 The next day had been set apart by Maftie for show- 
 ing their guest the city and possibly calling on Mrs. Wil- 
 ford; but the poor old lady, unused to travel and excite- 
 ment, was too tired to venture out, seeing from the win- 
 dow more than she had seen in all her life before, aiid 
 coming to the conclusion that New York must contain "a 
 sight of folks," judging from the crowds who passed that 
 way and the glimpses she caught of other crowds in the 
 streets beyond. Still in some things she was disap- 
 pointed. New York was not so grand as she had' 
 imagined it to be — not as grand as Helen's letters would 
 imply; and she "didn't suppose everybody lived upstairs 
 and kept men's clothes to sell." The boarders, too, 
 troubled her. They were well enough, it is true, but 
 they were neither fine ladies nor gentlemen, such as Wil- 
 ford and Katy ; and Aunt Betsy, while receiving every at- 
 tention which Mrs. Tubbs could give her, was guilty of 
 wishing herself back in the clean, bright kitchen at home, 
 where the windows looked out upon woods and fields in- 
 stead of that never-ceasing rush which made her dizzy 
 and faint. On the whole she was as nearly homesick as 
 she well could be, and so when Mattie asked if she would 
 like to go out that evening, she caught eagerly at the 
 idea, as it involved a change, and again the opera came 
 before her mind, in spite of her attempts to thrust it away. 
 
 "Did 'Tilda know if Katy went to the. opera now? Did 
 she s'pose she would be there to-night? A'/? it far to 
 
250 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 the showhouse ? What was the price — and was it a very 
 wicked place?" 
 
 To all these queries Mattie answered readily. She pre- 
 sumed Katy would be there, as it was a new opera. It 
 was not so very far. Distance in the city was nothing, 
 and it was not a wicked place, but over the price Mattie 
 faltered. Tickets for Aunt Betsy, herself and Tom, who 
 of course must go with them, would cost more than her 
 father had to give. The theatre was preferable, as that 
 came within their means, and she suggested Laura 
 Keene's; but from that Aunt Betsy recoiled as from 
 Pandemonium icseli'. 
 
 Catch her at a cn^atre — her, a deacon's sister, looked 
 up to for a sample, and who run once for vice-president 
 of the Sewing Society in Silverton ! It was too terrible 
 to think of. But the opera seemed different. Helen 
 went there; it could not be very 'wrong, particularly as the 
 tickets were so high that bad folks could not go, and tak- 
 ing out her purse Aunt Betsy counted its contents care- 
 fully, holding the bills thoughtfully for a moment, while 
 she seemed to be balancing between what she knew was 
 safe and what she feared might be wrong, at least in the 
 eyes of Silverton. 
 
 "But Silverton will never know it," the tempter whis- 
 I pered, "and it is worth something to see the girls in full 
 dress." 
 
 This decided it, and Aunt Betsy generously offered "to 
 pay the fiddler," as she termed it, "provided 'Tilda would 
 r.ever let it get to Silverton that Betsy Barlow was seen 
 inside a playhouse !" To Mrs. Tubbs it seemed impos- 
 sible that Aunt Betsy could be in earnest, but when she 
 was, she put no impediments in her way ; and so, conspicu- 
 ous among the crowd of transient visitors who that night 
 entered the Academy of Music was Aunt Betsy Barlow, 
 chaperoned by Miss Mattie Tubbs and protected by Tom. 
 a shrewd, well-grown yotlth of seventeen, who passed for 
 some years older, and consequently was a sufficient escort 
 for the ladies under his charge. It was not his first visit 
 there and he managed to procure a seat which commanded 
 a good view of several private boxes, ^nd among them 
 that of Wilford Cameron. This Mattie, who remembered 
 where she had seen both Helen and Katy, pointed out to 
 
AUNT BETSY GOES ON A JOURNEY. 251 
 
 the excited woman gazing about her in a maze of be- 
 wilderment, and half doubting her owil identity with the 
 Betsy Barlow who, six weeks before, if charged with such 
 a sin as she was now committing, would have exclaimed, 
 "Is thy servant a dog to do this thing?" Yet here she 
 was, a deacon's sister, a candidate for the vice-presidency 
 of the Silverton Sewing Society, a woman who,, for sixty- 
 three years and a-half, had led a blameless life, frowning 
 upon all worldly amusements and setting herself for a 
 burning light to others — here she was in her black silk 
 dress, her best shawl pinned across her chest, and her bon- 
 net tied in a square bow which rf ached nearly to her ears, 
 which Mattie Tubbs, who tied it, had said was all the 
 style. Here she was, in that huge building, where the 
 lights, were so blinding and the crowd so great that she 
 shut her eyes involuntarily, while she tried to realize what 
 she could be doing. 
 
 "I'm in for it now anyhow, and if it is wrong may the 
 good Father forgive me," she said softly to herself, just 
 as the orchestra struck up, thrilling her with it| ravishing 
 strains, and making her forget all else in her rapturous 
 delight. 
 
 She was very fond of music and listened eagerly, beat- 
 ing time with both her feet, and making her bonnet go up 
 and down until the play commenced and she saw stage 
 dress and stage effect for the first time in her life. This 
 part she did not like; "they mumbled their words so no- 
 body could understand more than if they spoke a heathen- 
 is!i tongue," she thought, and she was beginning to yawn 
 v.hen a nudge from Mattie and a whisper, "There they 
 «ome," roused her from her stupor, and looking up she 
 saw both Helen and Katy entering their box, and with 
 them Mark Ray and Wilford Cameron.' 
 
 Very rapidly Katy's eyes swept the house, running over 
 the sea of heads "below but failing to see the figure which, 
 half arising from its seat, stood with clasped hands, gaz- 
 ing upon her, the tears running like rain over the up- 
 turned face, and the lips murmuring: "Darling Katy! 
 blessed child ! She's thinner than when I see her last, but 
 oh ! so beautiful and grand ! Precious lambkin ! It isn't 
 wicked now for me to be coming here, where I can see 
 her face again." 
 
252 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 It was all in vain that Mattie pulled her dress, bidding 
 her sit down as people were staring at her. Aunt Betsy 
 did not hear, and if she had she would scarcely have 
 cared for those who did look at her, and who, following 
 her eyes, saw the beautiful young ladies, behind whom 
 Wilford and Mark were standing, but never dreamed of 
 associating them with the "crazy thing" who sank back 
 at last into her seat, keeping her eyes still upon the box 
 where Helen and Katy sat, their heads uncovered and 
 their rich cloaks falling off just enough to show the as- 
 tonished woman that both their necks were imcovered, too, 
 while Helen's arms, raised to adjust her glass, were dis- 
 covered to be in the same condition. 
 
 ."Ain't they splendid in full dress?" Mattie whispered, 
 while Aunt Betsy replied: 
 
 "Call that full dress ? I'd sooner say it was no dress at 
 all ! They'll catch their death of cold. What would their 
 mother say?" 
 
 Then as the enormity of the act grew upon her, she con- 
 tinued more to herself than to Mattie : 
 
 "I mistrusted Catherine, but that Helen should come to 
 this passes me." 
 
 Still as she became more accustomed to it, and glanced 
 at other full-dressed ladies, the first shock passed away, 
 and she could calmly contemplate Katy's dress, wondering 
 what it cost, and then letting her eyes pass on to Helen, 
 to whom Mark Ray seemed so loverlike that Aunt Betsy 
 remembered her impressions when he stopped at Silver- 
 ton, her heart swelling with pride as she thought of both 
 the girls making out so well. 
 
 "Who is that young man talking to Helen?" Mattie 
 asked, between the acts, and when told that it was "Mr. 
 Ray, Wilford's partner," she drew her breath eagerly, 
 and turned again to watch him, envying the young girl 
 who did not seem as much gratified 'with the attentions 
 as Mattie fancied she should do were she in Helen's place. 
 
 How could she,, with Juno Cameron just opposite, 
 watching her jealously, while Madam Cameron fanned 
 herself in dignity, refusing to look upon what she so 
 greatly disapproved. 
 
 But Mark did not care who was watching him, and 
 continued his attentions until Helen wished herself away. 
 
AUNT BETSY GOES ON A JOURNEY. 253 
 
 and though a good deal surprised, was not sorry when 
 iWilford abruptly declared the opera a bore, and suggested 
 going home. 
 
 They would order an ice, he said, and have a much 
 pleasanter time in their own private parlor. 
 
 "Please don't go; I rather Uke the play to-night," Katy 
 said; but on Wilford's face there was that look which 
 never consulted Katy's wishes, and so the two ladies tied 
 on their cloaks, and just as the curtain rose in the last act, 
 left their box, Juno wondering at the movement, and 
 hoping Mark would now come around to her, while Aunt 
 Betsy looked wistfully after them, but did not suspect she 
 was the cause of their exit, and of Wilford's evident per- 
 turbation. 
 
 Running his eye over the house below, it had fallen 
 upon the trio. Aunt Betsy, Mattie and Tom, the first of 
 whom was at that moment partly standing, while she 
 adjusted her heavy shawl, which the heat of the building 
 had compelled her to unfasten. 
 
 There was a start, a rush of blood to the head and face, 
 and then he reflected how impossible it was that she 
 should be there, in New York, and at the opera, too. 
 
 The shawl arranged. Aunt Betsy took her seat and 
 turned her face fully toward him, while Wilford seized 
 Katy's glass and leveled it at her. He was not mistaken. 
 It was Aunt Betsy Barlow, and Wilford felt the perspira- 
 tion oozing out beneath his hair and about his lips, as he 
 remembered the letter he had burned, wishing now that he 
 had answered it, and so, perhaps, have kept her from his 
 door. For she was coming there, nay, possibly had come, 
 since his departure from home, and learning his where- 
 abouts, had followed on to the Academy of Music, leav- 
 ing her baggage where he should stumble over it oi\, en- 
 tering the hall. 
 
 Such was the fearful picture conjured up by Wilford's 
 imagination, as he stood watching poor Aunt Betsy, a 
 dark cloud on his brow and fierce anger at his heart, that 
 she should thus presume to worry and annoy him. 
 
 "If she spies us she will be finding her way up here; 
 there's no piece of effrontery of which hat class is not 
 capable," he thought, wondering next who the vulgar- 
 looking girl and gauche youth were who were with her. 
 
254 FAMILY PEIDB. 
 
 "Country cousins, of whom I have never neard, no 
 doubt," and he ground his teeth together as with his next 
 breath he suggested going home, carrying out his sug- 
 gestion and hurrying both Helen and Katy to the carriage 
 as if some horrible dragon had been on their track. 
 
 There was no baggage in the hall, there had been no 
 woman there, and Wilford's fears for a time subsided, 
 but growing strong again about the time he knew the 
 opera was out, while the sound of wheels coming toward 
 his door was sufficient to make his heart stop beating and 
 every hair prickle at its roots. 
 
 But Aunt Betsy did . not come except in Wilford's 
 dreams, which she haunted the entire night, so that the 
 morning found him tired, moody, and cross. That day 
 they entertained a select dinner party, and as this was 
 something in which Katy rather excelled, while Helen's 
 presence, instead of detracting from, would add greatly 
 to the eclat of the affair, Wilford had anticipated it with 
 no small degree 'of complacency. But now, alas ! there 
 was a phantom at his side — a skeleton of horror, wearing 
 Aunt Betsy's guise ; and if it had been possible he would 
 have given the dinner up. But it was too late for that; 
 the guests were bidden, the arrangements made, and there 
 was nothing now for him but to abide the consequences. 
 
 "She shall at least stay in her room, if I have to lock her 
 in," he thought, as he went down to his office without even 
 kissing Katy or bidding her good-by. 
 
 But business that day had no interest for him., and in a 
 listless, absent way he sat watching the passers-by and 
 glancing at his door as if he expected the first assault to 
 be made there. Then as the day wore on, and he felt 
 sure that what he so much dreaded had really come to 
 pass, that the baggage expected last night had certainly 
 arrived by this time and spread itself over his house, he 
 could endure the suspense no longer, and startled Mark 
 with the announcement that he was going home, and 
 should not return again that day. 
 
 "Going home, when Leavitt is to call at three !" Mark 
 said, in much surprise, and feeling that it would be a re- 
 lief to unburden himself to some one, the story came out 
 how Wilford had seen Aunt Betsy at the cpet-a, and 'ex- 
 pected to fird ' ^r at Madison Square. 
 
AUNT BETSY CONSULTS A LAWYER. ' 255 
 
 "I wish I had answered her letter about that con- 
 founded sheep pasture," he said, "for I would rather give 
 a thousand dollars — ^yes, ten thousand — than have her 
 with us to-day. I did not marry my wife's relations," he 
 continued, excitedly, adding, as Mark looked quickly up, 
 "Of course I don't mean Helen. She is right ; and though 
 she rasps me a little, I'd rather have her than not. Neither 
 do I mean that doctor, for he is a gentleman. But this 
 Barlow woman — oh! Mark, I am all of dripping sweat 
 just to think of it." 
 
 He did not say what he intended doing, but with Mark 
 Ray's ringing laugh in his ears, passed into the street, and 
 hailing a stage was driven toward home, just as a down- 
 town stage deposited on the walk in front of his office 
 "that Barlow woman" and Mattie Tubbs ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 AUNT BETSY CONSULTS A LAWYER. 
 
 Aunt Betsy did not rest well after her return from the 
 opera. Novelty and excitement always kept her awake, 
 while her mind was not wholly at ease with regard to what 
 she had done. Not that she really felt she had com- 
 mitted a sin, except so far as the example might be bad, 
 but she feared the result, should it ever reach the ortho- 
 dox church at Silverton. 
 
 "There's no telling what Deacon Bannister would do — 
 send a subpoena after me, for what I know," she thought, 
 as she laid her tired head upon her pillow and went off 
 into that weary state halfway between sleep and wake- 
 fulness, a state in which operas, play actors, Katy in full 
 dress, Helen and Mark Ray, choruses, music by the or- 
 chestra, to which she had been guilty of beating her foot, 
 Deacon Bannister and the whole offended brotherhood, 
 with constable and subpoenas, were pretty equally blended 
 together — the music which she liked, and the subpoena 
 which she feared taking the precedence of the others. 
 
 But with the daylight her fears subsided, and at the 
 breakfast table she was hardly less enthusiastic over the 
 opera than Mattie herself, averring, however, that "once 
 ■would do hec and she had no wish to go again." 
 
256 FAMILY PRffiE. 
 
 The sight oi Katy looking so frail and delicate, but bo 
 beautiful withal, had awakened all the olden intense love 
 she had felt for her darling, and she could not wait much 
 longer without seeing her "in her own home and hearing 
 her blessed voice." 
 
 "Hannah, and Lucy amongst 'em, advised me not 
 to come," she said to Mrs. Tubbs, "hinting that I might 
 not be wanted up there ; but now I'm here I shall go if I 
 don't stay more than an hour." 
 
 "Of course I should," Mattie answered, herself anxious 
 to stand beneath Wilford Cameron's roof and see Mrs. 
 Wilford at home. "She don't look as proud as Helen, 
 and you are her aunt, her blood kin^ so why shouldn't you 
 go there if you like ?" 
 
 "I shall — I am going," Aunt Betsy replied, feeling that 
 to take Mattie with her was not quite the thing, and not 
 exactly knowing how to manage, for the girl must of 
 course pilot the way. "I'll risk it and trust to Provi- 
 dence," was her final decision, and so after an early lunch 
 she started out with Mattie as her escort, suggesting that 
 they visit Wilford's office first and get that affair out of 
 her mind. 
 
 At this point Aunt Betsy began to look upon herself as 
 a most hardened wretch, wondering at the depths of in- 
 iquity to which she had fallen. The opera was the least 
 of her offenses, for she was not harboring pride and con- 
 triving how ,to be rid of 'Tilda Tubbs, as clever a girl as 
 ever lived, hoping that if she found Wilford he would see 
 her home, and so save 'Tilda the trouble? Playhouses, 
 pride, vanity, subterfuge and deceit — it was a long cata- 
 logue she would have to confess to Deacon Bannister, if 
 confess she did, and with a groan the conscience-smitten 
 woman followed her conductor along the street, and at 
 last into the stage which took them to Wilford's officeJ 
 
 Broadway was literally jammed that day, and the aid of 
 two policemen was required to extricate the bewildered 
 countrywoman from the mass of vehicles and horses' 
 heads, which took all her sense away. Trembling like a 
 leaf when Mattie explained that the "two nice men" who 
 had dragged her to the walk were police officers, and 
 thinking again of the subpoena, the frightened woman 
 v/ho had escaped such peril, followed up the two flights of 
 
AUNT BETSY CONSULTS A LAWYER. 257 
 
 stairs and into Wilford's office, where she sank breathless 
 into a chair, while Mark, not in the least surprised, greeted 
 her cordially, and very soon succeeded in getting her 
 quiet, bowing so graciously to Mattie when introduced 
 that the poor girl dreamed of him for many a night, and 
 by day built castles of what might have been had she been 
 rich, instead of only 'Tilda Tubbs, whose home was on 
 the Bowery. Why need Aunt Betsy in her introduction 
 have mentioned that fact? Mattie thought, her cheeks 
 burning scarlet; or why need she afterward speak of her 
 as 'Tilda, who was kind enough -to come with her to the 
 office where she hoped to find Wilford ? Poor Mattie, she 
 knew some things very well, but she had never yet con- 
 ceived of the immeasurable distance between herself and 
 Mark Ray, who cared but little whether her home were 
 on the Bowery or on Murray Hill, after the first sight 
 which told him what she was. He was very polite to her, 
 however, for it was not in his nature to be otherwise, 
 while the fact that she came with Helen's aunt gave her 
 some claim upon him. 
 
 "Mr. Cameron had just left the office and would not re- 
 turn that day," he said to Aunt Betsy, asking if he could 
 assist her in any way, and assuring her of his willingness 
 to do so. 
 
 Aunt Betsy could talk with him better than with Wil- 
 ford, and was about to give him the story of the sheep 
 pasture in detail, when, motioning to a side door, he said, 
 "Walk in here, please. You will not be liable to so many 
 interruptions." 
 
 "Come, 'Tilda, it's no privacy," Aunt Betsy said; but 
 'Tilda felt intuitively that she was not wanted, and rather 
 haughtily declined, •amusing herself by the window, while 
 Aunt Betsy in the private office told her troubles to Mark 
 Ray ; and received in return the advice to let the claimant 
 go to law if he chose, he probably would make nothing by 
 it, and even if he did, she would not sustain a heavy loss, 
 according to her own statement of the value of the land. 
 
 ^'If I could keep the sweet apple-tree, I wouldn't care," 
 Aunt Betsy said, "for the rest ain't worth a lawsuit; 
 though it's my property, and I have thought of willing it 
 to Helen, if she ever marries." 
 
 Here was a temptation which Mark Ray could not re- 
 
258 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 sist. Ever since Mrs. General Reynolds' party Helen's 
 manner had puzzled him ; but her shyness only made him 
 more in love than ever, while the rumor of her engage- 
 ment with Dr. Morris tormented him continually. Some- 
 times he believed it, and sometimes he did not, wishing 
 always that he knew for certain. Here then was a chance 
 for confirming his. fears or for putting them at rest, and 
 blessing 'Tilda Tubbs for declining to enter his back office, 
 he said in reply to Aunt Betsy's "If she ever marries,'* 
 "And of course she will. She is fengaged, I believe ?" 
 
 "Engaged! Who to? When? Strange she never 
 writ, nor Katy neither," Aunt Betsy exclaimed, while 
 Mark, raised to an ecstatic state, replied, "I refer to Dr. 
 Grant. Haven't they been engaged for a long time 
 past?" 
 
 "Why — ^no — indeed," was the response, and Mark 
 could have hugged the good old lady, who eontinued in a 
 confidential tone: "I used to think they'd make a good 
 match; but I've gin that up, and now I sometimes mis- 
 trust 'twas Katy, Morris wanted. Anyhow, he's mighty 
 changed since she was married, and he never speaks her 
 name. I never heard anybody say so, and maybe it's all 
 a fancy, so you won't mention it." 
 
 "Certainly not," Mark replied, drawing nearer to her, 
 and continuing in a low tone, "Isn't it possible that after 
 all Helen is engaged to her cousin, and you do not know 
 it?" 
 
 "No," and Aunt Betsy grew very positive. "I am surq 
 she ain't, for only t'other day I said to Morris that I 
 wouldn't wonder if Helen and another chap had a hank- 
 erin' for one another; and he said he wished it might be 
 so, for you — no, that other chap, I mean — would make a 
 splendid husband," and Aunt Betsy turned very red at the 
 blunder, which made Mark Ray feel as if he walked on 
 air, with no obstacle whatever in his path. 
 
 Still he could iiot be satisfied without probing her a 
 little deeper, and so he said : "And that other chap ? Does 
 he live in Silverton ?" 
 
 Aunt Betsy's look was a sufficient answer ; for the old 
 lady knew he was quizzing her, just as she felt that in 
 Eome way she had removed a stumbling block from his 
 path. She had — a very large stumbling block, and in the 
 
AUNT BETSY CONSULTS A LAWYER. 259 
 
 first flush of his joy and gratitude he could do most any- 
 thing. So when she spoke of going up to Katy's, he set 
 himself industriously at work to prevent it for that day. at 
 least, "They were to have a large dinner party," he said, 
 "and both Mrs. Cameron and Miss Lennox would be 
 wholly occupied. Would it not be better to wait until to- 
 morrow? Did she contemplate a long stay in New 
 York?" 
 
 "No, she might go back to-morrow — certainly the day 
 after," Aunt Betsy replied, her voice trembling at this 
 fresh impediment thrown in the way of her seeing Katy. 
 
 The quaver in her voice touched Mark's sympathy.' 
 "She was old and simple-hearted. She was Helen's 
 aunt," and this, more than aught else, helped him to a de- 
 cision. "She must be homesick in the Bowery ; he should 
 die if compelled to stay there long ; he would take her to 
 his mother's and keep her until the morrow, and perhaps 
 until she left for home ; telling Helen that night, of course, 
 and then suffering her to act accordingly." 
 
 This he proposed to his client; assuring her of his 
 mother's entire willingness to receive her, and urging so 
 many reasons why she should go there, instead of "up to 
 Katy's," where they were in such confusion that Aunt 
 Betsy was at last persuaded, and was soon riding up-** 
 town in a Twenty-third Street stage, with Mark Ray her 
 vis-chvis and Mattie at her right. Why Mattie was there 
 Mark could not conjecture; and perhaps she did not know 
 herself, unless it were that, disappointed in her call on 
 Mrs. Cameron, she vaguely hoped for some redress by 
 calling on Mrs. Banker, How then was she chagrined, 
 when, as the stage left them at a handsome brownstone 
 front, near Fifth Avenue Hotel, Mark said to her, as if 
 she were not of course expected to go in, "Please tell yoyr 
 mother that Miss Barlow is stopping with Mrs. Banker 
 to-day. Has she baggage at your house ? — If so, we will 
 send around for it at once. Your number, please?" 
 
 His manner was so offhand and yet so polite that Mat* 
 tie could neither resist him, nor yet be angry, though there 
 was a sad feeling of disappointment at her heart as she 
 gave the required number, and then shook Aunt Betsy's 
 hand, whispering in a choked voice : 
 
 "You'll crme to us again before you go home?" 
 
260 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 "Of course I shall," Aunt Betsy answered, feeling that 
 something was wrong, and wondering if she herself were 
 in fault. 
 
 With a good-by to Mark, whose bow atoned for a great 
 deal, Mattie walked slowly away, leaving Mark greatly 
 relieved. Aunt Betsy was as much a^ he cared to have on 
 his hands at once, and as he led her up the steps, he be- 
 gan to wonder more and more what his mother would say 
 to his bringing that stranger into her house, unbidden and 
 unsought. 
 
 "I'll tell her just the truth," was his rapid decision, and 
 assuming a manner which warned the servant who an- 
 swered his ring neither to be curious nor impertinent, he 
 conducted his charge into the parlor, and bringing her a 
 chair before the grate, went in quest of his mother, who he 
 found was out. 
 
 "Kindle a fire then in the front guest chamber," he 
 said, "and see that it is made comfortable as soon as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 The servant bowed in acquiescence, wondering who had 
 come, and feeling not a little surprised at the description 
 given by John of the woman he had let into the house, 
 and who now in the parlor was looking around her in as- 
 tonishment and delight, thinking she had found New 
 York at last, and condemning herself for the feeling of 
 homesickness with which she remembered the Bowery, 
 contrasting her "cluttered quarters" there with the ele- 
 gance around her. "Was Katy's house as fine as this?" 
 she asked herself, feeling intuitively that such as she 
 might be out of place in it, just as she began to fear she 
 was out of her place here, bemoaning the fact that she had 
 forgotten her capbox, with its contents, and so could not 
 rem.ove her bonnet, as she had nothing with which to 
 cover her gray head. 
 
 "What shall I do?" she was asking herself, when Mark 
 appeared, explaining that his mother was absent, but 
 would be at home in a short time. 
 
 "Your room will soon be ready," he continued, "and 
 meantime you might lay aside your wrappings here if 
 you find them too warm." 
 
 There was something about Mark Ray which inspired 
 confidence, and in her extremity Aunt Betsy gasped, "I 
 
AUNT BETSY CONSULTS A LAWYER. 261 
 
 * . 
 x;an't take oif my biinnet till I get my caps down to Mrs. 
 Tubbs'. Oh, what a trouble I be." -v 
 
 Not exactly comprehending the nature of the difficulty, 
 Mark suggested that she go -without a cap until he could 
 send for tiieni; but Aunt Betsy's assertion that "she was 
 grayer than a rat," enlightened him with regard to her di- 
 lemma, and full permission was given for her "to sit in 
 her bonnet" u'ntil such time as a messenger could go to 
 the Bowery and back. In this condition she had better be 
 in her own room, and as it was in readiness, Mark him- 
 self conducted her to it, the stem gravity of his face put- 
 ting down the laugh which sprang to the waiting maid's 
 eyes at the old lady's ejaculations of surprise and amaze- 
 ment that anything could be so fine as the house where 
 she so unexpectedly found herself a guest. 
 
 "She is unaccustomed to the city, but a particular 
 friend of mine; so see that you treat her with respect," 
 was all the explanation he vouchsafed to the curious girl. 
 
 But that was enough. A friend of Mr. Ray's must be 
 somebody, even if she sat with two bonnets on instead of 
 one, and appeared ten times more rustic than Aunt Betsy, 
 who breathed freer when she found herself alone upstairs, 
 and knew her baggage would soon be there. /, 
 
 In some little trepidation Mark paced up and down 
 the parlor waiting for his mother, who came ere long, 
 expressing her surprise to find him there, and asking if 
 anything had happened that he seemed so agitated. 
 
 "Yes, I'm in a deuced scrape," he answered, coming up 
 to her with the saucy, winning smile she could never re- 
 sist, and continuing, "To begin at the foundation, you 
 know how much I am in love with Helen Lennox?" 
 
 "No, I don't," was the reply, as Mrs. Banker removed 
 her fur with the most provoking coolness. "How should 
 I know when you have never told me ?" 
 
 "Haven't you eyes? Can't you see? Don't you like 
 her yourself?" 
 
 "Yes, ver):^ much." 
 
 "And are you willing she should be your daughter?" 
 
 Mark had his arm around his mother's neck, and bend- 
 ing his 'face to hers, kissed her playfully as he asked her 
 the last question. 
 
262 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 "Say, mother, are you willing I should marry Helen 
 Lennox ?" 
 
 There was a struggle in Mrs. Banker's heart, and for a 
 moment she felt jealous of the girl whom she had guessed 
 was dearer to her son than ever his mother could be again, 
 but she was a sensible woman. She knew that it was 
 natural for another and a stronger love to come betwee^ 
 her and her boy. She liked Helen Lennox. She was 
 willing to take her as a daughter, and she said so at last, 
 and listened half amazed and half amused to the story 
 which had in it so much of Aunt Betsy Barlow, who had 
 cleared away his doubts, and who at that very moment 
 was an occupant of their best guest phamber, sitting with 
 her bonnet on, and waiting for her cap from the Bowery. 
 
 "Perhaps it was wrong to bring her home," he added, 
 "but I did it to spare Helen. I knew just what a savage 
 Wilford would be if he found her there, where she would 
 be in the way. Say, mother, was I wrong ?" 
 
 He was not often wrong in his mother's estimation, 
 and certainly he was not now, when he kissed her so often, 
 begging her to say he had done right. 
 
 Certainly he had. Mrs. Banker was very glad to 
 find him so thoughtful; few young men would do as 
 •much, she said, and from feeling a little doubtful, Mark 
 came to look upon himself as a very nice young man, who 
 had done a most unselfish act, for of course he had not 
 been influenced by any desire to keep Aunt Betsy from 
 the people who would be present at the dinner, neither 
 had Helen been at all mixed up in the affair. 
 
 It was all himself, and he began to whistle "Annie 
 Laurie" very complacently, thinking the while what a 
 clever fellow he was, and meditating other da,ngerous 
 acts toward the old lady overhead, standing by the win- 
 dow, and wondering what the huge building could be 
 gleaming so white in the fading light. 
 
 "Looks as if it was made of stone cheena," she thought, 
 just as Mrs. Banker appeared, her kind, friendly manner 
 making Aunt Betsy feel wholly at ease, as she answered 
 ^e lady's questions or volunteered remarks of her own. 
 
 Mrs. Banker had lived in the country, and had seen just 
 such women as Aunt Betsy Barlow, understanding her in- 
 trinsic worth, and knowing how Helen Lennox, though 
 
AUNT BETSY CONSULTS A LAWYER. 263 
 
 her niece, could still be refined and cultivated. She could 
 also understand how one educated as Wilf ord Cameron 
 had been would shrink from coming in contact with her, 
 and possibly be rude if she thrust herself upon him. Mark 
 did well to bring her here, -she thought, as she left the 
 room to order the tea which the tired woman so much 
 needed. The satchel, umbrella and capbox, with a note 
 from Mattie, had by this time arrived, and in her Sunday 
 cap, with the purple bows, Aunt Betsy felt much better, 
 and enjoyed the tempting little supper, served on silver 
 and Sevres china, the attendant waiting in the hall in- 
 stead of in her room, where her presence might embarrass 
 one unaccustomed to such usages. They were thought- 
 ful, very kind, and had Mark been her own son she could 
 not have been more deferential than he appeared when 
 just before starting for the dinner he went up to see her, 
 asking what message he should take to Helen. Mrs. 
 Banker, too, came in, her dress eliciting many compli- 
 ments from her guest, who ventured to ask the price of 
 the diamond pin which fastened the point lace collar. Five 
 hundred dollars seemed an enormous sum, but Aunt Betsy 
 was learning fast not to say all she thdught, and merelj 
 remarked that Katy had some diamonds, too, which sh«.- 
 presumed cost full as much as that. 
 
 "She should do very well alone," she said, "she could 
 read her Bible, and if she got too tired, go to bed, though 
 she guessed she should stay ;n till they came home, so as 
 to hear about the doin's," r i:.i with a good-by she sent 
 them away, after saying to Mrs. Banker, "Maybe you 
 ain't the kissin' kind, but if you be, I wish you would kiss 
 Katy once for me." 
 
 There was a merrf twinkle in Mark's eyes as he asked; 
 
 "And Helen, too?" 
 
 "I meant your marm, not you," Aunt Betsy answered^ 
 while Mrs. Banker raised her hand to her mischievous 
 son, who ran lightly down the stairs, carrying a happier 
 heart than he had known since Helen Lennox had first 
 come to New York, and he had met her at the depot. 
 
264 FAMILY PKEDB. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE DINNER PARTY. 
 
 It was a very select party which Wilford Cameron en- 
 tertained that evening ; and as the carriages rolled to his 
 door and deposited the guests, the cloud which had been 
 lifting ever since he came home and found "no Barlow 
 woman" there, disappeared entirely, leaving him the 
 blandest, most urbane of hosts, pleased with everybody — 
 himself, his guests, his sister-in-law, and his wife, who 
 had never lodced better than she did to-night, in pearls 
 and light blue silk, which harmonized so perfectly with 
 her waxlike complexion. Like some little fairy she flitted 
 through the rooms, receiving, with a sweet childlike 
 grace the kiss which Mrs. Banker gave her, but never 
 dreaming from whom it came. Aunt Betsy's proximity 
 was wholly unsuspected, both by her and Helen, who was 
 very handsome to-night, in crimson and black, with Hlies 
 in her hair. Nothing could please Mark better than his 
 seat at table, where he could look into her eyes, which 
 idropped so shyly whenever they met his ardent gaze. 
 Helen was beginning to doubt the story of his engagement 
 with Juno, or at least to think that it might possibly have 
 been broken off. Certainly she could not mistake the 
 nature of the attentions he paid to her, especially to-night, 
 when he hovered continually near her, totally ignoring 
 Juno's presence, and conscious apparently of only one 
 form, one face, and that the face and form of Helen Len- 
 nox. 
 
 There was another, too, who felt the influence of 
 Helen's beauty, and that was Lieutenant Bob, who, after 
 dinner, attached himself to her side, while around them 
 gathered quite a group, all listening with peals of laugh- 
 ter as Bob, who was something of a mimic, related his 
 adventure of two days before, with "the most rustic and 
 charming old lady it was ever his fortune to meet." Told 
 by Bob the story lost nothing of its freshness ; for every 
 particular, except indeed the kindness he had shown her. 
 
THE DINNER PARTY. 285 
 
 was related, even to the sheep pasture, about which she 
 was going to New York to consult a lawyer. 
 
 "I thought once of 'referring her to you, Mr. Cameron," 
 B6b said ; "but couldn't find it in my heart to quiz her, she 
 was so wholly unsuspicious. You have not seen her, 
 have you?" 
 
 "No," came faintly from the lips which tried to smile; 
 for Wilford knew who was the heroine of that story; 
 wondering more and more where she was, and feeling a 
 sensation of uneasiness as he thought, "Can any acci- 
 dent have befallen her?" 
 
 It was hardly probable; but Wilford felt very uncom* 
 fortable after hearing the story, which had brought a 
 pang of doubt and fear to another mind than his. From 
 the very first Helen feared that Aunt Betsy was the 
 "odd woman" who had gotten upon the train at soma 
 station which Bob could not remember; while, as the 
 story progressed, she was sure of it, for she had heard 
 of the sheep-pasture trouble, and of Aunt Betsy's pro- 
 jected visit to New York, privately writing to her 
 mother not to suffer it, as Wilford would be so greatly 
 vexed. "Yes, it must be Aunt Betsy," she thought, and 
 she turned so white that Mark, who was watching botlj 
 her and Wilford, came as soon as possible to her sidev 
 and adroitly separating from th€ group around, said 
 softly: "You look tired. Miss Lennox. Come with me 
 a moment. I have something to tell you." 
 
 Alone with her in the hall, he continued, "I have 
 the sequel of Bob Reynolds' story. That woman ■" 
 
 "Was Aunt Betsy," Helen gasped. "But where is 
 she now ? That was two days ago. Tell me if you know. 
 Mr. Ray, you tio "know," and in her agony of fear lest 
 scMmething dreadful had happened, she laid her hand 
 on Mark's, beseeching him to tell her if be knew where 
 Aunt Betsy was. 
 
 It was worth torturing her for a moment to see the 
 pleading look in her eyes, and feel the soft touch of the 
 hand which he took between both his own, holding it 
 there while he answered her: "Aunt Betsy is at my 
 house; kidnaped by me for safe keeping, until I could 
 consult with you. Was that right?" he asked as a 
 
266 FAMILY PKIDE. 
 
 flush came to Helen's cheek, and an expression to her 
 eye which told that his meaning was understood. 
 
 "Is she there willingly ? How did it happen ?" was 
 Helen's reply, her hand still in those of Mark, who thus 
 circumstanced grew very warm and eloquent with the 
 sequel to Bob's story, making it as long as possible, tell- 
 ing what he knew, and also what he had done. 
 
 He had not implicated Wilford in any way ; but Helen 
 read it all, saying more to herself than him: "And she 
 was at the opera. Wilford must have seen her, and 
 that is why he left so suddenly, and why he has ap- 
 peared so absent and nervous to-day, as if expecting 
 something. Excuse me," she suddenly added, draw- 
 ing her hand away and stepping back a little, "I for- 
 got that I was talking as if you knew." 
 
 "I do know more than you suppose — that is, I know 
 human nature — and I know Will better than I did that 
 morning when I first met you," Mark said, glancing at 
 the freed hand he wished so much to take again. 
 
 But Helen kept her hands to herself, and answered 
 him. 
 
 "You did right under the circumstances. It would 
 have been unpleasant for us all had she happened here 
 *tto-night. I thank you, Mr. Ray — you and your mother, 
 too — more than I can express. I will see her early to- 
 morrow morning. Tell her so, please, and again I 
 thank you." 
 
 There were tears in Helen's soft brown eyes, and 
 they glittered like diamonds as she looked even more 
 than spoke her thanks to the young man, who, for an- 
 other look like that, would have driven Aunt Betsy amid 
 the gayest crowd that ever frequented the Park, and 
 sworn she was his blood relation! A few words from 
 Mrs. Banker confirmed what Mark had said, and it was 
 not strange if that night Miss Lennox, usually so en- 
 tertaining, was a little absent, for her thoughts were up 
 in that chamber on Twenty-third Street, where Aunt 
 Betsy sat alone, but not lonely, for her mind was very 
 busy with all she had been through since leaving Sil- 
 verton, while something kept suggesting to her that it 
 would have been wiser and better to have stayed at 
 home than to have ventured where she was so sadly out 
 
THE DINNER PARTY. 267 
 
 of place. This last came gradually to Aunt Betsy as 
 she thought the matter over, and remembered Wilford as 
 he had appeared each time he came to Silverton. 
 
 "I ain't like him; I ain't like this Miss Banker; I ain't 
 like anybody," she whispered. "I'm nothin' but a 
 homely, old-fashioned woman, without larnin', without 
 nothin'. I might know I wasn't wanted," and a rain 
 of tears fell over the wrinkled face as she uttered this 
 tirade against herself, standing before the long mirror 
 and inspecting the image it gave back of a plain, unpol- 
 ished countrywoman, not much resembling Mrs. Banker, 
 it must be confessed, nor much^,resembling the gay young 
 ladies she had seen at the opera the previous night. "I 
 ■won't go near Katy," she continued; "it will only mor- 
 tify her, and I don't want to make her trouble. The 
 poor thing's face looked as if she had it now, and I won't 
 add to it. I'll start for home to-morrow. There's Miss 
 Smith, in/Springfield, will keep me overnight, and Katy 
 shan't be bothered." 
 
 When this decision was reached Aunt Betsy felt a 
 great deal better, and taking the Bible from the table, 
 she sat down again before the fire, opening, as by a 
 special Providence,^to the chapter where hewers of wood 
 and drawers of witer are mentioned as being necessary 
 to mankind, each filling his appointed place. 
 
 "That's me — that's Betsy Barlow," she whispered, 
 taking oif her glasses to wipe away the moisture gathering 
 so fast upon them.' Then resuming them, she continued: 
 "I'm a hewer of wood — a drawer of water. God made 
 me so, and shall the clay find fault with -the potter for 
 making it into a homely jug? No, indeed; and I was a 
 very foolish old jug to think of sticking myself in with 
 the chinaware. BtUt I've larnt a lesson," and the philo- 
 sophic woman read on, feeling comforted to know, that 
 though a vessel of the rudest make, a paltry jug, as she 
 called herself, the promises were still for her as much as 
 for the finer wares — ay, that there was more hope of her 
 entering at last where "the walls are all of precious 
 stones and the streets are paved with gold," than of those 
 whose good things are given so abundantly during their 
 lifetime. 
 
 Assured, comforted, and encouraged, she fell asleep at 
 
268 FAMILY PEIDE. 
 
 last, and when Mrs. Banker returned she founa ner siuni- 
 bering quietly in her chair, the Bible open on her lap, and 
 her finger upon the passage referring to the hewers of 
 wood and drawers of water, as if that was the last thing 
 read. 
 
 Next morning, at a comparatively early hour, Helen 
 stood ringing the bell of Mrs. Banker's house. She had 
 passed a restless, but not altogether wretched night, for 
 the remembrance of Mark's kindness in keeping Atmt 
 Betsy away, and his manner while telling her of it would 
 not permit of her being more than anxious as she lay 
 awake, wondering why Mark was so kind, and if it could 
 be possible that he was free from Juno and cared for her. 
 It made her happy to think so, and her face, as she stood 
 upon the steps, looked bright and fresh, instead of pale 
 and tired, as it usually did after a night of wakefulness. 
 She had said to Katy that she was going out and could 
 not tell just when she might return, and as Katy never 
 questioned her acts, while Wilford was too intent upon 
 his own miserable thoughts as to "where Aunt Betsy 
 could be or what had befallen her," to heed any one else, 
 no inquiries were made and no obstacles put in the way 
 of her going to Mrs. Banker's, where Mark met her him- 
 self, holding her cold hand until he led her to the fire 
 and placed her in a chair. He knew she would rather 
 meet her aunt alone, and so when he heard her step in the 
 hall he left the room, holding the door for Aunt Betsy, 
 who wept like a little child at the sight of Helen, accus- 
 ing herself of being a fool, an old fool, who ought to be 
 shut up in the insane asylum, but persisting in saying 
 she was going home that very day without seeing Katy 
 at all. "If she was here I'd like it, but I shan't go there, 
 for I know Wilford don't want me. Say, Helen, don't 
 you think he'll be ashamed of me and wish I was in 
 Guinea?" she asked as her desire to see Katy grew 
 stronger, but was met and combated with her dread of 
 Wilford ! 
 
 Helen could not tell her he would be ashamed, but 
 Aunt Betsy knew she meant it, and with a fresh gush of 
 tears she gave the project up entirely, telling Helen all 
 she did not already know of her trip to New York, her 
 visit to the opera, her staying with the Tubbses and her 
 
THE DINNER PARTY, 269 
 
 meeting with Mark, the best young chap she ever saw, 
 not even excepting Morris. "If he was my own son, 
 he couldn't be kinder," she added, "and I mistrust he 
 hopes to be my nephew. You can't do better, and if he 
 offers, take him." 
 
 Helen's cheeks were crimson as she waived this part 
 of the conversation and wished aloud that she had come 
 around in the carriage, as she could thus have taken 
 Aunt Betsy over the city before the train would leave. 
 
 "Mark spoke of that when he heard I was going to- 
 day," Aunt Betsy said; "I'll wa,rrant you he'll tend to it." 
 
 Aunt Betsy was right, for when Mark and his mother 
 joined their guests and learned that Aunt Betsy's inten- 
 tion was unchanged, he suggested the ride and offered 
 the use of their carriage. Helen did not decline the 
 offer, and ere half an hour had passed. Aunt Betsy, with 
 her satchel, umbrella and capbox, was comfortably ad-r 
 justed in Mrs. Banker's carriage with Helen beside her, 
 while Mark bade his coachman drive wherever Miss Len- 
 nox wished to go, taking care to reach the train in time. 
 
 They were tearful thanks which Aunt Betsy gave to 
 her kind friends as she was driven away, going first to 
 the Bowery to say good-by and leave the packages of 
 fruits and herbs, lest the Tubbses should "think her sud- 
 denly stuck up." 
 
 "Would you mind taking 'Tilda in? It would please 
 her mightily," Aunt Betsy whispered, as they were alight- 
 ing in front of Mr. Peter Tubbs'; and as the result of 
 this suggestion thg carriage, when again it emerged into 
 Broadway, held Mattie Tubbs, happier, prouder than she 
 had been in all her Hfe before, while the gratified mother 
 at home felt amply repaid for all the trouble her visitor 
 had made her. 
 
 And Helen enjoyed it, too, finding Mattie a little in- 
 sipid and tiresome, it is true, but feeling happy in the 
 consciousness that she was making others happy. It was 
 a long drive they took, and Aunt Betsy saw so much that 
 her brain grew giddy and she was glad when they started 
 for the depot, taking Madison Square on the way and 
 passing Katy's house. 
 
 "I dare say it is all grand and smart," Aunt Betsy 
 
270 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 said, leaning out to look at it, "but I feel best at hum 
 where they are used to me." 
 
 And her face did bear a brighter look, when finally 
 seated in the cars, than it had before since she left Sil- 
 verton. 
 
 "You'll be home in April, and maybe Katy'U come, 
 too," she whispered as she kissed Helen good-by and 
 shook hands with Mattie Tubbs, thanking her for her 
 kindness in seein' to an old woman, and charging her 
 again never to let the folks in Silverton know that "Betsy 
 Barlow had once been seen at a playhouse." 
 
 Slowly the cars moved away and Helen was driven 
 home, leaving Mattie alone in her glory as she rolled 
 down the Bowery, enjoying greatly the eclat of her posi- 
 tion, but feeling a little chagrined at not meeting a single 
 acquaintance by whom to be envied and admired. Only 
 Tom saw her alight, giving vent to a whistle, and ask- 
 ing if she didn't feel big, as he tried to hold out his 
 pantaloons in imitation of her dress and walk as she dis- 
 appeared through the door where the dry goods were 
 swinging. 
 
 Katy did not ask where Helen had been, for she was 
 wholly absorbed in Marian Hazleton's letter, telling how 
 fast the baby improved, how pretty it was growing, and 
 how fond both she and Mrs. Hubbell were of it, loving it 
 almost as well as if it were their own. 
 
 "I know now it was best for it to go, but it was hard 
 at first," Katy said, putting the letter away, and sighing 
 wearily as she missed the clasp of the little arms and 
 touch of the baby lips. 
 
 Several times Helen was tempted to tell her of Aunt 
 Betsy's visit, but decided finally not to do so as it might 
 distress her to know that strangers rendered the hos- 
 pitalities it was her duty to give, and so Katy never 
 guessed the truth, nor knew what it was which for many 
 days made Wilford so nervous and uneasy, starting 
 quickly at every sudden ring, going often to the win- 
 dow, and looking out into the street as if expecting some 
 one who never came, while he grew strangely anxious for 
 news from Silverton, asking when Katy had heard from 
 home, and why she did not write. One there was, how- 
 ever, who knew and who enjoyed it vastly, watching Wil- 
 
THE DINNER PARTY. 27J 
 
 ford closely, and guessing, just how his anxiety grew as 
 day after day went by; and she neither came nor was 
 heard from in any way, for Helen did not show the let- 
 ter apprising her of Aunt Betsy's safe arrival home, and 
 so all in Wilford's mind was left a vague conjecture. 
 
 He had seen her, she had been in New York, as was 
 proven by Bob Reynolds, but where was she now, and 
 who were those people with her? Had they entrapped 
 her into some snare, and possibly murdered her? It 
 might be. Such things were not of rare occurrence, and 
 Wilford actually grew poor with the uncertainty which 
 hung over the fate of one whom in his present state of 
 mind he would have warmly welcomed to his fireside, had 
 there been a dozen dinner parties in. progress. At last, 
 as he sat one day in his office, with the same worried look 
 on his face, Mark, who had also been watchiiig him, said : 
 
 "By the way, Will, how did that sheep pasture come 
 out, or didn't the client appear?" 
 
 "Mark," and Wilford's voice was husky with emotion ; 
 "you've stumbled upon the very thing which is torment- 
 ing my life out of me. Aunt Betsy has never turned up 
 or been heard from since that night. For aught I know 
 she was murdered, or spirited away, and I am half dis- 
 tracted. I'd give a thousand dollars to know what has 
 become of her." 
 
 "Put down half that pile and I'll tell you," was Mark's 
 nonchalant reply, while Wilford, seizing his shoulder and 
 compelling him to look up, exclaimed : 
 
 "You know, then ? Tell me — ^you do know ? Where 
 is she?" 
 
 "Safe in Silverton, I presume," was the reply, and then 
 Mark told his story, to which Wilford listened, half in- 
 credulous, half indignant, and a good deal relieved. 
 
 "You are a splendid fellow, Mark, though I must say 
 you meddled, but I know you did not do it unselfishly. 
 Yes, on the whole, I thank you and Helen, too, for saving 
 me that mortification. I feel like a new man, knowing 
 the old lady is safe at home, where I trust she will re- 
 main. Arid that Tom, who called here yesterday, asking 
 to be our clerk, is the youth I saw at the opera. I 
 thougfht bis face was familiar. Let him come of course. 
 
272 i'AMILY PRroB. 
 
 In my gratitude I feel like patronizing the entire Tubtis 
 family." 
 
 And so it was this flash of gratitude for a peril es- 
 caped which procured for young Tom Tilrbb^ the situation 
 of clerk in the office of Cameron & Ray, the application 
 for such situation having been urged by the ambitious 
 Mattie, who felt her dignity considerably increased when 
 she could speak of Brother Tom in company with Messrs. 
 Cameron & Ray. And it' was also a part of the same 
 gratitude which suggested the huge package of merino 
 and gingham, calico and linen, together with the hand- 
 some silk shawl and black lace veil, which a few days 
 later was left by the express boy at the door of the farm- 
 house for Miss Betsy Barlow, who in a long letter over- 
 whelmed Katy with her thanks, and nearly let out her 
 visit to New York, as yet a secret to Mrs. Wilford. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THE SEVENTH REGIMENT. 
 
 Does the reader remember the pleasant spring days of 
 four years ago, when the thunder of Fort Sumter's bom- 
 bardment came echoing up to the Northern hills and 
 across the Western prairies, stopping for a moment the 
 pulses of the nation, but quickening them again with a 
 mighty power as from Maine to California man after 
 man arose to smite the maddened foe trailing our hon- 
 ored flag in the dust? Nowhere, perhaps, was the ex- 
 citement so great or the feeling so strong as in New 
 York, when the Seventh Regiment was ordered on to 
 Washington, its members, who so often had trodden the 
 streets with a proud step, never faltering or holding back, 
 but with a nerving of the will and a putting aside of 
 self, prepared to do their duty. Conspicuous among them 
 was Mark Ray, who, laughing at his mother's fears, 
 kissed her livid cheek, and then with a pang remembered 
 Helen — dearer even than his mother — wondering how 
 she would feel, and thinking the path to danger would be 
 so much easier if he knew her love was his, that her 
 prayers, ^f- wishes would go with him, shielding him 
 
THE SSVENIH BHXSIKENT. 273 
 
 from harm and bringing him back again to the sunshine 
 of her presence. 
 
 And before he went Mark must know this for certain, 
 chiding himself for having put it off so long. True she 
 had been sick aad confined to her room for a long while 
 after Aunt Betsy's memorable visit ; and when she was 
 able to go out, Lent "had put a stop to her mingling in 
 festive scenes, so that he had seen but little of her, and 
 had never met her alone. But he would write that very- 
 day. She knew, of course, thatl\e was going, bidding 
 him Godspeed he was sore, for her whole heart was with 
 the gallant men who had stood so nobly against the en- 
 emy. Surrendering only because they must. She would 
 say that he did well to go ; and she would answer "yes" to 
 the question he would ask her. Mark felt sure of that ; 
 but still the letter he wrote was eloquent with his plead- 
 ings for her love, while he confessed his own, and asked 
 that she would be his wife — ^would give him the right to 
 carry her in his heart — ^to think of her as his affianced 
 bride — ^to know she waited for his return, and would 
 crown it at last with the full fruition of her priceless love. 
 
 "I meet a few of iny particular friends at Mrs. -Gran- 
 don's to-night," he added, in conclusion. "Can I hope to 
 see. you there, taking your presence as a token that I may 
 speak and tell you in words what I have so poorly writ- 
 ten?" 
 
 "She surely will be there, as it is the last, perhaps, 
 she'll ever see of some of us poor wretches," Mark said, 
 ihis hand trembling a little as he sealed the note, which he 
 would not trust to the post. 
 
 He would deliver it himself, avoiding the possibility 
 of a mistake, he |^id, and half an hour later he rang the 
 bell at No. , asking "if Miss Lennox was at home." 
 
 She was ; and handing the girl the note, Mark ran down 
 the steps, while the servant carried the missive to the 
 library, where upon the table lay other letters received 
 that morning by the penny post, and as yet unopened ; for 
 Katy was very busy, and Helen was dressing to go out 
 with Juno Cameron, who had graciously asked her to 
 drive with her that morning and look at a picture she had 
 set her heart on having. 
 
 ^"n'~ had not yet appeared; but Mar^ was scarcely out 
 
274 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 of sight when she came in with the familiarity of a sister 
 and entered the library to wait. Carelessly turning over 
 the books upon the table, she stumbled over Mark's letter, 
 which, through some defect in the envelope, had become 
 unsealed, and lay with its edge lifted so that to peer at its 
 contents was a very easy matter had she^been so disposed. 
 But Juno, though indignant and jealous — for she knew 
 the handwriting — could not at first bring herself even to 
 touch what was intended for her rival. But as she gazed 
 the longing grew, until at last she took it in her hand, 
 turning it to the light, and tracing distinctly the words 
 "My dear Helen," while a storm of pain and passion 
 swept over her, mingled with a feeling of shame that she 
 had let herself down so far. 
 
 "It does not matter now," the tempter whispered. "You 
 may as well read it and know the worst. Nobody will 
 suspect it," and so, led on step by step, she was about to 
 take the folded letter from the envelope, intending fully to 
 replace it after it was read, when a rapid step warned her 
 some one was coming, and hastily thrusting the letter in 
 her pocket, she dropped her veil to cover her confusion, 
 and then confronted Helen Lennox, ready for the drive, 
 and all unconscious of the wrong which could not then 
 be righted. 
 
 Juno was unusually kind and familiar that morning, 
 delicately complimenting Helen's taste with regard to pic- 
 tures, and trying in various ways to forget the letter which 
 lay upon her conscience like a leaden weight, driving all 
 other thoughts from her mind, and leaving only the tor- 
 turing one, "How can I return it without detection?" 
 Juno did not mean to keep the letter, and all that morn- 
 ing she was devising measures for making restitution, 
 even thinking once to confess the whole, but shrinking 
 from that as more than she could do. As they were driv- 
 ing home they met Mark Ray; but Helen, who chanced to 
 be looking in an opposite direction, did not see the earnest ' 
 look of scrutiny he gave her, scarcely heeding Juno, whose 
 face was all ablaze with guilt as she returned his bow, 
 and whose voice trembled as she spoke of him to Helen 
 and his intended departure. Helen observed the tremor 
 in her voice, and pitied the girl whose agitation she fancied 
 arose from the fact that her lover was so soon to go 
 
•THE SEVENTH REGIMENT. 275 
 
 where danger and possibly death were waiting. In 
 Helen's heart, too, there was a cutting pang whenever she 
 remembered Mark, and what had so recently passed be- 
 tween them, raising hopes which now were wholly blasted. 
 For he was Juno's, she believed, and the grief at his 
 projected departure was the- cause of that young lady's 
 softened and even humbled demeanor, as she insisted on 
 Helen's stopping at her house for lunch before going 
 home. 
 
 To this Helen consented — ^Juno still revolving in her 
 mind how to return the letter, which grew more and 
 more a horror to her. It was in- her pocket yet, she knew, 
 for she had felt it there when, after lunch, she went to her 
 room for a fresh handkerchief. She would accompany 
 Helen home, would manage to slip into the library alone, 
 and put it partly under a book, so that it would appear to 
 be hidden, and thus account for.it not having been seen 
 before ; or better yet, she would catch it up playfully and 
 banter Helen on her carelessness in leaving her love let- 
 ters so exposed. This last seemed a very clever plan, 
 |ind with her spirits quite elated, Juno drove around with 
 Helen, finding no one in the parlor below, and felicitating 
 herself upon the fact that Helen left her alone while she 
 ran up to Katy. 
 
 "Now is my time," she thought, stealing noiselessly into 
 the library and feeling for the letter. 
 
 But it was not there. It was missing, gone, and no 
 amount of search, no shaking of handkerchief, or turn- 
 ing of pocket inside out could avail to find it. The letter 
 was lost, and in the utmost consternation Juno returned 
 to the parlor, still hunting for the letter, and appearing so 
 abstracted as scarcely to be civil when Katy came down 
 to see her; asking if she was going that night to Sybil 
 Grandon's, and talking of the dreadful war, whichi she 
 hoped would not be a war after all. Juno was too 
 wretched to talk, and after a few moments she started 
 for home, hunting in her own room and through the halls, 
 but failing in her search, and finally giving it up, with the 
 consoling reflection that were it found in the street, as 
 seemed quite probable, no suspicion could fasten on her; 
 and as fear of detection, rather than contrition for the sin, 
 had been the cause of her distress, she grew ccnnarativelv 
 
276 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 calm, save when her conscience made itself heard and ad- 
 monished confession as the only reparation which was 
 now in her power. But Juno could not confess, and all 
 that day she was absent-minded and silent, while her 
 mother watched her closely, wondering what connection, 
 if any, there was between her burning cheeks and the let- 
 ter she had found upon the floor in h6r daughter's room 
 just after she had left it; the letter, at whose contents she 
 had glanced, shutting her lips firmly together as she saw 
 that her plans had failed, and finally putting the document 
 away where there was less hope of its ever finding its 
 rightful owner than if it had remained with Juno. Had 
 Mit^. Cameron supposed that Helen had already seen it, 
 she would have returned it at once; but of this she had 
 her doubts, after learning that "Miss Lennox did not go 
 upstairs at all." Juno, then, must have been the delin- 
 quent ; and though the mother shrank from the act as un- 
 ladylike, if nothing more, she resolved to keep the letter 
 till some inquiry was made for it at least. And so Helen, 
 sitting by her window, and looking dreamily out into the 
 street, with a feeling of sad foreboding as she thought of 
 the dark cloud which had burst so suddenly upon the na- 
 tion's horizon, enveloping Mark Ray in its dark fold, and 
 bearing him away, possibly never to return again, had no 
 suspicion of the truth, and did not guess how anxiously 
 the young man was anticipating the interview at Sybil 
 Grandon's, scarcely doubting that she would be there, artd 
 fancying just the expression of her eyes when they first 
 met his. Alas for Mark, also for Helen, that both should 
 be so cruelly deceived. Had the latter kno\Yn of the lov- 
 ing words sent from the true heart which longed for some 
 word of hers to lighten the long march and beguile the 
 tedious days of absence, she would not have said to Katy, 
 when asked if going to Mrs. Grandon's, "Oh, no; please 
 don't urge me. I would so much rather stay at home." 
 Katy would not insist and so went alone with Wilford 
 to the entertainment given to a few young men who 
 seemed as heroes then, when the full meaning of that 
 word had not been exemplified, as it has been since in the 
 life so cheerfully laid down and the heart's blood poured 
 so freely, by the tens of thousands who have won a mar- , 
 tv's and a hero's name. Curiously, eagerly Mark Ray 
 
IHE SEVENTH REGIMENT. 277 
 
 scanned each new arrival, feeling his lips grow white and 
 his pulses faint when he at last caught sight of Wilford's 
 tall figure, and looked for what might be beside it. But 
 only.Katy was there. Helen had not come, and with a 
 feeling of chill despair Mark listened while Katy explained 
 to Mrs. Grandon that her sister had fully intended com- 
 ing in the morning, but had suddenly changed her mind 
 and begged to be excused. 
 
 "I am sorry," Sybil said, "and so I am sure is Mr. Ray," 
 turning lightly to Mark, whose white face froze the gay 
 laugh on her lips and made her,, try to shield him from obr 
 servation until he had time to recover himself and appear, 
 as usual. 
 
 How Mark blessed Sybil Gf andon for that kindness, and 
 how wildly the blood throbbed through his veins as he 
 thought "She would not come. She does not care. I 
 have deceived myself in hoping that she did, and now wel- 
 come war, welcome anything which shall help me to for- 
 get." 
 
 Mark was very wretched, and his wretchedness showed 
 itself upon his face, making more than one rally him for 
 what they termed fear, v/hile they tried to reassure him 
 that to the Seventh there could be no danger after Balti- 
 more was safely passed. This was more than Mark could 
 bear, and at an early hour he left the house, bidding Katy 
 good-by in the hall, and telling her he probably should not 
 see her again, as he would not have time to call. 
 
 "Not call to say good-by to Helen," Katy exclaimed. 
 
 "Helen will not care," was Mark's reply as he hurried 
 away into the darkness of the night, more welcome in his 
 present state of minA than the gay scene he had left. 
 
 And this was all Katy had to carry to Helen, who beat 
 the window pane nervously, fighting back the tears wrung 
 out by her disappointment, for she had expected to see 
 Mark once more, to bless him as a sister might bless a 
 brother, speaking to him words of cheer and bidding him 
 go on to where duty led. But he was not coming- and 
 she only saw him from the carriage window, as with 
 proud step and head erect he, passed with his regiment 
 through the densely crowded streets, where the wailing 
 cries and the loud hurrahs of the multitude, v/hich no maa 
 could number, rent the air and told how tenibly in earnest 
 
278 FAMILY PRIBE. 
 
 the great city was, and how its heart was with that gallant 
 band, their pet, their pride, sent forth on a mission such 
 as it had never had before. But Mark did not see Helen, 
 and only his mother's white face as it looked when it said 
 "God bless my boy" was clear before his eyes as he 
 moved on through Broadway and down Cortlandt Street, 
 until the ferryboat received him, and the crowd began to 
 disperse. 
 
 There was more than one pillow wet with tears that 
 night as mothers, wives and sisters wept for the loved 
 ones gone, but nowhere were sadder, bitterer tears shed 
 than in the silent chamber where Helen Lennox prayed 
 that God would guard that regiment and bring it back 
 again as full of life and vigor as it had gone away. For 
 them all she prayed, in a general kind of way, but there 
 was one whose image was in her heart, whose name was 
 ever on her lip, breaking the silence of the room, which 
 echoed the name of Mark, who, could he have heard that 
 prayer, would have cast aside the heavy pain, so hard to 
 bear during those first days when his cruel disappointment 
 •was fresh and the soldier duty new. 
 
 Now that Mark was gone, Mrs. Banker turned intui- 
 tively to Helen, finding greater comfort in her quiet sym- 
 pathy than in the more wordy condolence offered by 
 Juno, who as she heard nothing from the letter, began 
 to lose her fears of detection and even suffer her friends 
 to rally her upon the absence of Mark Ray and the anx- 
 iety she must feel on his account. Moments there were, 
 however, when thoughts of the stolen letter brought a 
 pang, while Helen's face was a continual reproach, and 
 she was glad when toward the first of May her rival left 
 New York for Silverton, where, as the spring and sum- 
 mer work came on, her services were needed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 KATY GOES TO SILVERTON. 
 
 A summer day in Silverton — a soft, bright August day, 
 when the early rareripes by the well were turning their 
 red cheeks to the sun, and the flowers in the garden were 
 
KATY GOES TO SILVERTON. 279 
 
 lifting their heads proudly and nodding to each other as 
 if they knew the secret which made that day so bright 
 above all others. Old Whitey, by the hitching post, was 
 munching at his oats and glancing occasionally at the 
 covered buggy standing on the greensward, fresh and 
 clean as water from the pond could make it; the harness, 
 new, not mended, lying upon a rock, where Katy used to 
 feed the sheep with salt, and the whip standing upright 
 in its socket, all waiting for the deacon, donning his best 
 suit of clothes, even to a stiff shirt collar which almost 
 cut his ears, his face shining with anticipations which he 
 knew would be realized. Katy was really coming home, 
 and in proof thereof there were behind the house and 
 barn piles of rubbish, lath and plaster, moldy paper and 
 broken bricks, the tokens and remains of the repairing 
 process, which for so long a time had made the farmhouse 
 a scene of dire confusion, driving its inmates nearly dis- 
 tracted, except when they remembered for whose sake, 
 they endured so much, inhaling , clouds of lime, stepping 
 over heaps of mortar, tearing their dress skirts on sun- 
 dry nails projecting from every conceivable quarter, and 
 wondering the while if the masons ever would finish or 
 the carpenters be gone. 
 
 As a condition on which Katy might be permitted to 
 come home, Wilford had stipulated an improvement in 
 the interior arrangement of the house, offering to bear the 
 expense even to the furnishing of the rooms. To this the 
 family demurred at first, not liking Wilford's dictatorial 
 manner, nor his insinuation that their home was not 
 good enough for his wife, Mrs. Katy Cameron. But 
 Helen turned the tide, appreciating Wilford's feelings bet- 
 ter than the others «ould do, and urging a compliance with 
 his request. ^ 
 
 "Anything to get Katy home," she said, and so the 
 chimney was torn away, a window was put here and a« 
 addition made, there, until the house was really improved 
 with its pleasant, modern parlor and the large airy bed- 
 room, with bathing-room attached, the v/hole the idea o£ 
 Wilford, who graciously deigned to come out once or 
 twice from New London, where he was spending a few 
 weeks, to superintend the work and suggest how it should 
 be done. 
 
280 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 The furniture, too, which he sent on from New York", 
 was perfect in its kind, not elegant like Katy's, but well 
 adapted to the rooms it was to adorn, and suitable in every 
 respect. Helen enjoyed the settling very much, and when 
 it was finished it was hard telling which was the more 
 pleased, she or good Aunt Betsy, who, having confessed 
 in a general kind of way at a sewing society that she did 
 go to a playhouse, and was not so very sorry either, ex- 
 cept as the example might do harm, had nothing on her 
 conscience now, nothing to fear from New York, and 
 was proportionately happy. At least she would have been 
 if Morris had not seemed so off, as she expressed it, and 
 evincing no pleasure at Katy's expected visit. He had 
 been polite to Wilford, had kept him at Linwood, taking 
 him to and from the depot, but even Wilford had thought 
 him changed, telling Katy how very sober and grave he 
 had become, rarely smiling, and not seeming to care to 
 talk unless it were about his profession or on some re- 
 ligious topic. And Morris was greatly changed. The 
 wound which in most hearts would have healed by this 
 time had grown deeper with each succeeding year, while 
 from all he heard he felt sure that Katy's marriage was a 
 sad mistake, wishing sometimes that he had spoken, and 
 so perhaps have saved her from the life in which she 
 could not be wholly free. "She would be happier with 
 me," he had said, with a sad smile to Helen, when once 
 she told him of some things which she had not mentioned 
 elsewhere, and there were great tears in Morris' eyes, 
 tears of which he was not ashamed when Helen spoke 
 of Katy's distress, and the look which crept into her 
 face when baby was taken away. When Morris first 
 heard of the baby he had hoped he might love Katy less ; 
 that she would seem to him as more a wife and less a girl, 
 but she did not, and there were times when the silent doc- 
 tor, living alone at Linwood, felt that his grief was too 
 great to bear. But the deep, dark waters were always 
 forded safely, and Morris' faith in God prevailed, so that 
 only a dull, heavy pain remained, with the consciousness 
 that it was no sin to remember Katy as she was remem- 
 bered now. Oh, how he had longed to see her, and yet 
 how he had dreaded it, lest poor weak human flesh should 
 prove inadeauate to the sight. But she was coming home ; 
 
KATY CM3ES TO SILVERTON. 281 
 
 Providence had ordered that and he accepted it, looking 
 eagerly for the time when he should see her again, but 
 repressing his eagerness, so that not even Helen sus- 
 pected how impatient he was for the day of her return. 
 Four weeks she had been at the Pequot House in New 
 London, occupying a little cottage and luxuriating in the 
 joy of having her child with her almost every day. 
 Country air and country nursing had wrought wonders in 
 the baby, which had grown so beautiful and bright that 
 it was no longer in Wilford's way save as it took too 
 much of Katy's time, and made her careless for the gay 
 crowd at the hotel. 
 
 Marian was working at her trade, and never came to 
 the hotel except one day when Wilford was in New York, 
 but that day sufficed for Katy to know that after herself 
 it was Marian whom baby loved the best — Marian, who 
 cared for it even more than Mrs. Hubbell. And Katy was 
 glad to have it so, especially after Wilford and his mother 
 decided that she must leave the child in New London while 
 she made the visit to Silverton. 
 
 Wilford did not like her taking so much care of it as 
 she was inclined to do. It had grown too heavy for her 
 to lift; it was better with Mrs. Hubbell, he said, and so 
 to the inmates of the 'farmhouse Katy wrote that baby 
 was not coming. 
 
 They were bitterly disappointed, for Katy's baby had 
 been anticipated quite as much as Katy herself. Aunt Betsy 
 bringing from the woodshed chamber a cradle which 
 nearly forty years before had rocked the deacon's only 
 child, the little boy, who died just as he had learned to 
 lisp his mother's name. As a momento of those days the 
 cradle had been kept, Katy using it sometimes for her 
 kittens and her dolls, until she grew too old for that, when 
 it was put away beneath the eaves whence Aunt Betsy 
 dragged it, scouring it with soap and sand, until it was 
 white as snow. But it would not be needed, and with a 
 sigh the old lady carried it back, thinking "things had 
 come to a pretty pass when a woman who could dance 
 and carouse till twelve o'clock at night was too weakly to 
 take care of her child," and feeling a very little awe of 
 Katy who must have grown so fine a lady. 
 
 But all this passed away as the time drew near when 
 
282 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 Katy was to come, and no one seemed happier than Aunt 
 Betsy on the morning when Whitey was eating his oats, 
 and the carriage stood on the greensward. The sky above 
 and the earth beneath were much as they were that other 
 day when they were expecting Katy, but Helen's face was 
 not as bright, or her steps as buoyant. She could not for- 
 get who was there one year ago, and all the morning 
 painful memories had been tugging at her heart as she 
 remembered the past, and wondered at the gloomy silence 
 which Mark Ray had maintained toward her ever since 
 the day when the Seventh Regiment left New York, 
 followed by so many praters and tears. He had returned, 
 she knew, but neither from his mother nor himself had 
 there ever come a word or message for her, while Bell 
 Cameron, who wrote to her occasionally, had spoken of 
 his attentions to Juno as becoming more pointed than 
 ever. 
 
 "I have strong hopes that in time Juno will be quite a 
 ■woman," Bell added. "She is not so proud and sarcas- 
 tic as she used to be, and all the while Mark was gone she 
 seemed very much depressed, so that I began to believe 
 she really liked him. You would hardly recognize her in 
 her new phase, she acts so humble like, as if she were 
 constantly asking forgiveness; and this, you know, is 
 something novel for her." 
 
 After this letter Helen sat herself resolutely at work 
 to forget all that had ever passed between herself and 
 Mark, succeeding so well that Silverton and its duties 
 ceased to be very irksome, until the anniversary of the 
 morning when he had twined the lily in her hair, and 
 looked such fancies in her heart. It was well for her 
 that too many things were claiming her attention to allow 
 of solitary regrets. 
 
 Katy's room was to be arranged, Katy's "box bed," as 
 Aunt Betsy called it, to be fixed, flowers to be gathered 
 for the parlor and vegetables for the dinner, so that her 
 hands were full, up to the moment when Uncle Ephraim 
 drove away from the door, setting old Whitey into a can- 
 ter, which, by the time the "race" was reached, had be- 
 come a rapid trot, the old man holding up his reins and 
 looking proudly at the oat-fed animal, speeding along 
 so fast. 
 
KATY GOES TO SILVERTON. 283 
 
 He did not have long to wait this time, for the train 
 came rolling across the meadow, and while his head was 
 turned toward the car where he fancied she might be, a 
 pair ef arms were thrown impetuously around his neck, 
 and a little figure, standing on tiptoe, almost pulled him 
 down in its attempts to kiss him. 
 
 "Uncle Eph ! oh, Uncle Eph, I've come ! I'm here," a 
 young voice cried; but the words the deacon would have 
 spoken were smothered by the kisses which pressed upon 
 his lips, kisses which only came to an end when a voice 
 said, rather reprovingly: "There, Katy, that will do. 
 You have almost strangled him." 
 
 Wilford had not been expected, and the expression of 
 the deacon's face was not a very cordial greeting to the 
 young man who hastened to explain that he should only 
 stop till the next train, and then go on to Boston. In 
 his presence the deacon was not quite natural, but he lifted 
 in his arms his "little Katy-did," looking straight into her 
 face, where there were as yet no real lines of care, only 
 shadows, which told that in some respects she was not 
 the same Katy he had parted with two years before. 
 There was a good deal of the city about her dress and 
 style,' and the deacon felt a little overawed at first ; but 
 this wore off as on their way to the farmhouse, she, sit- 
 ting partly in his lap and partly in her husband's, kept 
 one hand upon his neck, her snowy fingers occasionally 
 playing with his silvery hair, while she looked at him with 
 her loving old smile, and asked questions about the peo- 
 ple he supposed she had forgotten, nodding to everybody 
 she met, whether she knew them or not, and at last, as 
 the old house came in sight, hiding her face in a gush o^ 
 happy tears upon his neck, not Wilford's. That gentle 
 man was watching her in silence, wishing she were less 
 impulsive, and wondering at the strong home-love he 
 could not understand. To him there was nothing pleasant 
 'in that low, humble farmhouse, or in the rocks and hills 
 which overshadowed it; while, with the exception of 
 Helen, the women gathered at the door as they came up 
 were very distasteful to him. But with Katy it was dif- 
 ferent. They were her rocks, her hills, her woods, and 
 more than all, they were her folks into whose arms she 
 threw herself with an impetuous rush, scarcely waiting for 
 
284 FAMILY PHIDE. 
 
 old Whitey to stop, but with one leap clearing the wnecl 
 and springing first to the embrace of her mother. It was 
 a joyful meeting, and when the first excitement was over 
 Katy inspected the improvements, approving all, and 
 thanking Wilford for having done so much for her 
 comfort. 
 
 "I shall sleep so nicely here," she said, tossing her hat 
 into Helen's lap, and lying down at once upon the bed it 
 had taken so long to make, "Yes, I shall rest so nicely, 
 knowing I can wear my wrapper all day long. Don't look 
 so horrified, Wilford," she added, as she caught his eye. 
 "I shall dress me sometimes ; but you don't know what a 
 luxury it is to feel that I need not unless I like." 
 
 "Didn't you rest at New London?" Helen asked, when 
 Wilford had left the room. 
 
 "Yes, some," Katy replied; "but there were dances 
 every night, or sails upon the bay, and T had to go, for 
 many of our friends were there, and Wilford was not will- 
 ing for me to be quiet." 
 
 This, then, was the reason why Katy came home so 
 weary and pale, and craving so much the rest she had 
 not had in m.ore than two years. But she would get it 
 now, and before the first dinner was eaten some oi her 
 old color came stealing back to her cheeks, and her eyes 
 began to dance just as they used to do, while her merry 
 voice rang out in silvery peals at Aunt Betsy's quaint 
 remarks, which struck her so forcibly from not having 
 heard them for so long a time. A bit of a lecture Wil- 
 ford deemed it his duty to give her when after dinner 
 they sat together alone for half an hour. "She must 
 restrain herself. Surely she was old enough to be more 
 womanly, and she would tire herself out with her nervous 
 restlessness, besides giving the people a bad opinion ol 
 Mrs. Wilford Cameron." 
 
 To this Katy listened quietly, breathing freer when it 
 was over, and breathing freer still when Wilford was 
 gone, even though her tears did fall as she watched him 
 out of sight, and knew it would be at least four weeks 
 before she saw him again. To the entire family his de- 
 parture brought relief; but they were not prepared for 
 the change it produced in Katy; who, freed from all re- 
 straint, came back so soon to what she was when a 
 
KATY GOES TO SILVERTON. 285 
 
 young, careless girl she sat upon the doorsteps and 
 curled the dandelion stalks. She did not do this now, 
 for there were none to curl ; but she strung upon a thread 
 the delicate petals of the phlox growing by the door, and 
 then bound it as a crown about the head of her mother, 
 who could not yet quite recognize her Katy in the elegant 
 Mrs. Wilford Cameron, with rustling silk, and diamonds 
 flashing on her hands every time they moved. But when 
 she saw her racing with the old brown goat and its little 
 kid out in the apple orchard, her head uncovered, and 
 her bright curls blowing about her face, the feeling dis- 
 appeared, and she felt that Katy had indeed come back 
 again. 
 
 And where all the while was Morris? Were his pa- 
 tients so numerous that he could not find time to call 
 upon his cousin ? Katy had inquired for him imme- 
 diately after her arrival, but in her excitement she had 
 forgotten him again, until Wilford was gone and tea was 
 over, when, just as she had done on the day of her return 
 from Canandaigua, she took her hat and started on the 
 ^well-worn path, toward Linwood. She was not going 
 thftre, she said, she only wanted to try the road and see 
 if it njid changed since she used to go that way to gather 
 buttemut-s in the autumn or berries in the summer. 
 Airily she tripped along, her light plaid silk gleaming 
 through the deep green of the trees and revealing her 
 coming to the tired' man sitting upon a little rustic seat, 
 beneath a chestnut tree, where he once had sat with Katy, 
 and extracted a cruel sliver from her hand, kissing the 
 place to make it well as she told him to. She was a child 
 then, a little girl of twelve, and he was twenty, but the 
 sight of her pure face lifted confidingly to his had stirred 
 Ihis heart as no other face had stirred it since, making him 
 look forward to a time when the hand he kissed would 
 be his own, and his the fairy form he watched so carefully 
 as it expanded day by day into the perfect woman. He 
 was thinking of that time now, and how different it had 
 all turned out, when he heard the bounding step and 
 saw her coming toward him, swinging her hat in childish 
 abandon, and warbling a song she had learned from him. 
 
 "Morris, oh, Morris!" she cried, as she ran eagerly 
 forward; "I am so glad to see you. It seems so nice to 
 
286 t'AMILY PRIDE. 
 
 be with you once more here in the dear old woods. Don't 
 get up — ^please don't get up," she continued, as he started 
 to rise. 
 
 She was standing before him, a hand on either side 
 of his face, into which she was looking quite as wistfully 
 as he was regarding her. Something she missed in his 
 manner, something which troubled her; and thinking she 
 knew what it was, she said to him: "Why don't you kiss 
 me, Morris? You used to. Ain't you glad to see me?" 
 
 "Yes, very glad," he answered, and drawing her down 
 to the bench beside him, he kissed her twice, but so 
 gravely, so quietly, that Katy was not satisfied at all, and 
 tears gathered in her eyes as she tried to think what it 
 was ailed Morris. 
 
 He was very thin, and there were a few white hairs 
 about his temples, so that, though four years younger 
 than her husband, he seemed to her much older, quite 
 grandfatherly in fact, and this accounted for the liberties 
 she took, asking what was the matter, and trying to make 
 him like her again, by assuring him that she was not as 
 vain and foolish as he must suppose from what Hejen 
 had probably told him of her life since leaving Silvfirton. 
 
 "I do not Hke it at all," she said. "I am in it, and 
 must conform ; but, oh Morris ! you don't know how 
 much happier I should be if Wilford were just like you, 
 and lived at Linwood instead of New York. I should 
 be so happy here with baby all the time." 
 
 It was well she spoke that name, for Morris, listening 
 to her as she charged him with indifference, could not 
 have borne much more; but the mention of her child had 
 a strange power over him, of quieting him at once, so 
 that he could calmly tell her that she was the same to 
 him that she had always been, while with his next breath 
 he asked: '"Where is your baby, Katy?" adding with a 
 smile : "I can remember when you were a baby, and I 
 held you in my arms." 
 
 "Can you really?" Katy said; and as if that remem- 
 brance made him older than the hills, she nestled her 
 curly head against his shoulder, while she told him of 
 her bright-eyed darling, and as she talked the mother- 
 love which spread itself over her girlish face made it 
 more beautiful than anything Morris had ever seen. 
 
KATY GOES TO SILVERTOM. 287 
 
 "Surely an angel's countenance cannot be fairer, purer 
 than hers," he thought, listening while she talked of the 
 only thing which had a power to separate her from him, 
 making her seem as a friend, or at most as a beloved 
 sister. 
 
 A long time they talked together, and the sun was set- 
 ting ere Morris rose, suggesting that she go home, as the 
 night dew would soon be falling. 
 
 "And you are not as strong as you once were," he 
 added, pulling her shawl around her shoulders with care- 
 ful solicitude, and thinking how slender she had become. 
 
 From the back parlor Helen>saw them coming up the 
 path, detecting the changed expression of Morris' face, 
 and feeling a pang of fear when as he left them after 
 nine o'clock she heard her mother say that he had not 
 appeared so natural since Katy went away as he had 
 done that night. Knowing what she did, Helen trembled 
 for Morris, with this terrible temptation before him, and 
 Morris trembled for himself as he went back the lonely 
 path, and stopped again beneath the chestnut tree where 
 he had so lately sat with Katy. There was a great fear 
 at his heart, and it found utterance in words as kneeling 
 by the rustic bench with only the lonely night around 
 , him and the green boughs overhead, he asked that he 
 might be kept from sin, both in thought and deed, and 
 be to Katy Cameron just what she took him for, her 
 friend and elder brother. And God, who knew the sin- 
 cerity of the heart thus pleading before him, heard and 
 answered the prayer, so that after that first night of trial 
 Morris could look on Katy without a wish that she were 
 otherwise than Wilford Cameron's wife and the mother 
 of his child. He was happier because of her being at 
 the farmhouse, tHbugh he did not go there one-half as 
 often as she came to him. She seemed to prefer ^Lin- 
 wood to the farmhouse, staying there hours, both when 
 he was at home and when he was away, strolling through 
 his garden, or sitting quietly in the pleasant summer- 
 house which looked out upon the pond. 
 
 Those September days were happy ones to Katy, who, 
 freed from all restraint, became a child again — a petted, 
 spoiled child, whom every one caressed and suffered to 
 have her way. To Uncle Ephraira it was as if some 
 
288 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 ^ bright angel had suddenly dropped into his path, flcxxling 
 it with sunshine, and making him so glad to have back 
 his "Katy-did," who went with him to the fields, waiting 
 patiently till his work was done, and telling him of all 
 the wondrous things she saw abroad, but speaking little 
 of her city life. That was something she did not care to 
 talk about, and but for Wilford's letters, and the frequent 
 mention of baby, the deacon could easily have imagined 
 that Katy had never left him. But these were barriers 
 between the old life and the present, these were the in- 
 signia of Mrs. Wilford Cameron, who was watched and 
 envied by the curious Silvertonians, and pronounced 
 charming by them all. Still there was one drawback to 
 Katy's happiness. She missed her child, mourning for 
 it so much that her family, quite as anxious as herself to 
 see it, suggested her sending for it. It would surely 
 take no harm with them, and Marian would come with it. 
 To this plan Katy listened more willingly from the fact 
 that Wilford had gone West, and the greater the distance 
 between them the more she dared to do. And so Marian 
 Hazelton was one day startled at the sudden appearance 
 at the cottage of Katy, who had come to take her and 
 baby to Silverton. 
 
 There was no resisting the vehemence of Katy's argu- 
 ments, and before the next day's sunsetting, the farm- 
 house, usually so quiet and orderly, bad been turned into 
 one general nursery, where Baby Cameron reigned su- 
 preme, screaming with delight at the tinware which 
 Aunt Betsy brought out from the cake cutter to the dip- 
 per, the little creature beating a noisy tattoo upon the lat- 
 ter with an iron spoon, and then for diversion burying its 
 fat dimpled hands in Uncle Ephraim's long white hair, 
 for the old man went down upon all fours to do his great- 
 grand niece homage. 
 
 That night Morris came up, stopping suddenly as a 
 loud baby laugh reached him, even across the orchard, 
 and leaning for a moment against the wall, while he tried 
 to prepare himself for the shock it would be to see Katy's 
 child, and hold it in his arms, as he knew he must, or 
 the mother be aggrieved. 
 
 He had supposed it was pretty, but he was not pre- 
 pared for the beautiful little cherub which in its short 
 
KATY GOES TO SILVERTON. 289 
 
 white dress, with its soft curls of golden brown cluster- 
 ing about its head, stood holding to a chair, pushing it 
 occasionally, and venturing. now and then to take. a step, 
 while its infantile laugh mingled with the screams of its 
 delighted auditors, watching it with so much interest. 
 
 There was one great, bitter, burning pang, a blur be- 
 fore his eyes, and then, folding his arms composedly 
 upon the window sill. Dr. Grant stood looking in upon 
 the occupants of the room, whistling at last to baby, as 
 he was accustomed to- whistle to the children of his pa- 
 tients. 
 
 "Oh, Morris," Katy cried, "baby can almost walk, Mar- 
 ian has taken so much pains, and she can say 'papa.' 
 Isn't she a beauty?" 
 
 Baby had turned her head by this time, her ear caught 
 by the whistle and her eye arrested by something in Mor- 
 ris which fascinated her gaze. Perhaps she thought of 
 Wilford, of whom she had been very fond, for she pushed 
 her chair toward him and then held up her fat, creasy 
 arms for him to take her. Morris was fond of children 
 and took the, infant at once, strained it to his bosom with 
 a passionate caress, which seemed to have in it something 
 of the love he bore the mother, who went off into ecstasies 
 of joy when baby, attacking Morris' hair and patting 
 softly his cheek, tried to kiss him as it had been taught by 
 Marian. Never was mother prouder, happier than Katy 
 during the first few days succeeding baby's arrival, while 
 the family seemed to tread on air, so swiftly the time 
 went by with that active little life in their midst, stirring 
 them up so constantly, putting to rout all their rules of 
 order and keeping their house in a state of delightful 
 confusion. 
 
 It was wonderful how rapidly the child improved with 
 so many teachers, learning to lisp its mother's name and 
 taught by her attempting to say "Doctor." From the 
 very first the child took to Morris, crying after him when- 
 ever he went away, and hailing his arrival with 'a crow 
 of joy and an eager attempt to reach him. 
 
 "It was altogether too forward for, this world," Aunt 
 Betsy often said, shaking her head ominously, but not 
 really meaning what she predicted, even when for a few 
 days »<■ did not aeem as bright as ug.U^> but lay quietly 
 
290 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 in Katy's lap, a blue look about the mouth and a flush 
 upon its cheeks, which neither Morris nor Marian liked. 
 
 More accustomed to children than the other members 
 of the family, they both watched it closely, Morris com- 
 ing over twice one day, and the last time he came regard- 
 ing Katy with a look as if he would fain ward off from 
 her some evil which he feared. 
 
 "What is it, Morris?" she asked. "Is baby going to 
 be very sick?" and a great crushing fear came upon her 
 as she waited for his answer. 
 
 "I hope not," he said; "I cannot tell as yet; the symp- 
 toms are like cholera infantum, of which I have several 
 cases, but if taken in time I apprehend no danger." 
 
 There was a low shriek and baby opened its heavy lids 
 and moaned, while Helen came at once to Katy, holding 
 her hand upon her heart as if the pain had entered there. 
 To Marian it was no news, for ever since the early morn- 
 ing she had suspected the nature of the disease stealing 
 over the little child, so suddenly stricken down, and look- 
 ing by the lamplight so pale and sick. All night the 
 light burned in the farmhouse, where there were anxious, 
 troubled faces, Katy bending constantly over her darling, 
 and even amid her terrible anxiety dreading Wilford's 
 displeasure when he should hear what she had done and 
 its possible result. She did not believe as yet that her 
 child would die; but she suffered acutely, watching for 
 the early dawn when Morris had said he would be there, 
 and when at last he came, begging of him to stay, to leave 
 his other patients and card only for baby. 
 
 "Would that be right ?" Morris asked, and Katy blushed 
 for her selfishness when she heard how many were sick 
 and dying around them. "I will spend every leisure mo- 
 ment here," he said, leaving his directions with Marian 
 and then hurrying away without a word of hope for the 
 child, growing worse so fast that when the night shut 
 down again it lay upon a pillow, its blue eyes closed and 
 its head thrown back, while its sad meanings could only 
 be hushed by carrying it in one's arms about the room, a 
 task which Katy could not do. 
 
 She had tried it once, refusing all their offers with the 
 reply: "Baby is mine and shall I not carry her?" 
 
 But the fp '"le strength gave out, the limbs began to 
 
KATY GOES TO SILyERTON. 291 
 
 lotter, and staggering backward she cried: "Somebody 
 must take her." 
 
 It was Marian who went forward, Marian, whose face 
 was a puzzle as she took the infant in her stronger arms, 
 her stony eyes, which had not wept as yet, fastening 
 themselves upon the face of Wilford Cameron's child 
 with a look which seemed to say : "Retribution, retri- 
 bution." 
 
 But only when she remembered the father, now so 
 proud of his daughter, was that word in her heart. She 
 could not harbor it when she glanced at the mother, and 
 her lips moved in earnest prayer that, if possible, God 
 would not leave her so desolate. An hour later and Mor- 
 ris came, relieving Marian of her burden which he car- 
 ried in his own arms, while he strove to comfort Katy, 
 who, crouching by the empty crib, was sitting motion- 
 less in a kind of dumb despair, all hope crushed out by 
 his answer to her entreaties that he would tell her, the 
 truth, keeping nothing back. 
 
 "I think your baby will die," he had said to her very 
 gently, pausing a moment in awe of the white face, 
 whose expression terrified and shocked him, it was so 
 full of agony. ^ 
 
 Bowing her head upon her hands, poor Katy whispered 
 sadly: "God must not take my baby. Oh, Morris, please 
 pray that he will not. He will hear and answer you, 
 while I have been so bad I cannot pray. But I'm 
 not going to be bad again. If he will let me keep 
 my darling I will begin a new^ife. I will try to serve 
 him. Dear Lord, hear and answer, and not let baby die." 
 
 She was praying herself now, and Morris' broad chest 
 heaved as he glanc^ at her kneeling figure, and then at 
 the death-like face upon the pillow, with the pinched 
 look about the nose and lips, which to his practiced eye 
 was a harbinger of death. 
 
 "Its father should be here," he thought, and when 
 Katy lifted up her head again he asked if she was sure 
 her husband had not yet returned from Minnesota. 
 
 "Yes, sure — that is, I think he has not," was Katy's 
 answer, a chill creeping over her at the thought of meet- 
 ing Wilford, and giving him his daughter dead. 
 
 "I shall telegraph in the morning at all events," Mor- 
 
292 FAMILY PEroE. 
 
 ris continued, "and if he is not in New York, it will be 
 forwarded." 
 
 "Yes, that will be best," was the reply, spoken so 
 mournfully that Morris stopped in front of Katy, trying 
 to reason with her. 
 
 But Katy would not listen, only answering to him that 
 he did not know, he could not feel, he never had been 
 tried. 
 
 "Perhaps not," Morris said; "but Heaven is my wit- 
 ness, Katy, that if I could save you this pain by giving 
 up my life for baby's, I would do it willingly ; but God 
 does not give us our choice. He knoweth what is best, 
 and baby is better with Him than us." 
 
 For a moment Katy was silent, then, as a new idea 
 took possession of her mind, she sprang to Morris' side 
 and seizing his arm, demanded: "Can an unbaptized 
 child be saved?" 
 
 "We nowhere read that baptism is a saving ordinance," 
 was Morris' answer; while Katy continued: "But do 
 you believe they will be saved?" 
 
 "Yes, I do," was the decided response, which, how- 
 ever, did not ease Katy's mind, and she moaned on : "A 
 jjhild of heathen parents may, but I knew better. I knew 
 it was my duty to give the child to God, and for a foolish 
 fancy withheld the gift until it is too late, and God will 
 take it without the mark upon its forehead, the water on 
 its brow. Oh, baby, baby, if she should be lost — ^no 
 name, no mark, no baptismal sign." 
 
 "Not water, but the blood of Jesus cleanseth from all 
 sin," Morris said, "and as sure as he died so sure this 
 little one is safe. Besides that, there may be time for the 
 baptism yet — ^that is, to-morrow. Baby will not die to- 
 night, and if you like, it still shall have a name." 
 
 Eagerly Katy seized upon that idea, thinking more of 
 the sign, the water, than the name, which scarcely occu- 
 pied her thoughts at all. It did not matter what the child 
 was called, so that it became one of the little ones in 
 glory, and with a calmer, quieter demeanor than she had 
 shown that day she saw Morris depart at a late hour; 
 and then turning to the child which Uncle Ephraim now 
 was holding, kissed it lovingly, whispering as she did so: 
 "Baby shall be baptized — ^baby shall have tlie sign." 
 
LITTLE GENEVRA. ?98 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 LITTLE GENEVRA. 
 
 Morris had telegraphed to New York, receiving in re- 
 ply that Wilford was hourly expected home, and would 
 at once hasten on to Silverton. The clergyman, Mr. 
 Kelly, had also been seen, but owing to a funeral which 
 would take him out of town, he could not be at the farm- 
 house until five in the afternoon; when, if the child still 
 lived, he would be glad to officiate as requested. All this 
 Morris had communicated to Katy, who listened in a 
 kind of stupor, gasping for breath, when she heard that 
 Wilford would so soon be there, and moaning "that will 
 be too late," when told that the baptism could not take 
 place till night. Then, kneeling by the crib where the 
 child was lying, she fastened her great, sad blue eyes 
 upon the pallid face with an earnestness as if thus she 
 would hold till nightfall the life flickering so faintly and 
 seeming so nearly finished. The wailings had ceased, 
 and they no longer carried it within their arms, but had 
 placed it in its crib, where it lay perfectly still, save aS" 
 its eyes occasionally unclosed and turned wistfully to- 
 ward the cups, where it knew was something which 
 quenched its raging thirst. Once, indeed, as the hours 
 crept on to noon and Katy bent over it so that her curls 
 swept its face, it seemed to know her, and the little wasted 
 hand was for a moment uplifted and rested on her cheek 
 with the same caressing motion it had been wont to use 
 in health. Then hope whispered that it might live, and 
 with a great cry of^ joy Katy sobbed: "She knows, me, 
 Morris — mother, see; she knows me. Maybe she T*ill 
 Uve." 
 
 But the dull stupor which succeeded to that act swept 
 all hope away, and again Katy resumed her post, watch- 
 ing first her dying child, and then the long hands of the 
 iclock which crept on so slowly, pointing to only two when 
 she thought it must be five. Would that hour never 
 come, or coming, would it find baby there? None could 
 answer that last question — ^they could only wait and pray, 
 
294 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 and as they waited thus the warm September sun neared 
 the western sky till its yellow beams came stewing 
 through the window and across the floor to where Katy 
 sat watching its onward progress and looking sometimes 
 out upon the hills where the purplish autumnal haze was 
 lying just as she once loved to see it; but she did not 
 heed it now, or care how bright the day with the flitting 
 shadows dancing on the grass, the tall flowers growing 
 by the door and old Whitey standing by the gate, his head 
 stretched toward the house in a kind of dreamy, listening 
 attitude, as if he, too, knew of the great sorrow hastening 
 on so fast. The others saw all this, and it made their 
 hearts ache more as they thought of the beautiful little 
 child, so much fairer than sky or day or flowers could 
 be, going from their midst when they wished so much to 
 keep her. But Katy had only one idea, and that was of 
 the child growing very restless now and throwing up its 
 arms as if in pain. It is striking five, and wittt each 
 stroke the dying baby moans, while Katy strains her ear 
 to catch another sound, the sound of horses' hoofs hurry- 
 ing up the road. The clergyman has come and anon the 
 inmates of the house gather around in silence, while he 
 makes ready to receive the child into Christ's flock, where 
 it so soon will really be. 
 
 Mrs. Lennox had questioned Helen about the name and 
 Helen had answered : "Katy knows, I presume. It does 
 not matter," but no one had spoken directly to Katy, who 
 had scarcely given it a thought, caring more for the rite 
 she had deferred so long. 
 
 "He must hasten," she said to Morris, her eyes fixed 
 upon the panting child she had lifted to her own lap, and 
 thus abjured the clergyman failed to make the usual in- 
 quiry concerning the name he was to give. 
 
 Calm and white as a marble statue, Marian Hazelton 
 glided to the back of Katy's chair, pressing both her 
 hands upon it, and leaning over Katy so that her eyes 
 too were fixed upon the little face, from which they never 
 turned but once, and that when the clergyman's voice 
 was heard asking for a name. There was an instant's 
 silence, and Katy's lips began to move, when one of Mar- 
 ian's hands was laid upon her head, while the other took 
 
LITTLE GENEVRA. 295 
 
 in its own the limp, white baby fingers, and Marian's 
 voice was very steady in its tone as it said : "Genevra." 
 
 "Yes, Genevra," Katy whisgered, and then the solemn 
 words were heard : "Genevra, I baptize thee in the name 
 of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost." 
 
 Softly the baptismal waters fell upon the pale fore- 
 head, and at their touch the little Genevra's eyes unclosed, 
 the waxen fingers withdrew themselves from Marian's 
 grasp, and again sought the mother's cheek, resting there 
 for an instant; while a smile broke'around the baby lips, 
 which tried to say "Mam-ma." Then the hand fell back, 
 down upon Marian's, the soft eyes closed, the limbs grew 
 rigid, the shadow of death grew deeper, and while the 
 prayer was said, and Marian's tears fell with Katy's upon 
 the brow where the baptismal waters were not^ dried, the 
 angel came, and when the prayer was ended, Morris, who 
 knew what the rest did not, took the lifeless form from 
 Katy's lap, and whispered to her gently : "Katy, your 
 baby is dead !" 
 
 An hour later, and the sweet little creature, which had 
 been a sunbeam in that house for a few happy days, lay 
 upon the bed where Katy said it must be laid; its form 
 shrouded in the christening robe which Grandma Cam-: 
 eron had bought, flowers upon its pillow, flowers upon its"" 
 bosom, flowers in its hands, which Marian had put there ; 
 for Marian's was the mind which thought of everything 
 concerning the dead child; and Helen, as she watched 
 her, wondered at the mighty love wl.ich showed itself in 
 every lineament of her face, the blue veins swelling in her 
 forehead, her eyes bloodshot, and her lips shut firmly to- 
 gether, as if it were by mere strength of will that she kept 
 back the scalding tears as she dressed the little Genevra, 
 They spoke of that* name in the kitchen when the first 
 great shock was over, and Helen explained why it had 
 been Katy's choice. Poor stricken Katy, it was Morris' 
 task to comfort her — Morris, who sat by her holding the 
 hot, feverish hand she had placed in his, and telling her 
 of the blessed Savior who loved the little children while 
 here on earth., and to whom her darling had surely gone.' 
 
 "Safe in His arms it would not come back if it could," 
 he said, "and neither would you have it." 
 
 But Katy was the mother, and human love could not 
 
296 FAMILY PRBDE. 
 
 60 soon submit, but went out after the lost one with a 
 piteous agonizing wail, which hurt Morris cruelly. 
 
 "Oh, I want my baby back. I know she is safe, but 
 I want her back. She was my life — all I had to love," 
 Katy moaned, rocking to and fro in this first hour of her 
 bereavement. 
 
 "You forget your husband," Morris said. "You have 
 him left, and husbands, I supposed, were dearer than 
 one's children." 
 
 "Yes," Katy answered, "I have Wilford, and am glad 
 of that ; but he will blame me so much for bringing baby 
 here to die. He will say it was my fault ; and that I can't 
 bear. I know it was, know I killed my baby; but I did 
 not mean to. I would give my life for hers, if like her 
 I was ready," and into Katy's face there came a look of 
 fear which Morris failed to understand, not knowing 
 Wilford as well as Katy knew him. 
 
 Surely no man could reproach the half-crazed creature, 
 who all that night sat by the bedside of her dead child, 
 sleeping a little in her chair, but obtaining no real rest, 
 so that by the morning her face was like some white rose 
 on which a fierce storm has beaten, breaking off its petals 
 ■and crushing out its life. At nine o'clock there came to 
 her a telegram. Wilford had reached New York and 
 would be in Silverton that afternoon, accompanied by 
 ■Bell. At this last Marian Hazelton caught eagerly as an 
 excuse for what she intended doing. She could not re- 
 main there after Wilford came, nor was it necessary. 
 Her task was done, or would be when she had finished 
 the wreath and cross of flowers she was making for the 
 coffin. Laying them on baby's pillow, Marian went in 
 quest of Helen, to whom she explained that as Bell Cam- 
 eron was coming, and the house would be full, she had 
 decided upon going to West Silverton, especially as she 
 wished to see the lady with whom she once boarded, and 
 who had been so kind to her. 
 
 "I might stay," she added, as Helen began to protest, 
 "but you do not need me. I have done all I can, and 
 would rather go where I can be quiet for a little." 
 
 To this last argument there could be no demur, and so 
 the same carriage which at ten o'clock went for Wilford 
 
LrrriiE genbvea. 2J97 
 
 Cameron carried Marian Hazelton to the village where 
 she preferred being left. 
 
 In much anxiety and distress Wilford Cameron read 
 the telegram announcing baby's illness. 
 
 "At Silverton !" he said. "How can that be when the 
 child was at New London ?" and he glanced at the words : 
 
 "Your child is dying at Silverton. Come at once. 
 
 "M. Grant." 
 
 There could be no mistake, and Wilford's face grew 
 dark, for he guessed the truth, censuring Katy much, but 
 censuring her family more. They, of course, had en- 
 couraged her in the plan of taking her child from New 
 London, where it was doing so well, and this was the re- 
 sult. Wilford was proud of his daughter now, and dur-- 
 ing the few weeks he had been with it the little thing had 
 found a strong place in his love. ' Many times he had 
 thought of it during his journey West, indulging in 
 bright anticipations of the coming winter, when he would 
 have it home again. It would not be in his way now. 
 On the contrary, it would add much to. his luxurious 
 home, and the young father's heart bounded as Wilfor<l* 
 Cameron had never believed his heart could bound, with 
 thoughts of the beautiful baby as he had last seen it in 
 Katy's arms, crowing its good-by to him and trying to 
 lisp his name, its sweet voice haunting him for weeks, 
 and making him a softer, better man, who did not frown 
 impatiently as he used to do upon the children in the 
 cars, but who took notice of them all, even laying his 
 hand once on a little curly head which reminded him o£ 
 baby's. * 
 
 Alas for him, he little dreamed of the great shoc^ in 
 store for him. The child was undoubtedly very sick, he 
 said, but that it could die was not possible ; and so, though 
 he made ready to hasten to it, he did withhold his opin- 
 ion of the rashness, as he termed it, which had brought 
 it to such peril. 
 
 "Had Katy obeyed me it would not have happened," 
 he said, pacing up and down the parlor and preparing to 
 say more, when Bell came to Katy's aid, and lighting fu* 
 
29» FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 riously upon him, asked what he meant by blaming his 
 wife so much. 
 
 "For my part," she said, "I think there has been too 
 much fauh-finding and dictation from the very day of 
 the child's birth till now, and if God takes it, as he may, 
 I shall think it a judgment upon you. First you were 
 half vexed with Katy because it was not a boy, as if she 
 were to blame; then you did not like it because it was 
 not more promising and fair; next it was in your way, 
 and so you sent it off, never considering Katy any more 
 than if she were a mere automaton, to turn which way 
 you said. Then you must needs forbid her taking it home 
 to her own family, as if they had no right, no interest 
 in it. I tell you, Will, it is not all Cameron — there is 
 some Barlow blood in its veins — Aunt Betsy Barlow's, 
 too, and you cannot wash it out. Katy had a right to 
 take her own child where she pleased, and you are not a 
 man if you censure her for it, as I see in your eyes you 
 mean to do. Suppose it had stayed in New London and 
 been struck with lightning — you would have been to 
 blame, of course, according to your own view of things." 
 
 There was too much truth in Bell's remarks for Wil- 
 ford to retort, even had he been disposed, and he con- 
 «tented himself with a haughty toss of his head as she left 
 the room to get herself in readiness for the journey she 
 insisted upon taking. Wilford was glad she was going, 
 as her presence at Silverton would relieve him of the 
 awkward embarrassment he always felt when there; and 
 magnanimously forgiving her for the plainness of her 
 speech, he was the most attentive of brothers until Sil- 
 verton was reached and he found Dr. Grant waiting 
 for him. Something in his face, a§ he came forward to 
 meet them, startled both Wilford and Bell, the latter of 
 whom asked quickly: <-■. 
 
 "Is the baby better?" 
 
 "Baby is "dead," was the brief reply, and Wilford stag- 
 gered back against the doorpost, where he leaned a mo- 
 ment for support in that first great shock for which he 
 was not prepared. 
 
 "Dead," he repeated, "our baby dead,'' and Morris was 
 glad that he said our, as it indicated a thought of Katy 
 as a mutual sharer in the loss. 
 
UTTLE GENEVEA. 299 
 
 Upon the doorstep Bell sat down, crying quietly, for 
 she had loved the little child, and she listened anxiously 
 while Morris repeated the particulars of its illness and 
 then spoke of Katy's reproaching herself so bitterly for 
 having brought it from New London. "She seems en- 
 tirely crushed," he continued, when they were driving to- 
 ward the farmhouse. "For a few hours I trembled for 
 her reason, while the fear that you might reproach her 
 added much to the poignancy of her grief." , 
 
 Morris said this very calmly, as if it were not what 
 he had all the while intended saying, and his eye turned 
 toward Wilford, whose lips were compressed with the 
 emotion he was evidently trying to control. It was Bell 
 who spoke first. Bell who said impulsively : "Poor Katy, 
 I knew she would feel so, but it is unnecessary, for none 
 but a savage would reproach her now, even if she were 
 in fault." 
 
 Morris blessed Bell Cameron in his heart, knowing 
 how much influence her words would have upon her 
 brother, who brushed away the first tear he had shed, 
 and tried to say that "of course she was not to blame." 
 
 They were in sight of the farmhouse now, and Bell, 
 with her city ideas, was looking curiously at it, mentally 
 pronouncing it a nicer, pleasanter place than she had sup- 
 posed, inasmuch as it reminded her of the description she 
 had read of the Virginia farmhouse, where a young offi- 
 cer was encamped for. a few days, an officer who wore a 
 lieutenant's uniform and who signed himself as Bob. It 
 was very quiet about the house, and old Whitey's neigh 
 as Morris' span of bays came up was the only sound 
 which greeted them. In the woodshed door Uncle 
 Ephraim sat smoking his clay pipe and likening the 
 feathery waves which curled above his head to the little 
 soul so recently gone upward, while by his side, upon a 
 log of wood, holding a pan of the luscious peaches she 
 was slicing up for tea, sat a woman whom Bell knew at 
 once for Aunt Betsy Barlow, thinking more of the 
 peaches than of the old lady who, pan in hand, came for- 
 ward to met her, curtseying very low when introduced 
 by Morris, and asking to be excused from shaking hands, 
 inasmuch as hers were not fit to be touched. Bell's 
 quick eye took her in at a glance, from her clean spotted 
 
SOO FAMILY PRmEf, 
 
 gown to ber plan rausHn cap tied with a black riWbon, 
 put on that day with a view to mourning', and then darted 
 off to Uncle Ephraim, who won her heart at ooce when 
 she heard how his voice trembled as he took Wilford's 
 hand and said so pityingly, so father-like : "Yoting man, 
 this is a sad day for yon and yoti have my sympathy, for 
 I remember well bow my heart ached when, on jast sucft 
 a day as this, my only child lay dead as yours is lying." 
 
 Every muscle of Wilford's face quivered then, but he 
 was too proud to show all that he felt, and he was glad 
 when Helen appeared in the door, as that diverted his 
 mind somewhat, and he greeted her most cordially, even 
 stooping down and kissing her smooth forehead, a thing 
 he had never done before. But sorrow is a great softener 
 and Wilford was very sorry, feeling bis loss more here 
 where everything was so quiet, so suggestive of death. 
 
 "Where is Katy ?" he asked. 
 
 "She is sleeping for the first time since the baby died. 
 She is in here with the chrM. She will stay nowhere 
 else," Helen said, opening softly the door of the bed- 
 room and motioning Wilford hi. 
 
 With hushed breath and a beating heart, Wilford 
 stepped across the threshold and Helen closed the door, 
 leaving him alone with the living and the dead. Pure 
 and beautiful as some fair blossom, the dead child lay 
 upon the bed, the curls of golden hair clustering about its 
 head, and on its lips the smile which had settled there 
 when it tried to say "mamma" — ^its dimpled hands folded 
 upon its breast, where lay the cross of flowers which Mar- 
 ian Hazelton bad made— flowers upon its pillow, flowers 
 around its head, flowers upon its shroud, flowers every- 
 where, and itself the fairest flower of all, Wilford thought 
 as he stood gazing at it and then let his eye move on to 
 where poor, tired, worn-out Katy had crept up so close 
 beside rt that her breath touched the marble cheek and 
 her own disordered hair rested upon the pillow of her 
 child. Even in her sleep her tears kept dropping from 
 the long eyelashes, and the pale lips quivered in a grieved, 
 touching way. Hard indeed would Wilford have been 
 had he cherished one bitter thought against the wife so 
 woimded. He could not when he saw her, but no one 
 ever knew just what passed through his mind during the 
 
LITTLE GBNBVRA. 301 
 
 half hour he sat there beside her, sqarcely stirring- and 
 not daring to kiss his child lest he should awaken her. 
 He could hear the ticking of his watch and the beating 
 of his heart as he waited for the first sound which should 
 herald Katy's waking. 
 
 Suddenly there was a low, gasping moan, and "Katy's 
 eyes unclosed and rested on her husband. He was bend- 
 ing over her in an instant, and her arms were around his 
 neck, while she said to him so sadly : 
 
 "Our baby is dead — youVe nobody left but me; and 
 oh! Wilford, you will not blame me bringing baby here? 
 I did not think she would die. " I'd give my life for hers 
 if that would bring her back. Say, Wilford, would you 
 rather it was me lying as baby lies, and she here in your 
 arms?" 
 
 "No, Katy," Wilford answered, and by his voice Katy 
 knew that she was wholly forgiven, crying on his neck 
 in a plaintive, piteous way, while Wilford soothed and 
 pitied and caressed, feeling subdued and humbled, and we 
 must confess it, feeling too how very good and generous 
 he. was to be thus forbearing, when but for Katy's act of 
 disobedience they might not now be childless! 
 
 With a gre^ gust of tears Bell Cameron bent over the 
 little form, and then enfolded Katy in a more loving em- 
 brace than he had ever given her before ; but whatever 
 she might have said was prevented by the arrival of the 
 coffin and the confusion which followed. 
 
 Much Wilford regretted that New York was so far 
 away, for a city colSn was more suitable, he thought; for 
 a child of his, thag the one which Dr. Grant had ordered. 
 But that was really of less consequence than the question 
 where should the child be buried? A costly monument 
 at Greenwood was in accordance with his ideas, but all 
 things indicated a contemplated burial there in the coun- 
 try churchyard, and sorely perplexed he called on Bell 
 as the only Cameron at hand, to know what he should do. 
 
 "Do just as Katy prefers," was Bell's reply, as she led 
 him to the coffin and pointed to the name: "Little Gene- 
 vra Cameron, aged nine months and twenty days." 
 
 "What is it, Wilford — ^what is the matter?" she asked, 
 
302 FAMILY PRIDE.' 
 
 as her brother turned whiter than his child, and struck 
 his hand upon his head as if a blow had fallen there. 
 
 Had "Genevra Lambert, aged twenty-two," met his 
 eye, he could not have been more startled than he was; 
 but soon rallying, he said to Morris, who came near: 
 
 "The child was baptized then?" 
 
 "Yes, baptized Genevra. That was Katy's choice, I 
 understand," Morris replied, and Wilford bowed his 
 head, wishing the Genevra across the sea might know 
 that his child bore her name. 
 
 "Perhaps she does," he thought, and his heart grew 
 warm with the fancy that possibly in that other world, 
 whose existence he never really doubted, the Genevra he 
 had wronged would care for his child, if children there 
 need care. "She will know it is mine at least," he said, 
 and with a thoughtful face he went in quest of Katy, 
 whom he found sobbing by the side of the mourning gar- 
 ments just sent in for her inspection. 
 
 Wilford was averse to black. It would not become 
 Katy, he feared, and it would be an unanswerable reason 
 for her remaining closely home for the entire winter. 
 
 "What's this?" he asked, Hfting the crape veil and 
 dropping it again with an impatient gesture as Helen 
 replied: "It is Katy's mourning veil." 
 
 Contrary to his expectations, black was becoming to 
 Katy, who looked like a pure white lily, as, leaning on 
 Wilford's arm next day, she stood by the grave where 
 they were burying her child. 
 
 Wilford had spoken to her of Greenwood, but she had 
 begged so hard that he had given up that idea, suggest- 
 ing next, as more in accordance with city custom, that 
 she remain at home while he only followed to the grave ; 
 but from this Katy recoiled in such distress that he gave 
 up too, and bore, magnanimously, as he thought, the 
 sight of all the Barlows standing around that grave, alike 
 mourners with himself, and all a right to be there. Wil- 
 ford felt his loss deeply, and his heart ached to its very 
 core as he heard the gravel rattling down upon the coffin 
 lid which covered the beautiful child he had loved so 
 much. But amid it all he never for a moment forgot that 
 he was Wilford Cameron, and infinitely superior to the 
 crowd around him — except, indeed, his wife, his sister. 
 
AFTER THE FUNERAL. ^03 
 
 Dr. Grant, and Helen. He could bear to see them sorry, 
 and feel that by their sorrow they honored the memory 
 of his child. But for the rest — the village herd, with the 
 Barlows in their train — ^he had no affinity, and his man- 
 ner was as haughty and distant as ever as he passed 
 through their midst back to the carriage, which took him 
 again to the farmhouse. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXni. 
 
 AFTER THE FUNERAL. 
 
 Had there been a train back to New York that after- 
 noon Wilford would most certainly have suggested going, 
 but as there was none he passed the time as well as he 
 could, finding Bell a great help to him, but wondering 
 that she could, assimilate so readily with such people, de- 
 claring herself in love with the farmhouse, and saying 
 she should like to remain there for weeks, if the days 
 were all as sunny as this, the dahlias as gorgeously bright, 
 arid the peaches by the well as delicious and ripe. To 
 these the city girl took readily, visiting them the last 
 thing before retiring, while Wilford found her there when 
 he arose next morning, her dress and slippers nearly 
 spoiled with the heavy dew, and her hands full of the 
 fresh fruit which Aunt Betsy knocked from the tree with 
 a quilting, rod; her dress pinned around her waist, and 
 disclosing a petticoat scrupulously clean, but patched and 
 mended with so many different patterns and colors that 
 the original ground was lost, and none could tell whether 
 it had. been red or black, buff or blue. Between Aunt 
 Betsy and Bell the most amicable feeling had existe4ever 
 since the older lady had told the younger how all the sum- 
 mer long she had been drying fruit, "thimble-berries, 
 blue-berries and huckle-berries" for the soldiers, and how 
 she was now drying peaches for Willard Buxton — once 
 their hired man. These she should tie up in a salt bag, 
 and put in the next box sent by the society of which she 
 seemed to be head and front, "kind of fust directress," 
 she said, and Bell was interested at once, for among the 
 soldiers down by the Potomac was one who carried with 
 
304 FAMILY PEIDE. 
 
 him the whole of Bell Cameron's heart; and who for a 
 few days had tarried at just such a dwelling' as the farm- 
 house, writing back to her such pltsasant descriptions of it, 
 with its fresh grass and shadowy tEees, that she had 
 longed to be there too. So it was through this page of 
 romance and love that Bell looked at the farmhouse and 
 its occupants, preferring good Aunt Betsy because she 
 seemed the most interested ixi the soldiers, working as 
 soon as breakfast was over upon the peaches, and kindly 
 furnishing her best check apron, together with pan and 
 knife for Bell, who offered her assistance, notwithstand- 
 ing Wilford's warning that the fruit would stain her 
 hands, and his advice that she had better be putting up 
 her things for going home. 
 
 "She was not going that day," she said, point-blan!^ 
 and as Katy too had asked to stay a little longer, Wilford 
 was compelled to yield, and taking his hat sauntered off 
 toward Linwood; while Katy went listlessly into the 
 kitchen, where Bel! Cameron sat, her tongue movii^ 
 much faster than her hands, which pared so slowly and 
 cut away so much of the juicy pulp, besides making so 
 frequent journeys to her mouth, that Aunt Betsy looked 
 in alarm at the rapidly disappearing fruit, wishing' to her- 
 self that "Miss Cameron had not listed." 
 
 But Miss Cameron had enlisted, and so had Bob, or 
 rather he had gone to do his dvtty, and as she worked, she 
 repeated to Helen the particulars of his going, telling 
 how, when the war first broke out, and Sumter was bom- 
 barded, Rob, who, from long association with Southern 
 men at West Point, had imbibed many of their ideas, was 
 very sympathetic with the rebelling States, gaining- the 
 cognomen of a secessionist, and once actually thinking of 
 casting in his lot with that side rather than the other. 
 But the remembrance of a little incident saved him, she 
 said. The remembrance of a queer old lady whom he 
 met in the cars, and who, at parting", held ner wrinkled 
 hand- above his head in benediction, diarging him not to 
 go against the flag, and promising her prayers for his 
 safety if found on the side of the Union. 
 
 "I wish you could hear Bob teft the story, the funnv 
 part, I mean," she continued, narrating, as well as she 
 could, the particulars of Lieutenant Bo&s meeting with 
 
AFTEE THE FDNEEAL. SQS 
 
 Aunt Betsy, who, as the story progressed and she recog- 
 nized herself in the queer old Yankee woman, who shook 
 hands with the conductor and was going to law about a 
 sheep pasture, dropped her head lower and lower over 
 her pan of peaches, while a scarlet flush spread itself all 
 over her tliin face, hut changed into a grayish white as 
 Bell concluded with "Boh says the memory of that hand 
 lifted above his head haunted him day and night, during 
 the period of his uncertainty, and was at last the means 
 of saving him from treachery to his country." ^ 
 
 "ThaiJc God!" came involuntarily from Aunt Betsy's 
 quivering lips, and, looking up. Bell saw the great tears 
 running down her cheeks, tears which she wiped away 
 with her arm, while she said faintly : "That old woman, 
 who made a fool of herself in the cars, was me 1" 
 
 "You, Miss Barlow, you!" Bell exclaimed, forgetting 
 in her astonishment to carry to her mouth the luscious 
 half peach she had intended for that purpose, and drop- 
 ping It untasted into the pan, v/hile Katy, who had been 
 listening with some considerable interest, came quickly 
 forward, saying: "You, Aunt Betsy! When were you 
 in New York, and why did I never know it?" 
 
 It could not be kept back, and, unmindful of Bell, Helen 
 explained to Katy as well as she could the circumstances 
 of Aunt Betsy's visit to New York the previous winter. 
 
 "And she never let me know it, or come to see me, be- 
 cause — because " Katy hesitated, and looked at Bell, 
 
 who said, pertly : "Because Will is so abominably proud, 
 and would have made such a fuss. Don't spoil a story 
 for relations' sake, I beg," and the young lady laughed 
 good humoredly, restoring peace to all save Katy, whose 
 face wore a troubled look, and who soon stole away to 
 lier mother, whonTshe questioned further with regard to 
 a circumstance which seemed so mysterious to her. 
 
 "Miss Barlow," Bell said, when Katy was gone, "you 
 will forgive one for repeating that story as I did. Of 
 course I had no idea it was you of whom I was talking." 
 
 Bell was very earnest, and her eyes looked pleadingly 
 upon Aunt Betsy, who answered her back: "There's 
 nothing to forgive. You only told the truth. I did 
 make an old fool of myself, but if I helped that boy to a 
 "^H -'".cision, my journey did some good, and I ain't 
 
P96 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 sorry now if I did go to the playhoiise. I confessed that 
 to the sewing circle, and Mrs. Deacon Bannister ain't 
 seemed the same toward me since, but I don't' care. I 
 beat her on the election to first directress of the Soldiers' 
 AidT She didn't run half as well as me. That chap you 
 call Bob, is he anything to you? Is he your beau?" 
 
 "It was Bell's "WTn now to blush and then grow white, 
 while Helen lightly touching the superb diamond on her 
 first finger, said : "That indicates as much. When did 
 it happen, Bell?" 
 
 Mrs. Cameron had said they were not a family to bruit 
 their affairs abroad, and if so. Bell was not like her fam- 
 ily, for she answered frankly : "Just before he went away. 
 It's a splendid diamond, isn't it?" and she held it up for 
 Helen to inspect. 
 
 The basket was empty by this time, and as Aunt Betsy 
 went to fill it from the trees, Bell and Helen were left 
 alone, the former continuing in a low, sad tone: "I've 
 been so sorry sometimes that I did not tell Bob I loved 
 him, when he wished me to so much." 
 
 "Not tell him you loved him ! How then could you tell 
 him yes, as it appears you did?" Helen asked, and Bell 
 answered : "I could not well help that ; it came so sudden 
 and he begged so hard, saying my promise would make 
 _him a better man, a better soldier and all that. It was 
 the very night before he went, and so I said that out of 
 pity and patriotism I would give the promise, and I did, 
 but it seemed too much for a woman to tell a man all at 
 once that she loved him, and I wouldn't do it, but I've 
 been sorry since; oh, so sorry, during the two days when 
 we heard nothing from him after that dreadful battle at 
 Bull Run. We knew - he was in it, and I thought I 
 should die until his telegram cam.e saying he was safe. I 
 did sit down then and commence a letter, confessing all I 
 felt, but I tore it up, and he don't know now just how 
 I feel." 
 
 "And do you really love him ?" Helen asked, puzzled 
 by this strange girl, who laughingly held up her soft, 
 white hand, stained and blackened with the juice of the 
 friiit she had been paring, and said : "Do you suppose I 
 would spoil my hands like that and incur ma chere mam- 
 ma's displeasure, if Bob were not in the army and I did 
 
AFTER THE FUNERAL. 307 
 
 not care for him? And now that I have confessed so 
 much, allow me to catechise you. Did Mark Ray ever 
 propose and you refuse him ?" 
 
 "Never!" -and Helen's face grew crimson, ?^while Bell 
 continued : "That is funny. Half our circle think so, 
 though how the impression was first given I do not know. 
 Mother told me, but would not tell where she received 
 her information. I heard of it again in a few days, and 
 have reason to believe that Mrs. Banker knows it too and 
 feels aJittle uncomfortable that her son should be refused 
 when she considers him worthy' of the empress herself." 
 
 Helen was very white, and her limbs shook as she 
 asked : "And how with Mark and Juno ?" 
 
 , "Oh, off and on," Bell replied ; "that is, Juno is always 
 on,' while Mark is more uncertain, and Juno really has 
 improved in some respects. As I wrote you once, she is 
 very docile when with Mark, and acts as if trying to atone 
 for something — her old badness, I guess. You are cer- 
 tain you never cared for Mark Ray?" 
 
 This was so abrupt and Bell's eyes were so searching 
 that Helen grew giddy for a moment and grasped the 
 back of the chair, as she replied: "I did not say I never 
 cared for him. I said he never proposed ; and that is 
 true; he never did." 
 
 "And if he had?" Bell continued, never taking her eyes 
 from Helen, who, had she been less agitated, would have 
 denied Bell's right to question her so closely. Now, 
 however, she answered blindly : "I do not know. I can- 
 not tell. I thought him engaged to Juno." 
 
 "Well, if that is not the rarest case of cross-purposes 
 that I ever knew," ,Bell said, wiping her hands upon Aunt 
 Betsy's apron, and preparing to attack the piled up basket 
 just brought in. 
 
 Further conversation was impossible, and, with her 
 mind in a perfect tempest of thought, Helen went away, 
 trying to decide what it was best for her to do. Some 
 one had spread the report that she had refused Mark 
 Ray, telling of the refusal, of course, or how else could 
 it have been known ? and this accounted for Mrs. Bank- 
 er's long-continued silence. Since Helen's return to Sil- 
 verton Mrs. Banker had written two or thee kind, friendly; 
 letters, which did her 50 much good; but these had sud- 
 
308 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 denly ceased, and Helen's last remained as yet unan- 
 swered. She saw the reason now, every nerve quivering 
 with pain as she imagined what Mrs. Banker must think 
 of one who could make a refusal public, or what was 
 tenfold worse, pretend to an offer she never received. 
 "She must despise me, and Mark Ray, too, if he has 
 heard of it," she said, resolving one moment to ask Bell 
 to explain to Mrs. Banker, and then changing her mind 
 and concluding to let matters take their course, inasmuch 
 as interference from her might be construed by the 
 mother into undue interest in the son. "Perhaps Bell 
 will do it withuot my asking," she thought, and this hope 
 did much toward keeping her spirits up on that last day 
 of Katy's slay at home, for she was going back in the 
 morr.ing. Wilford would not leave her, though she 
 begged to stay. He did not like the sad expression of her 
 face, and he must take her where she would have more 
 excitement, hoping thus to win her from her grief, and 
 perhaps induce her to lay aside her black, which would 
 be so serious a hindrance to his enjoyment. But Katy 
 clung to that as to a strict, religious duty, saying to 
 Helen, as in the twilight tliey sat together up in their old 
 room, talking of the ensuing winter, which would be so 
 different from the last : 
 
 "If anything besides the feeling that she is so much 
 happier, could reconcile me to baby's loss, it is the know- 
 ing that my mourning will keep me from the society in 
 which I could not mingle so soon," and her tears dropped 
 upon the somber robes, which had transformed her so 
 suddenly from the gay, airy creature of fashion into the 
 sober, quiet woman who seemed older, soberer than even 
 Hekn herself. 
 
 They did not see Marian Hazelton again, and Katy 
 wondered at it, deciding that in some things Marian was 
 very peculiar, while Wilford and Bell were slightly dis- 
 appointed, as both had a desire to meet and converse with 
 one who had been so like a second mother to the little 
 dead Genevra. Wilford spoke of his child now as Gene- 
 vra, but to Katy it was baby still ; and, with choking sobs 
 and passionate tears, she bade good-by to the little mound 
 underneath which it was lying, and then went back to 
 her city, home. 
 
THE FIRST WIPE. J^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE FIRST WIFE. 
 
 Softly and swiftly the hazy September days glided into 
 dun October, who shook down leafy showers of crimson 
 and of gold upon the withered grass, and then gave place 
 to the dark November rains, which made the city seem 
 doubly desolate to Katy, who, like the ghost of her former 
 self, moved listlessly about her handsome home, starting 
 quickly as a fancied baby cry fell on her ear, and then 
 weeping bitterly as she remembered the sad past and 
 thought of the still sadder present. Katy was very un- 
 happy, and the world, as she looked upon it, seemed ut- 
 terly cheerless. For much of this unhappiness Wilford 
 was himself to blame. After the first few days, during 
 which he was all kindness and devotion, he did not try 
 to comfort her, but seemed irritated that she should 
 mourn so deeply for the child which, but for her indis- 
 cretion, might have been living still. Her seclusion 
 from gay society troubled him. He did not like staying 
 at home, and their evenings, when they were alone, passed 
 in gloomy silence. At last Mrs. Cameron, annoyed at 
 what annoyed her son, brought her influence to bear 
 upon her daughter-in-law, trying to rouse her to some- 
 thing like her olden interest in the world; but all to no 
 effect, and matters grew constantly worse, as Wilford 
 thought Katy unreasonable and selfish, while Katy tried 
 hard not to think him harsh in his judgment of her, and 
 exacting in his requirements. "Perhaps she was the one 
 most in fault ; it could not be pleasant for him to see,her 
 so entirely changed from what she used to be," she 
 thought, one morning late in November, when her hus- 
 band had just left her with an angry frown upon his face 
 and reproachful words upon his lips. 
 
 Father Cameron and his daughters were out of town, 
 and Mrs. Cameron, feeling lonely in their absence, had 
 asked Wilford and Katy to dine with her. But Katy did 
 not wish to go, and so Wilford had left her in anger, say- 
 
810 FAMILY PEIDE. 
 
 ing "she could suit herself, but he should go at all 
 events." 
 
 Left alone, Katy began to feel that she had done wrong 
 in declining the invitation. Surely she could go there, 
 and the echo of the bang with which Wilford had closed 
 the street door was still vibrating in her ear, when her 
 resolution began to give way, and while Wilford was 
 riding moodily downtown, thinking harsh things against 
 her, she was meditating what she thought might be an 
 agreeable surprise. She would go around and meet him 
 at dinner, trying to appear as much like her old self as 
 she could, and so atone for anything which had hitherto 
 been wrong in her demeanor. 
 
 It was strange how much better Katy felt when this 
 decision was reached, and Esther, below stairs, raised her 
 finger warningly for the cook to listen as her mistress 
 trilled a few notes of a song. It was the first time since 
 her return from Sjilverton that a sound like that had been 
 heard within the house, and it seemed the precursor of 
 better days. At lunch, too, Katy's face was very bright, 
 and Esther was surprised when, later in the day, she was 
 sent for to arrange her mistress' hair, as she had not ar- 
 ranged it since baby died. Greatly annoyed, Wilford 
 had been by the smooth bands combed so plainly back, 
 and at the blackness of the dress ; but now there was a 
 change, and graceful curls fell about the face, giving it 
 the girlish expression which Wilford liked. The som- 
 berness of the dark dress was relieved by simple folds of 
 white crape at the' throat and wrists, while the handsome 
 jet ornaments, the gift of Wilford's father, added to the 
 style and beauty of the childish figure, which had seldom 
 looked lovelier than when ready and waiting for the car- 
 riage. At the door there was a ring, and Esther brought 
 a note to Katy, who, recognizing her husband's hand- 
 writing, tore it quickly open and read as follows : 
 
 "Dear Katy: I have been suddenly called to leave the 
 city on business, which will probably detain me for three 
 days or more, and as I must go on the night train, I wish 
 Esther to have my portmanteau ready with whatever I 
 may need for the journey. As I proposed this morning, 
 
THE FIRST WIFE. 311 
 
 I shall dine with mother, but come home immediately af- 
 ter dinner. W. Cameron." 
 
 Katy was glad now that she had decided to meet him 
 at his mother's, as the knowing she had pleased him 
 would make the time of his absence more endurable, and 
 after seeing that everything was ready for him she 
 stepped with a comparatively light heart into her car- 
 riage, and was driven to No. — Fifth Avenue. 
 
 Mrs. Cameron was out, the servant said, but was ex- 
 pected every minute with Mr. Wilford. 
 
 "Never mind," Katy answered; "I want to surprise 
 them, so please don't tell them I am here when you let 
 them in," and going into the library she sat down before 
 the grate, waiting rather impatiently until the door bell 
 rang and she heard both Wilford's and Mrs. Cameron's 
 voice in the hall. 
 
 Contrary to her expectations, they did not come into the 
 library, but went instead into the parlor, the doOr cf 
 which was partially ajar, so that every word they said 
 could be distinctly heard where Katy sat. It would 
 seem that they were continuing a conversation which had 
 been interrupted by their arriving home, for Mrs. Cam- 
 eron said, with the tone she always assumed when sym- 
 pathizing with her son : "I am truly sorry for you. Is she 
 never more cheerful than. when I have seen her?" 
 
 "Never," and Katy could feel just how Wilford's lips 
 shut over his teeth as he said it; "never more cheerful, 
 but worse if anything. Why, positively the house seems 
 so like a funeral that I hate to leave the oiSce and go 
 back to it at night, knowing how mopish and gloomy 
 Katy will be." 
 
 "My poor boy, it is worse than I feared," Mrs. Cam- 
 eron said, with a little sigh, while Katy, with a great 
 gasping sob, tried to rise and go to them, to tell them she 
 was there — the mopish Katy, who made her home so like 
 a funeral to her husband. 
 
 But her limbs refused to move, and she sank back power- 
 less in hef chair, compelled to listen to things which no 
 true husband should ever say to a mother of his wife, 
 especially when that wife's error consisted principally 
 in mourning too much for the child "which but 
 
312 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 for her imprudence might have been living then." 
 These were Wilford's very words, and though Katy had 
 once expected him to say them, they came upon her now 
 with a dreadful shock, making her view herself as the 
 murderer" of her child, and thus blunting the pain she 
 might otherwise have felt as he went on to speak of Sil- 
 verton and its inhabitants, just as he would not have 
 spoken had he known she was so near. Then, encour- 
 aged by his mother, he talked again of her, not against 
 her, but in a way which made her poor aching heart 
 throb as she whispered, sadly: "He is disappointed in 
 me. I do not come up to all that he expected. I do 
 very well, considering my low origin, but I am not what 
 his wife should be." 
 
 Wilford had not said all this, but Katy inferred it, and 
 every nerve quivered with anguish as the wild wish came 
 over her that she had died on that day when she sat in 
 the summer grass at home watching the shadows come 
 and go and waiting for Wilford Cameron. Poor Katy!-> 
 she thought her cup of sorrow full, when, alas! only a 
 drop had as yet been poured into it. But it was filling 
 fast, and Mrs. Cameron's words : "It might have been 
 better with Genevra," was the first outpouring of the 
 overwhelming torrent which for a moment bore her life 
 and sense away. She thought they meant her baby — 
 the little Genevra sleeping under the snow in Silverton — ■ 
 and her white lips answered: "Yes, it would be better," 
 before Wilford's voice was heard, saying, as he always 
 said : "No, I have never wished Genevra in Katy's place, 
 though I have sometimes wondered what the result would 
 have been had I learned in season how much I wronged 
 her." 
 
 Was heaven and earth coming together, or what made 
 Katy's brain so dizzy and the room so dark, as, with 
 head bent forward and lips apart, she strained her ear 
 to catch every word of the conversation which followed, 
 and in which she saw glimpses of that leaf ofiEered her 
 once to read, and from which she had promised not to 
 shrink should it ever be thrust upon her? But she did 
 shrink, oh ! so shudderingly, holding up her hands and 
 striking them through the empty air as if she would 
 thrust aside the terrible scepter risen so suddenly before 
 
THE FIRST WIPE. 313 
 
 her. She had heard all that she cared to hear then. An- 
 other word and she should surely die where she was, 
 within hearing of the voices still talking of Genevra. 
 Stopping her ears to shut out the dreadful sound, she 
 tried to think what she should do. To gain the door and 
 reach the street was her desire, and throwing on her 
 wrappings she went noiselessly into the hall, and care- 
 fully turning the lock closed the door behind her, finding 
 herself alone in the street in the dusk of a November 
 night. But Katy was not afraid, and drawing her hood 
 closely over her face she sped on until her own house was 
 reached, alarming Esther with her frightened face, but 
 explaining that she had been taken suddenly ill and re- 
 turned before dinner. 
 
 "Mr. Cameron will be here soon," she said. "I do not 
 need anything to-night, so you can leave me alone and 
 go where you like — to the theatre, if you choose. I heard 
 you say you wished to go. Here is the money for you 
 and Phillips," and handing a bill to the slightly puzzled 
 Esther, she dismissed her from the room. 
 
 Meanwhile, at the elder Cameron's, no one had a sus- 
 picion of Katy's recent presence, for the girl who had 
 admitted her had gone to visit a sick sister, with whom 
 she was to spend the night. Thus Katy's secret was safe, 
 and Wilford, when at last he bade his mother good-by 
 and started for home, was not prepared for the livid 
 face, the bloodshot eyes, and the strange, unnatural look 
 which met him at the threshold. 
 
 Katy was waiting for him, and answered his ring her- 
 self, her hands grasping his almost fiercely and dragging 
 him up the stairs to her own room, where, more like a 
 maniac than Katy Cameron, she confronted him with the 
 startling question :' 
 
 "Who is Genevra Lambert? It is time I knew before 
 committing greater sin. Tell me, Wilford, who is she?" 
 
 She was standing before him, her slight figure seeming 
 to expand into a greater height, the features glowing with 
 strong excitement, and her hot breath coming hurriedly 
 through her dilated nostrils, but never opening the pale 
 lips set so firmly together. There was something terrible 
 in her look and attitude, and it startled Wilford, who re- 
 coiled a m.on^ent from her, scarcely able to rr'-:\'^nize the 
 
314 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 Katy hitherto so gentle and quiet. She had learned his 
 secret, but the facts must have been distorted, he knew, 
 or she had never been so agitated. From beneath his 
 hair the great sweat drops came pouring, as he tried to 
 approach her and take the uplifted hands, motioning him 
 aside with the words : "Not touch me ; no, not touch me 
 till you have told me who is Genevra Lambert." 
 
 She repeated the question twice, and rallying all his 
 strength Wilford answered her at last: "Genevra; Lam- 
 bert was, my wife !" 
 
 "I thought so," and the next moment Katy lay in Wil- 
 ford's arms, dead, as he feared, for there was no moticMi 
 about the eyelids, no motion that he could perceive about 
 the pulse or heart, as he laid the rigid form upon the bed 
 pnd then bent every energy to restore her, even though 
 he feared that it was hopeless. 
 
 "I must do what I can," he said, thinking once to send 
 for a physician and laying his hand upon the bell rope 
 for the purpose of ringing up a servant; but a faint, gasp- 
 ing sound met his ear, assuring him there yet was life 
 and that Katy was not dead. 
 
 If possible he would prefer that no one should intrude 
 upon them now, and he chafed her icy hands and bathed 
 her face until the eyes unclosed again, but with a shud- 
 der turned away as they met his. Then as she grew 
 stronger and remembered the past she started up, ex- 
 claiming: "If Genevra Lambert is your wife, what then 
 am I ? Oh, Wilford, how could you make me not a wife, 
 when I trusted and loved you so much?" 
 
 He knew now that she was laboring under a mistake, 
 and he did not wonder at the violence of her emotions if 
 she believed he had wronged her so cruelly, and coming 
 nearer to her he said : "You mistake me ; Genevra, Lam- 
 bert was my wife once, but is not now, for she is dead. 
 Do you hear me, Katy? Genevra died years ago, when 
 you were a little girl playing in the fields at home." 
 
 By mentioning Silverton he hoped to bring back some- 
 thing of her olden look, in place of the expression which 
 troubled and frightened him. The experiment was suc- 
 cessful and great tears gathered in Katy's eyes, washing 
 out the wild, unnatural gleam, while the Hps whispered: 
 "And it v'^.s her picture Juno saw. She told me the 
 
THE FIRST WIPE. / 315 
 
 night I came and I tried to question you. You remem- 
 ber?" 
 
 ■ Wilford did remember it and he replied: "Yes, but I 
 did not suppose you knew I had a picture. You have 
 been a good wife, Katy, never to mention it since then ;" 
 and he tried to kiss her forehead, but she covered it with 
 her hands, saying, sadly: "Not yet, Wilford, I cannot 
 bear it now. I must know the whole about Genevra, 
 Why didn't you tell me before ? Why have you deceived 
 me so?" , 
 
 "Katy," and Wilford grew very earnest in his attempts 
 to defend himself, "do you regiember that day we sat 
 under the buttonwood tree and you promised to be mine ? 
 Try and recall the incidents of that hour and see if I did 
 not hint at some things past which I wished had been 
 otherwise — did not offer to show you the blackest page 
 of my whole life and you would not see it. Was that so, 
 Katy?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered, and he continued: "You said 
 you were satisfied to take me as I was. You would not 
 hear evil against me and so I acquiesced, bidding you 
 not shrink back if ever the time should come when you 
 must read that page. I was to blame, I know, but there 
 were many extenuating circumstances, much to excuse 
 me for withholding what you would not hear." 
 
 Wilford did not like to be censured, neither did he 
 like to censure himself, and now that Katy was out of 
 danger and comparatively calm, he began to build about 
 himself a fortress of excuses for having kept from her 
 the secret of his life. 
 
 "Would not most any man have done just as I did?" 
 he continued. "Can you mention one who would not?" 
 
 "Yes," Cousin Morris," Katy answered; "he would 
 never have deceived me thus." .^i 
 
 A little vexed at the mention of Dr. Grant, Wilford re- 
 plied : "I do not pretend to be a saint, and I believe your 
 cousin does; but I doubt whether even he, with all his 
 goodness, would do very differently from what I have 
 done;. but tell me how, where did you hear of Genevra?" 
 
 Amid sobs and tears Katy told him how she had re- 
 pented of her decision not "to join him at his mother's, 
 coming to the conclusion that she was doing wrong to 
 
316 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 seclude herself so much and trying her best to look well 
 again in his eyes. 
 
 "I meant to surprise you," she said, "and when I heard 
 your mother was out I went into the library to wait, 
 thinking you would come there, but you did not, and I 
 started to go to you when my feet were stopped, for you 
 were talking of me, Wilford, not bad, perhaps, but as 
 you would not have talked had you known that I was 
 there where I heard the words which burned like coals 
 of fire, so that I could have screamed in my distress." 
 
 Katy was not weeping now and her face was like that 
 of some accusing angel as she continued : "I thought my 
 heart was broken when I heard you talk so of me and Sil- 
 verton, but that was nothing compared with what came 
 next, when your mother spoke of Genevra. I thought it 
 was my baby she meant at first, and the tightness around 
 my heart was giving way, for if you did complain of me 
 to your mother, I could forgive that because you were 
 baby's father; but Genevra Lambert! oh, Wilford, I died 
 a thousand deaths in one when I first heard of her and 
 understood why you objected to the name our baby finally 
 bore. You did not wish to be so constantly reminded of 
 the other wife. I could not sit there longer, the room 
 around me grew so black, so I struggled to my feet and 
 reached the door, going into the street and thinking once 
 I would end my wretched life in the distant river; but 
 something turned my steps toward home and I came, 
 thinking it all over and suffering such agony. Oh, Wil- 
 ford, why did you keep it from me? What was there 
 about it wrong and where is she buried?" 
 
 "In Alnwick, at St. Mary's," Wilford answered, deter- 
 mining now to hold nothing back, and by his abruptness 
 wounding Katy afresh. 
 
 "In Alnwick, at St. Mary's," Katy cried. "Then I 
 have seen her grave, and that is why you were so anxious 
 to get there, so unwilling to go away. Oh, if I were 
 lying there instead of Genevra, it would be so much bet- 
 ter, so much better." 
 
 There was sobbing now, in a moaning, plaintive way 
 which touched Wilford tenderly, and smoothing her 
 tangled hair, he said: "I would not exchange my Katy 
 for all the Genevras in the world. She was never as 
 
WHAT THE PAGE DISCLOSED. 317 
 
 dear to me as you, I was but a boy, and did not know 
 my mind when I met her. Shall I tell you about her 
 now ? Can you bear to hear the story of Genevra ?" 
 
 There was a nod of assent, and Katy turned her face 
 to the wall, clasping her hands tightly together, while 
 iWilford drew his chair to her side and began to read the 
 page he should have read to her long before. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 WHAT THE page" DISCLOSED. 
 
 "I was little more than nineteen years of age when I 
 left Harvard College and went abroad with my only 
 brother, the John or Jack of whom you have so often 
 heard. Both himself and wife were in delicate health, 
 and it was hoped a voyage across the sea would do them 
 
 food. For nearly a year we were in various parts of 
 England, stopping for two months at Brighton, where, 
 among the visitors, was a widow from the vicinity of 
 Alnwick, and with her an orphan niece whom I often met, 
 and whose dazzling beauty attracted my youthful fancy. 
 She was not happy with her aunt, upon whom she was 
 wholly dependent, and my sympathies were all enlisted, 
 when, with the tears shining in her lustrous eyes, she one 
 day accidentally stumbled upon her trouble and told me 
 how wretched she was, asking if in America there was 
 not something for her to do. 
 
 "It was at this time that Jamie was born and Mary, 
 the girl who went out with us, was married to an Eng- 
 lishman, making it necessary for Hatty to find some one 
 to take her place. Hearing of this, Genevra came one 
 day, and to my secret delight offered herself as half com- 
 panion, half waiting-maid to Hatty. Anything was pref- 
 erable to the life she led, she said, pleading so hard that 
 Hatty, after an interview with the old aunt — a purse- 
 proud, vulgar woman, who seemed glad to be rid of her 
 charge — consented to recdve her, and Genevra became 
 one of our family, an equal rather than a menial, whom 
 Hatty treated with as much consideration as if she had 
 been a sister. I wish I could tell you how beautiful 
 
'?18 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 Genevra Lambert was at that period of her life. 1 nave 
 her picture, which I will show you by and by, but it will 
 not convey an adequate idea of her as she was then, with 
 her brilliant English complexion, her eyes so full of 
 poetry and passion, her perfect features, and, more than 
 all, the wondrous smile, which would have made a plain 
 face handsome. She was full of life and spirits, with 
 enough of coquetry about her to fascinate and turn older 
 heads than mine. 
 
 "Of course I came to love her, and loved her all the 
 more for the opposition I knew my family would throw 
 in the way of my marrying the daughter of an English 
 apothecary, and one who was voluntarily filling a serv- 
 ant's place. But with my mother across the sea, I could 
 do anything; and when Genevra told me of a base fel- 
 low, as she termed him, who, since she was a child, had_ 
 sought her for his wife, and still pursued her with his ' 
 letters, my passions all were roused, and I offered myself 
 at once. I do not think she anticipated this when she told 
 me of the letters, a^s ill^jTiight seem to you. She was 
 neither designing nor artful, but, on the contrary, wholly 
 open-hearted and truthful, telling me the contents of the 
 letter because I found her weeping over it and insisted 
 upon knowing the cause. Her answer to my offer was a 
 decided refusal. She knew her position, she said, and 
 she knew mine, just as she knew the nature of the feeling 
 which prompted me to act thus toward her. Although 
 just my age, she was older in judgment and experience, 
 and she seemed to understand the difference between our 
 relative positions. I was not indifferent to her, she said, 
 and were she my equal her answer might be otherwise 
 than the decided no. 
 
 "Of course this only made me more eager, particularly 
 as during the next two weeks she avoided me as much 
 as possible, never stopping alone with me for a moment 
 or giving me a chance to say a word in private. Madly 
 in love, and fancying I could not live without her, I be- 
 sieged her with letters, some of which she returned un- 
 opened, while on the others she wrote a few hurried lines, 
 calling me a boy, who did not know my own mind, and 
 asking what my friends would say. 
 
 "I cared lilt'e for friends, urging my sv'-. \':,t more 
 
WHAT THE PAGE DISCLOSED. dl3 
 
 vehemently, as we were about going into Scotland, where 
 our marriage could be celebrated in private at any time. 
 I say in private, for I did not contemplate making the 
 affair public at once. That would take from the interest 
 and romance, while, unknown to myself, there was at 
 heart a fear of my family. 
 
 "But not to dwell too long upon those days, which 
 seem to me now so like a dream, we went to Scotland 
 and were married privately, for I won her to this at last. 
 And now comes the part where Jamie is concerned. On 
 the night of our marriage, Genevra, who had obtained 
 permission to be absent on a pleat of visiting a friend, had 
 procured some one to take charge of Jamie, a red-faced 
 girl from Edinburgh, who, unused to children, perched 
 the child upon her shoulder, and while in this condition 
 let him fall, injuring his spine and making him a cripple 
 ' for life. Genevra never forgave herself for that sad 
 accident, which would not have happened had she re- 
 mained at her post, while to me Jamie has ever since been 
 a sacred thing, his helplessness which he bears so meekly 
 a constant reproach, reminding me of what I would had 
 never been." 
 
 "Then you are sorry you married Genevra?" Katy ex- 
 claimed, turning partly toward him, and giving the first 
 token she as yet had given that she was listening to the 
 story. 
 
 Sometimes Wilford was sorry and sometimes he was 
 not, for there was a world of pleasurable excitement con- 
 nected with those months of secrecy, those private inter- 
 views, those stolen kisses, and little acts of endearment, 
 which so intoxicated and bewildered him that the talking 
 of them now brought something of the olden thrill he had 
 experienced, when tor a moment he held Genevra's hand 
 in his or wound his arm around her' waist, knowing- he 
 had a perfect right to do so. But it was better not to 
 confess this to Katy, and so he evaded the question, and 
 continued : 
 
 "My brother's failing health, as well as Hatty's, pre- 
 vented them from suspecting what was going on, and 
 when at last we went to Italy they had no idea that 
 Genevra was my wife. At Rome her beautiful face at- 
 tracted much attention from tourists and residents, among 
 
320 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 whom were a few young men, who, looking upon her as 
 Jamie's nurse, or at most a companion for his mother, 
 made no attempt to disguise their admiration. For this 
 I had no redress except in an open avowal of the relation 
 in which I stood to her, and this I could not then do, for 
 the longer it was deferred the harder I found it to ac- 
 knowledge her my wife. I loved her devotedly, and that 
 perhaps was one great cause of the jealousy which began 
 to spring up and embitter my life. 
 
 "I do not believe that Genevra was at heart a coquette. 
 She was very fond of admiration, but when she saw how 
 much I was disturbed she made an effort to avoid those 
 who flattered her, but her manner was unfortunate, while 
 her voice — the sweetest I ever heard — ^was calculated to 
 invite rather than repel attention. As the empress of the 
 world, she would have won and kept the homage of man- 
 kind, from the humblest beggar in the street to the king 
 upon the throne, and had I been older I should have been 
 proud of what then was my greatest annoyance. But I 
 was young — a mere boy — and so I watched her jealously, 
 until a new element of disquiet was presented to me in the 
 shape of a ruffianly looking fellow, who was frequently 
 seen about the premises, and with whom I once found 
 Genevra in close converse, starting and blushing guiltily 
 when I came upon her, while her companion went swiftly 
 from my sight. 
 
 " 'It was an old English acquaintance, who was poor 
 and asking charity,' she said, when questioned, but her 
 manner led me to think there was something wrong, par- 
 ticularly as I saw her with him again, and thought she 
 h*eld his hand. 
 
 "It was evident that my brother would never see 
 America again, and at his request my mother came to us, 
 in company with a iFamily from Boston, reaching us two 
 weeks before he died. From the first, she disliked 
 Genevra, suspecting the liking between us, but never 
 dreaming of the truth until a week after Jack's death, 
 when in a fit of anger at Genevra for listening to an Eng- 
 lish artist, who had asked to paint her picture, the story 
 of the marriage came out, and like a child dependent on 
 its mother for advice, I asked, 'What shall I do?' 
 
 "You know mother, Katy — that is, you know her pride 
 
WHAT THE PAGE DISCLOSED, 321 
 
 —and can in part understand how she would scorn a girl 
 who, though born to better things, was still found in the 
 capacity of a waiting maid. I never saw her so moved as 
 she was for a time, after learning that her only living son, 
 from whom she expected so much, had thrown himself 
 away, as she expressed it. Sister Hatty, who loved 
 Genevra, did all she could to heal the growing difference 
 between us, but I trusted mother most. I believed that 
 what she said was right, and so matters grew worse, until 
 one night, the last we spent in Rome, I missed Genevra 
 from our rooms, and starting in quest of her, found her in 
 a little flower garden back of our dwelling. There, under 
 the deep shadow of a tree, and partly concealed from 
 view, she stood with her arm around the neck of the same 
 rough-looking man who had been there before. She did 
 not see me as I stood and watched her while she parted 
 with him, suffering him to kiss her hand and forehead as 
 he said, 'Good-by, my darling.' 
 
 "In a tremor of anger and excitement I quitted the 
 spot, my mind wholly made up with regard to my future. 
 That there was something wrong about Genevra I did 
 not doubt, and I would not give her a chance to explain 
 by telling her what I had seen, but sent her back to Eng- 
 land, giving her ample means for defraying the expenses 
 of her journey and for living in comfort after her arrival 
 there. From Rome we went to Naples, and then to 
 Switzerland, where Hatty died, leaving us alone with 
 little Jamie. It was here at Berne that I received an 
 anonymous letter from England, the writer stating that 
 Genevra was with her aunt, that the whole had ended as 
 he thought it would, that he could readily guess at the 
 nature of the trouble, and hinting that if a divorce was 
 desirable on my return to England, all necessary pEoof 
 could be obtained by applying to such a number in Lon- 
 don, the writer announcing himself a brother of the man 
 who had once sought Genevra, and saying he had always 
 opposed the match, knowing Genevra's family. 
 
 "This was the first time the idea of a divorce had en- 
 tered my mind. Instead of that the hope that Genevra 
 might in some way be restored to me unspotted, had un- 
 consciously been the daystar of my existence, and I 
 shrank from a final separation. But mother felt differ- 
 
322 FAMILY PEIDE. 
 
 ently. It v/as not a new thought to her, knowing as she 
 did that the validity of a Scotch marriage, such as ours, 
 was frequently contested in the English courts. ^'^^^ 
 free from Genevra the world this side the water would 
 never know of that mistake, and she set herself steadily 
 to accomplish her purpose. To tell you all that followed 
 our return to England and the steps by which I was 
 brought to sue for a divorce would make my story too 
 long, and so I will only state that, chiefly by the testi- 
 mony of t'le anonymous letter writer, whose acquaintance 
 we made, a divorce was at last obtained, Genevra putting 
 in no defense, but as I heard afterward, settling down to 
 an apathy from which nothing had power to rouse her 
 until the news of her freedom from me was carried to 
 her, when, amid a paroxysm of tears and sobs she wrote 
 me a few i-nes, assuring me of her innocence, refusing 
 to send back her wedding ring, and saying God would not 
 forgive me for the great wrong I had done her. I saw 
 her once after that by appointment and her face haunted 
 me for years. Indeed, I sometimes see it in my dreams 
 as it confronted me then, with a look which I now know 
 was a look of deeply injured innocence, for, Katy, Genevra 
 was innocent, as I found after the time was past when 
 reparation fculd be made." 
 
 Wilfos-u s voice trembled now, and for a moment there 
 was silence in the room while he composed himself to go 
 on with the story : 
 
 "She would not live with me again if she could, she 
 said, denouncing bitterly the Cameron pride and saying 
 she was happier to be free. I remember I tried to excuse 
 myself, remember saying that if there had been children 
 or a child I should have paused before taking the decisive 
 step, and there we parted, but not until she had told me 
 that her traducer was the old discarded suitor who had 
 sworn to have revenge, and who, since the divorce, had 
 dared seek her again. A vague suspicion of this had 
 crossed my mind once before, but the die was cast, and 
 even if the man were false, what I saw myself in Rome 
 still stood against her and so my conscience was quieted, 
 while mother was more than glad to be rid of a daughter- 
 in-law of whose family I knew nothing. Rumors I did 
 hear of a cousin whose character was not the best, and 
 
WHAT THE PAGE DISCLOSED. 323 
 
 of the father who for some crime had fled the country, 
 dying in a foreign land, but as thatwas nothing to me 
 now, I passed it by, feeling.it was best to be relieved from 
 one of so doubtful antecedents. 
 
 "In the spring of 185- we came back to New York, 
 where no one had ever heard of the aif air, so quietly and 
 well had it been managed. I was a young man still, no 
 one except my mother sharing in the secret. With her 
 I often talked of Genevra, wishing sometimes that I could 
 hear from her, a wish which was finally gratified. One 
 day I received a note requesting an interview at a down- 
 town hotel, the writer signing himself as Thomas Lam- 
 bert, and adding that I need have no fears as he came to 
 perform an act of justice, j^t of retribution. Three hours 
 later I was locked in a r6om with Genevra's father, the 
 same man whom I had seen in Rome. Detected in forgery 
 years before, he had fled from England and had hidden 
 himself in Rome, where he accidentally met his daughter, 
 and so that stain was removed. He had heard of the 
 divorce by a letter which Genevra managed to send him, 
 and braving all difficulties and dangers he had come back 
 to England and found his child, hearing from her the, 
 story of her wrongs, and as well as he was able setting 
 himself to discover the author of the calumny. He was 
 not long in tracing it to Le Roy, whom he found in a dying 
 condition, and who with his last breath confessed the 
 falsehood which was imposed upon me, he_ said, partly 
 from motives of revenge and partly with a hope that free 
 from me Genevra would at the-last turn to him. As proof 
 that Mr. Lambert told me the truth, he brought the dying 
 man's confession, written in a cramped, trembling hand, 
 which I recognized at once. The confession ended with 
 the solemn assertion: 'For aught I know or believe, 
 Genevra Lambert is as pure and true as any woman 
 living.' 
 
 "I cannot describe the effect thig had upon me. I did 
 not love Genevra then. I had outlived that affection, but 
 I felt remorse and pity for having wronged her so, and 
 asked how I could make amends. 
 
 " 'You cannot,' the old man said, 'except in one way, 
 and that she does not desire. I did not come here with 
 any wish tor :.'ou to take her for your wife again. Tt was 
 
32* FAMILY PRIOE. 
 
 an unequal match which never should have been ; but if 
 you believe her innocent, she will be satisfied, ^he wanted 
 you to know it, I wanted you to know it, and so I crossed 
 the sea to find you.' 
 
 "I sent a letter by him assuring her she stood acquitted 
 in my mind of all I had suspected her, and asked her par- 
 don for the great wrong I had done her. The next I 
 heard of her was in the columns of an English newspaper, 
 which told me she was dead, while in another place a 
 pencil mark was lightly turned around a paragraph, which 
 said that 'a forger, Thomas Lambert, who escaped years 
 ago and was supposed to be dead, had recently reappeared 
 in England, where he was recognized, but not arrested, 
 for the illness proved fatal. He was attended, 
 the paper said, 'by his daughter, a beautiful young girl 
 whose modest mien and gentle manner had done much 
 toward keeping the officers of justice from her dying 
 father, no one being able to withstand her pleadings that 
 her father might die in peace." 
 
 "I was grateful for this tribute to Genevra, and I felt 
 that it was deserved; turning again to the notice of her 
 death, which must have occurred v/ithin a short time of 
 her father's, and was probably induced by past troubles 
 and recent anxiety for him. 
 
 " 'Genevra Lambert died at Alnwick, aged twenty- 
 two.' There could be no mistake, and with a tear to the 
 memory of the dead whom I had loved and injured, I 
 burned the paper, feeling that now there was no clew to 
 the secret I was as anxious to preserve as was my mother. 
 
 "And so the years wore on till I met and married you, 
 withholding from you that yours was not the first love 
 which had stirred my heart, nor yours the first head which 
 had slept upon my arm. I meant to tell you, Katy, but; 
 I could not for the- great fear of losing you if you knew 
 ail. And then an error concealed so long is hard to be 
 confessed. I took you across the sea to Brighton, where 
 I first met Genevra, and then to Alnwick, seeking out the 
 grave which made assurance doubly sure. It was that 
 one in the far corner of St. Mary's where I went so often 
 and where once you came, sitting upon the very mound 
 whose headstone bore Genevra's name. I drew my 
 breath quickly as if the dead were thus dishcrjored, but I 
 
1 WHAT THE PAGE DISCLOSED. 325 
 
 ..Jew you meant no harm, and as soon as possible I hur- 
 ried you away. It was natural that I should make some 
 inquiries concerning her last days, but lest it should all 
 come out kept me back, so that I Only questioned the old 
 sexton who once was at work nearby. Calling his at- 
 tention to the name, I said it was an uncommon one and 
 asked if he knew the girl. 
 
 " 'Not by sight, no,' he said. 'She was only here a few 
 days before she died. I've heard she was very winsome 
 and that there was a scandal of some kind mixed up with 
 her.' 
 
 "I would not ask him any more ; and without any wrong 
 to you, my wife, I confess that my tears dropped upon the 
 turf under which I knew Genevra lay." 
 
 "I am glad they did ; I should hate you if you had not 
 cried," Katie exclaimed, her voice more natural than it 
 had been since the great shock came, and her own tears 
 falling fast to the memory of Genevra, whose grave she 
 had sat upon with Wilford standing near. 
 
 A buried wife was not so dreadful to -contemplate as 
 a wife divorced but living still, and Katy's heart did not 
 beat with quite so heavy throbs of fear and shame as it had 
 at first. But it was very sore with the feeling that to h«r 
 almost as great a wrong had been done as, to Genevra, 
 for had he not deceived her from the very first, he and his 
 mother, who had been the terror of Genevra's life as she 
 was the bane of Katy's. 
 
 "Do you forgive me, Katy? Do you love me as well 
 as ever?" Wilford asked, stooping down to kiss her, but 
 Katy drew her face away and did not answer then. 
 
 She did not know herself just how she felt toward him. 
 He did not seem just like the husband she had trusted in 
 so blindly. It would take a long time to forget that an- 
 other head than hers had lain upon his bosom, and it 
 would take longer yet to blot out the memory of the com- 
 plaining words uttered to his mother. She had never 
 thought he could do that, never dreamed of such a thing, 
 knowing that she would sooner have parted with her 
 right hand than have complained of him. Her idol had 
 fallen in more respects than one, and the heart it had 
 bruised in the fall refused at once to gather the shat- 
 ^tered pieces up and cafl them good as new. '"•"r.i was no£ 
 
326 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 obstinate, she was not sulky, as Wilford began to fancy. 
 She was only stunned and could not rally at his bidding. 
 He had confessed the whole, keeping nothing back, and 
 he felt that Katy was unjust not to acknowledge his mag- 
 nanimity and restore him to her favor. Again he asked 
 forgiveness, again bent down to kiss her, but Katy an- 
 swered : "Not yet, Wilford, not till I feel all right toward 
 you. A wife's kiss should be sincere." 
 
 "As you like," trembled on Wilford's lips, but he beat 
 back the words and walked up and down the room, know- 
 ing now that his journey must be deferred till morning, 
 and wondering if Katy would hold out till then. 
 
 It was long past midnight, but to retire was impossible, 
 and so for one whole hour he paced through the room, 
 while Katy lay with her eyes closed and her lips moving 
 occasionally in the words of prayer she tried to say, 
 asking God to help her, and praying that she might in 
 future 'lay her treasures up where they could not so sud- 
 denly be swept away. Wearily the hours passed, and the 
 gray dawn was stealing into the room when Wilford 
 again approached his wife and said, "You know I was 
 to have left home last night on business. As I did not 
 go then, it is rtecessary that I leave this morning. Are 
 you able to stay alone for three days or more? Are 
 you willing?" 
 
 "Yes — oh, yes," Katy replied, feeling that to have 
 him gone while she battled with the pain lying so heavy 
 at her heart would be a great relief. 
 
 Perhaps he suspected this feeling in part, for' he bit 
 his lip impatiently, and without another word called up 
 the servant whose duty it was to prepare his early break- 
 fast. Cold and cheerless seerned the dining-room, to 
 which an hour later he repaired, and tasteless was the 
 breakfast without Katy there to share it. She had been 
 absent many times before, but never just as now, with 
 this wide gulf between them, and as he broke his egg and 
 tried to drink his coffee, Wilford felt like one from whom 
 every support had been swept away, leaving him tottering 
 and giddy. He did not like the look of Katy's face or the 
 sound of her voice, and as he thought upon them, self 
 began to whisper again that she had no riqht to stand 
 out so long when he had confessed everything, and by/ 
 
WHAT THE PAGIB! DiaCLOSED. 827 ' 
 
 the time his breakfast was finished Wilford Cameron 
 was, in his own estimation, an abused an injured man, 
 so that it was with an air of defiance rather than hu- 
 mility that he went again to Katy. She, too, had been 
 thinking, and as the result of her thoughts she lifted up 
 her head as he came in and said, "I can kiss you now, 
 Wilford." 
 
 It was human nature, we suppose — at least it was 
 Wilford's nature — ^which for an instant tempted him to 
 decline the kiss proffered so lovingly ; but Katy's face was 
 more than he could withstand, and when again he left 
 that room the kiss of pardon was upon his lips and 
 comparative quiet was in his heart. 
 
 "The picture, Wilford — ^you have forgotten that," Katy 
 called after him, as he was running down the stairs. 
 
 Wilford would rather have been with her when she 
 first looked upon Genevra, but there was not time for 
 that, and hastily unlocking his private drawer he car- 
 ried the case to Katy's room, laying it upon the bureaw 
 and saying to her : "I would not mind it now, until it 
 is fully light. Try and sleep a while. You need the rest 
 so much." 
 
 Katy knew she had the whole day before her in whiclj 
 to investigate the face of one who once had filled hei» 
 place, and so she nestled down among her pillows, and 
 soon fell into, a quiet sleep, from which Esther, who 
 looked in upon her several tinges, at last awakened her, 
 asking if she should bring i.;.; breakfast to her room. 
 
 "Yes, do," Katy replied, adjusting her dress and try- 
 ing to arrange the matted curls, which were finally con- 
 fined in a net until Esther's more practiced hands were 
 ready to attack them. 
 
 And all this whild the picture lay upon the bureau — 
 the square, old-fashioned daguerreotype, which Katy 
 shrank from opening. 
 
 "I'll wait till after breakfast," she said; then as the 
 thought came over her that if the face proved as beau- 
 tiful as Wilford had described, she in her present forlorn 
 condition would feel the contrast deeply, she said, "I'll 
 wait till Esther has fixed my hair; then I will look at 
 Genevra." 
 
 Breakfasting did not occupy her long, and Esther soon 
 
328' FAMILY PEEDE^ 
 
 was busy with her toilet, combing- out and looping- bade 
 Sier curls, and bringing a plain dress of ricK bombazine, 
 with fresh bands of white crape, as had been worn the 
 previous day. Katy's toilet was complete at last; and as 
 Esther closed the door behind her, Katy, with a trembling 
 hand, took from the drawer, where she had hid it frcKn 
 Esther's eyes, the picture of Genevra Lambert. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE EFFECT. 
 
 With a shiver Katy held it a moment in her lap, noti- 
 cing how old and worn it looked — noticing, too, the for- 
 eign mark upon it, and that one hinge was broken, 
 wondering if all this wear had come from frequent use. 
 Had Wilford looked often at that picture? — and if so, 
 what were his feelings as he looked ? Was he sorry that 
 Genevra died? Did he sometimes wish her there, in- 
 stead of Katy Lennox, of Barlow origin? Did he con- 
 trast their faces one with the other, giving the prefer- 
 ence to Genevra, or was Katy's liked the best ? All these 
 questions Katy asked herself, while her fingers fluttered 
 ^bout the clasp, which she half dreaded to unfasten. 
 
 Cautiously, very cautiously, at last the lid was opened, 
 and a lock of soft brown hair fell out, clinging to Kat/s 
 hand as if it had been a living thing, and making her 
 shudder with fear as she shook off the silken tress and 
 remembered that the head it once adorned was lying in 
 St. Mary's churchyard, where the English daisies grew. 
 
 "She had pretty hair," she thought; "darker, richer 
 than mine," and into Katy's heart there crept a feeling 
 akin to jealousy, lest Genevra had been fairer than her- 
 self, as well as better loved. "I won't be foolish any 
 longer," she said, and turning resolutely to the light she 
 opened the lid again and saw Genevra Lambert, starting 
 quickly, then looking again more closely — ^then, with a 
 gasp, panting for breath, while like lightning flashes the 
 past came rushing over her, as, with her eyes fixed upon 
 that picture, she tried to whisper, "It is — it is!" 
 
 She could not then say whom, for if she were right in 
 
THE EFPEXDT. 329 
 
 Eer belief, Genevra was not dead. There were no daisies 
 growing on her grave, for she still walked the earth a 
 living woman, whom Katy knew so well — Marian Hazel- 
 ton. That was the name Katy could not speak, as, with 
 the blood curdling in her veins and freezing about her 
 heart, she sat comparing the face she remembered so well 
 with the one before her. In some points they were unlike, 
 for thirteen years had slightly marred the youthful con- 
 tour of the face she knew — had sharpened the features 
 and thinned the abundant hair; but still there could be 
 no mistake. The eyes, the brow, the smile, the nose, all 
 were the same, and with a pang bitterer than she yet had 
 felt, poor Katy fell upon her face and asked that she 
 might die. In her utter ignorance of law, she fancied 
 that if Genevra were alive, she had no right to Wilford's 
 name — no right to be his wife— especially as the sin 
 for which Genevra was divorced had by her never been 
 committed, and burning tears of bitter shame ran down 
 her cheeks as she whispered, " 'What God hath joined 
 together let no man put asunder.' Those are God's words, 
 and how dare the world act otherwise? She is his wife, 
 and I — oh ! I don't know what I am !" and on the carpet 
 where she was kneeling Katy writhed in agony as siie 
 tried to think what she must do. Not stay there-^sbe 
 could not do that now — not, at least, until she knew for 
 sure that she was Wilford's wife, in spite of Genevra's 
 living. Maybe she was ; there was a Mrs. Grainger in 
 the city divorced from her first husband and living with 
 her second; but then the man was a profligate, a most 
 abandoned wretch, who had not been proved innocent, as 
 Genevra had, and that must make a difference. "Oh, if 
 there was only some one to advise me — some one who 
 knew and would tell me what was right," Katy moaned, 
 feeling herself inadequate to meet the dark hour alone. 
 
 But to whom should she go? To Father Cameron? 
 No, nor to his mother. They might counsel wrong for 
 the sake of secrecy. Would Mark Ray or Mrs. Banker 
 know? Perhaps; but they were strangers, — ^her trouble 
 must not be told to them, and then with a great bound her 
 heart turned at last to Morris. He knew everything. 
 He would not sanction a wrong. He would tell her just 
 what v/as right, and she could trust him fully in every- 
 
830 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 thing. There was rib other person whom she could be- 
 Ueve just as she could him. Uncle Ephraim was equally 
 as good and conscientious, but he did not know as much 
 as Morris — ^h.e did not understand everything. Morris 
 was her refuge, and to him she would go that very day, 
 leaving a note for Wilfsrd in case she never came back, 
 as possibly she might not. And then, like an impris- 
 oned bird, which sees its cage door opened at last, but 
 dreads the freedom offered, Katy drew her bleeding 
 wings close to her side and shrank from the cold world 
 which lay outside that home of luxury. But when she 
 remembered that possibly she had no right to stay there, 
 she grew strong again, and, seizing her pen, dashed of? a 
 wild, impassioned letter, which, if her husband did not 
 find her there on his return, would tell him where she 
 was and why she had gone. This she left in a drawer 
 appropriated to Wilford's use, and where he could not 
 fail to find it ; but the picture she put in her own pocket, 
 not caring to part with that. Had Marian been in the 
 city she would have gone to her at once, but Marian was 
 where long rows of cots are ranged against the hospital 
 walls, each holding a maimed and suffering soldier, to 
 whom she ministered so tenderly, the brightness of her 
 t«mile and the beauty of her face deluding the delirious 
 ones into the belief that the journey of life for them was 
 ended and heaven reached at last, where an angel in 
 woman's garb attended upon them. Marian was impos- 
 sible, and Dr. Grant was the only alternative left. 
 
 Summoning Esther, Katy told her, in as calm a voice 
 as she could command, that, feeling very lonely, she was 
 going out to spend the day, and probably the night. At 
 all events the servants were not to expect her until she 
 came. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am — agoing to Mr. Cameron's, I suppose?" 
 Esther said, and as Katy made no answer the impression 
 in Esther's mind was that she would spend the day and 
 night at the elder Cameron's, as she had done once be- 
 fore when Wilford was away. 
 
 And this was the intelligence carried to the servants, 
 who wondered that their mistress did not order the car- 
 riage, but started off on foot, her face looking ghastly 
 white beneath the folds of her crape veil as she closed 
 
THE EFFECT. 331- 
 
 the door behind and looked back at the home she might 
 be leaving forever. The carriage, she knew, would lead 
 to detection, and as it was not far to the New Haven 
 depot, she kept on her way until the train was reached, 
 and she in a seat by herself was looking with eyes which 
 could not weep over the city she was so fast leaving be- 
 hind. Had she for one moment suspected Morris's love, 
 all her womanly instincts would have kept her from seek- 
 ing him then, but she had no such suspicion. Morris was 
 her elder brother, and like a stricken sister she was going 
 to him with her grief, sure of sympathy and sure of 
 counsel for the right. 
 
 The afternoon was cold and stormy, so that it was late 
 in the evening when the long train reached West Silver- 
 ton, where Katy was to stop. Owing to the storm but 
 few were at the depot, and among them none who 
 recognized Katy Cameron beneath the heavy veil she 
 kept so closely over her face, even while asking for a 
 conveyance out to Linwood. It was a comparative boy 
 who volunteered his services, and as he had recently come 
 to Silverton he knew nothing of Katy or of Dr. Grant, 
 so that she was saved from all embarrassment upon that 
 point; her driver never addressing her except to ask the 
 way, which was not wholly familiar to him. 
 
 "Turtf here. Yes, that is right," she said, when they 
 reached the road which led to Linwood, and a feeling 
 like guilt crept over her as through the leafless trees and 
 across the meadow land she spied the farmhouse light 
 shining through the drifting snow as if beckoning her 
 to come. "Not yet — not now. I must see Morris first," 
 she answered mentally to that silent invitation, and draw- 
 ing the bufifalo skin around her with a shiver. She did 
 not look again toward the farmhouse, but onward to 
 ■where the lights of Linwood shone through the wintry 
 darkness. "This is the place," she said, and in a mo- 
 ment she stood upon the broad stone steps, shaking the 
 snow from her cloak, while the boy waited a moment, 
 hoping to be invited to share the warmth he felt there 
 was within that handsome building. 
 
 Katy would rather he should not stop, but when she 
 saw how cold he was she began to relent, and telling him 
 where to shelter his horse, pointed to the basement, bid- 
 
332 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 ding him go in there. Then, with a hesitating step a* 
 she began to wonder what Morris would say, she crossed' 
 the wide piazza and softly turning the door knob, stood m 
 the hall at Linwood. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVn. ;; ; J 
 
 THE INTERVIEW. 
 
 Dr. Morris was very tired, for his labors that day had 
 been unusually severe, and it was with a feeling of com- 
 fort and relief that he had turned his steps homeward 
 just as the night was closing in, finding a bright fire 
 waiting for him in the library, where his supper was soon 
 brought by the housekeeper, Mrs. Hull, the other serv- 
 ants having gone to an adjoining town to attend the 
 wedding party of a former associate. It was very pleas- 
 ant in that cozy library of oak and green, with the bright 
 fire on the hearth, the heavy curtains shutting out all 
 traces of the storm, and the smoking supper set so tempt- 
 ingly before him. And Morris felt the comfort of his 
 home, thanking the God who had given him all this, and 
 chiding his wayward heart that it had ever dared to re- 
 pme. He was not repining to-night; he had not repined 
 for many a day, though he never sat down at home after 
 his day's labor in slippers and dressing-gown, with a 
 new book beside him on the table, that there was not a 
 sense of something wanting, a glancing at the empty chair 
 across the hearth, a thought perhaps of Katy, who could 
 squeeze the whole of her slight form into that chair. But 
 he was not thinking of her now, as with his hands crossed 
 upon his head he sat looking into the fire and watching 
 the bits of glowing anthracite dropping into the pan. 
 He was thinking of the sickbed which he had visited 
 last, and how a faith in Jesus can make the humblest room 
 like the gate of heaven; thinking how the woman's eyes 
 had sparkled when she told him of the other world, where 
 she would never know pain^ or hunger, or cold again, 
 and how quickly their luster was dimmed when she spoke 
 of her absent husband, the soldier to whom the news of 
 
THE INTEKVIBW. 833 
 
 her death with the child he had never seen would be a 
 crushing blow. 
 
 "They who have neither wife nor child are the happier 
 perhaps," he said, and then the thought of Katy and her 
 great sorrow when baby died, wondering if to spare 
 herself that pain she would ratlier baby had never been. 
 "No — oh, no," he answered to his own inquiry. "She 
 would not lose the memory which comes from that little 
 grave for all the world contains. It is better once to 
 love and lose than not to love at all. In heaven we 
 shall see and know why these things were permitted, and 
 marvel at the poor human nature which rebelled against 
 them." 
 
 Just at this point of his soliloquy the door opened, so 
 softly that he did not hear it turn upon its hinges, nor 
 hear the light footstep, on the carpet as Katy came in. 
 But when she coughed he started up in wonder at the 
 apparition standing so still hdote him. 
 
 "Morris, oh, Morris," Katy cried, throwing back her 
 veil axid revealing a face which Morris could not believe 
 was hers for the lines of stiffering and distress stamped 
 so legibly upon it. 
 
 But it was Katy, as the voice implied, and, seizing her 
 cold hands, Morris asked : "Katy, why are you here to- 
 night, and why are you alone ? Has anything happened ? 
 Tell me ! your looks frighten me !" 
 
 "I am so wretched — so full of pain. I have heard of 
 something dreadful," she replied — "something which took 
 my life away. I could not stay there after that, and so I 
 «)me to you. I am not Wilford's wife, for he nad an- 
 umer, before me — a wife in Italy — who is not dead! 
 And I— oh! Morris, what am I? Untie my bonnet, do! 
 It is choking me to 3eath ! I am — yes — I am — going — 
 to faint!" 
 
 It was the first time Katy had put the great horror in 
 words addressed to another, and the act of doing so made 
 it more appalUng, while the excitement and fatigue she 
 had endured, together with the action of the heat upon 
 her chilled system, took her strength away, and into the 
 chair where Morris had so often seen her in fancy, she 
 sank a crumpled heap of cloaks and furs and bonnet, 
 .which Morris tried to remove so as to reach the limp, 
 
334 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 fainting creature which had said: "I am not Wilford's 
 wife, for he had another before me — a wife in Italy — • 
 who is not dead." 
 
 Dr. Morris was thoroughly a man, and though much 
 of his sinful nature had been subdued, there was enough 
 left to make his heart rise and fall with great throbs of 
 joy as he thought of Katy free, even though that free- 
 dom were bought at the expense of dire disgrace to others 
 and of misery to her. But only for a moment did he feel 
 thus, only till the bonnet was removed and the gaslight 
 fell upon the pallid face with the dark rings beneath the 
 eyes, and the faint, quivering motion around the lips, 
 which told that she was not wholly unconscious. 
 
 "My poor little wounded bird," he said, as pityingly as 
 it he had been her father, while, much as a father might 
 kiss his suffering child, he kissed the forehead and the 
 eyelids where the tears began to gather. 
 
 Katy was not insensible, and the name by which he 
 called her, with the kisses that he gave, thawed the ice 
 around her heart and brought a flood of tears which 
 Morris wiped away, removing her heavy fur and lifting 
 her gently up, while he took away the cloak and left her 
 unencumbered. With a sigh she sank back into the chair, 
 and, leaning her head upon its cushioned arm, moanecj 
 like a weary child. 
 
 "It is so pleasant to be here, and it rests me so. I 
 wish I might never go away. May I stay here, Morris, 
 as your housekeeper, instead of Mrs. Hull?-^that is, if 
 I am not his wife. The world might despise me, but you 
 would know I was not to blame. I should go nowhere 
 but to the farmhouse, to church, and baby's grave. Poor 
 baby ! I am glaid God gave her to me, even if I am not 
 Wilford's wife; and I am glad now that she died." 
 
 She was talking to herself rather than to Morris, who, 
 smoothing back her hair and chafing her cold hands, said : 
 
 "My poor child, you have passed through some agitating 
 scene. Are you able now to tell me all about it, and what 
 you mean by another wife?" 
 
 He saw she was greatly exhausted, and he brought her 
 a glass of wine, hoping she would rally. She had no 
 supper, she said, except a cracker bought in Springfield, 
 but the moment he turned to the bellrope she l^egged 
 
THE INTERVIEW. 335 
 
 him not to ring. She was not hungry — she could, not eat. 
 She should never eat again. 
 
 Wishing himself to know something definite ere going 
 to Mrs. Hull, Morris yielded to her entreaties, and sitting 
 down in front of her, said again: "Now tell me what 
 trought you here without your husband's knowledge." 
 
 There was a shiver, and the white lips grew still whiter 
 as Katy began her story, going back to St. Mary's church- 
 yard, and then coming to her first night in New York, 
 when Juno had told her of a picture and asked her whose 
 it was. Then she told of WilSord's admission of an 
 earlier love, who, he said, was dead ; of the trouble about 
 the baby's name, and his aversion to Genevra; of his fre- 
 quent abstracted moods, which she remembered now, 
 never suspecting at the time their cause, and not knowing 
 now for certain that Genevra was the subject of his 
 thoughts. But it was safe to believe almost anything 
 of one who had deceived her so cruelly, and Katy's blue 
 eyes flashed resentfully as she uttered the first bitter 
 words she had ever breathed against her husband. But 
 when she approached the dinner at the elder Cameron's, 
 her lip quivered in a grieved kind of way as she remem- 
 bered what Wilford had said of her to his mother, but 
 she would not tell this to Morris, it .was not necessary 
 to her story, and so she said : "They were talking of what 
 I ought never to have heard, and it seemed as if the walls 
 were closing me in so that I could not move to let them 
 know I was there. I said to myself, T shall go mad after 
 this,' and I thought of you all coming to see me in the 
 madhouse, your kind face, Morris, coming up distinctly 
 before me, just as it would look at me if I were really 
 crazed. But all this was swept away like a hurricane 
 -when I heard the rest, the part about Genevra, Wilford's 
 other wife." 
 
 Katy was panting for breath and Morris brought the 
 wine again, after which she went on with the story, which 
 made Morris clinch his hands as he comprehended the 
 "deceit which had .been practiced so long. Of course he 
 did not look at it as Katy did, for he knew that according 
 to all civil law she was as really Wilford's wife as if no 
 other had existed, and he told her so, but Katy shook her 
 head:* "H.-^ can't have two wives living, and I tell you I 
 
336 FAMILY PEffiE. 
 
 knew the picture — Genevra is not dead. I hav£ seen her ; 
 I have talked with her — Genevra is not dead." 
 
 "Granted that she is not," Morris answered, "the di' 
 vorce remains the same." 
 
 "I do not believe in divorces. 'Whom God hath joined 
 together let no man put asunder,' " Katy said with an 
 air which implied that from this argument there could 
 be no apepal. 
 
 "That is the Scripture I know," Morris replied, "but 
 you must remember that for one sin our Savior permitted 
 a man to put away his wife, thus making it perfectly 
 right." 
 
 "But in Genevra's case the sin did not exist. She was 
 as innocent as I am, and that must make a difference." 
 
 She was very earnest in her attempts to prove that 
 Genevra was still a lawful wife, so earnest that a dark 
 suspicion entered Morris's mind, finding vent in the ques- 
 tion, "Katy, don't you love your husband, that you try so 
 hard to prove he is not yours?'' 
 
 There were red spots all over Katy's face and neck 
 as she saw the meaning put upon her actions, and cover- 
 ing her face with her hands she sobbed violently as she 
 replied : "I do, oh, yes, I do. 1 never loved any one else, 
 I would have died for him once. Maybe I would die fof 
 him now; but, Morris, I fear he is disappointed in me. 
 Our tastes are not alike, and we made a great mistake, 
 or Wilford did when he took me for his wife. I was better 
 suited to most anybody else, and I have been so wicked 
 since, forgetting all the good I ever knew, forgetting 
 prayer save as I went through the form from old habit's 
 sake, forgetting God, who has overtaken me at last and 
 punished me so sorely that every nerve smarts with the 
 stinging blows." 
 
 Oh, how lovingly, how earnestly Morris talked to Katy 
 then, telling her of Him who smites but to heal, who 
 chastens not in anger, but who would lead the lost one 
 back into the quiet fold where there was perfect peace. 
 
 And Katy, listening eagerly, with her great blue eyes 
 fixed upon his face, felt that to be like him, to experi- 
 ence that of which he talked, was worth more than all the 
 world beside. Gradually, too, there stole over her the 
 rest she always felt with him — ^the indescribable feeling 
 
THE INTERVIEW. 337 
 
 which prompted her to care for nothing except to do 
 just what he bade her do, knowing it was i-ight. So when 
 he said at last, "You must go back to New York ; this is 
 no place for you," she offered no remonstrance ; but when 
 he continued, "And you must go to-night; that is, you 
 must take the early morning train, so as to reach the city 
 before any one has had a chance to read the letter," she 
 demurred at once. "She must see racier ; she must see 
 Helen ; she must tell Hele' who Genevra was. She wanted 
 her to know it, but no o.ie else. She must visit baby's 
 grave ; she could not go back without it." 
 
 "Not if it is right?" Morris asked, and Katy began to 
 waver when he told her how much better it would be for 
 her family not to know of this visit to him, as it would 
 trouble them. She could tell Wilford, if she liked, but 
 he must not be permitted to find the letter, as he would 
 if he returned while she was gone. "I will go with you. 
 It is not safe for you to go alone," he continued, feeling 
 her rapid pulse and noticing the alternate flushing and 
 paling of her cheek. 
 
 A fever was coming on, he feared, and it must not be 
 there with him, for more reasons than one. She must 
 return to New York, or, failing to do that, he must 
 take her across the fields to thje fai'mhouse before the 
 coming dawn. 
 
 "Are you sick, Katy?" he asked, as she appeared to be 
 growing stupid. 
 
 "Not sick, no ; only so tired, so sleepy," and the heavy 
 lids closed over the dull eyes, while Katy's head still lay 
 updn the cushioned arm of the large chair. 
 
 Her position was not an easy one, and wheeling the 
 lounge to the fire Morris brought a pillow from his 
 sleeping room adjoining, and taking Katy in his arms laid 
 her where she would at least be more comfortable than 
 in the chair. Wrapping his shawl about her and. turning 
 down the gas so as to shield her eyeS, he left her alone, 
 while he went to Mrs. Hull, puzzling her brain to know 
 who the lady was, brought there that stormy night, and 
 talking, so long and earnestly with the doctor. The driver 
 boy was gone, and thinking it possible that their visitor 
 might be wanting supper, the thoughtful woman had put 
 the kettle on the stove, where it was sending forth vol- 
 
338 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 umes of steam just as Morris appeared. If he went to 
 New York with Katy he must trust Mrs. Hull with his 
 reasons for going, and as from past experience he be- 
 lieved she could be trusted, he frankly told her that Mrs. 
 Wilford Cameron was in the Ubrary; that circumstances 
 rendered it desirable for her to return to New York as 
 soon as possible ; that as she could not go alone he must of 
 course go with her, and he expected Mrs. Hull not only 
 to help him off, but also to keep the fact of Katy's having 
 been there a secret from every one. 
 
 "Some trouble with that high-headed husband of hers ; 
 I always mistrusted him," was Mrs. Hull's mental con- 
 clusion, as she nodded assent to what Morris had said, 
 asking if he proposed taking the early morning train 
 which passed at four o'clock, and who did he expect would 
 drive his cutter back, as the boys would not be home 
 before broad daylight. 
 
 Here was a dilemma of which Morris had not thought, 
 but Mrs. Hull's woman's wits came to his aid, suggesting 
 that he "leave his horse at the tavern in West Silverton 
 and she would send John after it as soon as he returned." 
 
 This arranged, Mrs. Hull next asked if Katy would not 
 have some supper before her long ride. 
 
 "A cup of tea and a slice of toast was all she would 
 require," Morris said, and he felt many doubts about 
 her touching that. 
 
 She was sleeping when he returned to her, but when 
 the tea was ready, she roused up enough to say she did 
 not want it. 
 
 "Make her drink it if you ever expect to get her to 
 New York," Mrs. Hull suggested, alarmed at the redness 
 of Katy's face, and the brightness of her eyes. 
 
 "You must drink it," Morris said. "It will make you 
 stronger for the ride. We are going very soon, you 
 know — going to New York," and he shook her shoulder 
 gently as he tried to make her comprehend. 
 
 When he said she must, Katy lifted up her head, doing 
 whatever he bade her do, and seeming more natural for 
 the exertion and the food she took. 
 
 "Let me rest now for a little while," she said, and lying 
 back upon her pillow she slept for an hour, while Morris 
 knelt beside her, counting her rapid oulse, marking the 
 
GETTING HOME. 339 
 
 progress of the fever and praying earnestly that she might 
 be able to reach New York, and that no serious conse- 
 quences would result from his tr^.ng her there that night. 
 
 To others it might seem a crazy project, but Morris 
 felt that it was right, and he nerved himself to his part of 
 the toil, harnessing his own horse and leading him around 
 to the door, where he left him while he went to get Katy 
 ready. She was not sleeping now, for the powerful 
 stimulant given just before leaving her had taken effect, 
 and she seemed a great deal better, fastening her cloak 
 herself and tying her own bonnet, while Morris put an 
 extra shawl around her, and Mrs. Hull brought the hot 
 soapstone * prepared for her feet. Then, when all was 
 ready,, Morris carried her to the covered sleigh, wrapping 
 robes and furs around her so that it seemed iriippssible she 
 should take cold. 
 
 The storm had now abated, and the moon shone 
 brightly upon the cold, frosty snow, as they sped along. 
 Morris' bells tinkling in the clear cutting air, and oc- 
 casionally waking some light sleeper, who knew those 
 musical bells, and said : "That is the doctor," wondering 
 who was sick, and as they nestled down again in their 
 warm bed, feeling glad that they were not obliged to 
 be abroad in a wintry night like this. There was no one 
 at the West Silverton .depot except the man who always 
 stayed there, and he was too nearly asleep to notice 
 whether it was one or twenty ladies whom Morris ac- 
 companied into the sitting-room, going next to provide 
 for his horse at the hotel nearby. 
 
 This done he came back to Katy, staying by her until 
 the early train came swiftly in, pausing only for a tno- 
 ment, and when ne^t it moved forward, bearing him and 
 Katy on the strange journey to New York. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVni. 
 
 GETTING HOME. 
 
 Springfield was left behind just as the gray daylight 
 came stealing through the frost-bound windows, rousing 
 the sleepy passengers, and making Morris nii! his wide 
 
340 FAMILY PKIDB/ 
 
 collar a little closer about his face as if to avoid observa- 
 tion. He was not afraid of daylight except as it might 
 disclose some old acquaiii'ance who would pefrhaps won- 
 der to see him at that hour between Springfield and Hart- 
 ford, and wonder more whose was the head resting so 
 confidentially upon his shoulder, for after the change at 
 Springfield, Katy, who could no longer keep awake, had 
 leaned against his arm as readily as if he had been her 
 brother. ^ 
 
 A secret of any kind makes its possessor suspicious, 
 and Morris felt anxious whenever any one glanced that 
 way, but he would not waken Katy, who slept upon his 
 arm until New York was reached, when witfi a fright- 
 ened, startled feeling, she sat up, and pushing her veil 
 from her face, looked about her, nodding half uncon- 
 sciously to Thomas Tubbs, whom she knew from having 
 seen him in her husband's office, and who since leaving 
 Hartford had been a passenger on board that train, sitting 
 just behind Dr. Morris, and wondering when he saw 
 who his companion was, "if Mrs. Wilford had been to 
 Silverton." Mattie wondered, too, when he told her, as 
 she poured his half-cold coflFee, and then it passed from 
 his mind, until the following morning when he heard 
 Mark Ray saying to a client who had asked when Mr. 
 Cameron would probably return : 
 
 "If he does not come to-day, we shall telegraph for 
 him, as his wife is very sick." 
 
 Then Tom remembered how white and haggard Katy's 
 face had looked, and m.any times that day his mind re- 
 curred to Katy Cameron, whom in his boyish way he 
 had admired as something supernaturally beautiful, and 
 who, in her own room at home, lay burning with fever, 
 and talking of Silverton, of Linwood, of baby, of 
 Genevra, and of Wilford. 
 
 Morris had seen her safely to her own door, and then 
 thinking she would do best alone for a time, he left her 
 on the steps, after having rung the bell and seen that the 
 ring was answered. 
 
 It was Esther who met her, expressing m.uch concern 
 at her appearance, and asking why she did not stay at 
 Father Cameron's instead of coming home this co''!. raw 
 day. 
 
GETTING HOMB. 841 
 
 Hardly knowinj^ what she did, Katy motioned Esther 
 to her after reaching her room, and whispered : 
 
 "I have not been to Father Cameron's. I had business 
 somewhere else, but you must not tell. I am in trouble, 
 Esther, or rather, I have been. I guess it's over now. 
 You are a good girl, and I can trust you. There's a letter 
 in that drawer, please bring it to me." 
 
 Esther complied, and Katy held in her hand the letter 
 left for Wilford. It had not been opened. It must never 
 be opened now, and holding it»until a fire was kindled 
 in the grate, she tossed it into the flames, watching it as it 
 crispened and blackened upon the glowing coals. 
 
 The quick-witted Esther saw that something was 
 wrong, and traced it readily to Wilford, whose exacting 
 nature she thoroughly understood. She had not been 
 blind during the two years and a half she had been Katy's 
 maid, and no impatient word of Wilford's, or frown 
 Upon his face, had escaped her when occurring in her pres- 
 ence, while Katy's uniform sweetness and entire submis- 
 sion to his will had been noted as well, so that in Esther's 
 opinion Wilford was a domestic tyrant, and Katy was an 
 angel. There was no danger then of Esther's repeating 
 anything forbidden. She had, of course, her own private 
 speculation on the subject, and wlien she learned that the 
 tall, handsome man who came within an hour after Katy's 
 arrival was Dr. Grant, about whom she had heard both 
 her young mistress and Mrs. Cameron talk so much, her 
 woman's wits came to her aid again, and to herself she 
 said : ^ 
 
 "It's to Silverton Mrs. Cameron went, though how 
 she could get there and back so soon is a mystery to me, 
 or why sbe went at all." 
 
 Then as she remembered all the circumstances which 
 followed the dinner for which Katy had dressed with so 
 much care, and the burning of the letter, a wild con- 
 jecture passed through her mind as to the nature of the 
 trouble which had taken Katy to Silverton in her hus- 
 band's absence, leaving a letter for him, and then burning 
 it up when shfe came back, accompanied by Dr. Grant. 
 For that he did come with her Esther was sure, as she 
 "aw him on the steps when she atiswered Katy'st ring. 
 
342 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 and knew the man who now sat in the parlor waiting for 
 her to take his name to Katy was the same. 
 
 "There is something in the wind," she thought, as she 
 carried Morris' name to Katy, who did not seem to hear, 
 or if she did, she paid no heed, but talked of the blinding 
 snow, and the grave in St. Mary's churchyard, which 
 was no grave at all. 
 
 Her manner, more than her looks, frightened the girl, 
 who retreated down the stairs, meeting Morris in the 
 hall, and saying as she grasped his arm : 
 
 "You are a doctor. Dr. Grant. Come, then, to Mrs. 
 Cameron. She is taken out of her head, and talks so 
 queer and raving." 
 
 Morris had expected this, but he was hot prepared to 
 find the fever so high, or the symptoms so alarming. 
 
 "Shall I send for Mrs. Cameron and another doctor, 
 please?" Esther asked. 
 
 Morris had faith in himself, and he would rather no 
 other hand should minister to Katy ; but he knew he could 
 not stay there long, for there were those at home who 
 needed his services. Added to this, her family physician 
 might know her constitution now better than he knew it, 
 and so he answered that it would be well to send for both 
 the doctor and Mrs. Cameron. 
 
 It was growing dark now in the city, and the shadows 
 were stealing into the room where Morris sat down to 
 wait for other counsel and the arrival of Mrs. Cameron. 
 To the servants in the kitchen Esther stated, with a very 
 matter-of-course air, that her mistress had come home, 
 feeling sick, and that as she seemed getting worse, she 
 was to send to Madam Cameron, adding that it was a 
 piece of great good luck that Dr. Grant, from Silverton, 
 who was her cousin, happened to be in the city, and had 
 called just when he was needed the most. 
 
 "He was the doctor whom Jamie talked so much 
 about," she said; "the doctor whom the family met in 
 Paris," dwelling so long on Dr. Grant and discussing him 
 so volubly that Phillips and the other servants lost sight 
 entirely of what had struck them a little oddly, to wit: 
 that Mrs. Wilford should leave Father Cameron's if she 
 was so very sick. 
 
 It was Esther, who met Mrs. Cameron in the hall, 
 
GETTING HOME. 343 
 
 conducting her into the parlor and adopting a different 
 style of argument with her from that used in the base- 
 ment. "Mrs. Wilford was not well when her husband 
 went away ; but of course he thought nothing of it, neither 
 did she — Esther — until to-day, when she came in from 
 the street, looking very badly, and going directly to her 
 bed, where she had been growing worse ever since." 
 
 "Yes," and Mrs. Cameron beat her foot thoughtfully. 
 "I wish I had called yesterday. I did speak of it, fearing 
 she would be lonely." 
 
 ""I dare say she was," Esther, ^replied, never changing 
 color in the least, although somewhat afraid she was being 
 driven to the wall. "She seemed downcast all the morn- 
 ing, but went about noon. I thought maybe she would 
 call on you." 
 
 "I wish she had," Mrs. Cameron replied, and then 
 Esther told her how providential it was that a Dr. Grant 
 from Silverton happened to come to New York tHat very 
 day. Of course he called upon his cousin, first sending 
 up his card, and then going himself when told that Mrs. 
 Cameron was out of her head and did not understand 
 who was waiting to see her. 
 
 Completely befogged with regard to a part of the play 
 enacting before her eyes, Mrs. Cameron exclaimed : "Dr. 
 Grant, of Silverton! I have the utmost confidence in 
 his skill. Still, it may be well for Dr. Craig to see her. 
 I think that is his ring." 
 
 The city and country physicians agreed exactly with 
 regard to Katy's illness, or rather the city physician 
 bowed in acquiescence when Morris said to him that the 
 fever raging so high had perhaps been induced by natural 
 causes, but was greatly aggravated by some sudden shock 
 to the nervous system. This was before Mrs. Camefon 
 came up, but it was repeated in her presence by Dr. Craig, 
 who thus left the impression that the idea had originated 
 with himself rather than with Dr. Grant, as perhaps he 
 thought it had. He was at first inclined to patronize the 
 country doctor, but soon found that he had reckoned with- 
 out his host. Morris knew more of Katy and quite as 
 much of rnedicine as he did himself, and when Mrs. Cam- 
 eron begged him to stay longer he answered that her son's^ 
 
S44 FAMILY FEIDS. 
 
 wife was as safe in his brother physician's hands as she 
 could be in his. 
 
 'Indeed, she's safer," he added, "for Dr. Grant can 
 watch her every moment, and I leave her in his care, 
 calling again of course in the morning." 
 
 Mrs. Cameron was very glad that Dr. Grant was there, 
 she said. It was surely Providence who sent him to New 
 York on that particular day, and Morris shivered as he 
 wondered if it were wrong not to explain the whole to 
 her. 
 
 "Perhaps it is best she should not know of Kat/s jour- 
 ney to Silyerton," he thought, and merely bowing to her 
 remarks, he turned to Katy, who was growing very rest- 
 less and moaning as if in pain. 
 
 "It hurts," she said, turning her head from side to side; 
 "I am lying on Genevra." 
 
 With a sudden start Mrs. Cameron drew nearer, but 
 when she remembered the little grave at Silverton, she 
 said : "It's the baby she's talking about." 
 
 Morris knew better, and as Katy still continued to 
 move her head as if something were really hurting her, 
 he passed his hand under her pillow and drew out the pic- 
 ture which she had held as long as her consciousness re- 
 mained. He knew it was Genevra's picture, and was about 
 to lay it away when the cover dropped from his hand 
 and his eye fell upon a face which was not new to him, 
 while an involuntary exclamation of surprise broke from 
 his lips as Katy's assertion that Genevra was living was 
 thus fuUy confirmed. Marian had not changed past recog- 
 nition since her early girlhood, and Morris knew the like- 
 ness at once, pitying Katy more than he had pitied her 
 yet, as he remembered how closely Marian Hazelton had 
 been interwoven with her married life and the life of the 
 little child which had borne her name. 
 
 "What is that?" MrsJ Cameron asked, and Morris 
 passed the. case to her, saying: "A picture was under 
 Katy's pillow." 
 
 Morris did not look at Mrs. Cameron, but tried to busy 
 himself with the medicines upon the stand, while she, too, 
 recognized Genevra Lambert, wondering how it came in 
 Katy's possession, and how much she knew of Wilford's 
 secret. 
 
GETTING HOME. 845 
 
 "She must have been rummaging," she thought, and 
 th«i, as she remembered what Esther had said about her 
 mistress appearing sick and unhappy when her husband 
 left, she repaired to the parlor and summoning Esther to 
 her presence, asked her again : "When she first observed 
 traces of indisposition in Mrs. Cameron." 
 
 Considerably flurried and anxious to prove true to 
 Katy, Esther replied, at random : "When she came home 
 from that dinner at your house. She was just as pale as 
 death, and her teeth fairly chattered as I took off her 
 things." 
 
 "Dinner? What dinner?" Mrs. Cameron asked, and 
 Esther replied : "Why, the night Mr. Wilford went away 
 or was to go. She changed her mind about meeting him 
 at your house and said she meant to surprise him. But 
 she came home before Mr. Cameron, looking like a ghost 
 and saying she was sick. It's my opinion something she 
 ate at dinner hurt her." 
 
 "Very likely; yes. You can go now," Mrs. Cameron 
 said, and Esther departed, never dreaming how much 
 light she had inadvertently thrown upon the mystery. 
 
 "She must have been in the library and heard all we 
 said," Mrs. Cameron thought, as she nervously twisted the 
 fringe of her breakfast shawl. "I remember we talked of 
 Genevra, and I remember, too, that we both heard a 
 strange sound from some quarter, but thought it came 
 from the kitchen. That was Katy. She was there all 
 the time and .let herself quietly out of the house. I won- 
 der does Wilford know," and then there came over her 
 an intense desire for Wilford to come home, a desire 
 which was not lessened when she returned to Katy's room 
 and heard her. talking of Genevra and the grave at St. 
 Mary's "where nobbdy was buried." 
 
 In a tremor of distress, lest she should betray some- 
 thing which Morris must not know, Mrs. Cameron tried 
 to hush her, talking as if it was the baby she meant, the 
 Genevra who died at Silverton; but Katy answered 
 promptly: "I'm not to be hoodwinked any longer. It's 
 Genevra Lambert I mean, Wilford's other wife; the one 
 across the sea, whom you and he browbeat. She was in- 
 nocent, too — as innocent as I, whom you both deceived." 
 
 Here was a phase of affairs for which Mrs. Cameron 
 
346 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 was not prepared, and excessively mortified that Morris ' 
 should hear Katy's ravings, she tried again to quiet her, 
 consoling herself with the reflection that as Morris was 
 Katy's cousin, he would not repeat what he heard, and 
 feeUng gratified now that Dr. Craig was absent, as she 
 could not be so sure of him. If Katy's delirium con- 
 tinued, no one must be admitted to the room except those 
 who could be trusted, and as there had been already sev- 
 eral rings, she said to Esther that as the fever was proba- 
 bly maUgnant and contagious, no one must be admitted 
 to the house with the expectation of seeing the patient, 
 while the servants were advised to stay in their own quar- 
 ters, except as their services might be needed elsewhere. 
 And so it was that by the morrow the news had spread 
 
 of some infectious disease at No. on Madison 
 
 Square, which was shunned as carefully as if the small- 
 pox itself had been raging there instead of the brain fever, 
 which increased so fast that Morris suggested to Mrs. 
 Cameron that she telegraph for Wilford. 
 
 "They might find him, and they might not," Mark Ray 
 said, when the message came down to the office. "They 
 could try, at all events," and in a few moments the tele- 
 graphic wires were carrying the news of Katy's illness, 
 both to the West, where Wilford had gone, and to the 
 East, where Helen read with a blanched cheek that Katy 
 perhaps was dying, and she was needed again. 
 
 This was Mrs. Cameron's suggestion, wrung out by the 
 knowing that some woman besides herself was needed in 
 the sickroom, and by the feeling that Helen could be 
 trusted with the story of the first marriage, which Katy 
 talked of constantly, telUng it so accurately that only a 
 fool would fail of being convinced that there was much 
 of truth in those delirious ravings. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE FEVER AND ITS RESULTS. 
 
 On every business paper Wilford' wrote or signed, and 
 in every object he met in his journey, one face had been 
 prominent, and that the face of Katy as it looked in the 
 gray dawn when it lifted itself up to kiss him, while the 
 
THE FEVER AND ITS RESULTS. 347 
 
 white lips tried to speak his pardon. Sometimes Wilford 
 was very sorry and full of remorse, knowing how Katy 
 was suffering for his sin ; and then, when he remembered 
 her long refusal to pardon him, notwithstanding that he 
 sued for it so earnestly, his self-importance was touched, 
 and he felt she had no right to be so obstinate. He did 
 not deserve it. He was a very kind, indulgent husband, 
 who had raised her from the humblest position to the 
 very highest, and she ought not to feel so indignant be- 
 cause he had kept frorn her an act which, after all, did not 
 affect her materially. If Genevra was living, and on 
 this side of the water, he could understand how it might 
 be unpleasant for Katy and fer him, too, knowing, as 
 they both did, that she was innocent of the charges al- 
 leged against her. 
 
 "I should not myself like to run the risk of meeting a 
 divorced wife at any time," he thought ; "but Genevra is 
 dead, and Katy ought to be more reasonable. I did not 
 suppose there was so much spirit in her." 
 
 But reason as he might, Wilford could not forget Katy's 
 face, so full of reproach. It followed him continually, 
 and was the magnet which turned his steps homeward 
 before his business was quite done, and before the tele- 
 gram found him. Thus it was with no knowledge of ex- 
 isting circumstances that he reached New York just at 
 the close of the day after Katy's return, and ordering a 
 carriage, was driven rapidly toward home. All the shut- 
 ters in the front part of the house were closed and not a 
 ray of light was to be seen in the parlors as he entered 
 the hall, where the gas was burning dimly. 
 
 "Katy is at home," he said, as he went into the library, 
 where a shawl was thrown across a chair, as if some one 
 had lately been there.* 
 
 It was his mother's shawl, and Wilford was wondering 
 if she was there, when down the stairs came a man's 
 rapid step, and the next moment Dr. Grant stepped into 
 the room, starting when he saw Wilford, who felt in- 
 tuitively that something was wrong. 
 
 "Is Katy sick?" was his first question, which Morris 
 answered in the affirmative, holding him back as he was 
 starting for her room, and saying to him : "Let me send 
 your tnother to you first." 
 
348 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 What passed between Wilford and his mother was 
 never known exactly, but at the close of the interview 
 Mrs. Cameron was very pale, while Wilford's face looked 
 dark and anxious, as he said : "You think he understands 
 it, then?'' 
 
 "Yes, in part Of course he cannot make a- very con- 
 nected story out of her ravings; but that he believes you 
 had a wife before Katy, I am sure, just as I am that the 
 world will be none the wiser for his knowledge. I knew 
 Dr. Grant before you did, and there are few men living 
 whom I respect as much, and no one whom I would trust 
 as soon." 
 
 Mrs. Cameron had paid a high compliment to Morris 
 Grant, and Wilford bowed in assent, asking next how 
 she managed Dr. Craig. 
 
 "That was easy, inasmuch as he believed it an insane 
 freak of Katy's to have no other physician than her 
 cousin. It was quite natural, he said, adding that she 
 was as safe with Dr. Grant as any one. So that is set- 
 tled, and I was glad, for I could not have a stranger know 
 of that affair. If I thought it would save her life to 
 retain him, I should feel differently, of course." 
 
 "Yes, certainly," Wilford rejoined, while at his heart 
 there was the germ of a feeling which, if in the slightest 
 degree encouraged, would almost have given Katy's life 
 to save his darling self-love and honor in the eyes of 
 the world. 
 
 Few men are as thoroughly selfish as Wilford Camercm, 
 and though he was very much concerned for Katy, he 
 thought more of preserving a secret which, if known at 
 this late day, would subject him to much censure and 
 reproach, than he did of her. So when his mother told 
 him next that Helen had been sent for, his morbid fears 
 took alarm. 
 
 "Why was it necessary to bring another here?" he 
 asked, so indignantly that tears sprang to his mother's 
 eyes as she pleaded her own weariness and inability to 
 remain always in the sickroom, and charged him with 
 ingratitude for all she had done in his behalf 
 
 Wilfoid could not afford to quarrel with his mother, 
 ..ad he qi^et-'d her as soon as possible, admitting that if 
 one must / n "ssistant he would rather if were Helen 
 
THE FEVER AND ITS RESULTS. 349 
 
 than Bell or Juno, or even Esther, who, in spite of the 
 alarm about malignant fever, would willingly have ad- 
 ministered to her young mistress, had she been allowed 
 to do so. 
 
 "You will go up now," Mrs. Cameron said to her son, 
 when peace was fully restored, and a moment after Wil- 
 ford stood in the dimly-lighted room, where Katy was 
 talking of going to the hospitals, and of Marian Hazelton, 
 and was only kept upon her pillow by the strong arm of 
 ■Morris, who stood over her when Wilford entered, tell- 
 ing her to "wait until to-morrow — ^it would be better then, 
 and she had not seen her husband yet." 
 
 "I have no husband," she replie*d, her lip curling with 
 scorn, and her eyes just then falling upon Wilford, who 
 stood appalled at the fearful change which had passed 
 over her since he left her three days before. 
 
 She knew him, and writhing herself away from Morris' 
 arms, she raised up in bed and said to him : 
 
 "I've been at the bottom of things, and Genevra is not 
 in that grave at St. Mary's. Nobody is there; conse- 
 quently, she is living, and you are not my husband. So 
 if you please you can leave the house at once. Morris 
 will do very well. He will settle the estate, and no bill 
 shall be sent in for your board and lodging." 
 
 In some moods Wilford would have smiled at being 
 thus summarily dismissed from his own house and as- 
 sured that no bill should be sent after him for board and 
 lodging ; but he was too sore now, too sensitive to smile, 
 and his voice was rather severe as he laid his hand on 
 Katy's, and said : 
 
 "Don't be foolish, Katy. Don't you know me? I am 
 IWilford, your husband." 
 
 "That was, you njean," Katy rejoined, drawing her 
 hand quickly away. "Go find your first love, where bul- 
 lets fall like hail, and where there is pain, and blood, and 
 carnage. Genevra is there." 
 
 She would not let Wilford come near her, and grew 
 so excited by his presence that he was forced either to 
 leave the room or sit where she could not see him. He 
 chose the latter, and from his seat by the door watched 
 ,vrith a half- jealous, half-angry heart, Morris Grant doing 
 for his wife what he should have done. 
 
350 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 With Morris Katy was gentle as a little child, talking 
 still of Genevra, but talking quietly, and in a way which 
 did not wear her out as fast as her excitement did. 
 
 "What God hath joined together let not man put 
 asunder," was the text from which she preached severgil 
 short sermons as the night wore on, but just as the 
 morning dawned she fell into the first quiet sleep she had 
 had during the last twenty-four hours. And while she 
 slept Wilford ventured near enough to see the sunken 
 cheeks and hollow eyes which wrung a groan from him 
 as he turned to Morris, asking what he supposed was the 
 immediate cause of her sudden illness ? 
 
 "A terrible shock, the nature of which I understand, 
 but you have nothing to fear from me," Morris replied. 
 "I accuse you to no man, but leave you to settle it with 
 your conscience whether you did right to deceive her so 
 long." 
 
 Morris spoke as one having authority, and Wilford 
 simply bowed his head, feeling then no resentment toward 
 one who had ventured to reprove him. Afterward he 
 might remember it differently, but now he was too anxious 
 to keep Morris there to quarrel with him, and so he made 
 no reply, but sat watching Katy as she slept, wondering if 
 she would die, and feeling how terrible life would be with- 
 out her. Suddenly Genevra's warning words rang iii 
 his ear: 
 
 "God will not forgive you for the wrong you have 
 done me." 
 
 Was Genevra right? Had God remembered all this 
 time, and overtaken him at last ? It might be, and with a 
 groan Wilford hid his face in his hands, believing that 
 he repented of his sin, and not knowing that his fancied 
 repentance arose merely from the fact that he had been de- 
 tected. Could the last few days be blotted out, and Katy 
 stand just where she did, with no suspicion of him, he 
 would have cast his remorse to the winds, and as it is 
 not such repentance God accepts, Wilford had only begun 
 to sip the cup of retribution presented to his lips. 
 
 Worn out with watching and waiting, Mrs. Cameron, 
 who would suffer neither Juno nor Bell to come near the 
 house, waited uneasily for the arrival of the New Haven 
 train, which she hoped would bring Helen to her aid. 
 
THE FBVER AND ITS RESULTS, 351 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances she would rather not have 
 met her,_ for her presence would keep the letter so con- 
 stantly in her mind, but now anybody who could be 
 trusted was welcome, and when at last there came a cau- 
 tious ring she went herself to the hall, starting back with 
 undisguised vexation when she saw the timid-looking 
 woman following close behind Helen, and whom the latter 
 presented as "My mother, Mrs. Lennox." 
 
 Convinced that Morris' sudden journey to New York 
 had something to do with Katy's illness, and almost dis- 
 tracted with fears for her daughter's life, Mrs. Lennox 
 could not remain at home and wait for the tardy mail or 
 careless telegraph. She must go to her child, and casting 
 off hef dread of Wilford's displeasure, she had come with 
 Helen, and was bowing meekly to Mrs. Cameron, who 
 neither offered her hand nor gave any token of greeting 
 except a distant bow and a sim^ple "Good-morning, 
 madam." 
 
 But Mrs. Lennox was too timid, too bewildered, and 
 too anxious to notice the lady's haughty manner as she 
 led them to the library and then went for her son. Wil- 
 ford was not glad to see his m.other-in-law, but he tried 
 to be polite, answering hei questions civilly, and when she 
 asked if it was true that he had sent for Morris, assuring 
 her that it was not — ^"Dr. Grant happened here very provi- 
 dentially, and I hope to keep him until the crisis is past, 
 although he has just told me he must go back to-mor- 
 row," Wilford said, mentally hoping Mrs. Lennox might 
 think it best to go with him, or if she did not, wondering 
 how long she did intend to stay. It hurt his pride that 
 she, whom he considered greatly his inferior, should learn 
 his secret; but.it could not now be helped, and within 
 an hour after her arrival she was looking curiously at 
 him for an explanation of the strange things she heard 
 from Katy's lips. 
 
 "Was you a widower when you married my daughter ?" 
 she said to him, when at last Helen left the room, and 
 she was alone with him. 
 
 "Yes, madam," he replied, "some would call me so, 
 though I was divorced from my wife. As this was a mat- 
 ter which did not in any way concern your daughter, I 
 deemed it best not to tell her. Latterly she ha.s found 
 
352 FAMILY PBIDB. 
 
 it out, and it is having a very extraordinary effect upon 
 her." 
 
 Mrs. Lennox was too much afraid of the man address- 
 ing her so haughtily to make hira any reply, and so she 
 only wept softly as she bent to kiss her child, still talking 
 of Genevra and the empty grave at St. Mary's, where she 
 once sat down. 
 
 And this was all Mrs. Lennox knew until alone with 
 Helen, who had heard from Morris all he knew of the 
 sad story except the part relating to Marian Hazelton. 
 His sudden journey to New York was thus accounted 
 for, and Helen explained it to her mother as well as she 
 could, advising her to say nothing of it either to Wilford 
 or Mrs. Cameron, as it was quite as well for them not to 
 know it yet. Many messages Helen brought to her cousin 
 from his patients, and Morris felt it was his duty to go 
 to them for a day or so at least. 
 
 "You have other physicians here," he said to Wilford, 
 who objected to his leaving. "Dr. Craig will do as well 
 as I." 
 
 Wilford admitted that he might; but it was with a 
 sinking heart that he saw Morris depart, and then went 
 to Katy, who began to grow very restless and uneasy, 
 bidding him go away and send Dr. Morris back. It was 
 in vain that they administered the medicine just as Morris 
 had directed. Katy grew constantly worse, until Mrs. 
 Lennox asked that another doctor be called. But to this 
 Wilford did not listen. Fear of exposure and censure 
 were stronger than his fear for Katy's life, which seemed 
 balancing upon a thread as that long night and the next 
 day went by. Three times Wilford telegraphed for 
 Morris, and it was with unfeigned joy that he welcomed 
 him back at last, and heard that he had so arranged his 
 business now as to stay with Katy while the danger lasted. 
 
 With a monotonous sameness the days now came and 
 went, people still shunning the house as if the plague was 
 there. Once Bell Cameron came around to call on Helen, 
 holding her breath as she passed through the hall, and 
 never asking to go near Katy's room. Two or three 
 times, too,, Mrs. Banker's carriage stood at the door, and 
 Mrs. Banker herself came in, seeming surprised when 
 she met Helen, and appearing so cool and distant that the 
 
THE FEVKR AND ITS RESULTS. 353 
 
 latter could scarcely keep back her tears as she guessed 
 the cause. _ Mark never came, but from the window Helen 
 saw him riding by with Juno, who kept her face turned 
 toward him, as if in close and confidential chat. 
 
 "They were engaged," Esther said, adding that "he 
 was about joining the army as first lieutenant in a com- 
 pany composed of the finest young men in the city." 
 
 Helen doubted if this were true, until one day, when 
 driving with her mother, she met him arrayed in his new 
 uniform, looking so handsome and proud. He, too, was 
 driving with a brother officer, and as he passed he lifted 
 his cap in token of recognition ; but the cldeii look which 
 Helen remembered so well, and which had been wont to 
 make her pulses thrill with a most exquisite delight, was 
 gone, and Helen felt more than ever the wide gulf some 
 hand had built between them. The next she heard was 
 from Mrs. Banker, whose face looked pale and worn as 
 she incidentally remarked : "I shall be very lonely now 
 that Mark is gone. He left me to-day for Washington." 
 
 There were tears on the mother's face, and her lip quiv- 
 ered as she tried to keep them back, looking from the 
 window into the street instead of at her companion, who, 
 overcome with the rush of feeling which swept over her, 
 laid her face on the sofa arm and sobbed aloud. 
 
 "Why, Helen ! Miss Lennox, I am surprised ! I had 
 supposed — I was not aware — I did not think you would 
 tare," Mrs. Banker exclaimed, coming closer to Helen, 
 who stammered out : "I beg you will excuse me, I cannot 
 help it. I care for all our soldiers. It seems so terrible." 
 
 At the words "I care for all the soldiers," a shadow of 
 disappointment flitted over Mrs. Banker's face. She 
 knew her son had offered himself and been refused, as 
 she supposed, and she believed, too, that Helen had giv^ 
 publicfty to the affair, feeling justly indignant at this 
 breach of confidence and lack of delicacy in one whom she 
 had liked so much and whom she still liked in spite of 
 the wounded pride which had prompted her to seem so 
 cold and distant. 
 
 "Perhaps it is all a mistake," she thought, as she con- 
 tinued standing by Helen, whose tears did not cease, "or 
 it may be she has relented," and for a moment she felt 
 tempted to ask why her boy had been refused. 
 
354 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 But Mark would not be pleased with her interference, 
 she knew, and so the golden moment fled, and when she 
 left the house the misunderstanding between herself and 
 Helen was just as wide as ever. Wearily after that the 
 days passed with Helen until all thoughts of herself were 
 forgotten in the terrible fear that death was really brood- 
 ing over the pillow where Katy lay, insensible to all that 
 was passing around her. The lips were silent now, and 
 Wilford had nothing to fear from the tongue hitherto so 
 busy. Juno, Bell and Father Cameron all came to see her, 
 dropping tears upon the face looking so old and worn 
 with suffering, but yet so sweet and pure, and treading 
 softly as they left the room and went out into the sunshine 
 where Katy might never go again. In the kitchen there 
 was mourning, too; Phillips weeping for her mistress, 
 while Esther, with her apron over her head, sobbed pas- 
 sionately, wishing she, too, might die if Katy did. Mrs. 
 Cameron also was very sorry, very sad, but managed to 
 find some consolation in mentally arranging a grand 
 funeral, which would do honor to her son, and wondering 
 if "those Barlows in Silverton would think they must 
 attend." And while she thus arranged, the mother who 
 had given birth to Katy wrestled in earnest prayer that 
 God would spare her child, or at least grant some space in 
 which she might be told of the world to which she was 
 hastening. What Wilford suffered none could guess. 
 His face was very white and his expression almost stern 
 as he sat watching the young wife who had been his for 
 little more than two brief years, and who but for his sin 
 might not have been lying there unconscious of the love 
 and grief around her. Like some marble statue Morris 
 seemed as with lip compressed and brows firmly knit < 
 together he, too, sat watching Katy, feeling for the pulse 
 and bending his ear to catch the faintest breath • which 
 came from her parted lips, while in his heart there was 
 an earnest prayer for the safety of the soul hovering so 
 evenly between this world and the next. He did not ask 
 that she might live, for if all were well hereafter he knew 
 it was far better for her to die in her young womanhood 
 than to live till the heart now so sad and bleeding had 
 grown calloused with sorrow. And yet it was terrible to 
 think of Katy dead ; to know that never again would her 
 
MORRia' CONFESSION. 355 
 
 little feet dance on the grass, or her bird-like voice brpak 
 the silence of his home; terrible to think of that face and 
 form laid away beneath the turf of Greenwood, where 
 those who loved her best could seldom go to weep. 
 
 And as they sat thus the night shadows stole into the 
 room and the hours crept on till from a city tower a clock 
 struck ten, and Morris, motioning Helen to his side, bade 
 her go with her mother to rest. "We do not need you 
 here," he said, "your presence can do no good. Should 
 a change occur you shall be told at once." 
 
 Thus importuned Helen and her mother withdrew and 
 only Morris and Wilford remained to watch that heavy 
 slumber so nearly resembling death. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 morris' confession. 
 
 Gradually the noise in the streets died away ; the tread 
 of feet, the rumbling wheels and the tinkle of the car bells 
 ceased, and not a sound was heard, save as the distant 
 fire bells pealed, forth their warning voices, or some watch- 
 man went hurrying by. The great city was asleep, an^ 
 to Morris the silence brooding over the countless throng 
 was deeper, more solemn than the silence of the country 
 where nature gives out her own mysterious notes and 
 lullabies for her sleeping children. Slowly the minutes 
 went by, and Morris became at last aware that Wilford's 
 eyes, instead of resting on the pallid face which seemed 
 to grow each moment more pallid and ghastly, were fixed 
 on him with an expr^sion which made him drop the pale 
 hand he held between his own, pooring it occasionally 
 as a mother might poor and pity the hand of her dying 
 baby. 
 
 Before his marriage a jealous thought of Morris Grant 
 had found a lodgment in Wilford's breast; but remem- 
 bering the past he had tried to drive it out, and fancied 
 that he had succeeded, experiencing a sudden shock when 
 he felt it lifting its green head, and poisoning his mind 
 against the man doing for Katy only what a brother 
 might do, or rather, against the motives which prompted 
 
856 PAMHiT PRroa. 
 
 this man's devotion. He fwgof that it was his own en- 
 treaties which had kept Morris there, retesing to let him 
 go even for a day to the other patients missing him so 
 much, and complaining of his absence. Jealous men 
 never reason clearly, and in this case Wilford did not 
 reason at all, but jumped readily at his conclusion, calling 
 to his aid as proof all that he had ever seen pass between 
 Katy and her cousin. That Morris Grant loved Katy 
 was, after a few moment's reflection, as fixed a fact in 
 his mind as that she lay there between them, her eyelids 
 quivering, and her lips moaning feebly as if about to 
 speak. Years before, when Genevra was the wife, jeal- 
 ousy had made Wilford almost a madman, and it now 
 held him again in its powerful grasp, whispering sugges- 
 tions he would have spurned in a calm frarne of mind. 
 There was a clinching of his fist, a knitting of his brows, 
 and a gathering blackness in his eyes as he listened while 
 Katy, rousing partially from her lethargy, talked of the 
 days when she was a little girl, and Morris had built the 
 playhouse for her by the brook, where the thorn apples 
 grew and the waters fell over the smooth, white rocks, 
 
 "Take me back there," she said, "and let me lie on the 
 grass again. It is so long since I was there, and I've 
 suffered so much since then. Wilford meant to be kind, 
 but he did not try to understand or know how I loved the 
 country with its birds and flowers and springing grass by 
 the well, where the shadows come and go. I used to won- 
 der where they were going, and one day when I watched 
 them I was waiting for Wilford, and wishing he would 
 come. Would it have been better if he had never come ?" 
 
 Wilford's body shook with strong emotion as he bent 
 forward to hear Katy's answer to her question. 
 
 "Were there no Genevra," she said, "no verse 'what 
 God hath joined together let no man put asunder,' I should 
 not think so; but there is such a verse, and now I don't 
 know what I think, only I must go. Come, Morris, we 
 will go together, you and I." 
 
 She turned partly toward Morris, who made her no 
 reply. He could not, with those fiery eyes fixed -upon 
 him, and he sat erect in his chair, while Katy talked of 
 Silverton, and the days gone by until her voice grew very 
 faint, ceasing at last as she fell into a second sleeps 
 
MORRIS* CONFESSION. 357 
 
 neavier, more deathlike, than the first. Soii.vtning in her 
 face alarmed Morris, and in spite of the eyes watching 
 him he bent every energy to retain the feeble pulse, and 
 the breath which grew shorter with each respiration. 
 
 "Do you think her dying?" Wilford asked, and Morris 
 replied : "Not yet ; but the look about the mouth and nose 
 is like the look which so often precedes death." 
 
 And that was all they said until another hour went by, 
 when Morris' hand was laid upon the forehead and moved 
 up under the golden hair where there were drops of per- 
 spiration. 
 
 "She is saved, thank God, Mr. Cameron, Katy is 
 saved," was his joyful exclamation, and burying his head 
 in his hands, he wept for a moment like a child, for Katy 
 was restored again. * 
 
 On Wilford's face there was no trace of tears. On the 
 contrary, he seemed hardening into stone, and in his heart 
 fierce passions were contending for the mastery, and 
 urging him on to an act from which, in his right mind, he 
 would have shrunk. Rising slowly at last, he came around 
 to Morris' side, and grasping his shoulder, said : 
 
 "Morris Grant, you love Katy Cameron." 
 
 Like the peal of a bell on the frosty air the words rang 
 through the room, starting Morris from his bowed attP 
 tude, and for an instant curdling his blood in his veins, 
 for he understood now the meaning of the look which had 
 so puzzled him. In Morris' heart there was a moment's 
 hesitancy to know just what to answer, an ejaculatory 
 prayer for guidance, and then lifting up his head, his 
 calm blue eyes met the eyes of black unflinchingly, as he 
 replied : 
 
 "I have loved her,, always." 
 
 A blaze like sheet lightning shot from beneath Wil- 
 ford's eyelashes, and a taunting sneer curled his lip, as 
 he said : 
 
 "You, a saint, confess to this ?" 
 
 It was quite natural, and in keeping with human nature 
 for Wilford to thrust Morris' religion in his face, for- 
 getting that never on this side the eternal world can man 
 cease wholly to sin, that so long as flesh and blood remain, 
 there will be temptation, error and wrong, even among 
 God's children. Morris felt the sneer keenly; but the 
 
35b FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 consciousness of peace with his Maker sustained him hi 
 the shock and, with the same tone he had at first assumed, 
 he said : , 
 
 "Should my being what you call a saint prevent my 
 confessing what I did?" 
 
 "No, not the confession, but the fact;" Wilford an- 
 swered, savagely. "How do you reconcile your acknowlr 
 edged love for Katy with the injunctions of the Bible 
 whose doctrines you indorse?" 
 
 "A man cannot always control his feelings, but he 
 can strive to overcome them and put the temptation aside. 
 One does not sin in being tempted, but in listening to 
 the temptation." 
 
 "Then according to your own reasoning you have 
 sinned, for you not only have been tempted, but have 
 yielded to the temptation," Wilford retorted, with a sinis- 
 ter look of exultation in his black eyes. 
 
 For a moment Morris was silent, while a struggle of 
 some kind seemed going on in his mind, and then he 
 said : 
 
 "I never thought to lay open to you a secret which, after 
 myself, is, I believe, known to only one living being." 
 . "And that one — is — ^you will not tell me that is Katy ?" 
 Wilford exclaimed, his voice hoarse with passion, and his 
 eyes flashing with fire. 
 
 "No, not Katy. She has no suspicion of the pain which, 
 since I saw her made another's, has eaten into my heart, 
 making me grow old so fast, and blighting my early 
 manhood." 
 
 Something in Morris' tone and manner inspired Wil- 
 ford with awe, making him relax his grasp upon the arm, 
 and sending him back to his chair while Morris con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "Most men would shrink from talking to a husband 
 of the love they bore his wife, and an hour ago I should 
 have shrunk from it, too, but you have forced me to it, 
 and now you must listen while I tell you of my love for 
 Katy. It began longer ago than she can remember — 
 began when she was my baby sister, and I hushed her in 
 my arms to sleep, kneeling by her cradle and watching 
 her with a feeling I have never been able to define. She 
 was in all my thoughts, her face upon the printed page 
 
MORRIS' CONFESSION. 359 
 
 of every book I studied, and her voice in every strain of 
 music I ever heard. Then, when she grew older, I used 
 to watch the frolicsome child by the hour, building castles 
 even then of the future, when she would be a woman and 
 I a man, with a man's right to win her. I know that she 
 shielded me from many a snare into which young men are 
 apt to fall, for when the temptation was greatest, and I 
 was at its verge, a thought of her was sufficient to lead 
 me back to virtue. I carried her in my heart across the 
 sea, and said when I go back I will ask her to be mine. I 
 went back, but at my first meetijig with Katy after her 
 return from Canaridaigua she told me of you, and I knew 
 then that hope for me was gone, praying for strength to 
 bear my loss and hide my love from her. God grant that 
 you nor she may never experience what I experienced on 
 that day which made her your wife, and I saw her go away. 
 It seemed almost as if God had forgotten me as the night 
 after the bridal I sat alone at home, and met that dark 
 hour of sorrow. In the midst of it Helen came, discov^ 
 , ering my secret, and sympathizing with me until the pain 
 at my heart grew less, and I could pray that God would 
 grant me a feeling for Katy which should not be sinful. 
 And He did at last, so I could think of her without a 
 wish that she was mine. Times there were when the olcf 
 love would burst forth with fearful power, and then I 
 wished that I might die. These were my moments of 
 temptation which I struggled to overcome. Sometimes a 
 song, a strain of music, or a ray of moonlight on the floor 
 would bring the past to me so vividly that I would stagger 
 beneath the burden, feeling that it was greater than I could 
 bear. But God was very merciful and sent me work 
 which took up all my time, leaving little leisure for re- 
 grets, and driving me away from my own pain to sootjie 
 the pain of others. When Katy came to us last summer 
 there was an hour of trial, when faith in God grew weak, 
 and I was tempted to qiiestion the justice of His dealing 
 with me. But that, too, passed, and in my love for your 
 child I forgot the mother in part, looking upon her as a 
 sister rather than the Katy I had loved so well. I would 
 have given my life to have saved that child for her, even 
 though it was a bar between us, a something which sep- 
 arated her fr-m me more than the words she spoke at the 
 
860 FAMILY PRroE. 
 
 altar. Though dead, that baby is still a bar, and Katy 
 is not the same to me she was before that little life came 
 into being. It is not wrong to love her as I do now. I 
 feel no pang of conscience save when something unex- 
 pected carries me back to the old ground where I have 
 fought so many battles." 
 
 Morris paused a moment, thinking of the time when 
 Katy came to him with her story of Genevra, and wonder- 
 ing if it were best to repeat the incidents of that night. It 
 was not, he finally concluded. It would be better for Katy 
 to tell it herself, and so he added at last : "What I have 
 borne has told upon me terribly. My people say I work 
 too hard, but they look only on the surface — ^they have 
 never seen that inner chamber of my heart, where only 
 you have been fully admitted. Even Helen knows not 
 half what's there, but I felt that it was due to you, and 
 so have told you all, asking that no shadow of censure 
 shall fall on Katy, who would be greatly shocked to know 
 what you know now." 
 
 Morris' manner was that of a man who spoke with 
 perfect sincerity, and it carried conviction to Wilford's 
 heart, disarming him for a time of the fierce anger and 
 resentment he had felt while listening to Morris' story. 
 Acting upon the good impulse of the moment, he arose, 
 and offering his hand to Morris, he said : 
 
 "You have done nobly, Dr. Grant. I believe in your 
 religion now. Forgive me that I ever doubted it. I ex- 
 onerate you from blame." 
 
 And thus they pledged their faith, Wilford meaning 
 then all he said, and feeling only respect for the man 
 who had confessed his love for Katy. After what had 
 passed, Morris felt that it would be pleasanter for Wil- 
 ford if he were gone, and after a time he suggested re- 
 turning to Silverton at once, inasmuch as the crisis was 
 past and Katy out of danger. There was a struggle in 
 Wilford's mind as to the answer he should make to this 
 suggestion. It would not be pleasant to see Morris there 
 now, for though he had said he forgave him, there was 
 a feeling of disquiet at his heart, and he at last signified 
 his willingness for him to leave when he thought best. 
 
 It was broad day when Katy awoke, so weak as to 
 be unable trv tum her head upon the pillow, but in her 
 
morris' confession. 361 
 
 ieyes tke Kght of reason was shining, and she glanced won- 
 deringly, first at Helen, at her mother, and then at Wil- 
 ford, as if trying to comprehend what had happened. 
 
 "Have I been sick?" she asked in a whisper, and Wil- 
 ford, bending over her, replied: "Yes, darling, very sick 
 for nearly two whole weeks — ever since I left Jiome that 
 morning, you know." 
 
 "Yes," and Katy shivered a little. "Yes, I know. But 
 where is Morris? He was here the last I can remember." 
 
 Wilford's face grew dark at once, and stepping back 
 as Morris came in, he said: "She asks for you.". Then 
 with a rising feeling of resen^ent he watched them, 
 while Morris spoke to Katy, telling her she was better, 
 but must keep very quiet, and not allow herself in any 
 way to be excited. 
 
 "Have I been crazy ? Have I talked much ?" she asked, 
 and when Morris replied in the affirmative there came a 
 startled look into her eye, as she said : "Of what or whom 
 have I talked most?" 
 
 "Of Genevra," was the answer, and Katy continued: 
 "Did I mention no one else?" 
 
 Morris guessed of whom she was thinking, and an- 
 swered, indifferently: "You spoke of Miss Hazelton in 
 connection with baby, but that was all." '' 
 
 Katy was satisfied, and closing her eyes fell away to 
 sleep again, while Morris made his preparations for leav- 
 ing. It hardly seemed right for him to go just then, 
 but the only one who could have kept him maintained 
 a frigid silence with regard to a longer stay, and so the 
 first train which left New York for Springfield carried 
 Dr. Grant, and Katy was without a physician. 
 
 Wilford had hoped that Mrs. Lennox, too, would see 
 the propriety of accompanying Morris; but she would 
 not leave Katy, and Wilford was fain to submit to xvtiat 
 he could not help. No explanation whatever had he given 
 to Mrs. Lennox or Helen with regard to Genevra. He 
 was too proud for that, but his mother had deemed it 
 wise to smooth the matter over as much as possible, en- 
 joining upon them both the necessity of secrecy. 
 
 "When I tell you that neither my husband or daugh- 
 ters know it, you will understand that I am greatly in 
 earnest in v •sh'ni'f it kept," she said. "It wa." a na'^t rn- 
 
362 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 fortunate affair, and though the divorce is, of course, to 
 be lamented, it is better that she died. We never could 
 have received her as our equal." 
 
 "Was anything the matter, except that she was poor?" 
 Mrs. Lennox asked, with as much dignity as was in her 
 nature to assume. 
 
 "Well, no. She had a good education, I believe, and 
 was very pretty ; but it makes trouble always where there 
 is a great inequality between a husband's family and that 
 of his wife." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Lennox understood this perfectly, but she 
 was too much afraid of the great lady to venture a reply, 
 and a tear rolled down her burning cheek as she wet the 
 napkin for Katy's head, wishing that she had back again 
 the daughter, whose family she knew the Camerons de- 
 spised. The atmosphere of Madison Square did not suit 
 Mrs. Lennox, especially when, as the days went by and 
 Katy began to mend, troops of gay ladies called, mis- 
 taking her for the nurse, and all staring a little curiously 
 when told that she was Mrs. Cameron's mother. Of 
 course, Wilford chafed and fretted at what he could not 
 help, seldom addressing his mother-in-law on any subject, 
 and making himself so generally disagreeable that Helen 
 at last suggested returning home, inasmuch as Katy was 
 so much better. There was then a faint remonstrance on 
 his part, but Helen did not waver in her decision, though 
 she pitied Katy, who, when the day of her departure came 
 and they were for a few moments alone, took her hand 
 between her own and kissing it fondly, said: "You don't 
 know how I dread your going or how wretched I shall 
 be without you. Everything which once made me happy 
 has been removed or changed. Baby is dead, and Wil- 
 ford — oh, Helen, I sometimes wish I had not heard of 
 Genevra, for I am afraid it can never be with us as it 
 was once ; that is, I have not quite the same trust in him, 
 and he seems so changed. Have you noticed how silent 
 and moody he has grown ?" 
 
 Helen had noticed it, but she would not say so, and 
 she tried to comfort her sister, telling her she would be 
 very happy yet ; "but, Katy darling," she continued, "you 
 have a duty to perform as well as Wilford. Your heart 
 is very sore now because of the deception, but you must 
 
DOMESTIC TROUBLES. 363 
 
 not let that soreness appear in your manner. You must 
 be to Wilford just what you always were, unless you wish 
 to wean him from you. He, too, has had a terrible shock; 
 his pride and self-love have been wounded, and men like 
 him do not like being humbled as he has been. You must 
 soothe him, Katy, and smooth his ruiEfled feathers, prov- 
 ing to him that you can and do forgive the past. And, 
 Katy, remember you have a Friend always near to whom 
 you can carry your burdens, sure that He will listen and 
 heal the smarting pain. Go to Him often and make Him 
 yours indeed. He has come very near to you within the 
 last year, and such visitations ha,ve a meaning in them. 
 Listen, then, lest He should come again and visit you 
 with greater sufferings." 
 
 "Purified by Suffering." The words came floating 
 back to Katy, just as Uncle Ephraim had spoken them 
 in the pleasant meadowland, and just as they had some- 
 times haunted her since, but never having so deep a mean- 
 ing as now, when Helen's words suggested them again. 
 She was suffering, oh, so terribly, but was she purifying, 
 too? She. feared not, and after the sad parting with her 
 mother and sister was over she turned her face to her 
 pillow, trying so hard to pray that God would make her 
 His own, and by the suffering He sent purify her for 
 heaven. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 DOMESTIC TROUBLES. 
 
 From the bathroom, which adjoined Katy's sickroom, 
 Wilford had heard all that passed between the sisters, 
 and his face grew dark as he thought of having his 
 "ruffled feathers smoothed" even by the little thin wh^ 
 hand, which, the first time it had a chance laid itself upon 
 his face with a caressing motion, from which he involun- 
 tarily drew back, thinking the affection thus timidly ex- 
 pressed was all put on with a view to being good, as he 
 termed it. 
 
 . Wilford was in a most unhappy frame of mind. He 
 was not pleased that Katy had heard of Geneyra, and im- 
 parted bis secret to others. He did not like being hum- 
 
864 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 bled as he had been, even Mrs. Lennox taking it upo.. 
 herself to lecture him for his misdemeanors, sobbing as 
 she lectured, and asking "how he could treat Katy so?" 
 He did not like, either, to lose Helen's good opinion, as 
 he was sure he had, while, worse than all the rest, was the 
 galling fact that Morris Grant loved his wife, and was un- 
 doubtedly more worthy of her than himself. He had said 
 that he forgave Morris, and at the time he said it he 
 fancied he did, but as the days went by, and thought was 
 all the busier from the moody silence he maintained, there 
 gradually came to life a feeling of dislike, if not of hatred, 
 for the man, whose name he could not hear without a 
 frown, telling Katy very sharply once that he wished she 
 would not talk so much of Cousin Morris, as if there 
 were no other physician in the world ! Dr. Craig would 
 have done quite as well, and for his part he wished they 
 had employed hJm. 
 
 Wilford knew he did not mean what he said, but he was 
 in a very unamiable frame of mind, and watched Katy 
 close, to detect, if possible, some sign by which he should 
 know that Morris' love was reciprocated. But Katy was 
 innocence itself, and as the weeks of convalescence went 
 by she tried so hard to do her duty as a wife, going often 
 to the Friend of whom Helen had told her, and finding 
 there the grace which helped her bear what otherwise 
 she could not have borne and lived. The entire history 
 of her life during that wretched winter was "never told 
 save as it was written on her face, which was a volume in 
 itself of meek and patient suffering. 
 
 Wilford had never mentioned Genevra to her since the 
 day of his return, and Katy sometimes felt that it would 
 be well to talk that matter over. It might lead to a more 
 perfect .understanding than existed between them now, 
 and dissipate the cloud which hung so darkly on their 
 domestic horizon. But Wilford repulsed all her advances 
 upon that subject, and Genevra was a dead name in their 
 household, save as it was on Katy's lips when she prayed, 
 asking that she might feel only perfect kindness toward 
 the Genevra who had so darkened her life. 
 
 Wilford's home was not pleasant to him now, but the 
 fault was with himself. Katy did well her part, meeting 
 him always with a smile, and trying to win him from 
 
DOMESTIC TKOUBLES. 365 
 
 <he dark mood she could not fathom. Times there were 
 when for an entire day he would appear like his former 
 self, caressing her with unwonted tenderness, calling her 
 his "poor crushed dove," but never asking her forgive- 
 ness for all he had made her endure. He was too proud 
 to do that now, and his tenderness always passed away 
 when be remembered Morris Grant and Katy's remark to 
 Helen: "I am afraid it can never be with us as it was 
 once. I have not the same trust in him." 
 
 "She had no right to complain of me to Helen," he 
 thought, forgetting the time when he had been guilty of 
 a similar offense in a more aggravated form. 
 
 He could not reason upon anything naturally, and mat- 
 ters grew daily worse, while Katy's face grew, whiter and 
 her voice sadder in its tone. 
 
 Sometimes Wilford would spend the entire evening 
 away from home, tarrying till the clock struck twelve be- 
 fore he came, and Katy would afterward hear that he 
 had been at the house of some, friaid, or -with Sybil 
 Grandon, whose influence over him increased in propor- 
 tion as her own was lessened. 
 
 When the Lenten days came on, oh, how Katy longed 
 to be in Silverton, tQ kned again in its quiet church, and 
 offer up her penitential prayers with the loved ones at 
 home. At last she ventured to ask Wilford if she might 
 go, her spirits rising when he did not refuse her request at 
 once, but asked: 
 
 "Whom do you wish to see the most ?" 
 
 His black eyes seemed reading ^er through, and some- 
 thing in their expression brought to her , lace the blush 
 which he ccsistrued according to his jealousy, and when 
 she answered : 
 
 "I wish to see them all," she retorted: 
 
 "Say, rather, you wish to see that doctor, who has 
 loved you so long, and who but for me would have asked 
 you to be his wife I" 
 
 "What doctor, Wilford? Whom do you mean?" and 
 Wilford replied: 
 
 "Dr. Grant, of course. Did you never suspect it?" 
 
 "Never," and Katy's face grew very white, as she 
 •sked how Wilford knew what he had asserted. 
 
 "I had it from bis own lipsj he sitting on one side of 
 
366 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 you and I upon the other. I so far forgot myself as tQ 
 charge him with loving you, and he did not deny it, but 
 confessed as pretty a piece of romance as I ever read, ex- 
 cept that, according to his story, it was a one-sided affair, 
 confined wholly to himself. You never dreamed of it, he 
 said." 
 
 "Never, no, never," Katy said, panting for her breath, 
 and remembering suddenly many things which confirmed 
 what she had heard. 
 
 "Poor Morris, how my thoughtlessness must have 
 wounded him," she murmured, and then all the pent up 
 passion in Wilford's heart burst out in an impetuous 
 storm. 
 
 He did not charge his wife directly with returning 
 Morris' love, but he said he was sorry she had not known 
 it earlier ; asking her pointedly if it were not so, and press- 
 ing her for an answer until, the bewildered creature cried 
 out: 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. I never thought of it before." 
 
 "But you can think of it now," Wilford continued, his 
 cold, icy tone making Katy shiver, as more to herself 
 than him she said : 
 
 "A life at Linwood would be perfect rest, compared 
 to this." 
 
 Wilford had wrung from her all he cared to know, and 
 believing himself the most injured man in existence, he 
 left the house, and Katy heard his step as it went furi- 
 ously down the walk. For a time she seemed stunned 
 with what she had heard, and then there came stealing into 
 her heart a glad feeling that Morris deemed her worthy 
 of his love when she had so often feared the contrary. It 
 was not a wicked emotion, nor one faithless to Wilford. 
 She could pray with just as pure a heart as before, and 
 she did pray, thanking God for the love of this good man, 
 and asking that long ere this he might have learned to be 
 content without her. Never once did the thought 'It 
 might have been," intrude itself upon her, nor did she 
 picture to herself the life which she had missed. She 
 seemed to rise above all that, and Wilford, had he read 
 her heart, would have found no evil there. 
 
 "Poor Morris," she kept repeating, while little throbs 
 of pleasure went dancing through her veins, and the 
 
DOMESTIC TROUBLES. 867 
 
 worM was not one-half so dreary . for knowing he had 
 loved her. Toward Wilford, too, her heart went out in 
 a fresh gush of tenderness, for she knew how one of his 
 jealous nature must have suffered. 
 
 "I'll drive down to the ofHce for him this afternoon," 
 she said. "That will surely please him ; and to prove still 
 further that I never dreamed of Morris' love, I'll tell him 
 coming home how in the great sorrow about Genevra I 
 went to him for counsel, and how he sent, or rather, 
 brought me back." 
 
 But this confession would necessitate her telling that 
 Genevra was not dead, and it was better for them both, 
 she thought, that he should not know this until the rela- 
 tions between herself and him were more as they used to 
 be; so she decided finally to withhold the fact for a time 
 at least. But she would go for him, as she had at first 
 intended, and she counted the hours impatiently, thinking 
 once her watch had stopped, and seeming brighter and 
 happier than she had been since her illness, when at last 
 she stepped into her carriage, and was driven down 
 Broadway. 
 
 Business had gone wrong with Wilford that day, and 
 Tom Tubbs had mentally pronounced his master "crosser 
 than a bear," and sighing secretly for the always c. eerful 
 Mark, he had taken up his book, and was quietly r>,-iding 
 by the office window when Katy came in, her white face 
 seeming whiter from contrast with her black dress, and 
 her eyes looking unnaturally large and bright as she 
 darted across the room to Wilford, who, surprised to 
 see her there, and a good deal displeased withal^ inasmuch 
 as he had often said that the office was no place for his 
 wife, never smiled or spoke, but with pent up brows 
 waited for her to open the conversation. Katy saw she 
 was not welcome, and with a tremulous voice she began: 
 
 "The day is so fine I thought 7 Arould come in the car- 
 riage for you. It is early yet, and if you like, we can have 
 ' a little drive. It might do you good. You look tired," 
 she continued, and unmindful of Tom, trying to smooth 
 his hair. 
 
 With an impatient -gesture, Wilford drew his hand 
 away from the pale fingers which sought their fellows 
 
S68 PAMIty PEIDE. 
 
 in a nervous clasp as Katy tried not to think Wilford 
 cross, even after he replied : 
 
 "You need not have come for me, as I always prefer a 
 stage; besides that,* I can't go home just yet, I am not 
 ready." 
 
 Katy stood a moment in silence, a flush on her cheek 
 and a pallor about her lips, which Tom Tubbs saw, se- 
 cretly shaking his fist and thinking how he would like to 
 knock down the man who could speak so to a wife as 
 beautiful and sweet as Katy seemed. 
 
 "I have not been here before since my illness, and I 
 wanted to come once more," she said at last, apolo- 
 getically, while Wilford, still looking over papers, replied : 
 "A sweet place to come to. I sometimes hate it myself. 
 By the way, I have something to tell you," and his facft 
 began to brighten. "Mrs. Mills, from Yonkers, was in 
 town to-day, and as she had not time to see you, she found 
 me and insisted upon your keeping the promise you made 
 last summer of spending some days with her. The Bev 
 erleys are there and the Lincolns — quite a nice party — ^so 
 I ventured to say that you should go out to-morrow and 
 I would come out Saturday afternoon to spend Sunday." 
 
 "Oh, Wilford, I can't," and Katy's lip began to quivtf 
 at the very thought of meeting people like the Beverleys 
 and '■ acolns in her present state of mind. 
 
 "Y.u can't! Why not?" Wilford asked, and Katy re- 
 plied. "I've never been in so much company as I shall 
 meet there since baby died, and then — did you forget that 
 it was Lent?" 
 
 "You are getting very good to think a few days' visit 
 in the country will harm you," Wilford replied; "besides 
 that, neither Mrs. Mills, nor the Beverleys, nor Lincolns, 
 are church people, and cannot, of course, sympathize in 
 this superstitious fancy." 
 
 Katy looked up in -^tonishment, for never before liad 
 she heard Wilford speak thus of the Fast which his whole 
 family honored. But Wilford was growing hard, and 
 with a sigh Katy turned away, knowing how useless it 
 was to reason with him then. Driving home alone, she 
 gave vent to a passionate flood of tears as she wondered 
 how it all would end. For some reason Wilford had set 
 his heart uoon the visit to Mrs. Mills, a pleasant, fas- 
 
DOMESTIC TROUBLES. 369 
 
 cinadng woman, who liked Katy very mjich and had an- 
 ticipated the promised visit with a great deal of pleasure, 
 making all her plans with a direct reference to Mrs. Cam- 
 eron, whose absence would have been a great disappoint- 
 ment. Wilford knew this and resolved that Katy should 
 go, and as opposition to his will was always useless, 
 the close of the next day found Katy at Mrs. Mills' hand- 
 some dwelling overlooking the broad river and the blue 
 mountains beyond. Wilford was with her; he had come 
 out to spend the night, returning to the city in the morn- 
 ing. Now that he had accomplished his purpose he was 
 in the best of spirits, treating Katy with unwonted kind- 
 ness and wondering why he hated so to leave her, while 
 she, too, clung to him, wishing he could stay. Their part- 
 ing was only for two days, for this was Thursday, and 
 he was to return on Saturday, but in the hearts of both 
 there was that dark foreboding which is so often a sure 
 precursor of evil. Twice Wilford turned back to kiss his 
 wife, feeling tempted once to tell her he was sorry for 
 his jealousy and distrust, but such confession was hard for 
 him and so he left it unsaid, looking back to the window 
 against which Katy's face was pressed as she watched 
 him going from her, but little guessing what would be 
 ere she looked on him again. 
 
 Tom Tubbs sat reading Qiitty as usual when Mr. 
 Cameron came in from his trip wp the river. Since Katy's 
 last call at the ofSce Tom had been haunted with her 
 face as it looked when Wilford's cold greeting fell on her 
 ear, and after a private conference with Mattie, who lis- 
 tened eagerly to every item of information with regard 
 to Katy, he had come to the conclusion that his mployer 
 was a brute, and that his wife was not as happy as it was 
 his duty to make her. 
 
 "It's mean in him to speak so hateful to her," he was 
 thinking just as Wilford came in, appearing so very 
 amiable and good-humored that the boy ventured to in- 
 quire for Mrs. Cameron. "She looked so pale and sick, 
 the other day," he said, "almost as bad in fact as she did 
 that night in the cars with Dr. Grant, just before she was 
 so dangerously ilL" 
 
370 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 "What's that? What did you say?" Wilford asked 
 quickly, and Tom, thinking he had not been understood, 
 repeated his words, while in a voice which Tom scarcely 
 knew, it was so low and husky, Wilford asked : "What 
 night was Mrs. Cameron in the cars with Dr. Grant? 
 When was it, and where?" 
 
 As suspicion is an intense magnifier, so the absence of 
 it will blind one completely, and Tom was thus blind- 
 folded as he stated in detail how two months or more 
 ago, while Mr. Cameron was absent, he had been sent 
 by Mr. Ray to Hartford, returning in the early train, 
 that just before him, in the car, a gentleman sat with a 
 lady who seemed to be sick, at all events her head lay on 
 his shoulder and he occasionally bent over her to see if 
 she wanted anything. 
 
 "I did not mind much about them," Tom said, "till 
 it got to broad daylight, when I saw the man was Dr. 
 Grant, and when we reached New York the lady threw 
 back her veil and I saw it was Mrs. Cameron." 
 
 "Are you sure ?" and Wilford grasped Tom's arm with 
 an energy which made the boy wince, while there came 
 over him a suspicion that he had talked too much. 
 
 But it could not now be helped, and to Wilford's ques- 
 tion he answered : 
 
 "Yes, for she bowed to me and smiled." 
 
 "Where did they go?" was the next question, put in 
 thunder tones, for Wilford was remembering things Katy 
 said in her delirium, and which were now explained, if 
 Toni's statement was true. 
 
 "They went off in a carriage toward your house, and 
 that night I heard she was sick," Tom said, going back 
 to his book, while Wilford seized his hat and started up 
 Broadway. It was not his intention when he left the office 
 to question the servants with regard to his wife, for every 
 feeling and principle of his nature shrank from such an 
 act, but by the time his home could be reached it could 
 scarcely be said that he was in his right mind, and meet- 
 ing Phillips in the hall, he demanded of her "if she re- 
 membered the day when Mrs. Cameron was first 
 taken ill." 
 
 Yes, Phillips remembered how sick Esther said she 
 
DOMESTIC TROUBLES. 371 
 
 looked* when she came home from his father's, where she 
 spent the night. 
 
 "Oh, yes; she stayed at my father's then. It was very 
 proper she should," Wilford replied, recollecting himself, 
 -and trying to appear natural, so that Phillips would not 
 suspect him of any special purpose in questioning her. 
 
 If Katy spent the night at his father's then Tom's 
 statement was not true, and dismissing Phillips he has- 
 tened to his mother, to whom he put the question : 
 
 "Did Katy stay here a night while I was gone, the 
 night but one after that dinner,, when she heard of Gen- 
 evra, I mean?" 
 
 "Why, no," Mrs. Cameron replied, in some surprise. 
 "Katy has not stayed here since last October, just after 
 she came from Silverton, and you were in Detroit. Why 
 do you ask? What is the matter? What do you fear?" 
 
 Wilford • would not tell his mother what he feared, but 
 waived her question by bidding her repeat what she could 
 remember of the day when she was first summoned to 
 Katy, and to tell him also who was there. 
 
 "Dr. Grant was there, and Dr. Craig," she said. "The 
 former, as I understood from Esther, had just come to 
 the city and called on Katy, finding her so ill that he sent 
 for me immediately." 
 
 "And you do not know that Katy was away from home 
 at all?" was Wilford's next inquiry, to which his mother 
 replied : 
 
 "Esther spoke of her looking very sick when she came 
 in, from which I inferred she had been driving or shop- 
 ping^ but she was not here, sure." 
 
 Esther, it would seem, was the only one who could 
 throw light upon the mystery, and as by this tim^ the 
 jealous man did not care whom he questioned, he left his 
 mother without a word of explanation, and hurried home, 
 where he found Esther, and in a voice which made her 
 tremble, bade her answer his questions truthfully, with- 
 out the slightest atteijipt at evasion. 
 
 "Yes, sir," Esther replied, and Wilford continued: 
 
 "Where was your mistress the night before. Dr. Grant 
 came here, and she was so very sick ?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir. I had the impression that she was 
 
372 FAMHiT PEroE. 
 
 at your mother's. Wasn't she there ?" and Esther looked 
 very innocent, while Wilford replied: 
 
 "It is your business to answer questions, not to ask 
 them. Tell me then the particulars of her going away, 
 and what she said." 
 
 As nearly as she could remember Esther repeated what 
 had passed between herself and Katy that morning, but 
 her manner was such as to convince Wilford she was 
 keeping back something, and in a paroxysm of excitement 
 he seized her arm, exclaiming: 
 
 "You know more than you admit. Tell me then the 
 truth. Who came home with Mrs. Cameron, and when ?" 
 
 Esther was afraid of Wilford, and at last between 
 tears and sobs confessed that Mrs. Wilford^ said she had 
 been out of town, but asked her not to tell, that she 
 guessed it was Silverton where she had been, and also 
 that when she opened the door to her, Dr. Morris was 
 going down the steps; "not in a hurry — not like -making 
 off as if there was something wrong," she added, in her 
 eagerness to exonerate her mistress. 
 
 "Who hinted there was anything wrong?" Wilford ex- 
 claimed, in tones which made poor Esther tremble, for 
 now that he had heard all he cared to hear, he began to 
 be ashamed of having gained his information in the way 
 he had. 
 
 "Nobody hinted," Esther sobbed, with her face hidden 
 in her apron ; "and if they did it's false. There never 
 was a truer, sweeter lady." 
 
 "See that you stick to that whatever may occur, and, 
 mind you, let there be no repeating this conversation in 
 the kitchen or elsewhere," Wilford hurled at her savagely, 
 going next to a telegraph office, and sending ovef the 
 wires the following: 
 
 "New York, March — , 1862. 
 "To Mr. Ephraim Barlow, Silverton, Mass. 
 
 "Has Mrs. Wilford Cameron been in Silverton since 
 last September? W. Cameron." 
 
 To this he was prompted by Esther's having suggested 
 Silverton, as the place where her mistress had possibly 
 been, and taking warning by his past experietice w'th 
 Geneyra, be resolved to give Katy the benefit of every 
 
DOMESTIC TROUBLES. 373 
 
 doubt, to investigate closely, before taking the decisive 
 step, which even while Tom Tubbs was talking to him 
 had flashed into his mind. Perhaps Katy had .been to 
 Silverton in her excited state, and if so the case was not 
 so bad, though he blamed her much for concealing it 
 from him. At first he thought of telegraphing to Mor- 
 ris, but pride kept him from that, and Uncle Ephraim 
 was made the recipient of the telegram, which startled 
 him greatly, being the first of the kind sent directly to 
 him. 
 
 As it chanced the deacon was in town that day, and at 
 the store just across the street -from the telegraph office. 
 This the agent knew by old Whitey, who was standing 
 meekly at the hitching-post, covered with his blanket, a 
 faded woolen bedspread, which years before Aunt Betsy 
 had spun and woven herself. 
 
 "A letter for me!" Uncle Ephraim said, when the 
 message was put into his hands. "Who writ it ?" and he 
 turned it to the light trying to recognize the haiidwriting. 
 
 "I think it wants an answer," the boy said, as Uncle 
 Ephraim thrust it into his pocket, and taking up his mo- 
 lasses jug and codfish started for the door. 
 
 "May be it does. I'll look again," and depositing his 
 fish and jug safely under the wagon box, the old man 
 adjusted his spectacles, and with the aid of the boy de- 
 ciphered the dispatch. 
 
 "What does it mean?" he asked, but the boy volun- 
 teered no ideas, and the simple-hearted deacoi? asked 
 next: "What shall I tell him?" 
 
 "Why, tell him whether she has^ been here or not since 
 last September. Write on the envelope what you want 
 sent, so I can take it back; and come, hurry up your 
 cakes, I can't wait all day," and young America, having 
 thus asserted its superiority over old, began to kick' the 
 melting snow, while Uncle Ephraim, greatly bewildered 
 and perplexed, bent himself to the tremendous task of 
 writing the four words : 
 
 "Not to my knowledge." To this he appended: 
 "Yours, with regret, Ephraim Barlow," and handing it 
 to the waiting boy, unhitched old Whitey, and stepping, 
 into his wagon, drove home as rapidly as the half -frozen 
 March mud would allow. 
 
S74 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 "I wonder what he sent me that word for?" he kept 
 repeating to hinsself. "We had a letter from Katy yes- 
 terday, .and there can't be nothing wrong. I won't tell 
 the folks yet a while anyway till I see what comes of it, 
 Lucy is so fidgety." 
 
 It was this resolution, whether wise or unwise, which 
 kept from Morris and the deacon's family a knowledge of 
 the telegram, the answer to which was read by Wilford 
 within half an hour after the deacon's arrival home. 
 
 "She has not been to Silverton," Wilford said. "The 
 case then is very clear." 
 
 Indeed, it had been growing clear to the suspicious 
 man ever since Tom Tubbs' unfortunate remark. There 
 are no glasses as perfect as those which jealousy wears, 
 no magnifying lens as powerful, and Wilford was "fully 
 convinced." Had he been asked of what he was con- 
 vinced he could hardly have told unless it were that in 
 some way he had been deceived, that Morris had spoken 
 falsely when he said his love for Katy was not returned 
 or even suspected, that Katy had acted the hypocrite, and 
 that both had been guilty of a great indiscretion, at least, 
 by being seen as they were in the New Haven train, and 
 then keepmg the occurrences of that night a secret from 
 him. Wilford did not believe Katy had fallen, but she 
 had surely stepped upon forbidden ground, and it was 
 not in his nature to forgive the error — at least, not then, 
 when he was so sore with past remembrances which had 
 come so fast upon him. First, the baby's death, just 
 when he was learning to love it so much, then the Gen- 
 evra affair about which Katy had acted so foolishly, then 
 the talk with Dr. Grant, and then his last offense, so much 
 worse than all the rest. 
 
 It was a sad catalogue of grievances, and Wilford 
 made it sadder by brooding over and magnifying it until 
 he reached a point from which he would not swerve. 
 
 "I shall do it," he said, and his lips were pressed firmly 
 together, as before his lonely fire he sat that chill March 
 night, revolving the past and then turning to the future 
 openin.of so darkly before him, and making him shudder 
 as he thought of what it might bring. "I. will spare 
 Katy as much as possible," he said, "for h'ers is a different 
 nature from Genevra's. She cannot bear as well," and 
 
DISAPPEARED. 375 
 
 a bitter groan broke the silence of the room as Katy came 
 up before him just as she had looked that very morning 
 standing by the window, with tears in her eyes, and a 
 wistful, sorry look on her white face. 
 
 Could she be false to him and wear that look? The 
 question staggered Wilford for a moment, but when he 
 remembered the proof, he steeled his heart against her 
 and prepared to act. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 DISAPPEARED. 
 
 All the next day Wilford was very busy arranging his 
 affairs, and a casual looker-on would have seen nothing 
 unusual in the face always so. grave and cold. But to 
 Tom Tubbs, casting furtive glances over his book and 
 wondering at his employer's sudden activity, it was ter- 
 rible in its dark, hard, unrelenting expression, while even 
 his mother, upon whomyhe called that evening, looked at 
 him anxiously, .asking what was the matter, but not men- 
 tioning the conversation held with her the previous day 
 respecting Katy. 
 
 She was still at Yonkers, Wilford said, and his voice 
 was very natural as he added : "I am expected to go out 
 there to-morrow night with Beverley and Lincoln, whose 
 wives are also at Mrs. Mills'; quite a gay party we shall 
 make," and he tried to smile, but it was a sickly effort 
 and made his face look still more ghastly and strange. 
 
 "What ails you, Wilford?" his mother asked, but he 
 answered pettishly : "Nothing, so pray don't look at me 
 so curiously as if Pwas hiding some terrible secret." 
 
 He was hiding a secret, and it almost betrayed iteelf, 
 when at last he said good-by to his mother, who followed 
 him to the door and stood looking after him in the dark- 
 ness until the sound of his footsteps died away up6n the 
 pavement. There was a fire in his room and Wilford 
 sat down to write the brief note he would leave, for 
 when the night shut down again he would not be there. 
 He could not feel that the parting from Katy would be 
 final, because he did not believe she had sinned as he 
 
376 FAMILY PEIDE. 
 
 counted sin, but she certainly preferred another to him- 
 self; she had deceived him and played the successful 
 hypocrite. This was Wilford's accusation against his 
 wife ; this for what she must be punished, until such time 
 as his royal clemency saw fit to forgive and take her back 
 as he meant to. He had no fear of her going to' Morris, 
 or to the farmhouse either, for much as she was attached 
 to her family, he believed she would shrink from a return 
 to poverty, choosing rather the luxuries of her city home. 
 And he would put no impediment in the way of her stay- 
 ing there as long as she liked ; he would arrange that for 
 her, feeling himself very magnanimous as he thought of 
 giving her permission to invite her mother to New York 
 as a kind of protection against scandalous remarks 
 Mrs. Lennox and Helen too should come. That cer- 
 tainly was generous, and lest his goodness should abate 
 he seized his pen and wrote: 
 
 "Dear Katy: Your own conscience will tell you 
 whether you are worthy of being addressed as 'Dear/ but 
 I have called you thus so often that I cannot bring my- 
 self to any other form. Do my, words startle you, and 
 will you be sorry when you read this and find that I am 
 gGie, that you are free from the husband you do not 
 love, the husband whom perhaps you never loved, though 
 I thought you did? I trusted you once, and now I do 
 not blame you as much as I ought, for you are young. 
 You are easily influenced. You are very susceptible to 
 flattery, as was proven by your career at Saratoga and 
 Newport. I had no suspicion of you then, but now that 
 I know you better, I see that it was not all childish sim- 
 plicity which made you smile so graciously upon those 
 who sought your favor. You are a coquette, Katy, and 
 the greater one because of that semblance of artlessness 
 which is the perfection of art. This, however, I might 
 forgive, were it not for one flagrant act, which, if it is 
 not a proof of faithlessness, certainly borders upon it. 
 You know to what I refer, or if you do not, ask your 
 smooth-tongued saint, ytfur companion in the New Haven 
 train ; he will enlighten you ; he will not wonder at my 
 going, and perhaps he will ofifer you comfort, both re- 
 ligious and otherwise ; but if you ever wish me to return, 
 avoid him as you would shun a deadly poison. Until I 
 
DISAPPEAEED. 377 
 
 countermand the order I wish you to remain here in this 
 house, which I bought for you. Helen and your mother 
 both may live with you, while father will have a general 
 oversight of your affairs; I shall send him a line to that 
 effect. And now, good-by. I am very calm as I write 
 this, because I know you have deceived me. Not as 1 
 did you with regard to Genevra, but in a deeper sense, 
 which touches a tenderer point and makes me willing to 
 brave the talk my sudden departure will create. No one 
 knows I am going, no one will know until you have 
 waited and looked in vain for me with the gay young 
 men who to-morrow night will join their wives as 1 
 hoped yesterday morning to join mine. But that is over 
 now. I cannot come to you. I am going away, where— 
 it matters not to you. So farewell. 
 
 "Your deceived and disappointed husband." 
 
 Had Wilford read this letter over, he might not have 
 left it, but he did not read it, and in recalling its con- 
 tents he gave himself great credit for his forbearance 
 when speaking of Morris, whom he hated so cordially. 
 Sealing the letter, and laying it in Katy's drawer just 
 above where she had left his, he tried to sleep; but the 
 morning found him haggard and tired, and Esther, as 
 she poured his coffee, asked if he was sick. 
 
 "No," he answered, and then as he pushed back his 
 chair, he said : "I shall not be home again to-day, as 
 Mrs. Cameron expects me to spend Sunday at Yonkers." 
 
 And so all that day and the next, the doors were 
 locked, the shutters closed, the curtains dropped, while 
 an ominous silence reigned throughout the house; but 
 when Monday came, and was halfway gone there were 
 inquiries made for Mr. Cameron by young Beverley and 
 Lincoln, whose faces looked anxious and disturbed at 
 Esther's answer : ^ 
 
 "He went to Yonkers, Saturday. I have not seen him 
 since." 
 
 Out at Yonkers on Saturday ni^t, three young wives 
 had waited for their husbands, and none more eagerly 
 than Katy, who, fair as a lily, in her dark dress, with her 
 soft hair curling about her face, sat by the window 
 
378 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 watching for the carriage from the station, hers the first 
 ear to catch the sound of wheels, and hers the first forra 
 upon the piazza. 
 
 "Where's Wilford?" she asked, as only two alighted, 
 and neither of them her husband. 
 
 But no one could answer that question. The gentle- 
 men had looked for him at Chambers Street, expecting 
 him every moment to join them. Perhaps he was de- 
 tained, he might come yet at twelve, they said, trying to 
 comfort Katy, who, with a sad foreboding, went back 
 into the parlor, and tried to join in the laugh and jest 
 which seemed almost like mockery. Something had hap- 
 pened to Wilford she was sure when the night tra;in did 
 not bring him; and all the next day, while the Sunday 
 bells pealed their music in her ears, and the sounds of 
 thoughtless mirth came up from the room below, where 
 the elaborate dinner was in progress, she lay upon her 
 pillow, her head almost bursting with pain, and her heart 
 aching so sadly as she tried to pray that no harm had be- 
 fallen her husband. She never dreamed of his deser- 
 tion, even when about noon of the next day a telegram 
 came from Father Cameron, bidding her hasten to the 
 city. Wilford was sick or dead, probably the latter, was 
 the feeling uppermost in her mind, as she was borne 
 rapidly to New York, where Mr. Cameron met her, his . 
 face confirming her fears, but not preparing her for the 
 great shock awaiting her. 
 
 "Wilford is not dead," he said, when at last she was in 
 the carriage. "It is worse than that, I fear. We have 
 traced him to the Philadelphia train, which he took on 
 Saturday. His manner all that day and the previous 
 one was very strange, while from some words he dropped 
 my wife is led to suppose there was trouble between you 
 two. Was there?" and Father Cameron's gray eyes 
 rested earnestly on the white, frightened face which 
 looked up so quickly as Katy gasped: 
 
 "No; oh, no ; he never was kinder to me than when we 
 parted last Friday morning at Mrs. Mills'. There is 
 some mistake. He would not leave me, though he has 
 not been quite the same since " 
 
 Katy was interrupted by the carriage stopping before 
 
DISAPPEARED.. 379 
 
 her home ; but when they had been admitted to the parlor 
 where a fire was lighted, Father Cameron said ; 
 
 "Go on now. Wilford has not been the same since 
 when ?" 
 
 Thus importuned Katy continued : 
 
 "Since baby died. I think he blamed me as the cause 
 of its death." 
 
 "Don't babies die every day?" Father Cameron growled, 
 kicking at the hearth rug, while Katy, without con- 
 sidering that he had never heard of Genevra, continued : 
 
 "And then it was worse after I found out about Gen- 
 evra, hio first wife." 
 
 "Genevra! Genevra, Wilford's first wife! Thunder 
 and lightning! what are you talking about?" and Father 
 Cameron bent down to look in Katy's face, thinking she 
 was going mad. 
 
 But Katy was not mad, and knowing it was now too 
 late to retract, she told the story of Genevra Lambert to 
 the old man, who, utterly confounded, stalked up and 
 down the room, kicking away chairs and footstools, and 
 whatever came in his way, and swearing promiscuously 
 at his wife and Wilford, whom he pronounced a precious 
 pair of fools, with a dreadful adjective appended to the 
 fools, and an emphasis in his voice which showed he 
 meant what he said. 
 
 "It's all accounted for now," he said, "the piles of 
 money that boy had abroad, his privacy with his mother, 
 and all the other tomfoolery I could not understand. 
 Katy," and pausing in his walk, Mr. Cameron came close 
 to his daughter-in-law, who was lying with her face upon 
 the sofa: "Katy, be glad your baby died. Had it lived 
 it might have proved a curse just as mine have done — not 
 all, for Bell, though fiery as a pepper-pod, has some 
 heart, some sense — and there was Jack, my oldest boy, 
 a little fast, it's true; but when he died over the sea, I 
 forgave all that, forgetting the chair he broke over a tu- 
 tor's head, and the scrapes for which I paid as high as 
 a thousand at one time. He sowed his wild oats, and 
 died before he could reap them, died a good man, I be- 
 lieve, and went to heaven. Juno you know, and you can 
 judge whether she is such as would delight a parent's 
 heart; while Wilford, my only boy, to deceive me so; 
 
380 FAMILY PBIDB. 
 
 though I knew he was a fool in some things, I did tnisc 
 Wilford." 
 
 The old man's voice shook now, and Katy felt his tears 
 dropping on her hair as he stooped down over her. 
 Checking them, however, he said : 
 
 "And he was cross because you found him out. Was 
 there no other reason?" 
 
 Katy thought of Dr. Morris, but she could npt tell of 
 that, and so she answered : 
 
 "There was — but please don't ask me now. I can't 
 tell, only I was not to blame. Believe me, father, I was 
 not to blame." 
 
 "I'll swear to that," was the reply, as Father Cameron 
 commenced his walking again. "He may have left some 
 word, some line," he said. "Suppose you look. It would 
 probably be upstairs." 
 
 Katy had not thought of this, but it seemed reasonable 
 that it should be so, and going to her room, followed by 
 Father Cameron, she went, as by some instinct, to the 
 very drawer where the letter lay. 
 
 There was perfect silence while she read it through. 
 Mr. Cameron never taking his eyes from the face which 
 turned first white, then red, then spotted, and finally took 
 a leaden hue as Katy ran over the lines, comprehending 
 the truth as she read, and when the letter was finished, 
 lifting her dry, tearless eyes to Father Camerc«i, and 
 whispering to herself: 
 
 "Deserted!" 
 
 She let him read the letter, and when he had finished 
 explained the parts he did not understand, telling him 
 now what Morris had confessed, telling him too that in 
 her first sorrow, when life and sense seemed reeling, she 
 had gone to Dr. Grant, who had brought her back, as a 
 brother might have done, land this was the result. 
 
 "Why did you say you went to him — that is, what was 
 the special reason ?" Mr. Cameron asked, and after a mo- 
 ment's hesitancy, Katy told him her belief that Genevra 
 was living — ^that it was she who made the bridal trous- 
 seau for Wilford's second wife, who nursed his child until 
 it died, giving to it her own name, arraying it for the 
 grave, and then leaving, as she always did, before the 
 father came. 
 
DISAPPEARED. 381 
 
 "I never told Wilford," Katy said. "I felt as if I 
 would rather he should not know it yet. Perhaps I was 
 wrong, but if so, I have been terribly punished." 
 
 Mr. Cameron could not look upon the woman who 
 stood before him, so helpless and stricken in her desola- 
 tion, and believe her wrong in anything. The guilt lay in 
 another direction, and when as the terrible reality that she 
 was indeed a deserted wife came rushing over Katy, she 
 tottered toward him for help, he stretched his arms out 
 for her, and' taking the sinking figure in them, laid it upon 
 the sofa as ge«tly, as kindly as Wilford had ever touched 
 it in his most loving days. , 
 
 Katy did not faint nor weep. She was past all that, 
 but her face was like a piece of marble, and her eyes 
 were like those of the hunted fawn when the chase is at 
 its height and escape impossible. 
 
 "Wilford would come back if he knew just how it 
 was," the father said, "but the trouble is where to find 
 him. He speaks of writing to me, as I presume he will 
 in a day or so, and perhaps it will be as well to wait till 
 then. What the plague — ^who is ringing that bell eiiough 
 to break the wire?" he added, as a sharp, rapid ring 
 echoed through the house and was answered by Esther. 
 "It's my wife," he continued, as he caught the sound of 
 her voice asking if Mrs. Cameron had returned. "You 
 stay here while I meet her first alone. I'll give it to her 
 for cheating me so long and raising thunder generally!" 
 
 Katy tried to protest, but he was halfway down the 
 stairs, and in a moment more was with his wife, who 
 had come around armed and equipped to censure Katy 
 as the cause of Wilford's disappearance, and to demand 
 of her where she was the night she pretended to spend 
 at No. — Fifth Avenue. But the lady who came in so 
 haughty and indignant was a very different personage 
 from the lady who, after listening for fifteen minutes to 
 a fearful storm of oaths and reproaches, mingled with 
 startling truths and bitter denunciations against herself 
 and her boy, sank into a chair, pale and trembling, and 
 overwhelmed with the harvest she was reaping. 
 
 But her husband was not through with her yet. He 
 had reserved the bitterest drop, for the last, and coming 
 close to her he said ; 
 
382 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 "And who think you the woman is — this Genevra, Wil- 
 ford's and your divorced wife? You were too proud to 
 acknowledge an apothecary's daughter ! See if you Hke 
 better a dressmaker, a nurse to Katy's baby, Marian 
 Hazelton !" 
 
 He whispered the last name, and with a shriek the lady 
 fainted. Mr. Cameron would not summon a servant, 
 and as there was no water in the room, he walked to the 
 window, and lifting the sash scraped from the sill a hand- 
 ful of the light spring snow which had been falling since 
 noon. With this he brought his wife back to conscious- 
 ness, and then marked out her future course. 
 
 "I know what is in your mind," he said. "You would 
 like to have all the blame rest on Katy; but, madam, hear 
 me — just so sure as through your means one breath cuf 
 suspicion falls on her, I'll bla at out the whole story of 
 Genevra. Then see who is censured. On the other 
 hand, if you hold your tongue, and make Juno hold hers, 
 and stick to Katy through thick and thin, acting as if you 
 would like to swallow her whole, I'll say nothing of this 
 Genevra. Is it a bargain ?" 
 
 "Yes," came faintly from the sofa cushions, where 
 Mrs. Cameron had buried her face, sobbing in a con- 
 fused, frightened way, and after a moment finding voice 
 to say : "What will you do with Phillips and Esther ? 
 He must have questioned them." 
 
 "The deuce he did ! I'll see to that ! I'll throttle them 
 if they venture to speak!" and summoning both the fe- 
 males to his presence, Mr. Cameron demanded if either 
 had reported what Wilford had said to them. 
 
 Except to each other they had not, though Phillips 
 confessed to a great desire to do so when a cousin was 
 in the previous night. 
 
 "Hang the cousin, and you, too, if you do !" Mr. Cam- 
 eron replied, and giving them some very strong advice, 
 couched in very strong language, he dismissed the serv- 
 ants to the kitchen, satisfied that so far Katy was safe. 
 "But who is the villain who first informed? If I had 
 him by the neck!" the enraged man continued, just as 
 there came a second ring — a timid, hesitating ring, as if 
 the new arrival were half afraid to present himself and 
 his errand. 
 
DISAPPEARED. 383 
 
 "Speak of angels and you hear the rustle of their 
 wings," is a proverb as true and much pleasanter of 
 thought than its opposite, and whether Tom Tubbs were 
 an angel or not, it was he who stood twirling his cap in 
 the hall, asking for Mrs. Cameron. 
 
 "She can't see you, but I'll take the message. Is it 
 about my son?" Father Cameron said, striding up to the 
 boy, who began to wish himself away. 
 
 Ever since inquiries had been made at the office for 
 Wilford's whereabouts, Tom had been uneasy, for he 
 could not. forget the savage look in Wilford's face when 
 he first told him of Katy and DrT Grant; and when he 
 heard that instead of going to Yonkers Wilford had 
 taken the cars for Philadelphia, he was certain some- 
 thing was wrong, and longed to confess to Katy ^ what he 
 knew of the matter. He had no idea of meddling, but 
 came with the kindest intentions, thinking he should feel 
 better when the load was off his .mind. He was - then 
 poorly prepared for his fierce reception from Mr. Cam- 
 eron, who asked so energetically what he had to say. 
 
 "It wasn't much," Tom began. "I only wanted to tell 
 her maybe I was to blame for repeating what I saw." 
 
 "What did you see?" and Mr. Cameron laid his hand 
 on Tom's coat collar as if to shake the information out 
 of him. 
 
 But there was no need of this, for the frightened youth 
 told quickly what he had come to tell, seeming so sorry 
 and appearing so hurt withal that the elder Cameron 
 grew very gracious, and dismissed him with the con- 
 viction that Katy had nothing to fear from Tom Tubbs. 
 Mrs. Cameron was with her now, giving her kisses and 
 words of sympathy, tfelling her Wilford would come back, 
 and adding that in any event no one could or should 
 blame her. 
 
 "I have heard the whole from husband; it was a mis- 
 understanding, that is all. Wilford was wrong to de- 
 ceive you about Genevra. I was wrong to let him; but 
 we will have no more concealments. You think she is 
 living still — that she is Marian Hazelton?" and Mrs. 
 Cameron smoothed Katy's hair as she talked, trying to 
 be motherly and kind, while her heart beat more pain- 
 
384 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 fully at thoughts of a Genevra living than it ever had ox 
 thoughts of a Genevra dead. 
 
 She did not doubt the story, although it seemed so 
 strange, and it made her faint as she wondered if the 
 world would ever know and what it would say if it did. 
 That her husband would tell if she failed in a single 
 point she was sure, but she should not fail; she would 
 swear Katy was innocent of everything, if necessary, 
 while Juno and Bell should swear too. Of course they 
 must know and she should tell them that very night, she 
 said to herself, and hence it was that in the gossip which 
 followed Wilford's disappearance not a word was 
 breathed against Katy, whose cause the family espoused 
 so warmly. Bell and the father because they really loved 
 and pitied her, and Mrs. Cameron and Juno because it 
 saved them from the disgrace which would have fallen 
 on Wilford had the fashionable world known then of 
 Genevra. 
 
 The sudden disappearance of a man like Wilford Cam- 
 eron could not fail even in New York to cause some ex- 
 citement, especially in his own immediate circle of ac- 
 quaintances, and for several days the matter was discussed 
 in all its phases, and every possible opinion and con- 
 jecture offered as to the cause of his strange conduct. 
 Insanity! how many sins it is made to cover, and how 
 often is it pleaded for an excuse when no other can be 
 found. This is especially true in the higher walks of 
 life, and so in Wilford's case it was put forward, cau- 
 tiously at first by Mrs. Cameron herself, who wondered 
 at the avidity with which the suggestion was seized and 
 handed from one to another, some remembering little 
 things which tended to confirm the belief, others slyly 
 shrugging their shoulders as they responded: "Very 
 probable," but all tacitly allowing the imderstanding to 
 prevail that insanity had made Wilford Cameron a vol- 
 untary wanderer from home. They could not believe in 
 domestic troubles when they saw how his family clung 
 to and defended Katy from the least approach of censure, 
 Juno talking up her abode with her "afflicted sister" until 
 such time as Wilford could be heard from or more def- 
 inite arrangements be made; Mrs. Cameron driving 
 around each day to see her; Bell always speaking of her 
 
WHAT FOLLOWED. 385 
 
 with genuine affection, while the father clung to her like 
 a hero, the'quartet forming a barrier across which the 
 shafts of scandal could not reach. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 WHAT FOLLOWED. 
 
 And where the while was Wilford ? Fortunate, indeed, 
 is it for the disappointed, desperate men of the present 
 day that when their horizon is blackest and life seems not 
 worth preserving, they can leave the past behind and find 
 a refuge in the army. To Wilford it presented itself at 
 once as the place of all others. Anything which could 
 divert his mind was welcome, and ere the close of that 
 first day of Katy's return from Yonkers, his name was 
 enrolled in the service of his country. He had gone di- 
 rectly to Washington, stumbling accidentally upon an old 
 college acquaintance who was getting up a company, and 
 whose first lieutenant had disappointed him. Learning 
 Wilford's wishes he offered him the post, which was 
 readily accepted, and ere four days were gone Lieutenant 
 Wilford Cameron, with no regret as yet for the past, 
 marched away to swell the ranks of men who, led by 
 General McClellan, were pressing on, as they believed, to 
 Richmond and victory. A week of terrible suspense 
 went by and then there came a note to Mr. Cameron 
 from his son, requesting him to care for Katy, but asking 
 no forgiveness for himself. 
 
 "I have disgraced you all," he wrote, "and I know just 
 how you feel, but I am not sorry for the step I've talcen. 
 When I am I shall probably come back, provided thg,! 
 day finds me alive." 
 
 And that was all the proud man wrote. Not one word 
 was there for Katy, whose eyes, which had not wept 
 since she knew she was deserted, moved slowly over the 
 short letter, weighing every word, and then were lifted 
 sadly to her father's face as she said : "I will write and 
 tell him all the truth, and on his answer will depend my 
 future course." 
 
 This she said referring to the question she had raised 
 
386 FAMILY PKIDE. 
 
 as to whether , in case Wilford did not come back she 
 should remain in New York or go to Silverton, where 
 as yet they were ignorant of her affliction, for Uncle 
 Ephraim had not told of the telegram, and Katy would 
 not alarm, them until she knew something definite. 
 
 And so the days went by, while Katy's letter was sent 
 to Wilford, together with another from his father, who 
 confirmed all Katy had protested of her innocence and 
 ended by calling his son a "confounded fool" and telling 
 him to throw up his shoulder straps, which only honest 
 men had a right to wear, and come home where he be- 
 longed." 
 
 To this there came an angry, indignant answer, bidding 
 the father attend to his own business, and allow the son. 
 to attend to his. To Katy, however, Wilford wrote in a 
 different strain, showing here and there marks of tender- 
 ness and relenting, but saying what he had done could 
 not now be helped — he was in for a soldier's life of two 
 years, and should abide his choice. At the idea of Gen- 
 evra's being alive he scoffed; he knew bett^ than that, 
 and even if she were why need Katy have gohe with it to 
 Morris. Surely she should have had the discretion to 
 keep something to herself. 
 
 This was the purport of Wilford's letter to Katy, who 
 when she had finished reading said, sorrowfully: 
 
 "Wilford never loved me. It was a mere fancy, a 
 great mistake, and I cannot stay in his home, knowing 
 that I am. not trusted and respected as a wife should be. 
 I will go to Silverton. There is room for me there. I 
 shall write to Helen to-day.'" 
 
 IMeanwhile at Silverton, Uncle Ephraim, still keeping 
 the telegram a secret, grew more and more anxious as 
 there came no news of Katy. What did the silence 
 mean ? Uncle Ephraim pondered the matter all day long, 
 holding conversations with himself upon the subject, and 
 finally making up his mind to the herculean task of going 
 to New York to see what was thelnatten To the family, 
 who asked the reason of his sudden journey, he said: 
 He had a notion that something ail-ded Katy, and he 
 was going to see. 
 
 No one ever thought of opposing Uncle Ephraim, and 
 
WHAT FOLLOWED. 387 
 
 the following day found him ready for the journey Aunt 
 Betsy had taken before him. 
 
 Presuming upon her experience as a traveler, that good 
 dame had proffered sundry pieces of advice with ref- 
 erence to what it was best for him to do on the road, tell- 
 ing him which side of the car to sit, where to get out, 
 and above all things not to shake hands with the con- 
 ductor when asked for his ticket. 
 
 Uncle Ephraim heard her good-humoredly, and stuf- 
 fing into his pocket the paper of ginger-snaps, fried cakes 
 and cheese, which Aunt Hannah had prepared for his 
 lunch, he started for the cars, and was soon on his way 
 to New York. 
 
 In his case there was no Bob Reynolds to offer aid and 
 comfort, and the old man was nearly torn in pieces by 
 the burly hackman, who, the moment he appeared to view, 
 pounced upon him as lawful prey, each claiming the 
 honor of taking him wherever he wished to go, and rais- 
 ing such a din about his ears that he finally turned away 
 thoroughly disgusted, telling them : 
 
 "He had feet and legs, and common sense, and he 
 guessed he could find his way without 'em. 'Bleeged to 
 you, gentlemen, but I don't need you," and with a pro-1 
 found bow the honest-looking old deacon walked away, 
 asking the first man he met the way to Madison Square, 
 and ./iicceeded in finding the number without difficulty. 
 
 "This is it," he said, stopping in front of the tall build- 
 ing, and examining it closely from the roof to the base- 
 ment. 
 
 Now that he was really there, a misgiving as to the 
 propriety of the act assailed him for the first time, and 
 he began to wish he had not come. 
 
 "I won't pull that nub," he said, glancing at the silver 
 knob. "I'll go down to the kitchen door, as like enough 
 they've company." 
 
 Accordingly Esther, who chanced to be in the base- 
 ment, was startled by a heavy knock, and was startled 
 still more at the tall, white-haired man who addressed her 
 as "Sis," and asked if "Miss Cameron was to huifi." 
 
 "A man in the kitchen asking for me!" Katy ex- 
 claimed, when Esther reported the message, and with her 
 mind full cf possible news from Wilford, she ran hastily 
 
888 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 down the basement stairs, and with a loud scream of joy- 
 threw herself into Uncle Ephraim's arms, an act which 
 so astonished Phillips that she dropped the dish of soup 
 she was preparing for the dinner table, the greasy liquid 
 bespattering Katy's dress, and bringing her to a sense 
 of where she was, and that she should not be there. 
 
 "Come upstairs," she said, holding Uncle Ephraim's 
 hand, and leading him to the parlor, while the first tears 
 she had shed since she knew she was deserted rained in 
 torrents over her face. 
 
 "What is it. Katydid? I mistrusted something was 
 wrong. What has happened?" Uncle Ephraim asked, 
 and with his arm thrown protectingly around her, Katy 
 told him what had happened, and then asking what she 
 should do. 
 
 "Do?" the old man repeated. "Go home with me to 
 your own folks until he comes from the wars. He is 
 your husband, and I shall say nothing agin' him, but if 
 it was to do over I would forbid the banns. That chap 
 has misused you the wust way. You need' not deny it, 
 for it's writ all over your face," he continued, as Katy 
 tried to stop him, for sore as was her heart v/ith the great 
 Iti justice done her, she would not have Wilford blamed. 
 
 He was her husband still, and she had loved him so 
 fondly that, wliether worthy or not of her love, she could 
 not turn from him so soon. 
 
 "I wrote to Helen yesterday, so they will be prepared 
 for me," she said, anxious to change the conversation, and 
 feeling glad when dinner was announced. 
 
 Leading him to the table, she presented him to Juno, 
 whose cold nod and haughty stare were lost on the old 
 man presiding with so much patriarchal dignity at the 
 table, and bowing his white head so reverently as he 
 asked the first blessing which had ever been said at that 
 table, except as Helen or Morris had breathed a prayer 
 of thanks for the bounty provided. 
 
 It had not been a house of prayer — no altar hacj been 
 erected for the morning and evening sacrifice. God had 
 almost been forgotten, and now He was pouring His 
 wrath upon the handsome dwelling, making it so dis- 
 ♦as^-oful that Katy was anxious to leave it, and expressed 
 
WHAT FOLLOWED. 389 
 
 her willingness to accompany Uncle Ephraim to Silverton 
 as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made. 
 
 "I don't take it she comes for good," Uncle Ephraim 
 said that evening, when Mr. Cameron, to whom she re- 
 ferred the matter, opposed her going, "for when the two 
 years are gone, and her man wants her back, as he will, 
 she must come, of course. Btit she grows poor here in 
 the city. It don't agree with her like the scent of the 
 clover and the breeze from the hills. So, shet up the 
 house for a spell, and let the child come with me." 
 
 Mr. Cameron knew that Katy would be happier at Sil- 
 verton, and though he disliked to part with her, he finally 
 consented to her going, and placed at her disposal a sum 
 which seemed to the deacon a little fortune in itself. 
 
 In the kitchen there were sad faces when the servants 
 heard of the arrangement which was to deprive them not 
 only of a pleasant home, but of a mistress whom they 
 both respected and loved. Esther pleaded hard to go 
 with Katy, and only the latter's promise that possibly she 
 might come by and by was of any avail to stay the tears 
 which dropped so fast as she put up her mistress' dresses, 
 designed for Silverton, and laid away the gayer, richer 
 ones, which would be so sadly out of place upon her- 
 now. 
 
 To Mrs. Cameron and Juno it was a relief to have Katy 
 taken from their hands, and though they made a show of 
 opposition, they were easily quieted, and helped her off 
 with alacrity, the mother promising to see that the horse 
 was promptly called for, and Juno offering to send the 
 latest fashion which might be suitable, as soon as it ap- 
 peared. Bell was heartily sorry to part with the young 
 sister who seemed going from her forever. >, 
 
 "I know you will never come back. Something tells 
 me so," she said as she stood with her arms around Katy's 
 waist, and her lips occasionally touching Katy's fore- 
 head. "But I shall see you," she continued; "I am com- 
 ing to the farmhouse in the summer, to stay ever so long; 
 and you may say to Aunt Betsy that I like her ever so 
 much, and" — ^here Bell glanced behind her, to see that no 
 one was listening, and then continued — "tell her a certain 
 officer was sick a few days in a hospital last winter, and 
 one of his men brought to him a dish of the most delicio'^s 
 
390 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 dried peaches he ever ate. That man was from Silver- 
 ton, and the fruit was sent to him, he said, in a salt bag, 
 by a nice old lady, for whose brother he used to work. 
 Just to think, that the peaches I helped to pare, coloring 
 my hands so that the stain did not come off in a month, 
 should have gone so straight to Bob," and Bell's fine fea- 
 tures shone with a light which would have told Bob 
 Reynolds he was beloved, even if the lips did not refuse 
 to confess it. 
 
 "I'll tell her," Katy said, and then bidding them all 
 good-by, and putting her hand on Uncle Ephraim's arm 
 she went with him from the home where she had lived 
 but two short years, and those the saddest, most eventful 
 ones of her short life. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 MARK AND HELEN. 
 
 There was much talk and wonder in Silverton when it 
 was known that Katy had come home to stay until her 
 husband returned from the war, and at first the people 
 were inclined to gossip and hint at some mystery or pos- 
 sible estrangement ; but this was brought to an end when 
 the postmaster's wife told of a letter which had come to 
 Mrs. Wilford Cameron from the Army of the Potomac, 
 and of the answer returned within three days to Lieu- 
 tenant Wilford Cameron, Co. — , — th Regt., N. Y. V., 
 etc. It must be all right, the gossips said, after that, but 
 they watched Katy curiously as she came among theni 
 again, so quiet, so subdued, so unlike the Katy of old that 
 they would hardly have recognized her but for the beauty 
 of her face and the sunny smile she gave to all, but which 
 rested oftenest on the poor and suffering, who blessed her 
 as the angel of their humble homes, praying that God 
 would remember her for all she was to them. The gold 
 was purified at last, the dross removed, and Katy, in her 
 beautiful consistent life, seemed indeed like some bright 
 angel straying among the haunts of men, rather than the 
 weak and ofttimes sorely tempted mortal, which she knew 
 herself to be. 
 
MARK AND HELEN. 391 
 
 Wilford's letters, though not unkind, were never very 
 satisfactory, and always brought on a racking headache, 
 from which she suffered intently. He had censured her 
 at first for going back to Silverton, when he preferred 
 she should stay in New York, hinting darkly at the rea- 
 son of her choice, and saying to her once, when she told 
 him how the Sunday before her twenty-first birthday she 
 had knelt before the altar and taken upon herself the 
 vows of confirmation : "Your saintly cousin is, of course, 
 delighted, and that I suppose is sufficient, without my 
 congratulations." 
 
 Perhaps he did not mean it, but he seemed to take de- 
 light in teasing her, and Katy sometimes felt she should 
 be happier without his letters than with them. He had 
 never said he was sorry he had left her so suddenly — in- 
 deed he seldom referred to the past in any way; or if he 
 did it was in a manner which showed that he thought 
 himself the injured party, if either. Once, indeed, he 
 did admit that, in calmly reviewing the whole thing, he 
 saw no reason now to believe that in the matter of Dr. 
 Grant she had been to blame, except in going to him with 
 her trouble and so bringing about the present unfortunate 
 state of affairs. This was the nearest to a concession on 
 his part of anything he made; but it did Katy a world- 
 of good, brightening up her face, and making her even 
 dare to meet Morris alone and speak to him naturally. 
 Ever since her return to Silverton she had studiously 
 avoided him, and a stranger might have said they were 
 wholly indifferent to each other ; but that stranger would 
 not have known of Morris' daily self-discipline or of the 
 one little spot in Katy's heart kept warm and sunny by 
 the knowing that Morris Grant had loved her, even if the 
 love had died, as she hoped it had. It would be better^ 
 for them all, and so, lest by word or deed she should 
 keep the germ alive, she seldom addressed him directly, 
 and never went to Linwood unless some one was with 
 her to prevent her being left with him alone. A life like 
 this could not be pleasant for Morris, and as there seemed 
 to be a lack of competent physicians in the army, he, after 
 prayerful deliberation, accepted a situation offered him 
 as surgeon in a Georgetown hospital, and early in June 
 left Silverton for his new field of labor. 
 
392 FAMILY PKIDE. 
 
 True to her promise, Bell came at the last of July to 
 Silverton, proving herself a dreadful romp as she climbed 
 over the rocks in Aunt Betsy's famous sheep pasture, or 
 raked the hay in the meadow, and proving herself, too, a 
 genuine woman, as with blanced cheek and anxious heart 
 she waited for tidings from the battles before Richmond, 
 where the tide of success seemed to turn, and the North, 
 hitherto so jubilant and hopeful, wore weeds of mourn- 
 ing from Maine to Oregon. Lieutenant Bob was there, 
 and Wilford, too; and so was Captain Ray, digging in 
 the marshy swamps, where death floated up in poisonous 
 exhalations — ^plodding on tlie weary march, and fighting 
 all through the seven days, where the sun poured down 
 its burning heat and the night brought little rest. No 
 wonder, then, that the three faces at the farmhouse grew 
 white with anxiety, or that three pairs of eyes grew dim 
 with watching the daily papers. But the names of neither 
 Wilford, Mark, nor Bob were ever found among the 
 wounded, dead, or missing, and with the fall of the first 
 autumn leaf Bell returned to the city, more puzzled, more 
 perplexed than ever with regard to Helen Lennox's real 
 feelings toward Captain Ray. 
 
 Rapidly autumn went by, bringing at last the week be- 
 fore Christmas, when Mark came home for a few days, 
 •^looking ruddy and bronzed from exposure and hardship, 
 but wearing the disappointed, listless look which Bell was 
 quick to detect, connecting it in some way with Helen 
 Lennox. Only once did he call at Mr. Cameron's, and 
 then as Juno was not present Bell had him all to herself, 
 talking a great deal of Silverton, of Helen and Katy, in 
 the latter of whom he seemed far more interested than 
 in her sister. Many questions he asked concerning Katy, 
 expressing his regret that Wilford had ever left her, and 
 saying he believed Wilford was sorry, too. He was in 
 the hospital now, with a severe cold and a touch of the 
 rhetunatism, he said; but as Bell knew this already she 
 did not dwell long upon that subject, choosing rather to 
 talk of Helen — "as much interested in the soldiers," she 
 said, "as if she had a brother or a lover in the army," and 
 her bright eyes glanced meaningly at Mark, who an- 
 swered carelessly: 
 
MAKE AND HELEN. 393 
 
 "Dr. Grant is there, you know, and that may account 
 for her interest." 
 
 Mark knew he must say something to ward off Bell's 
 attacks, and so he continued talking of Dr. Grant and 
 how much he was liked by the poor wretches who needed 
 some one as kind and gentle as he to keep them from dy- 
 ing of homesickness if nothing else. Once, too, he spoke 
 of a nurse, a second Nightingale, whose shadow on the 
 wall the soldiers had not kissed perhaps, but who was 
 worshiped by the pale, sick men to whom she ministered 
 so tenderly. 
 
 "She is very beautiful," he added, "and every man of 
 us would willingly try a hospital cot for the sake of being 
 nursed by her." 
 
 Bell thought at once of Marian, but as Mark knew 
 nothing of their private affairs she would not question 
 him, and after a few bantering words concerning Lieu- 
 tenant Bob and the picture he carried into every battle, 
 buttoned closely over his heart, Mark Ray took his leave, 
 while Bell, softened by thoughts of Bob, ran upstairs to 
 cry, going to her mother's room, as a seamstress was oc- 
 cupying her own. Mrs. Cameron was out that after- 
 noon, and that she had dressed in a hurry was indicated 
 by the unusual confusion of her room. Drawers were 
 left open and various articles scattered about, while on 
 the floor just as it hai fallen from a glove box lay a letter 
 which Bel! picked up, intending to replace it. 
 
 "Miss Helen Lennox," she read in astonishment. "How 
 came Helen Lennox's letter here in mother's room, and 
 from Mark Ray, too," she continued, still more amazed 
 as she took the neatly folded note from the envelope and 
 glanced at the name. "Foul play somewhere. Can it be 
 mother?" she asked, as she read enough to know that 
 she held in her hand Mark's offer of marriage which had 
 in some mysterious manner found its way to her mother's 
 room. "I don't understand it at all," she said, racking 
 her brain for a solution of the mystery. "But the letter 
 at least is safe with me. I'll send it to Helen this very 
 day and to-morrow I'll tell Mark Ray." 
 
 Procrastination was not one of Bell Cameron's faults, 
 and for full half an hour before her mother and Juno 
 came home, the stolen letter had been lying in the mail 
 
394 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 box where Bell herself deposited it, together with a few 
 hurriedly written lines, telling how it came into her 
 hands, but offering no explanation of any kind. 
 
 "Mark is home now on a leave of absence which ex- 
 pires day after to-morrow," she wrote, "but I am going 
 around to see him, and if you do not hear from him in 
 person I am greatly mistaken." 
 
 Very closely Bell watched her mother when she came 
 from her room, but the letter had not been missed, and 
 in blissful ignorance Mrs. Cameron displayed her pur- 
 chases and then talked of Wilford, wondering how he was 
 and if it were advisable for any of them to go to him. 
 
 The next day a series of hindrances kept Bell from 
 making her call as early as she had intended doing, so 
 that Mrs. Banker and Mark were just rising from dinner 
 when told she was in the parlor. 
 
 "I meant to have come before,'' she said, seating herself 
 by Mark, "but I could not get away. I have brought 
 you some good news. I think — ^that is — yes, I know 
 there has been some mistake, some wrong somewhere, 
 whether intended or not. Mark Ray," and the impetuous 
 girl faced directly toward him, "if you could have any 
 wish you might name what would it be? Come now, 
 i imagine yourself a Cinderella and I the fairy godmother. 
 What will you have?" 
 
 Mark knew she was in earnest and her manner puzzled 
 him greatly, but he answered, laughingly : "As a true pa- 
 triot I should wish for peace on strictly honorable terms." 
 
 "Pshaw!" 
 
 The word dropped very prettily from Bell's lips as with 
 a shrug she continued : 
 
 "You men are very patriotic, I know, especially if you 
 wear shoulder straps, but isn't there something dearer 
 than peace ? Suppose, . for instance. Union between the 
 North and South on strictly honorable terms, as you say, 
 was laid upon one scale and union between yourself and 
 Helen Lennox was laid upon the other, which would you 
 take?" 
 
 Mark's lips were very white now, but he tried to laugh 
 as he replied: "I should say the Union, of course." 
 
 "Yes, but which union?" Bell rejoined, and then as 
 she saw that Mrs. Banker was beginning to frown upon 
 
MARK AND HELEN. 895 
 
 her she continued: "But to come directly to the point. 
 Yesterday afternoon I found — no matter where or how — 
 a letter intended for Helen Lenox, which I am positive 
 she never saw or heard of ; at least her denial to rrie that 
 a certain Mark Ray had ever offered himself is a proof 
 that she never saw what was an offer made just before 
 you went away. I read enough to know that, and then 
 I took the letter and " 
 
 She hesitated, while Mark's eyes turned dark with ex- 
 citement, and even Mrs. Banker, scarcely less interested, 
 leaned eagerly forward, saying: 
 
 "And what? Go on. Miss Cameron. What did you 
 do with that letter?" * 
 
 "I sent it to its rightful owner, Helen Lennox. I 
 posted it myself, so it's sure this time. But why don't 
 you thank me, Captain Ray?" she asked, as Mark's face 
 was overshadowed with anxiety. 
 
 "I was wondering whether it were well to send it — 
 wondering how it might be received," he said, and Bell 
 replied : 
 
 "She will not answer no. As one woman knows an- 
 other I know Helen Lennox. I have sounded her on 
 that point. I told her of the rumor there was afloat, and 
 she denied it, seeming greatly distressed, but showing 
 plainly that had such offer been received she would not 
 have refused it. You should haye seen her last sum- 
 mer, Captain Ray, when we waited so anxiously for news 
 from the Potomac. Her face was a study as her eyes 
 ran over the list of casualties, searching not for her 
 amiable brother-in-law, nor yet for Willard Braxton, their 
 hired man. It was plain to me as daylight, and all you 
 have to do is to follow up that letter with another, or go 
 yourself, if you have time," Bell said, as she arose to go, 
 leaving Mark in a state of bewilderment as to what h^ 
 had heard. 
 
 Who withheld that letter? and why? were questions 
 which troubled him greatly, nor did his mother's as- 
 surance that it did not matter so long as it all came right 
 at last, tend wholly to reassure him. One thing, how- 
 ever, was certain. He would see Helen before he re- 
 turned to his regiment — he would hear from her own 
 lips what her answer would have been had she received 
 
396 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 the letter. He would telegraph in the morning to Wash- 
 ington, and then run the risk of being a day behind the 
 time appointed for his return to duty. Never since the 
 day of Aunt Betsy's revelations had Mark felt as light 
 and happy as he did that night, scarcely closing his eyes 
 in sleep, but still not feeling tired when next morning he 
 met his mother at the breakfast table and disclosed in part 
 his plans. He would not tell her all there was in his 
 mind lest it should not be fulfilled, but when at parting 
 with her he did say: 
 
 "Suppose you have three children when I return in- 
 stead of two, is there room in your heart for the third ?" 
 
 "Yes, always room for Helen," was the reply, as with 
 a kiss of benediction Mrs. Banker sent her boy away. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE AT SILVERTON. 
 
 There was to be a Christmas tree at St. John's, and all 
 the week the church had been the scene of much con- 
 fusion. But all the work was over now; the church was 
 swept and dusted, the tree with its gay adornings was in 
 its place, the little ones, who, trying to help, had hindered 
 and vexed so much, were gone, as were their mothers, 
 and only tarried with the organ boy to play the Christ- 
 mas carol, which Katy was to sing alone, the children 
 joining in the chorus as they had been trained to do. It 
 was very quiet there, and very pleasant too, with the fad- 
 ing sunlight streaming through the chancel window, 
 lighting up the cross above it, and falling softly on the 
 wall where the evergreens were hung with the sacred 
 words : "Peace on earth and good will toward men." 
 And Helen felt the peace stealing over her as by the reg- 
 ister she sat down for a moment ere going to the organ 
 loft where the boy was waiting for her. Not even the 
 remembrance of the dark war cloud hanging over the 
 land disturbed her then, as her thoughts went backward 
 eighteen hundred years to Bethlehem's manger and the 
 little child whose birth the angels sang. And a§ she 
 thought, that Child seemed to be with her, a living pres- 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE AT SILVKETON. 397 
 
 ence to which she prayed, leaning her head upon the rail- 
 ing of the pew in front and asking Him to keep her in 
 the perfect peace she felt around her now. She had 
 given Mark Ray up, and giving up had made a cruel 
 wound, but she did not feel it now, although she thought 
 of him in that quiet hour, asking God to keep him in 
 safety wherever he might be, whether in the lonely watch 
 or kneeling as she hoped he might in some house of God, 
 where the Christmas carols would be sung and the Christ- 
 mas story told. 
 
 A movement of her hand as she lifted up . her head 
 struck against the pocket of her dr^ss, where lay the let- 
 ter brought to her an hour or so ago — Bell's letter — 
 which, after glancing at the superscription, she had put 
 aside until a more convenient season for reading it. 
 
 Taking it out, she tore open the envelope, starting sud- 
 denly as another letter, soiled and unsealed, met her eye. 
 She read Bell's first, and then, with a throbbing heart, 
 which as yet would not believe, she took up Mark's, and 
 understanding now much that was before mysterious to 
 her. Juno's call, too, came to her mind, and though she 
 was unwilling to charge so foul a wrong upon that young 
 lady, she could find no other solution to the mystery. 
 There was a glow of indignation — Helen had scarcely 
 been mortal without it; but that passed away in pity for 
 the misguided girl and in joy at the happiness opening 
 so broadly before her. That Mark would come to Sil- 
 verton she had no hope, but he would surely write — his 
 letter, perhaps, was even then on the way; and kissing 
 the one she held she hid it in her bosom and went up to 
 where the organ boy had for several minutes been kicking 
 at stools and books, and whistling "Old John Brown" by 
 way of attracting attention. The boy was in a hurry, 
 and asked in so forlorn a tone : "Is we going to play ?'!» 
 that Helen answered good-humoredly : "Just a few min- 
 utes, Billy. I want to try the carol and the opening, 
 which I've hardly played at all." 
 
 With an air of submission Bill took his post and Helen 
 began to play, but she could only see before her : "I have 
 loved you ever since that morning when I put the lilies in 
 your hair," and she played so out of time and tune that 
 Billy asked : "What makes 'em go so bad ?" 
 
398 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 ■ "I can't play now ; I'm not in. the mood," she said at 
 last. "I shall feel better by and by. You can go home 
 if you like." 
 
 Billy needed no second bidding, but catching up his 
 , cap ran down the stairs and out into the porch, just as up 
 'the step a young man came hurriedly, the horse he had 
 hitched to a tree smoking from exercise and himself look- 
 ing eager and excited. 
 
 "Hello, boy," he cried, grasping the collar of Bill's 
 roundabout and holding him fast, "who's in the church ?" 
 
 "Darn yer, old Jim Sykes, you let me be, or I'll " 
 
 the boy began, but when he saw his captor was not Jim 
 Sykes, but a tall, fine-looking man, wearing a soldier's 
 uniform, he changed his tone, and standing still, answered 
 civilly : "I thought you was Jim Sykes, the biggest bully 
 in town, who is alius hectorin' us boys. Nobody is there 
 but she — Miss Lennox — up where the organ is," and hav- 
 ing given the desired information. Bill ran off, wondering 
 first if it wasn't Miss Helen's beau, and wondering 
 next, in case she should some time get married in church, 
 if he wouldn't fee the organ boy as well, as the sexton. 
 "He orto," Bill soliloquized, "for I've about blowed my 
 gizzard out sometimes, when she and Mrs. Cameron sings 
 the 'Te Deum.' " 
 
 Meanwhile Mark Ray, who had driven first to the 
 farmhouse in quest of Helen, entered the church, glancing 
 in upon the festooned walls, and then as he heard a sound 
 in the loft, stealing noiselessly up the stairs to where 
 Helen sat in the dim light, reading again the precious let- 
 ter v^ithheld from her so long. She had moved her stool 
 near to the window, and her back was toward the door, 
 so that she neither saw nor heard, nor suspected any- 
 thing, until Mark, bending over her so as to see what 
 she had in her hand, as well as the tear she had dropped 
 upon it, clasped both his arms about her neck, and draw- 
 ing her face over back, kissed her fondly, calling her his 
 darling, and saying to her as she tried to struggle from 
 him: 
 
 "I know I have a right to call you darling by that tear 
 on my letter and the look upon your face. Dear Helen, 
 we have found each other at last." 
 
 It was so unexpected that Helen could not speak, but 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE AT SILVERTON. 399 
 
 she let her head rest on his bosom, where he had laid it, 
 and her hot, trembling hand crept into his, so that he was 
 answered, and for a moment he only kissed and caressed 
 the fair girl he knew now was his own. They could not 
 talk together there very long, for Helen must go home; 
 but he made good use of the time he had, telling her 
 many things, and then asking her a question which made 
 her start away from him as she replied: "No, no, oh! 
 no, not to-night — not so soon as that !" 
 
 "And why not, Helen ?" he asked, with the manner of 
 one who is not to be denied. "Why not to-night, so there 
 need be no more misunderstanding?' I'd rather leave you 
 as my wife than my betrothed. Mother will like it bet- 
 ter. I hinted it to her and she said there was room for 
 you in her love. It will make me a better man, a better 
 soldier, if I can say 'my wife,' as other soldiers do. You 
 don't know what a charm there is in that word, Helen — 
 keeping a man from sin, and if I should die I would 
 rather you should bear my name and share in my for- 
 tune. Will- you, Helen, when the ceremonies are closed, 
 will you go up to that altar and pledge your vows to me ? 
 I cannot wait till to-morrow; my leave of absence ex- 
 pired to-day. I must go back to-night, but you must 
 first be mine." 
 
 Helen was shaking as with a chill, but she made him 
 no reply, and wrapping .her cloak and furs about her, 
 Mark led her down to the sleigh, and taking his seat be- 
 side her, drove back to the farmhouse, where the supper 
 waited for her. Katy, to whom Mark first communicated 
 his desire, warmly espoused his cause, and that went far 
 toward reassuring Helen, who, for some time past had 
 been learning to look ^p to Katy as to an older sister, so 
 sober, so earnest, so womanly had Katy grown sinc^ 
 Wilford went away. 
 
 "It is so sudden, and people will talk," Helen said, 
 knowing while she said it how little she cared for people 
 and smiling at Katy's reply : 
 
 "They may as well talk about you a while as me. It 
 is not so bad when once you are used to it." 
 
 After Katy, Aunt Betsy was Mark's best advocate. It 
 is true this was not just what she had expected when 
 Helen v/r.s married. The "infair" which Wilford had de- 
 
400 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 clined was still in Aunt Betsy's mind; but that, sne re- 
 flected might be yet. If Mark went back on the next 
 train there could be no proper wedding party tintil his 
 return, when the loaves of frosted cake, and the baked 
 fowls she had seen in imagination should be there in real, 
 tangible form, and as she expressed it they would have 
 a "high." Accordingly she threw herself into the scale 
 beginning to balance in favor of Mark, and when at last 
 old Whitey stood at the door ready to take the family 
 to the church, Helen sat upon the lounge listening half 
 bewildered, while Katy assured her that. she could play 
 the voluntary, even if she had not looked at it, that she 
 could lead the children without the organ, and in short 
 do everything Helen was expected to do except go to the 
 altar with Mark. 
 
 "That I leave for you," and she playfully kissed Hel- 
 en's forehead, as she tripped from the room, looking 
 back when she reached the door, and charging the lovers 
 not to forget to come, in their absorption of each other. 
 
 St. John's was crowded that night, just as churches 
 always are on such occasions, the children occupying the 
 front seats, with looks of expectancy upon their faces, as 
 they studied the heavily laden tree, the boys wondering if 
 that ball, or whistle, or wheelbarrow was for them, and 
 the girls appropriating the tastefully dressed dolls, show- 
 ing so conspicuously among the dark-green foliage. The 
 Barlows were rather late, for upon Uncle Ephraim de- 
 volved the duty of seeing to the license, and as he had 
 no seat in that house, his arrival was only known by 
 Aunt Betsy's elbowing her way to the front, and near 
 to the Christmas tree which she had helped to dress, just 
 as she had helped to trim the church. She did not believe 
 in such "flummeries" it is true, and she classed them with 
 the "quirks," but rather than "see the gals slave them- 
 selves to death," she had this year lent a helping hand. 
 Donning two shawls, a camlet cloak, a knit scarf for her 
 head, and a hood to keep from catching cold, she had 
 worked early and late, fashioning the most wonderfully 
 shaped wreaths, tying up festoons, and even trying her 
 hand at a triangle ; but turning her back resolutely upon 
 crosses, which were more than her Puritanism could en- 
 dure. The cross was a "quirk," with which she'd have 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE AT SILVEETON. 401 
 
 nothin^ CO do, though once, when Katy seemed more than 
 usually bothered and wished somebody would hand her 
 tacks, Aunt Betsy relented so far as to bring the hoop 
 she was winding close to Katy, holding the little nails in 
 her mouth, and giving them out as they were wanted; 
 but with each one given out, conscientiously turning her 
 head away, lest her eyes should fall upon what she con- 
 ceived the symbol of the Romish Church. But when the 
 whole was done, none were louder in their praises than 
 the good Aunt Betsy, who was guilty of asking Mrs. 
 Deacon Bannister when she came .in to inspect, "why the 
 orthodox couldn't get up some such doin's for their Sun- 
 day school. It pleased the children mightily." 
 
 But Mrs. Deacon Bannister answered with some se- 
 verity : 
 
 "We don't believe in shows and plays, you know," thus 
 giving a double thrust, and showing that the opera had 
 never been quite forgotten. "Here's a pair of skates, 
 though, and a smeilin' bottle I'd like to have put on for 
 John and Sylvia," she added, handing her package to 
 Aunt Betsy, who, while seeing the skates and smelling 
 bottle suspended from a bough, was guilty of wondering 
 if "the partaker wasn't most as bad as the thief." 
 
 This was in the afternoon and was all forgotten now, 
 when with her Sunday clothes she never would have 
 worn in that jam but for the great occasion, Aunt Betsy 
 elbowed her way up the middle aisle, her face wearing a 
 very important and knowing look, especially when Uncle 
 Ephraim's tall figure bent for a moment under the hem- 
 lock 15oughs, and then disappeared in the little vestry 
 room where he held a private consultation with the rec- 
 tor. That she knew,something her neighbors didn't was 
 evident, out she kept it to herself, turning her head oc- 
 casionally to look up at the organ where Katy was pre- 
 siding. Others, too, there were who turned their heads 
 as the soft liquid music began to fill the church, and the 
 heavy bass rolled up the aisles, making the floor tremble 
 beneath their feet and sending a thrill through every vein. 
 It was a skillful hand which swept the keys that night, 
 for Katy's forte was music, and she played with her 
 whole soul, not the voluntary there before her in printed 
 form, nor any one thing she bad ever heard, but tijking 
 
402 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 parts of many things, and mingling them with strains of 
 her own improvising, she filled the house as it had never 
 been filled before, playing a soft, sweet refrain when she 
 thought of Helen, then bursting into louder, fuller tones, 
 when she remembered Bethlehem's child and the song 
 the angels sang, and then as she recalled her own sacrifice 
 since she knelt at the altar a happy bride, the organ notes 
 seemed much like human sobs, now rising to a stormy 
 pitch of passion, wild and uncontrolled, and then dying 
 out as dies the summer wind after a fearful storm. Awed 
 and wonderstruck the organ boy looked at Katy as she 
 played, almost forgetting his part of the performance in 
 his amazement, and saying to himself when she had fin- 
 ished : 
 
 "Guy, though, ain't she a brick," and whispering to 
 her : "Didn't we go that strong ?" 
 
 Katy knew she had made an impression, and her cheeks 
 were very red as she went down to the body of the 
 church, joining the children with whom she was to sing, 
 but she soon forgot herself in the happiness of the little 
 ones, who could scarcely be controlled until the short 
 service was over and the gifts about to be distributed. 
 Much the people had wondered where Helen was, as, 
 without the aid of music, Katy led the children in their 
 carols, and this wonder increased when as time passed on 
 it was whispered around that "Miss Lennox had come 
 and was standing with a man back by the register." 
 
 After this Aunt Betsy grew very calm. She knew 
 Helen was there and could now enjoy the distributing 
 of the gifts, going up herself two or three times, and 
 wondering why anybody should think of her, a good- 
 for-nothing old woman. The skates and the smelling 
 bottles both went safely to Sylvia and Johh, while Mrs. 
 Deacon Bannister looked radiant when her name was 
 called and she was made the recipient of a jar of butter- 
 nut pickles, such as only Aunt Betsy Barlow could make. 
 
 "Miss Helen Lennox. A soldier in uniform, from one 
 of her Sunday school scholars." 
 
 The words rang out loud and clear, the rector holding 
 up the sugar toy before the amused audience, who turned 
 to look at Helen, blushing so painfully, and trying to hold 
 back the real man in soldier's dress who went quietly 
 
CHRISTMAS EVE AT SILVEETON. t03 
 
 up the aisle, receiving the gift with a bow and v.mile 
 which turned the heads of half the ladies near him, and 
 then went back to Helen, over whom he bent, whispering 
 something which made her cheeks grow brighter than they 
 were before, while she dropped her eyes modestly. 
 
 "Who is he?" a woman asked, touching Aunt Betsy's 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Captain Ray, from New York," was the answer, as 
 Aunt Betsy gave to her dress a little broader sweep and 
 smoothed the bow she had tried to tie beneath her chin 
 just as Mattie Tubbs had tied it on the memorable opera 
 night. 
 
 "Miss Helen Lennox. A sugar heart, from one of her 
 scholars," the rector called again, the titters of the audi- 
 ence almost breaking into cheers as they began to sus- 
 pect the relation sustained to Helen by the handsome 
 young officer, going up the aisle after Helen's heart and 
 stopping to speak to good Aunt Betsy, who pulled his 
 coat skirt as he passed her. 
 
 The tree by this time was nearly empty. Every child 
 had been remembered, save one, and that Billy, the or- 
 gan boy, who, separated from his companions, stood near 
 Helen, watching the tree wistfully, while shadows of hope 
 and disappointment passed alternately over his face as 
 one after another the presents were distributed and noth- 
 ing came to him. 
 
 "There ain't a darned thing on it for me," he exclaimed 
 at last, when boy nature could endure no longer, and 
 Mark turned toward him just in time to see the gathering 
 mist which but for the most heroic efforts would have 
 merged into tears. 
 
 "Poor Billy," Helen said, as she toO' heard his com- 
 jnent, "I fear he has been forgotten. His teacher is ab- 
 sent and he so faithful at the organ too." 
 
 Mark knew now who the boy was, and after a hurried 
 consultation with Helen, who knowing Billy well, sug- 
 gested that money would probably be more acceptable 
 than even skates or jackknives, neither of which were 
 possible now, folded something in a bit of paper, on which 
 he wrote a nam,e and then sent it to the rector. 
 
 "Billy Brovv-n, our faithful organ boy," sounded 
 through the church, and with a brightened face Billy 
 
404 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 went up the aisle and received the little package, ascer- 
 taining before he reached his standpoint near the door 
 that he was the owner of a five-dollar bill, and mentally 
 deciding to add both peanuts and molasses candy to the 
 stock of apples he daily carried into the cars. 
 
 "You gin me this," he said, nodding to Mark, "and 
 you," turning to Helen, "poked him up to it." 
 
 "Well then, if I did," Mark replied, laying his hand 
 on the boy's coarse hair, "if I did, you must take good 
 care of Miss Lennox when I am gone. I leave her in 
 your charge. She is to be my wife." 
 
 "Gorry, I thought so," and Bill's cap went toward the 
 plastering just as the last string of popcorn was given 
 from the tree, and the exercises were about to close. 
 
 It was not in Aunt Betsy's nature to keep her secret 
 till this . time, and simultaneously with Billy's going up 
 for his gift she whispered it to her neighbor, who whis- 
 pered it to hers, until nearly all the audience knew of it, 
 and kept their seats after the benediction was pronounced. 
 
 At a sign from the rector, Katy went with her mother 
 to the altar, followed by Uncle Ephraim, his wife, and 
 Aunt Betsy, while Helen, throwing off the cloud she had 
 worn upon her head, and giving it, with her cloak and fur, 
 into Billy's charge, took Mark's offered arm, and with 
 beating heart and burning cheeks passed between the sea 
 of eyes fixed so curiously upon her, up- to where Katy 
 once had stood on the June morning when she had been 
 the bride. Not now, as then, were aching hearts present 
 at that bridal. No Marian Hazelton fainted by the door ; 
 no Morris felt the world grow dark and desolate as the 
 marriage vows were spoken; and no sister doubted if it 
 were all right and would end in happiness. Only Katy 
 seemed sad as she recalled the past, praying that Helen's 
 life might not be like hers. 
 
 The ceremony lasted but a few moments, and then the 
 astonished audience pressed around the bride, offering 
 their kindly congratulations, and proving to Mark Ray 
 that the bride he had won was dear to others as well as to 
 himself. Lovingly he drew her hand beneath his arm, 
 fondly he looked down upon her as he led her back to her 
 chair by the register, making her sit down while he tied 
 on her cloak and adjusted the fur about her neck. 
 
CHEISTMA3 EVE AT SILVEUTON. 405 
 
 "Handy and gentle as a woman," was the veidict pro- 
 nounced upon him by the female portion of the congrega- 
 tion as they passed out into the street, talking of the cere- 
 mony, and contrasting Helen's husband with the haughty 
 Wilford, who was not a favorite with them. 
 
 It was Billy Brown who brought Mark's cutter around, 
 holding the reins while Mark helped Helen, and then 
 tucking the buffalo robes about her with the remark: 
 "It's all-fired cold, Miss Ray. Shall you play in church 
 to-morrow ?" 
 
 Assured that she would, Billy*walked away, and Mark 
 was alone with his bride, slowly following the deacon's 
 sleigh, which reached the farmhouse a long time before 
 the little cutter, so that a fire was already kindled in the 
 parlor when Helen arrived, and also in the kitchen stove, 
 where the teakettle was placed, for Aunt Betsy said "the 
 chap should have some supper before he went back to 
 York." 
 
 Four hours he had to stay, and they were well spent 
 in talking of himself, of Wilford, and of Morris, and in 
 planning Helen's future. Of course she would spend a 
 portion of her time at the farmhousie, he said, but his 
 mother had a claim upon her, and it was his wish that she 
 should be in New York as much as possible. 
 
 "Now that you have Mrs. Cameron, you do not need 
 my wife," he said to Mrs. Lennox, with an emphasis upon 
 the last word, which he seemed very fond of using. 
 
 Much he wished to stay with the wife so lately his, 
 but as that could not be, he asked at last that she go with 
 him to Washington. It might be some days before his 
 regiment was ordered to the front, and in that time they 
 could enjoy so mufii. But Helen knew it would not be. 
 best, and so she declined, promising, however, to cbme 
 to him whenever he should need her. 
 
 Swiftly now the last moments went by, and a "Merry 
 Christmas" was said by one and another as they took their 
 seats at the plentiful repast Aunt Betsy had' provided, 
 Mark feasting more on Helen's face than on the viands 
 spread before him. It was hard for him to leave her, 
 hard for her to let him go, but the duty was imperative, 
 and so when at last the frosty air grew keener as the 
 small hours of night crept on, he stood with his arms 
 
406 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 about her, nor thought it unworthy of a soldier that his 
 own tears mingled with hers as he bade her good-by, kiss- 
 ing her again and again, and calling her his precious wife, 
 whose memory would make his camp-life brighter and 
 shorten the days of absence. There was no one with 
 them when at last Mark's horse dashed from the yard 
 over the creaking snow, leaving Helen alone upon the 
 doorstep, with the glittering stars shining above her head 
 and her husband's farewell kiss wet upon her lips. 
 
 "When shall we meet again ?" she sobbed, gating up at 
 the clear blue sky, as if to find the answer there. 
 
 But only the December wind sweeping down from the 
 steep hillside, and blowing across her forehead, made re- 
 ply to that questioning, as she waited till the last faint 
 sound of Mark Ray's bells died away in the distance, and 
 then shivering with cold re-entered the farmhouse. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 AFTER CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 Merrily rang the bells next day, the sexton deeming it 
 his duty to send forth a merry peal in honor of the bride 
 whose husband had remembered his boy so liberally. But 
 Helen's heart was very sad as she met the smiUng faces 
 of her friends, and Mark had never been prayed for more 
 earnestly than on that Christmas morning, when Helen 
 knelt at the altar rail and received the sacred symbols 
 of a Savior's dying love, asking that God would keep the 
 soldier husband, hastening on to New York, and from 
 thence to Washington. Much the Silvertonians discussed 
 the wedding, nor were these discussions likely to be short- 
 ened by the arrival of Mattie Tubbs and Tom, who came 
 by the express from New York, both surprised at what 
 they heard, and both loud in their praises of Captain Ray, 
 "the best and kindest man that ever lived," Tom said, 
 while Mattie told fabulous stories of his wealth. Had 
 Helen been the queen she could hardly have been 
 stared at more curiously than she was that Christmas 
 day, when late in the afternoon she drove through the 
 town with Katy, the villagers looking adiv/iringly after 
 
AFTER CHRISTMAS EVE. 407 
 
 her, noting the tie of her bonnet, the arrangement of her 
 face trimmings, and discovering in both a style and fitness 
 they had never discovered before. As the wife of Mark 
 Ray Helen became suddenly a heroine, in whose presence 
 poor Katy subsided completely, nor was the interest at 
 all diminished when two days later Mrs. Banker came to 
 Silverton and was met at the depot by Helen, whom she 
 hugged affectionately, calling her "my dear daughter," 
 and holding her hand all the way to the covered sleigh' 
 waiting there for her. Further than that the curious ones 
 could not follow, and so they did not know how on the 
 road to the farmhouse Mrs. Banker expressed her appro- 
 bation of what her boy had done, acknowledged her own 
 unjust suspicions, asking pardon for them, and receiving 
 it in the warm kiss Helen pressed upon her offered hand. 
 Mrs. Banker was very fond of Helen, and not even the 
 sight of the farmhouse, with its unpolished inmates, awak- 
 ened a feeling of regret that her only son had not looked 
 higher for a wife. She was satisfied with her new daugh- 
 ter, and insisted upon taking her back to New York. 
 
 "I am very lonely now, lonelier than you can possibly 
 be," she said to Mrs.- Lennox, "and you will not refuse 
 her to me for a few weeks at least. It will do us both 
 good, and make the time of Mark's absence so much 
 shorter." 
 
 "Yes, mother, let Helen go. I will try to fill her place," 
 Katy said, though while she said it her heai;t throbbed with 
 pain and dread as she thought how desolate she should 
 be without her sister. 
 
 But it was right, and Katy urged Helen's going, think- 
 ing how the tables were turned since the day when she had 
 been the happy bride to whom good-bys were said, in- 
 stead of the wounfled, sore-hearted sister left behind, 
 bearing up bravely so long as Helen was in sight, but 
 shedding bitter tears when at last she was gone, tears 
 which were only stayed by kind old Uncle Ephraim offer- 
 ing to take her to the little grave, where, from experi- 
 ence, he knew she always found rest and peace. The 
 winter snows were on it now, but Katy, looking at it from 
 the sleigh in which, she sat, knew just where the daisies 
 were, and the blue violets which with the spring would 
 bloom again, feeling comforted as she thought of that 
 
408 FAMILY PRIDK. 
 
 eternal spring m tne bright world above, where her cnild 
 had gone. And so that night, when they gathered again 
 around the fire in the pleasant little parlor, the mother and 
 the old people did not miss Helen half so much as they 
 should, for Katy sang her sweetest songs and wore her 
 sunniest smile, while she told them of Helen's new home, 
 and then talked of whatever else she thought would in- 
 terest and please them. 
 
 "Little Sunbeam," Uncle Ephraim called her now, in- 
 stead of "Katy-did," and in his prayer that first night of 
 Helen's absence he asked, in his touching way, "that God 
 would bless his little Sunbeam, and not let her grow tired 
 of living there alone with folks so odd and old." 
 
 "Married — On Christmas Eve, at St. John's Church, 
 Silverton, Mass., by Rev. Mr. Kelly, Captain Mark Ray, 
 of the — ^th Regiment, N. Y. S. V., to Miss Helen Len- 
 Kox, of Silverton.' 
 
 Such was the announcement which appeared in several 
 of the New York papers two days after Christmas, and 
 such the announcement which Bell Cameron read at the 
 breakfast table on the morning of the day when Mrs. 
 Banker started for Silverton. 
 
 "Here is something which will perhaps interest you," 
 she said, passing the paper to Juno who had come down 
 late, and was looking cross and jaded from the effects of 
 last night's dissipation. 
 
 Taking the paper from her sister's hand, Juno glanced 
 carelessly at the paragraph indicated by Bell ; then, as she 
 caught Mark's name, she glanced again with a startled, 
 incredulous look, her cheeks and lips turning white as she 
 read that Mark Ray was lost to her forever, and that in 
 spite of the stolen letter Helen Lennox was his wife. 
 
 "What is it, Juno ?" Mrs. Cameron asked, noticing her 
 daughter's agitation. 
 
 Juno told her what it was, handing her the paper and 
 letting her read it for herself. 
 
 "Impossible! there is some mistake! How was it 
 brought about ?" she continued, darting a curious glance 
 at Bell, whose face betrayed nothing as she leisurely 
 sipped her coffee, -and remarked: "I always thought it 
 
AFTER CHRISTMAS EVE. 409 
 
 would come to this, for I knew he liked her. It is a splen- 
 did match," 
 
 Whatever Juno thought she kept it to herself, just 
 as she kept her room the entire day, suffering from a 
 racking headache, and ordering the curtains to be 
 dropped, as the light hurt her eyes, she said to Bell, who, 
 really pitying her now, never suggested that the darkened 
 room was more to hide her tears than to save her eyes, 
 and who sent away all callers with the message that Juno 
 was sick — all but Sybil Grandon, who insisted so hard 
 upon seeing her dear friend that she was admitted to 
 Juno's room, talking at once of the wedding, and making 
 every one of Juno's nerves quiver with pain as she 
 descanted upon the splendid match it was for Helen, or 
 indeed for any girl. 
 
 "I had given you to him," she said, "but I see I was 
 mistaken. It was Helen he preferred, unless you jilted 
 him, as perhaps you did." ^ 
 
 Here was a temptation Juno could not resist, and she 
 replied, haughtily: 
 
 "I am not one to boast of conquests, but ask Captain 
 Ray himself if you wish to know why I did not marry 
 
 him." V--' '^-„ 
 
 Sybil Grandon was not deceived, but she good-naturedly 
 suffered that young lady to hope' she w^s, and answered, 
 laughingly: "I can't say I honor your. j-u^ment in re- 
 fusing him, but you know best. Howj^er; I trust that 
 will not prevent yoi~? friendly advarices toward his bride. 
 Mrs. Banker has gone after her, I understand, and I 
 want you to call with me as soon as convenient. Mrs. 
 Mark Ray will be the belle of the season, depend upon it," 
 and gathering up her furs Mrs. GrandOn kissed Juno 
 affectionately and then swept from the room. 
 
 That Mrs. Cameron Irad hunted for and failed to find 
 the stolen letter, and that she associated its disappearance 
 with Mark Ray's sudden marriage. Bell was very sure, 
 from the dark, anxious look upon her face when she came 
 from her room, whither she had repaired immediately 
 after breakfast, but whatever her suspicions were they 
 did not find form in words. Mark was lost. It was too 
 late to help that now, and as a politic woman of the 
 world, Mrs. Cameron decided to let the matter rest, and by; 
 
410 FAMILY PEIDE. 
 
 patronizing the young bride prov.e that she had never 
 thought of Mark Ray for her son-in-law. Hence it was 
 that the Cameron carriage and the Grandon carriage stood 
 together before Mrs. Banker's door, while the ladies who 
 had come in the carriages paid their respects to Mrs. Ray, 
 rallying her upon the march she had stolen upon them, 
 telling her how delighted they were to have her back 
 again, and hoping they should see a great deal of each 
 other during the poming winter. 
 
 "You know we are related," Juno said, holding Helen's 
 hand a long time at parting, ostensibly to show how very 
 friendly she felt, but really to examine and calculate the 
 probable value of the superb diamond which shone on 
 Helen's finger, Mark's fii-st gift, left for her with his 
 mother, who had presented it for him. 
 
 "As diamonds are now, that never cost less than four 
 or five hundred dollars," Juno said, as she was discussing 
 the matter with Bell, and telling her that Helen had the 
 ring they had admired so much at Tiffany's the last time 
 they were there, and then her spiteful, envious nature 
 found vent in the remark : "I wonder at Mark's taste when 
 only shoddy buy diamonds now." 
 
 "Why, then, did you torment father into buying that 
 little pin for you the other day?" Bell asked, and Juno 
 replied : 
 
 "I have always been accustomed to diamonds and that 
 is a very different thing from Helen Lennox putting them 
 on. Did you notice how red and fat her fingers were, 
 and rough, too? Positively her hand felt like a nutmeg 
 grater." 
 
 "You know the fable of the fox and the grapes," Bell 
 said, her gray eyes flashing indignantly upon her sister, 
 who, wisely forbore further rem.arks upon Helen's hands 
 and contented herself with wondering if people generally 
 would take up Mrs. Ray and honor her as they once did 
 Katy. 
 
 "Of course they will," she said. "It's like heaps of them 
 to do it," and in this conclusion she was not wrong, for 
 those who had liked Helen Lennox did not find her less 
 desirable now that she was Helen Ray, and numberless 
 were the attentions bestowed upon her and the invitations 
 she received. 
 
GEORGETOWN HOSPITAL. 411 
 
 But with few exceptions Helen declined the latter, feel- 
 ing that, circumstanced as she was, with her husband in so 
 much danger, it was better not to mingle much in gay 
 society. She was very happy with Mrs. Banker, who 
 petted and caressed and loved her almost as much as if 
 she had been an own daughter. Mark's letters, too, which 
 came nearly every day, were bright sun spots in her exist- 
 ence, so full were they of tender love and kind thought- 
 fulness for her. He was very happy, he wrote, in know- 
 ing that at home there was a dear little brown-haired wife, 
 waiting and praying for him, and but for the separation 
 from her was well content now with a soldier's life. Once 
 when he wag stationed for a longer time than usual at 
 some point Helen thought seriously of going to him for a 
 week or more, but the project was prevented by tlie sud- 
 den arrival in New York of Katy,,who came one night 
 to Mrs. Banker's, her face as white as ashes, and a 
 strange, wild expression in her eyes as she said' to Helen : 
 
 "I am going to Wilford. He is dying. He has sent 
 for me. I ought to go on to-night, but cannot, my head 
 aches so," and pressing both her hands upon her head 
 Katy sank fainting into Helen's arms. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVn. 
 
 GEORGETOWN HOSPITAL. 
 
 "Georgetown, February , 1862. 
 
 "Mrs. Wilford Cameron : 
 
 "Your husband cannot live long. Come immediately. 
 
 "M. Hazelton." 
 
 So read the telegram received by Katy one winjpr 
 morning, when her eyes were swollen with weeping over 
 Morris' letter, which had come the previous night, telling 
 her how circumstances which seemed providential had led 
 him to the hospital where her husband was, and where, 
 too, was Marian Hazelton. 
 
 "I did not think it advisable to visit your husband at 
 first," he wrote, -"while Miss Hazelton, who had recently 
 been transferred to this hospital, also kept out of the 
 
412 PAMILT PRIDE. 
 
 way. Nor was it necessary that either of us should min- 
 ister to him there, for he was not thought very ill. 'Only 
 a slight touch of rheumatism, and a low, nervous fever,' 
 said the attending physician, of whom I inquired. Lat- 
 terly, however, the fever has increased to a fearful ex- 
 tent, seating itself upon the brain, so that he knows neither 
 myself nor Miss Hazelton, both of whom are with him. 
 She, because she would be here where she heard of dan- 
 ger, and I because his case was given into my charge. 
 So I am with him now, writing by his side, while he lies 
 sleeping quietly, and Miss Hazelton bends over him, bath- 
 ing his burning head. He does not know her, but he 
 talks of Katy, who he says is dead and buried across the 
 sea. Will you come to him, Katy? Your presence may 
 save his life. Telegraph when you leave New York, and 
 I will meet you at the depot." 
 
 It is not strange that this letter, followed so soon by 
 the telegram from Marian, should crush one as delicate 
 as Katy, or that for a few minutes she should have been 
 stunned with the shock, so as neither to feel nor think. 
 But the reaction came soon enough, bringing with it only 
 the remembrance of Wilford's love. All the wrong, the 
 harshness, was forgotten, and only the desire remained to 
 fly at once to Wilford, talking of her in his delirium. 
 Bravely she kept up until New York was reached, but 
 once where Helen was, the tension of her nerves gave 
 way, and she fainted, so we have seen. 
 
 At Father Cameron's that night there were troubled, 
 anxious faces, for they, too, had heard of Wilford's dan- 
 ger. But the mother could not go to him. A lung dif- 
 ficulty, to which she was subject, had confined her to the 
 house for many days, and so it was the father and Bell 
 who made their hasty preparations for the hurried journey 
 to Georgetown. They' heard of Katy's arrival and Bell 
 came at once to see her. 
 
 "She will not be able to join us to-morrow," was the 
 report Bell carried home, for she saw more than mere ex- 
 haustion from fatigue and fainting in the white face lying 
 so motionless on Helen's pillow, with the dark rings about 
 the eyes, ?.nd the quiver of the muscles about the mouth. 
 
 The morro ' >u' J that Bell was right, for Katy could 
 
GEOEGETOWN HOSPITAL. 413 
 
 not rise, but lay like some crushed flower still on Helen's 
 bed, moaning softly : 
 
 "It is very hard, but God knows best." 
 
 "Yes, darling, God knows best," Helen answered, 
 smoothing the bright hair, and thinking sadly of the young 
 officer sitting by his camp-fire, and waiting so eagerly for 
 the bride who could not go to him now. "God knows 
 what is best, and does all for the best." 
 
 Katy said it many times that long, long week, during 
 ^hich she stayed an invalid in Helen's room, living from 
 day to day upon the letters sent by Bell, who had gone 
 on to Georgetown with her father, and who gave but little 
 hope that Wilford would recover. Not a word did she 
 say of Marian, and only twice did she mention Morris, so 
 that when at last Katy was strong enough to venture on 
 the journey, she had but little idea of what had trans- 
 pired in Wilford's sickroom. 
 
 Those were sad, weary days which Wilford first passed 
 upon his hospital cot, and as he was not sick but crippled, 
 fae had ample time for reviewing the past, which came up 
 before his mind as vividly as if he had been living again 
 the scenes of bygone days. Of Katy he thought contin- 
 ually, blaming himself much, but so strong was his pride 
 and selfishness, blaming her more for the trouble which 
 had come upon them. Why need she have taken the 
 Genevra matter so to heart, going with it to Morris and 
 so bringing him into his present disagreeable situation. 
 He did not mea^i to be unjust or unkind toward Katy, but 
 he looked upon her as the direct cause of his being where 
 he was. Had she n^ver been seen in the cars with Morris, 
 he should not have left home as he did, and might antici- 
 pate going back without a flush of shame and a dread* of 
 meeting old friends, who would think less of him than they 
 used to do. A thousand times Wilford had repented of 
 his rashness, but never by a word had he admitted such 
 repentance to any living being, and when on the dark, 
 rainy afternoon which first saw him in the hospital, he 
 turned his face to the wall and wept, he replied to one 
 ,who said to him soothingly : 
 
414 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 "Don't feel badly, my young friend." We will take as 
 good care of you here as if you were at home." 
 
 "It's the pain which brings the tears. I'd as soon be 
 here as at home." 
 
 Gradually, however, there came a change, and Wil- 
 ford grew softer in his feelings, longing for home, or 
 for the sight of a familiar face, and half resolving more 
 than once to send for Katy, who had offered to come, 
 and to whom he had replied : "Ilj^is not necessary." But 
 as often as he resolved his evil genius whispered : "She 
 does not care to come here," and so the message was never 
 sent, while the longing for home faces brought on a 
 nervous fever, which made him so irritable that his 
 attendants sometimes turned from him in disgust, think- 
 ing him the most unreasonable man they had ever met. 
 Once he dreamed Genevra was there — that she came to 
 him just as she was in her beautiful girlhood — that her 
 fingers threaded his hair as they used to do in their happy 
 days at Brighton — that her hand was on his brow, her 
 breath upon his face, and with a start he awoke just as 
 the rustle of female garments died away in the hall. 
 
 "The new nurse in the second ward has been in here," 
 -a comrade said. "She seemed specially interested in you, 
 and if she had not been a stranger I should have sa,id she 
 was crying over you." 
 
 With a quick, sudden movement Wilford put his hand 
 to his cheek, where there was a tear, either his own or 
 that of the "new nurse," who had so recently bent over 
 him. Retaining the same proud reserve which had char- 
 acterized his whole life, he asked no questions, but lis- 
 tened intently to what his sick companions were saying 
 of the beauty and tenderness of the young girl, they called 
 her, who had glided for a few moments into their pres- 
 ence, winning their hearts in that short space of time, and 
 making them wish she would come back again. Wilford 
 wished so too, conjuring up all sorts of conjectures about 
 the unknown nurse, and once going so far as to fancy it 
 was Katy herself. But this idea was soon dismissed. 
 Katy would hardly venture there as a nurse, and if she 
 did she would not keep aloof from him. It was not Katy, 
 and if not, who was it that twice when he was sleeping 
 came and locked at him, his comrades said, rallying him 
 
GEORGETOWN HOSPITAL. 415 
 
 Upon the conquest he had made, and so exciting his im- 
 agination that the fever which at first was hardly ob- 
 servable began to increase, and the blood throbbed hotly 
 through his veins, while his brows were knit together 
 with thoughts of the mysterious stranger. Then with a 
 great shock it occurred to him that Katy had affirmed : 
 
 "Genevra is alive, I have seen her. . I recognized the 
 picture at once." 
 
 What if it were so, and this nurse was Genevra ? The 
 very thought fired Wilford's brain, and when next his 
 physician came he looked with some alarm upon the great 
 change for the worse exhibited by his patient. That sur- 
 geon's forte was more in dressing ghastly wounds than 
 in "subduing fever, and as he held Wilford's hand, he 
 said: 
 
 "You have a fever, my friend, and it is increasing fast. 
 Perhaps you would like to see our new physician. Dr. 
 Grant. He is great on fevers." 
 
 "Dr. Grant— Dr. Morris Grant?" Wilford exclaimed, 
 starting up in bed with a fierce energy which surprised 
 the surgeon. 
 
 "Yes, Dr. Morris Grant, from Massachusetts," the lat- 
 ter replied, his surprise increasing when Wilford rejoined :' 
 
 "Send Satan himself sooner than he. I hate him." 
 
 The words dropped hissingly from the firmly set teeth, 
 and Wilford fell back upon his pillow, exhausted with 
 excitement and anger that Morris Grant should be there in 
 the same building and oiifered as his physician. 
 
 "Never while my reason lasts," he 'whispered to himself, 
 with hatred of Morris growing more intense with every 
 beat of his wiry pulse. 
 
 Wilford was very sick, and when next the surgeon 
 came around he knew by the bright, restless eyes that rea- 
 son was tottering. • 
 
 "Shall I send for your friends ?" he asked, and Wilford 
 answered, savagely : 
 
 "I have no friends — none, at least, but what will be 
 glad to know I'm dead." 
 
 And that was the last, except the wild words of a 
 maniac, which came from Wilford's lips for many a day 
 and night. When they said he was dangerous, Marian 
 Hazelton. the "new nurse," sought and obtained permis- 
 
416 FAMILY PRDDR. 
 
 sion to attend him, and again the eyes of the other o&. 
 cupants of the room were turned wonderingly toward her 
 as she bent over the sick man, parting his matted hair, 
 smoothing his tumbled pillow, and holding the cooling 
 draught to the parched lips which muttered strange things 
 in her ear, talking of Brighton, of Alnwick and Rome — 
 of the heather on the Scottish moors, and the daisies on 
 Genevra's grave, where Katy once sat down. 
 
 "She did not know Genevra was there," he said. "She 
 never guessed there was a Genevra; but I knew, and I 
 felt almost as if the dead were wronged by that act of 
 Katy's. Do you know Katy ?" and his black eyes fastened 
 upon Marian, who, with the strange power she possessed 
 over her patients, soothed him into quiet, while she told 
 him she knew Katy, and talked to him of her, telling of 
 her graceful beauty, her loving heart, and the sorrow she 
 would feel when she heard how sick he was. 
 
 "Shall I send for her?" she asked, but Wilford an- 
 swered : 
 
 "No, I am satisfied with you," and holding her hand he 
 fell away to sleep. 
 
 This was the first day of her being with him, but there 
 were other days when he was not so quiet, when all her 
 strength and that of Morris, who, at her earnest solici- 
 tation, came to her aid, was required to keep him on his 
 bed. He was going home, he said, going back to Katy's ; 
 he had punished her long enough, and like a giant he 
 writhed under a force superior to his own, and which held 
 him down and controlled him, while his loud outcries filled 
 the buildings, and sent a shudder to the hearts of those 
 who heard them. As the two men, who at first had oc- 
 cupied the room with him, were well enough to leave for 
 home, Marian and Morris both begged that unless abso- 
 lutely necessary no other one should be sent to that small 
 apartment, where all the air was needed for the patient in 
 their charge. And thus the room was left alone for Wil- 
 ford, who grew worse so fast that Morris wrote to Katy, 
 while Marian followed the letter with a telegram, bidding 
 her come at once. 
 
 Slowly the wintry night was passing, the fifth since 
 
GEORGETOWN HOSPITAL. 417 
 
 Morris' letter was sent to Katy, and Morris sat by Wil- 
 ford's cot, wondering if the morning would bring her to 
 him, when suddenly he met Wilford's eyes fixed upon him 
 with a look of recognition he could not mistake. 
 
 "Do you know me?" he asked, so kindly, and with so 
 much of genuine sympathy in his voice that the heavy eye- 
 lids quivered for an instant, as Wilford nodded his head, 
 and whispered: 
 
 "Dr. Grant." 
 
 There had been a momentary flash of resentment when 
 he saw who was the watcher,* beside him, but Wilford 
 was too weak, too helpless to cherish that feeling long, and 
 besides there were floating through his still bewildered 
 mind visions of some friendly hand, which had minis- 
 tered to him daily, of a voice and form, distinct from the 
 one he thought an angel's, and which was not there now 
 with him. That voice, that form, he felt sure belonged 
 to Morris Grant, and remembering his past harshness 
 toward hirri, a chord of gratitude was touched, and when 
 Morris took his hand he did not at once withdraw it, but 
 let his long, white fingers cling around the warm, vig- 
 orous ones, which seemed to impart new life and strength. 
 
 "You have been very sick," Morris said, anticipating 
 the question Wilford would ask. "You are vei'y sick 
 still, and at the request of your nurse I came to attend 
 you." 
 
 A pressure of the hand was Wilford's reply, and then 
 there was silence between them, while Wilford mastered 
 all his pride, and with quivering lips whispered : 
 
 "Katy." 
 
 "We have sent for her. We expect her every train," 
 'Morris replied, and Wilford asked: ' 
 
 "Who is we? Who has been with me — ^the nurse, I 
 mean ? Who is she ?" 
 
 Morris hesitated a moment, and then said: 
 
 "Marian Hazelton — she who took care of baby." 
 
 "I know — ^yes," Wilford said, having no suspicion as 
 to who was the woman standing now just outside his 
 door, and listening, with a throbbing heart, to his rational 
 questions. 
 
 In all their vigils held together n'^ sig.. 'ad '^ver Dassed 
 
418 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 from Dr. Grant to Marian that he knew her, but he had 
 waited anxiously for this moment, knowing well that in 
 his present state Wilford must not be shocked, as a sight 
 of Marian would shock him. He knew she was outside 
 the door, and as Wilford turned his head upon the pillow, 
 he went to her, and leading her to a safe distance, said 
 softly : 
 
 "His reason has returned." 
 
 "And my services, then, are ended," Marian rejoined, 
 looking him steadily in the face, but not in the least pre- 
 pared for his affirmative question: 
 
 "You are Genevra Lambert?" 
 
 There was a low, gasping sound,- and Marian sta^ 
 gered forward a step or two, then steadying herself, she 
 said: 
 
 "And if I am, it surely is not best for him to see me. 
 You would not advise it?" 
 
 She looked wistfully at Morris, the great desire to be 
 recognized, to be spoken to kindly by the man who once 
 had been her husband overmastering for a moment all 
 her prudence. 
 
 "It would not be best, both for his sake and Katy's," 
 Morris said, reading her thoughts aright, and with a moan 
 like the dying out of her last hope, Marian turned away, 
 her eyes dim with tears and her heart heavy with a 
 sense of something lost, as in the gray dawn of the morn- 
 ing she went back to her former patients, who hailed her 
 coming with childish joy, one fair young boy from the 
 Granite hills kissing the hand which bandaged his poor 
 crushed arm so tenderly, and thanking her that she had 
 returned to him again. 
 
 She had not asked Dr. Grant how much he knew of 
 her story, or where he had learned it. She was satis- 
 fied that he djd know it, and she left her case in his 
 hands, wondering if at any time Wilford had been con- 
 scious of her presence as a nurse, and if he would miss 
 her any. He did miss her, but he made no comment, 
 and when, as the morning advanced, another nurse ap- 
 peared, he said to himself: 
 
 "Surely this c«nnot be Miss Hazelton/' but asked 
 
GEORGETOWN HOSPITAL. 419 
 
 no questions of any kind, and Marian's heart grew 
 heavier when in answer to her inquiry, Morris said : 
 "He has not mentioned you." 
 
 "Mr. J. Cameron, Miss Bell Cameron," were the names 
 on the cards sent to Dr. Grant late, that afternoon, and 
 in a few moments he was with the father and sister 
 asking so anxiously for Wilford and explaining why 
 Katy was not with them. 
 
 Wilford was sleeping when "they entered his room, 
 his face looking so worn and thin, and his hands folded 
 so helplessly upon his breast, that with a gush of tears 
 Bell knelt beside him and laying her warm cheek against 
 his bony one, woke him with her sobs. For a moment 
 he seemed bewildered, then recognizing her, he raised his 
 feeble arm and winding it about her neck, kissed her 
 more tenderly than he had ever done before. He had 
 not been demonstrative of his affection for his sisteis. 
 But Bell was his favorite, and he held her close to him 
 while his eyes moved past his father, whom he did not 
 see, on to the door as if in quest of some one. It was 
 Katy, and, guessing his thoughts, Bell said: 
 
 "She is not here. She could not come now. She is 
 sick in New York, but will join us in a few days." 
 
 There was a look of intense disappointment in Wil- 
 ford's face, which even his father's warm greeting could 
 not dissipate, and Morris saw the great tears as they 
 dropped upon the piUow, the proud man trying hard 
 to repress them, and asking no questions concerning any 
 one at home. He was too weak to talk, but he held Bell's 
 hand firmly in his as if afraid that she would leave him, 
 while his eyes rested alternately upon her face and that of 
 his father, who, wholly unmanned at the fearful change 
 in his son, laid his head upon the bed and cried aloud^ 
 
 Next morning Bell was very white and her voice 
 trembled as she sought her brother's side and asked how 
 he had rested. She had come from a conference with 
 Dr. Morris, who had told her that her brother would die. 
 
 "He may live a week and he may not," he said, adding 
 solemnly; "As his sister you will tell him of his danger, 
 
420 FAMILY PRIDB. 
 
 while there is time to seek the refuge without whicK 
 death is terrible." 
 
 "Oh, if I could only pray with and for him," Bell 
 thought, as she went next to her brother, mourning her 
 misspent days, and feeling her courage giving way when 
 at last she stood in his presence and met his kindly smile. 
 
 "I dreamed it was all a dream," he said, "and that 
 you were not here after all. I am so glad to find it 
 real. How long before I can go home, do you suppose ?" 
 
 He had stumbled upon the very thing Bell was. there 
 to talk about, his question indicating that he had no 
 suspicion of the truth. Nor had he, and it came like a 
 thunderbolt, when Bell, forgetting all her pradence, said 
 impetuously : 
 
 "Oh, Wilford, maybe you'll never go home. Maybe 
 you'll " 
 
 "Not die!" Wilford exclaimed, clasping his hands with 
 sudden emotion. "Not die, you don't mean that. Who 
 told you so? Who said I was near to death?" 
 
 "Dr. Grant," was Bell's reply, which brought a fierce 
 frown to Wilford's face, and awoke all the angry pas- 
 sions of his heart. 
 
 "Dr. Grant," he repeated. "He says so because he 
 Ivishes it. He would like me removed from his path, 
 but it shall not be. I will not die. Tell him that. I will 
 not die," and Wilford's voice was hoarse with passion as 
 he raised his clinched fists in the air. 
 
 He was terribly excited, and in her fright Bell ran 
 for Dr. Grant. But Wilford motioned him back, hurling 
 after him words which kept him from the room the 
 entire day, while the sick man rolled, and tossed, and 
 raved in the delirium, which had returned, and which 
 wore him out so fast. No one had the least influence 
 over him except Marian Hazelton, who, without a glance 
 at Mr. Cameron or BeH, glided to his side, and with her 
 presence and gentle words soothed him into comparative 
 quiet, so that the bitter denunciations against the saint 
 who wanted him to die, ceased, and he fell into a troubled 
 sleep. 
 
 Smoothing his pillow, and arranging the bedclothes 
 tidily about him, Marian turned to meet the eyes of both 
 Mr. Cameron and Bell fixed curiously upon her. With 
 
GEORGETOWN HOSPITAL. 121 
 
 a strange feeling of interest they had watcuf" her, both 
 feeling an aversion to addressing her, and both ..o^.dering 
 if she were indeed Genevra, as Katy had affirmed. They 
 would not ask her, and both breathed more freely when, 
 with a bow in acknowledgment of Mr. Cameron's com- 
 pliment to her skill in quieting his son, she left the room. 
 
 Neither said what they thought of her, nor was her 
 name once mentioned, but she vvas not for a moment 
 absent from their minds as they from choice sat that night 
 with Wilford, who slept off his deliriiun, and lay with his 
 face turned from them, so thqjt they could not guess by 
 its expression what was passing in his mind. 
 
 All the next day he maintained the most frigid silence, 
 answering only in monosyllables, while Bell kept wiping 
 away the great drops of sweat constantly oozing out upon 
 his forehead and about the pallid lips. 
 
 Just at nightfall he startled Bell by asking that Dr. 
 Grant be sent for. 
 
 "Please leave me alone with him," he said, when Dr. 
 Morris came; then turning to Morris, as the door closed 
 upon his father and his sister, he said, abruptly : 
 
 "Pray for me, if you can pray for one who yesterday 
 hated you so for saying he must die." 
 
 Earnestly, fervently, Morris prayed, as for a dear 
 brother, and when he finished Wilford's faint "amen" 
 sounded through the room. 
 
 "I am not right yet," the pale lips whispered, as Morris 
 sat down beside him. "Not right with God, I mean. 
 I've sometimes said there was no God, but I did not be- 
 lieve it, and now I know there is. He has been moving 
 upon me all the day, driving out my bitterness toward 
 you, and causing^me to send for you at last. Do you 
 think there is hope for me? I have much to be«t for- 
 given." 
 
 "Though your sins be as scarlet they shall be white as 
 snow," Morris replied; and then, oh, how earnestly he 
 tried to point that erring man to the Lamb of God, who 
 taketh away the sins of the world, convincing him that 
 there was hope even for him, and leaving him with the 
 conviction that God would surely finish the good work 
 begun, nor suffer this soul to be lost which had turned 
 to Him even at the eleventh hour. 
 
422 FAMILY PKIDK. 
 
 Wilford knew his days were numbered, and he talked 
 freely of it to his father and sister the next morning 
 when they came to him. He did not say that he was 
 ready or willing to die, only that he must, and he asked 
 them to forget, when he was gone, all that had ever been 
 amiss in him as a son and brother. 
 
 "I was too proud, too selfish, to make others happy," 
 he said. "I thought it all over yesterday, and the past 
 came back again so vividly, especially the part connected 
 with Katy. Oh, Katy, I did abuse her!" and a bitter 
 sob attested the genuineness of Wilford's grief for his 
 treatment of Katy. "I thought because I took her from 
 a lower walk of life than mine, that she was bound by 
 every tie of gratitude to do just what I said, and I set 
 myself at work to crush her every feeling and impulse 
 which savored of her early home. I despised her family, 
 I treated them with contempt. I broke Katy's heart, and 
 now I must die without telling her I am sorry. JBut you'll 
 tell her, father, and you, too, Bell, how, dying, I tried 
 to pray, but could not for thought of my sin to her. She 
 will not be glad that I am dead. I know her better than 
 to think that; and I believe she loves me. But, after I 
 ^m gone, and the duties of the world have closed up the 
 gap I shall leave, I see a brighter future for her than 
 
 her past has been; and you may tell her I am " He 
 
 could not then say "J am willing." 
 
 Few husbands could have done so then, and he was 
 not an exception. 
 
 Wholly exhausted he lay quiet for a moment, and when 
 he spoke again it was of Genevra. Even here he did not 
 try to screen himself. He was the one to blame, he said. 
 Genevra was true, was innocent, as he ascertained too 
 late. 
 
 "Would you like to see her if she were living?" came 
 to Bell's lips, but the fear that it would be too great a 
 shock prevented their utterance. 
 
 He had no suspicion of her presence, and it was best 
 he should not. Katy was the one uppermost in his mind, 
 and in the letter Bell sent to her the next day, he tried 
 to write: "Good-by, my darling," but the words were 
 scarcely legible, and his nerveless hand fell helpless at 
 his side as he said : 
 
LAST HOURS. 423 
 
 "She will never know the effort it cost me, nor hear me 
 say that I hope I am forgiven. It came to me last night, 
 the peace for which I've sought so long, and Dr. Grant 
 has prayed, and now the way is not so dark, but Katji 
 will not know." 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 LAST HOURS. 
 
 Katy would know, for she was coming to him on the 
 morrow, as a brief telegram announced, and Wilford's 
 face grew brighter with thoughts of sfeeing her. He knew 
 when the train was due, and with nervous restlessness he 
 asked repeatedly what time it was, reducing the hours to 
 minutes, and counting his own pulses to see if he would 
 last so long. 
 
 "Save me, doctor," he whispered to Morris. "Keep me 
 alive till Katy comes. I must see Katy again." 
 
 And Morris, tenderer than a brother, did all he could to 
 keep the feeble breath from going out ere Katy came. 
 
 "I must have clean linen on my bed and on my person, 
 too," Wilford said, "for Katy is coming, and I must not 
 look repulsive." *• 
 
 The clean white linen was brought, and when it was 
 arranged a smile of childish satisfaction crept around the 
 lips, as Wilford sa,id: 
 
 "Katy can kiss me now. She ia not accustomed to hos- 
 pital fare, you know." 
 
 His mind seemed slightly to vander ; but when the hour 
 came for the arrival of the train he knew it, asking, 
 eagerly : 
 
 "Do you suppose she's come ?" and straining his ear to 
 catch the sound of the distant whistle. Dr. Morris? had 
 gone to meet her, and the time fled on apace until at last 
 his step was heard, and Wilford, lifting up his head, Hs- 
 tened for that other step, which, alas ! was not there. 
 
 "The train is behind time several hours," was Morris' 
 report, and with a moan Wilford turned away and wept, 
 thinking by some strange chance of that day when at the 
 farmhouse others had waited for Katy as he was doing, 
 and waited, too, in vain. 
 
424 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 Truly, they of the farmhouse were avenged, for never 
 had they felt so bitter a pang as Wilford did when he knew 
 Katy had not come. 
 
 "It's right," he said, when he could trust himself to 
 8peak ; "but I did want to see her. Tell her I am willing." 
 
 The last seemed wrung from him almost against his 
 will, and drops of sweat stood thickly upon his brow. 
 Only Bell and her father guessed what he meant by being 
 •willing. Morris had no idea, but he wiped the death- 
 sweat away, and said, soothingly : 
 
 "Be quiet, and you may see her yet. She will surely 
 come by and by." 
 
 Thus reassured, Wilford grew calm and fell asleep, 
 while the watchers by his side waited anxiously for the 
 first sound which should herald the arrival of the train. 
 
 It was dark in the hospital, and from every window a 
 light was shining, when Morris carried rather than led a 
 quivering figure up the stairs and through the hall, where, 
 in a corner, Marian Hazelton's white face looked out upon 
 him, her hands clasped over her heart, and working nerv- 
 ously as she watched Katy going where she must not go — 
 going to the room where the Camerons were, the father 
 standing at the foot of Wilford's bed, and Bell bending 
 over his pillow, administering the stimulants which kept 
 her brother alive. When Katy came in, she moved away, 
 as did her fathet, while Morris, too, stepped back into 
 the hall, and thus the husband and wife were left alone in 
 this their first meeting since the parting at Yonkers nearly 
 one year ago. 
 
 "Katy, precious Katy, you have forgiven me ?" he whis- 
 pered, and the rain of te»rs and kisses on his face was 
 "Katy's answer as she hung over him. 
 
 She had forgiven him like a true, faithful wife, and she 
 told, him so, when she found voice to talk, wondering to 
 find him so changed from the proud, exacting, self-wor- 
 shiping man, to the humble, repentant and self-accusing 
 person, who took all blame of the past to himself, and 
 exonerated her from every fault. But when he drew her 
 close to him, and whispered something in her ear, she 
 
LAST HOURS. 425 
 
 knew whence came the change, and a reverent "Thank the 
 Good Father," dropped from her lips. 
 
 "The way was dark and thorny," Wilford said, making 
 her sit down where he could see her as he talked, "and 
 only for God's goodness I should have lost the path. But 
 he sent one Morris Grant to point the road, and I trust I 
 am in it now. I wanted to see you before I died, to tell 
 you with my own Ups how sorry I am for what I have 
 made you suffer; but sorriest of all for sending Baby 
 away. Oh, Katy, you do not know how that rested upon 
 my conscience, or how often in my sleep upon the tented 
 plain or hillside I have felt again the touch of Baby's arms 
 and Baby's cheek against my own as I felt it that day 
 when I came home and took her from you. Forgive me, 
 Katy, that I robbed you of your child." 
 
 He was growing very weak, and he looked so white and 
 ghastly that Katy called for Bell, v/ho came at once, as did 
 her father, and the three stood together around the bedside 
 of the dying, Katy with his cold hand in hers, and occa- 
 sionally bending down to hear his whispered words of 
 love and deep contrition. 
 
 "You will remember me, Katy," he said, "but you can- 
 not mourn for me always, and some- time in the future 
 you will cease to be my widow, and, Katy, I am willing* 
 I wanted to tell you this so that no thought of me should 
 keep you from a Hfe where you will be happier than I have 
 made you." 
 
 Wholly bewildered, Katy made no reply, and Wilford 
 was silent a few moments, in which he seemed partially 
 asleep. Then rousing up, he said : 
 
 "You wrote me once that Genevra was not dead. Did 
 you mean it, Katy?" 
 
 Frightened and bewildered, Katy turned appealingly to 
 her father-in-law, who answered for her : "She meant it — • 
 Genevra is not dead," while a blood-red flush stained Wil- 
 ford's face, and his thin fingers beat the bedspread 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "I fancied once that she was here — that she was the 
 nurse the boys praise so much. But that was a delusion," 
 he said, and without a thought of the result, Katy asked, 
 impetuously: "If she were here would you ''are to see 
 her?" 
 
426 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 There was a startled look on Wilford's face, and he 
 grasped Katy's hand nervously, his frame trembling with a 
 dread of the great shock which he felt impending ovei* 
 him. 
 
 "Is she here ? Was the nurse Genevra ?" he asked, then 
 as his mind went back to the past, he answered his own 
 question by asserting: "Marian Hazelton is Genevra." 
 
 They did not contradict him, nor did he ask to see her. 
 With Katy there, he felt he had better not, but after a 
 moment he continvied : "It is all so strange ; I do not com- 
 prehend how it can be. She has been kind to me. Tell 
 her I thank her for it. I was unjust to her. I have much 
 to answer for." 
 
 Between each word he uttered now there was a gasp for 
 breath, and Father Cameron opened the window wide to 
 admit the cool night air. But nothing had power to re- 
 vive him. He was going very fast, Morris said, as he 
 took his stand by the bedside and watched the approach of 
 death. There were no convulsive struggles, only heavy 
 breathings, which grew farther and farther apart, until at 
 last Wilford drew Katy close to him, and winding his 
 arm around her neck, whispered : 
 
 "I am almost home, my darling, and all is well. Be 
 kind to Genevra for my sake. I loved her once, but not 
 as I love you." 
 
 He never spoke again, and a few minutes later Morris 
 led Katy from the room, and then went out to give his 
 orders for the embalming of the body. 
 
 In the little room she called her own, Marian Hazelton 
 sat, her beautiful hair disordered, and her eyes dim with 
 the tears she had shed. She knew that Wilford was dead, 
 for Morris had told her so, and as if his dying had brought 
 back all her olden love, she wept bitterly for the man who 
 had so darkened her life. She did not know that at the 
 last he knew she was so near. She had not expected to 
 see him with Katy present ; but now that it was over, she 
 might go to him. There could be no harm in that. No 
 one but Morris would know who she was, she thought, 
 and she was making up her mind to go, when there came 
 a timid knock upon the door, and Katy entered, her face 
 
LAST HOURS. 427 
 
 very pale, her manner very calm, as she came to Marian, 
 and kneeling down beside her, laid her head in her lap 
 with the air of a weary child who has sought its mother 
 for rest.' 
 
 "Poor little Katy!" Marian said, caressing her golden 
 hair. "Your husband, they tell me, is dead." 
 
 "Yes," and Katy lifted up her head, and fixing her eyes 
 earnestly upon Marian, continued : "Wilford is dead, but 
 before he died he left a message for Genevra Lambert. 
 Will she hear it now ?" 
 
 With a sudden start, Marian sprang to her feet, and 
 holding' Katy from her, demanded: "Who told you of 
 Genevra Lambert, and when ?" "* 
 
 "Wilford told me months ago, showing me her picture, 
 -which I readily recognized," was Katy's answer, and a 
 flush of fear and shame came to Marian's cheek as she 
 continued: 
 
 "Did he tell you all? And do you hate me as a vile, 
 polluted creature?" 
 
 "Hate you, Marian ? No. I have pitied you so much, 
 knowing you were innocent. Wilford told me all, but he 
 thought you were dead," Katy said, flinching a little be- 
 fore Mai-ian's burning gaze, which fascinated even while it 
 startled her. 
 
 It is riot often two women meet bearing to each other the 
 relations , -these two bore, and it is not strange that both 
 felt constrained and embarrassed as they stood looking at 
 each, other. As Marian's was the stronger nature, so she 
 was the first to rally, and with the tears swimming in her 
 eyes she drew Katy closely to her, and said : 
 
 "Now that he is gone I am glad you know it. Mine 
 has been a sad, sad life, but God has helped me bear it. 
 You say he believed me dead. Some time I will tell you 
 how that came about ; but now, his message — he left one, 
 you say?" * 
 
 Carefully Katy repeated every word Wilford had said, 
 and with a gasping cry Marian wound her arms around 
 her neck, exclaiming: 
 
 "And you will love me, not because he did once, but be- 
 cause I have suffered so much ? You will let me call you 
 Katy when we are alone? It brings you nearer to me." 
 
 Marian was now the weaker of the two, and it was 
 
428 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 Katy's task to comfort her, as, sinking back in her chair, 
 she sobbed : 
 
 "He did love me once. He acknowledged it at the last, 
 before them all, his wife, his father and his sister. Do 
 they know?" she suddenly asked, and when assured that 
 they did, she relapsed into a silent mood, while Katy stole 
 quietly out and left her there alone. 
 
 Half an hour later a female form passed hurriedly 
 through the hall and across the threshold into the chamber 
 where the dead man lay. There was no one with him 
 now, and Marian was free to weep out the pent-up sorrow 
 of her life, which she did with choking sobs and passionate 
 words poured into the ear deaf now to every human sound. 
 A step upon the floor startled her, and turning around she 
 stood face to face with Wilford's father, who was regard- 
 ing her with a look which she mistook for one of reproof 
 and displeasure that she should be there thus. 
 
 "Forgive me," she said, ^v•rin,c;i^g her hands together. 
 "I know how you despise me, but he was my husband 
 once, and surely now that he is dead you v/ill not be- 
 grudge me a few last moments with him for the sake of 
 the days when he loved me." 
 
 There were many tender chords in the heart of Father 
 Cameron, and offering Marian his hand, he said : 
 
 "Far be it from nfe to refuse you this privilege. I pity 
 you, Genevra, for I believe he dealt unjustly by you — but 
 I will not censure him now that he is gone. He was my 
 only boy. Oh, Wilford, Wilford. You have left me very 
 lonely." 
 
 He released her hand, and Marian fled away, meeting 
 next with Bell, who felt that she must speak to her, biit 
 was puzzled what to say. Bell could not define her feel- 
 ings toward Marian, or why she shrank from approaching 
 her. It was not pride, but rather a feeling of prejudice, 
 as if Marian were in some way to blame for all the trouble 
 which had come to them, while her peculiar position as 
 the divorced wife of her brother made it the more embar- 
 rassing. But she could^ not resist the mute pleading of 
 the eyes lifted so tearfully to her, as if asking for a nod" of 
 recognition, and stopping before her she said, softly : 
 
 "Genevra." 
 
 That was all, but it made Genevra's tears flow in tor- 
 
LAST HOUBS. 429 
 
 rents, and she involuntarily held her hand out to Bell, who" 
 took it, and hoiding it between her own, said : 
 
 "You were very kind to my brother. I thank you for 
 it, and will tell my mother, who will feel so grateful 
 to you." 
 
 This was a good deal for Bell to say, and after it was 
 said, she hastened away, while Marian went on her daily 
 round of duties, speaking softer, if possible, to her pa- 
 tients that day, and causing them to wonder what had 
 Some over that sweet face to make it so white and tear- 
 itained. That night in Marian's room Katy sat and lis- 
 tened to what she did not before know of the strange story 
 kept from her so long. Candidly Marian confirmed all 
 Wilford had told, breathing no word of blame against him 
 now that he was dead, only stating facts, and leaving Katy 
 to draw her own conclusions. Herself she censured much 
 for fostering that fondness for admiration so irritating to 
 a jealous man like Wilford. 
 
 "I knew that I was handsome," she said, "and I liked 
 to test my power ; but for that weakness I have been sorely 
 punished. I had not at first any intention of making him 
 believe that I was dead, and when I sent the paper con- 
 taining the announcement of father's death I was not 
 aware that it also contained the death of my cousin, a beau- 
 tiful igirl just my age, who bore our grandmother's name of 
 Genevra, and about whom and a young English lord, who 
 had biintied one season in her father's neighborhood, there 
 were some scandalous reports. Afterward it occurred to 
 me that Wilford would see that notice and naturally think 
 it refeirred to me, inasmuch as he knew nothing of my 
 Cousin Genevra, she having spent much of her time in the 
 northern part of Scotland, and he never inquired par- 
 ticularly about my/elatives. 
 
 "It was just as well, I said, I was dead to him, ajid I 
 took a strange satisfaction in wondering if he would care. 
 Incidentally I heard that the postmaster at Alnwick had 
 been written to by an American gentleman, who asked if 
 such a person as Genevra Lambert was buried at St. 
 Mary's ; and then I knew he believed me dead, even though 
 the name appended to the letter was not Wilford Cam- 
 eron, nor was the writing his, for, as the cousin of the 
 dead Genevra, I asked to see the letter, and my request 
 
430 ' FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 was granted. It was Mrs. Cameron who wrote it, I am 
 sure, at the instigation, probably, of her son, signing a 
 feigned name and bidding the postmaster answer to that 
 address. He did so, assuring the inquirer that Genevra 
 Lambert was buried there, and wondering to me if the- 
 young American who seemed interested in her could have 
 been a lover of the unfortunate girl. 
 
 "I was now alone in the world, for the aunt with whom 
 my childhood was 'passed died soon after my father, and 
 so I went at last to learn a trade on the Isle of Wight, emi- 
 grating from thence to New York, with the determination 
 in my rebellious heart that some time, when it would cut 
 tlie deepest, I would show myself to the proud Camerons, 
 whom I so cordially hated. This was before God had 
 found me, or rather before I had listened to the still, small 
 voice which took the hard, vindictive feelings away, and 
 made me feel kindly toward the mother and sisters when 
 I saw them, as I often used to do, driving gayly by. Wil- 
 ford was sometimes with them, and the sight of him al- 
 ways sent the hot blood surging through my heart. But 
 the greatest shock I ever had came to me when I heard 
 from your sister of his approaching marriage with you. 
 Those were terrible days that I passed at the fkrmhouse, 
 working on your bridal trousseau; and sometimiip I 
 thought it more than I could bear. Had you been other 
 than the little, loving, confiding, trustful girl you were, I 
 must at some time have disclosed the whole, and told that 
 you would not be the first who had stood at the altar with 
 Wilford. But pity for you, whom I knew loved him sc> 
 much, kept me silent, and you became his wife. 
 
 "Of what has happened since you know — except, in- 
 deed, how hard it was sometimes for poor, weak human 
 nature to see you as happy as you were at first, and then 
 contrast my lot with yours. I loved your baby almost as 
 much as if it had been my own, and when it died there was 
 nothing to bind me to the North, and so I came here, 
 where I hope I have done some good ; at least, I was here 
 to care for Wilford, and that is a sufficient reward for all 
 the toil which falls to the lot of a hospital nurse. I shall 
 stay until the war is ended, and then go I know not where. 
 It will not be best for us to meet very often, for though 
 we may and do respect each other, neither can forget the 
 
MOURNING. 431 
 
 past, or that one was the lawful, the other the divorced, 
 wife of the same man. I have loved you, Katy Cameron, 
 for your uniform kindness shown to the poor dressmaker. 
 I shall always love you, but our paths lie widely apart. 
 Your future I can predict, but mine God only knows." 
 
 Marian had said all she meant to say, and all Katy came 
 to hear. The latter was to leave in the morning, and when 
 they would meet again neither could tell. Few were the 
 parting words they spoke, for the great common sorrow 
 welling up from their hearts ; but when at last they said 
 good-by, the bond of friendship between them was more 
 strongly cemented than ever, and Katy long remembered 
 Marian's parting words : 
 
 "God bless you, Katy Cameron! You have been a 
 bright sun spot in my existence since I first knew you, 
 €ven though you have stirred some of the worst impulses 
 of my nature. I am a, better woman for having known 
 you. God bless you, Katy Cameron !" 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 MOURNING. 
 
 The grand funeral which Mrs. Cameron once had 
 planned for Katy was a reality at last, but the breathless 
 form lying so cold and still in the darkened rooms at No. 
 — Fifth Avenue was not Katy's, but that of a soldier em- 
 balmed — an only son brought back to his father's house 
 amid sadness and tears. They had talcen him there rather 
 than to his own house, because it was the wish of his 
 mother, who, however hard and selfish she might be to 
 others, had loved and idolized her son, mourning for him 
 truly, and forgetting in her grief to care how grand the 
 funeral was, and feeling only a passing twinge when told 
 that Mrs. Lennox had come from Silverton to pay the last 
 tribute of respect to her late son-in-law. Some Uttle com- 
 fort it was to have her boy lauded as a faithful soldier and 
 to hear the commendations lavished upon him during the 
 time he lay in state, with his uniform around him ; but 
 when the whole was over, and in the gray of the wintry 
 afternoon her husband returned from buryi^ig his son, 
 
432 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 there came over her a feeling of such desolation as she 
 had never known — a feeling which drove her at last to the 
 little room upstairs, where sat a lonely man, his head 
 bowed upon his hands, and his tears dropping silently 
 upon the hearthstone as he, too, thought of the vacant 
 parlor below and the new-made grave at Greenwood. 
 
 "Oh, husband, comfort me, for our only boy is dead," 
 fell from her lips as she tottered to her husband, who 
 opened his arms to receive her, forgetting all the years 
 which had made her the cold, proud woman, who needed 
 no sympathy, and remembering only that bright, green 
 summer when she was first his bride, and came to him for 
 comfort in every little grievance, just as now she came in 
 this great, crushing sorrow. 
 
 He did not tell her she was reaping what she had sown, 
 that but for her pride and deception concerning Genevra, 
 Wilford might never have gone to the war, or they been 
 without a son. He did not reproach her at all, but soothed 
 her tenderly, calling her even by her maiden name, and 
 awkwardly smoothing her hair, silvered now with gray, 
 feeling for a moment that Wilford had not died in vain, 
 if by his dying he gave back to his father the wife so lost 
 during the many years since fashion and folly had been the 
 idols she worshiped. But the habits of years could not be 
 lightly broken, and Mrs. Cameron's mind soon became ab- 
 sorbed in the richness of her mourning, and the strict eti- 
 quette of her mourning days. To Katy she was very 
 kind, caressiiig her with unwonted affection, and scarcely 
 suffering her to leave her sight, much less to stay even for 
 a day at Mrs. Banker's, where Katy secretly preferred to 
 be. Of Genevra, too, she talked with Katy, and at her in- 
 stigation wrote a friendly letter, thanking Miss Lambert 
 for all her kindness to her son, expressing her sorrow that 
 she had ever been so unjust to her, and sending her a 
 handsome locket, containing on one side a lock of Wil- 
 ford's hair, and on the other his picture, taken from a 
 large-sized photograph. ^ Mrs. Cameron felt herself a very 
 good woman after she had done all this, together with re- 
 ceiving Mrs. Lennox at her own house, and entertaining 
 her for one whole day; but at heart there was no real 
 change, and as time passed on she gradually fell back into 
 
MOURNING. 433 
 
 her old ways of thinking, and went no more for comfort to 
 her husband as she had on that first night after the burial. 
 
 With Mr. Cameron the blow struck deeper, and his 
 Wall Street friends talked together of the old man he had 
 grown since Wilford died, while Katy often found him 
 bending over his long-neglected Bible, as he sat alone in 
 his room at night. And when at last she ventured to 
 speak to him upon the all-important subject, like a little 
 child, he put his hand in hers, and bade her teach him 
 the narrow way which she had found, and wherein Wil- 
 ford, too, had walked at the very last, they hoped. 
 
 For many weeks Katy lingered in New York, and the 
 June roses were blooming when she went back to Silver- 
 ton, a widow and the rightful owner of all Wilford's ample 
 fortune. They had found among his papers a will, drawn 
 up and executed not long before his illness, and in which 
 Katy was made his heiress, without condition or stipula- 
 tion. All was hers to do with as she pleased, and the bit- 
 terest tears she ever shed were those which fell like rain 
 when she heard how generous Wilford had been. Then, 
 as she thought of Marian, and the life of poverty before 
 her, she crept to Father Cameron's side, and said to him, 
 pleadingly : 
 
 "Let Genevra share it with me. She needs it quite as 
 much." 
 
 Father Cameron would not permit Katy to divide 
 equally with Marian. It was not just, he said ; but he did 
 not object to a few thousand going to her, and before 
 Katy left New York for Silverton, she wrote a long, kind 
 letter to Marian^ presenting her with ten thousand dollars, 
 which she begged her to accept, not so much as a gift, but 
 as her rightful due^j There was a moment's hesitancy on 
 the part of Marian when she read the letter, a feeling that 
 she could not take so much from Katy; but when she 
 looked at the pale sufferers around her, and remembered 
 how many wretched hearts that money would help to 
 cheer, she said : 
 
 "I will keep it." 
 
434 FAMILY PEIDE. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 PRISONERS OF WAR. 
 
 The heat, the smoke, the thunder of the battle were 
 over, and the fields of Gettysburg, where the terrible three 
 days' fight had been, were drenched with human blood and 
 covered with the dead and dying. The contest had been 
 fearful, and its results carried sorrow and anguish to 
 many a heart waiting for tidings from the war, anjd look- 
 ing so anxiously for the names of the loved ones who, on 
 the anniversary of the day which saw our nation's inde- 
 pendence, lay upon the hills and plains of Gettysburg, their 
 w-bite faces upturned to the summer sky, and wet with the 
 raindrops which like tears for the noble dead the pitying 
 clouds had shed upon them. And nowhere, perhaps, was 
 there a whiter face or a more anxious heart than at the 
 farmhouse, where both Helen and her mother-in-law were 
 spending the not July days. Since the Christmas Eve 
 when Helen had watched her husband going from her 
 across the wintry snow, he had not been back, though sev- 
 eral times he had made arrangements to do so. Some- 
 thing, however, had always happened to prevent. Once 
 it was sickness which kept him in bed for a week or more ; 
 again his regiment was ordered to advance, and the third 
 time it was sent on with others to repel the invaders from 
 Pennsylvania soil. Bravely through each disappointment 
 Helen bore herself, but her cheek always grew paler and 
 her eye darker in its hue when the evening papers came, 
 and she read what progress our soldiers had made, feeling 
 that a battle was inevitable, and praying so earnestly that 
 Mark Ray might be spared. Then when .the battle was 
 over, and up the Northern hills came the dreadful story of 
 thousands and thousands slain, there was a fearful look 
 in her eyes, and her features were rigid as marble, while 
 the quivering lips could scarcely pray for the great fear 
 tugging at her heart. Mark Ray was not with his men 
 when they came from that terrific onslaught. A dozen 
 had seen him fall, struck down by a rebel ball, and that 
 
PRISONERS OF WAR. 435 
 
 was all she heard for more than a week, when there came 
 another relay of news. 
 
 Captain Mark Ray was a prisoner of war, with several 
 of his own cornpany. An inmate of Libby Prison and a 
 sharer from choice of the apartment where his men were 
 confined. As an officer, he was entitled to better quar- 
 ters than the filthy pen where the poor privates were, but 
 Mark Ray had a large, warm heart, and he would not 
 desert those who had been so faithful to him, and so he 
 took their fare, and by his genial humor and unwavering 
 cheerfulness kept many a heart from fainting and made the, 
 prisoners' life more bearable than it could have been with- 
 out him. To young Tom Tubbs, who had enlisted six 
 months before, he was a ministering angel, and many 
 times the poor, homesick boy crept to the side of his capj- 
 tain, and laying his burning head in his lap, wept himself 
 to sleep and dreamed he was at home again. The horrors 
 of that prison life have never been told, but Mark bore up 
 manfully, suffering less in mind, perhaps, than did the 
 friends at home, who lived, as it were, a thousand years in 
 that one brief summer while he languished in that horrid 
 den whose very name had a power to send a thrill of fear 
 to every heart. 
 
 At last, as the frosty days of October came on, they 
 began to hope he might be exchanged, and Helen's face 
 grew bright again, until one day there came a soiled, Haif- 
 worn letter, in Mark's own handwriting. It was the first 
 word received from him since his capture in July, and 
 with a cry of joy Helen snatched it from Uncle Ephraim, 
 for she was still at the farmhouse, and sitting down upon 
 the doorstep just where she had been standing, read the 
 words which Matk had sent to her. He said nothing of 
 the treatment he received, for he wanted the letter tc^^reach 
 her, and he knew well that if he complained the chances 
 were small for the missive ever to leave the capital of the 
 "chivalry." He was very well, he said, and had been all 
 the time, but he pined for home, longing for the dear girl-' 
 wife never so dear as now, when separated by so many 
 miles, with prison walls on every side, and an enemy's line 
 between them, 
 
 "But be of good cheer, darling," he wrote. "I shall 
 come back to you some time, and life will be all the 
 
436 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 brighter for what you suffer now. I am so glad my dar^ 
 ling consented to be my wife, even though I could stay 
 with her but a moment. The knowing you are really 
 mine makes me happy even here, for I think of you by 
 day, and in my dreams I always hold you ih my arms and 
 press you to my heart." 
 
 Far different from this cheerful letter was the one which 
 Tom inclosed in it for his family — a wild, homesick out- 
 burst, containing so much of truth that it was strange it 
 was ever permitted to leave the city. Of this letter Helen 
 heard by way of Mattie Tubbs, and hope died within her, 
 especially as Tom spoke of their being sent further South 
 as a probable event. 
 
 "If Mark goes I shall never see him again," Helen said, 
 despairingly; and when at last the message came that 
 Mark had been removed, and that, too, just at the time 
 when an exchange was constantly expected, she gave him 
 up as lost, feeling almost as much widowed as Katy in 
 her weeds. 
 
 Slowly the winter passed away, and the country was rife 
 with stories of the inhuman treatment of our men, daily 
 dying by hundreds, while those who survived the cruelties 
 were reduced to maniacs and imbeciles. And Helen, as 
 she listened, grew nearly frantic with the sickening sus- 
 pense. She did not know now where her husband was. 
 He had made several attempts to escape, and with each 
 failure had been removed to safer quarters, so that the 
 chances now of his being exchanged seemed very far 
 away. Week after week, month after month, passed on, 
 until came the memorable battle of. the Wilderness, when 
 Lieutenant Bob, as yet unharmed, stood bravely in the 
 thic;:est of the fight, his tall figure towering above the rest, 
 and his soldier's uniform buttoned over a dark tress of 
 hair, and a face like Bell Cameron's. Lieutenant Bob 
 had taken two or three furloughs, but the one which had 
 left the sweetest, pleasantest memory in his heart was that 
 of the autumn before, when the crimson leaves of the 
 maple and the golden tints of the beech were burning 
 themselves out on the hills of Silverton, where his fur- 
 lough was mostly passed, and where, with Bell Cameron, 
 he scoured the length and breadth of Uncle Ephraim's 
 farm, nov ,■ stopping by the shore of Fairy IVrrl and again 
 
PRISONEES OP WAR. 437 
 
 sitting for botirs on a ledge of rocks far up the hill, where, 
 beneath the softly-whispering pines nodding above their 
 heads, Bell gathered the light brown cones, and said to 
 him the wcffds he had so thirsted to hear : 
 
 "I love you, Robert Re3fnolds." 
 
 Much of Bell's time was passed with Katy at the farm- 
 house, and here Lieutenant Reynolds found her, accepting 
 readily of Uncle Ephraim's hearty invitation to remain; 
 and spending his entire vacation there, with the exception 
 of three days given to his family. Perfectly charmed with 
 quaint Aunt Betsy, whom he remembered so well, he flat- 
 tered and courted her almost as much as he did Bell, but 
 did not take her with him in his long rambles over the 
 hills, or sit with her at night alone in the parlor until the 
 clock struck twelve — a habit which Aunt Betsy greatly 
 disapproved, but overlooked for this once, seeing, as she 
 said, that : 
 
 "The young leftenant was none of her kin, and Isabel 
 only a little." 
 
 Those were halcyon days which Robert passed at Silver- 
 ton, but one stood out prominently before him, whether 
 sitting by his camp-fire or plunging into the battle, and 
 that the one when, casting aside all pride and foolish theo- 
 ries. Bell Cameron freely acknowledged her love for the 
 man to whom she had been so long engaged, and paid him 
 back the kisses she had before refused to give, 
 
 "I shall be a better soldier for this," Robert had said, as 
 he guided her down the steep of rocks, and with her hand 
 in his, walked slov/ly back to the farmhouse, which, on the 
 morrow, he left to take again his place in the army. 
 
 There were no more furloughs for him after that, and 
 the winter passed away, bringing the spring again, when 
 came that battle in tlie Wilderness, and like a hero he 
 fought until, becoming separated from his comradtes, he 
 fell into the enemy's hands, and two days after there sped 
 along the telegraphic wires to New York : 
 
 "Oeutenant Robert Reynolds captured the first day of 
 the battle." 
 
 Afterward there came news that Andersonville was his 
 destination, together with many others made prisoners that 
 day. 
 
 "It is better than being shot, and a great deal better t^'V 
 
438 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 being burned, as some of the poor wretches were," Juno 
 said, trying to conjfort Bell, who doubted a little her sis- 
 ter's word. 
 
 True, there was now the shadow of a hope that he might 
 survive the horrors, the mere recital of which made the 
 strongest heart shiver with dread; but the probabiUties 
 were all against it, and Bell's face grew almost as white as 
 Helen's, while her eyes acquired that restless, watchful, 
 anxious look which has crept into the eyes of so many sor- 
 rowing women, looking away to the southward, where the 
 dear ones were languishing in the filthy rebel holes, un- 
 worthy the name of prisoH, 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 DR. GRANT. 
 
 Morris had served out his time as surgeon in the army, 
 had added to it an extra six months, and by his humanity, 
 his skill and Christian kindness, made for himself a name 
 which would be long remembered by the living to whom 
 he had ministered so carefully, while many a dying soldier 
 had blessed him for pointing out the way whicla leadeth to 
 the life everlasting, and in many a mourning family his 
 name was a household word for the good he had done to 
 a dying son and brother. But Morris' hospital work was 
 over. He had gone a little too far, incurring too much 
 risk, until his own strength had failed from long-continued 
 toil, and now in the month of June, when Linwood was 
 bright with the early summer blossoms, he was coming 
 back, with health greatly impaired and a dark cloud before 
 his vision, so that he could not see how beautiful his home 
 was looking, or gaze into the faces of those who waited 
 so anxiously to welcome again their beloved physician. 
 Blind, some said he was, but the fpw lines sent to Helen 
 announcing the day of his arrival contradicted that report. - 
 His eyes were very much diseased, his amanuensis wrote, 
 but he trusted that the pure air of his native hills and the 
 influence of old scenes and associations would soon effect a 
 cure. If not too much trouble, he added, please see that 
 
DR. GRANT. 439 
 
 the house is made comfortable, and have John meet me on 
 Friday at the station. 
 
 Helen had just returned from New York, where she 
 could not remain any longer, for the scenes of gayety in 
 which she was sometimes compelled to mingle were utterly 
 distasteful to her, and she longed for the seclusion of the 
 farmhouse and the quiet there is among the hills. She 
 was glad Morris was coming home, for he always did her 
 good ; he could comfort her better than any other, unless it 
 were Katy, whose loving, gentle words of hope were very 
 soothing to her. 
 
 "Poor Morris!" she sighed, as she finished his letter, 
 and then took it to the family sitting upon the pleasant 
 piazza, which, at Katy's expense and her own, had been 
 added to the house, overlooking Fairy Pond and the pleas- 
 ant hills beyond. 
 
 "Morris is coming home," she said, as Aunt Betsy 
 asked : "What news ?" "He will be here on Friday, and 
 he wishes us to see that all things are in order at Linwood 
 for his reception. His eyes are badly diseased, but he is 
 not blind, and he, hopes that coming back to us will cure 
 him," she added, glancing aside at Katy, who sat upon a 
 step of the piazza, her hands folded together upon her lap 
 and her blue eyes looking far off into the fading sunset, 
 just as Evangeline sits looking down the Mississippi 
 River. 
 
 When she heard Morris' name she turned her head a 
 little, so that the ripple of her golden hair was more dis- 
 tinctly visible beneath the silken net she wore, and a deep 
 tinge of red dyed her cheeks ; but she made no comment or 
 showed by any sign that she heard what they were saying. 
 Katy was very lovely and consistent in her young widow- 
 hood, and not a whisper of gossip had the Silvertonians 
 coupled with her name since she came to them, leaving her 
 husband in Greenwood. There had been no parading of 
 her grief before the public or assumption of greater sor- 
 row than many others had known; but the soberness of 
 her demeanor, and the calm, subdued expression of her 
 face, attested to what she had suffered. Sixteen months 
 had passed since Wilford died, and she still wore her deep 
 mourning weeds, except the widow's cap, which, at her 
 mother's and Aunt Betsy's earnest solicitations, she had 
 
440 FAMILY PRffiB. 
 
 laid aside, substituting in its place a simple net, which con- 
 fined her waving hair and kept it froin breaking out in 
 flowing curls, as it was disposed to do. Against this fash- 
 ion Aunt Betsy also inveighed. 
 
 "Couldn't a body curl their hair when nater intended it 
 to curl, and mourn a-plenty, too?" For her part, she be- 
 lieved it people's duty to look as well as they could, mourn- 
 in' or not mournin', and Katy couldn't look much wus' 
 than she did, with her hair shoved back under that net, 
 unless it was when she wore that heathenish cap, which 
 made her look so like a grandmother." 
 
 This was Aunt Betsy's opinion, but to others there was 
 something singularly sweet and beautiful in the childish 
 face, from which the golden hair was brushed back so 
 plainly, waving softly about the forehead, and occasion- 
 ally escaping from its confinement in a graceful curl, 
 which Katy suffered to remain for Aunt Betsy's sake. 
 Katy had never been prettier than she -v^as now, in her 
 mature womanhood, and to the poor and sorrowful, whose 
 .^ homes she cheered so often, she was an angel of good- 
 ness. 
 
 Truly she had been purified by suffering ; the dross had 
 been burned out, and only the gold remained, shedding its 
 brightness on all with wWch it came in contact. 
 
 They would miss her at the farmhouse now far more 
 X than they did when she first went away, for she made the 
 sunshine of their home, filling Helen's place when she was 
 in New York, and when she came back proving to her a 
 stay and comiorter. Indeed, but for Katy's presence, 
 Helen often felt that she could not endure the sickening 
 suspense and doubt which hung so darkly over her hus- 
 band's fate. 
 
 "He is alive ; he will come back," Katy always said, and 
 from her perfect faith, Helen, too, caught a glimpse of 
 hope. 
 
 Could they have forgotten Mark they would have been 
 happy at the farmhouse now, for with the buddiiig spring 
 and blossoming summer, ICaty's spirits had returned, and 
 her old, musical laugh rang often through the house just 
 as it used to do in the happy days of girlhood, while the 
 same silvery voice which led the choir in the brick church, 
 and sang with the little children their Sunday hymns. 
 
I>E. GRANT. 441 
 
 often broke forth into snatches of songs, which made even 
 the robins listen, as they btrilt their neSls in the trees ; while 
 Uncle Ephraim, far from condemning this lightness of 
 spirits, thanked God, who had brought his darling safely 
 through the cloud to where the sun was shining. 
 
 If Katy thought of Morris she never spoke of him when 
 she could help it. It was a morbid fancy to which she 
 clung; that duty to Wilford's memory required her to 
 forget, or, at least, avoid the man who had so innocently 
 come between them ; and when she heard he was coming 
 home she felt more pain than sorrow. She liked going up 
 to Linwood, as she often did. Its quiet seclusion, and the 
 beauly of its grounds suited her taste, and she often passed 
 hours in the pleasant summer house, or on the broad 
 piazza, dreaming sometimes of the past, and sometimes, 
 it must be confessed, dreaming of a future, and wonder- 
 ing what it would bring her when Mark came back, as 
 come he would, and Helen was gone for good. She 
 would be very lonely with people so much older than her- 
 self, and who did not understand the different tastes and 
 ways of thinking which she had- acquired. She was very 
 happy at the farmhouse, it is true, and loved its inmates 
 with a deep, unselfish love, but Helen's frequent absences 
 from home showed her that even the farmhouse could be 
 dreary with no congenial spirit to sympathize with her as 
 Helen did. 
 
 Matters were in this state when news came of Morris' 
 intended return, and Katy, sitting on the piazza step, and 
 gazing dreamily into the crimson clouds piled against the 
 western sky, seemed not to hear what her sister was say- 
 ing. She did hear, however, and the blood leaped more 
 swiftly through her veins for a moment, as she thought of 
 Morris at Linwood just as he used to be. But when she 
 remembered Wilford's words, "He confessed to me that 
 he loved you," she felt only a nervous dread of Morris' 
 coming, and forthwith set to work to fortify herself at 
 every point with a strictore of reserve which she was far 
 from feeling. 
 
 The day of his return was balmy and beautiful ps the 
 days of June are apt to be, and at an early hour Helen 
 went over to Linwood to see that everything was in order 
 for his arrival. 
 
442 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 "Mrs. Hull will have dinner waiting for him, and I 
 shall stay," she said to Katy, adding: "I wish you would 
 come over, too. Morris will feel grateful; I know." 
 
 Katy did not reply, but struck softly the chords of the 
 piano and thought how foolish she was to feel as she did. 
 Suppose Morris had loved her once, he probably did not 
 now, and even if he did; it could do no good, for she was 
 the same as dead to all that kind of thing. She had tried 
 matrimony, and found it — she did not say what. She 
 never allowed herself to think an unkind thing of Wilford 
 if she could-help it, but a tear dropped upon the piano 
 keys as she unconsciously hummed a part of the song 
 commencing "I would not, no, I would not, recall the past 
 again, for mingled with the pleasure was too much grief 
 and pain." 
 
 Katy's tears were falling fast by the time the song was 
 ended, but she dashed them away and sprang from the 
 stool, exclaiming: 
 
 "Crying because Morris is coming home, poor, worn- 
 out, half-blind Morris, who has done so much for the sol- 
 diers. I will go up and welcome him. I will not be so 
 silly as to imagine he still retains a fancy for an old 
 woman of twenty-three, even if he had one for the girl of 
 seventeen." 
 
 Katy felt very old just then, and walking to the glass, 
 was almost vexed at the smooth, round face which met her 
 view. 
 
 "I ought to look older at twenty-three," she said. 
 "Morris will think I have not mourned a bit, nor cared 
 for Wilford," and another tear glistened on her eyelashes 
 as she thought of being accused of forgetfulness of the 
 dead. 
 
 Katy did look very young for twenty-three. Her 
 health was perfect now, and save as the change in her 
 character showed itself upon her face, she had scarcely 
 changed at all since the day when she came home from 
 Canandaigua with her heart and head so full of him who 
 now lay sleeping in Greenwood. 
 
 "I know what's the matter. It's the net," she said, 
 frowning disapprovingly upon the silken meshes which 
 confined her hair. "Yes, it's nothing but this net which 
 makes me look so young. Every schoolgirl wears one, 
 
DR. GRANT. 443 
 
 and I have followed the fashion, letting it hang down my 
 back in a way very unbecoming to a widow of my ag^. 
 I'll take it off, or at all events I won't wear it to Linwocid," 
 and tossing aside the offending net, Katy bound her luxu- 
 riant hair in bands which she coiled around the/ back of 
 her head and then put on the widow's cap, discarded so 
 many months, and from which she shrank a little as she 
 surveyed herself in the glass. 
 
 It was not exactly unbecoming ; nothing could be unbe- 
 coming to that fair, open face, which, surrounded by the 
 white border, looked much like a sweet baby's face, except 
 that it was older; but it was now so long since Katy had 
 seen anything of the kind, and as habit is everything, she 
 was not quite as well pleased with her headgear as in New 
 York, where such things were common. Nevertheless, 
 she would wear it to Linwood, and she went for her round 
 straw hat, but, alas, the sun hat which made her look so 
 frightfully young was not made for the widow's cap, and 
 casting it aside, Katy threw a thick black veil over her 
 head, and then stepping to the door of the room where her 
 mother and Aunt Betsy were busy at work, she said : 
 
 "I am going to Linwood, and shall stay there to dinner." 
 
 "In the name of the people, what has the child rigged 
 herself out in that shape for ?" Aunt Betsy exclaimed, let- 
 ting fall the knife with which she was chopping cheese 
 curd, and staring in astonishment. "I'd enough sight 
 rather you'd frizzle your hair over rats, as Helen does, 
 making herself look like some horned critter, -than wear 
 that heathenish thing. Why do you do it, Catherine?" 
 
 Catherine could not tell her, and laughing merrily at 
 her aunt's animadversions against her own and Helen's 
 style of hairdressing, she hurried away across the fields to 
 Linwood. Aunt !^etsy's surprise was in a measure shared 
 by Helen, who, understanding Katy better, made no com- 
 ments on her appearance, but smiled quietly at the air of 
 matronly dignity which Katy had assumed, and which 
 really sat so prettily upon her as she went from room to 
 room to see what had been done, lingering longest in Mor- 
 ris' own apartment, opening from the library, where she 
 made some alterations in the arrangement of the furniture, 
 putting one chair a little more to the right, and pushing 
 a. stand or table to the left, just as her artistic eye dictated. 
 
444 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 By some oversight, no flowers had been put in there, but 
 Katy gathered an exquisite bouquet and left it on the 
 mantel, just where she remembered to have seen flowers 
 when Morris was at home. 
 
 "He will be tired," she said. "He will lie down after 
 dinner," and she laid a few sweet English violets upon the 
 pillow, thinking their perfume might be grateful to him 
 after the pent-up air of the hospital and cars. "He will 
 think Helen put them there, or Mrs. Hull," she thought, 
 as she stole softly out and shut the door behind her, 
 glancing next at the clock, and feeling a little impatient 
 that a whole hour must elapse before they could expect 
 him. 
 
 Poor Morris ! he did not dream how anxiously he was 
 waited for at home, nor yet of the crowd assembled at 
 the depot to welcome back the loved physician, whom they 
 had missed so much, and whose name they had so often 
 heard coupled with praise as a true hero, even though his 
 post was not in the front of the battle. Thousands had 
 been cared for by him, their gaping wounds dressed skill- 
 fully, their aching heads soothed tenderly, and their last 
 moments made happier by the words he spoke to them of 
 the world to which they were going, where there is no 
 more war or shedding of man's blood. In the church- 
 yard at Silverton there were three soldiers' graves, whose 
 pale occupants had each died with Dr. Grant's hand held 
 tightly in his, as if afraid that he would leave them before 
 the dark river was crossed, while in more than one Sil- 
 verton home there was a wasted form on which the soldier 
 coat hung loosely, who never tired of telling Dr. Morris' 
 praise and dwelling on his goodness. But Dr. Morris 
 was not thinking of this as, faint and sick, with the green 
 shade before his eyes, he leaned against the pile of shawls 
 his companion had placed for his back and wondered if 
 they were almost there. 
 
 "I smell the pond lilies ; we must be near Silverton," he 
 said, and a sigh escaped his lips as he thought of coming 
 home and not being able to see it or the woods and fields 
 around it. "Thy will be done," he had said many times 
 since the fear first crept into his heart that for him the 
 light had faded. 
 
 But now, when home was almost reached, and he began 
 
DB. GRANT. 445 
 
 to breathe the air from the New England hills and the 
 perfume of the New England lilies, the flesh rebelled 
 again, and he cried out within himself : "Oh, I cannot be 
 Idind ! God will not deal thus by me !" while keen as the 
 cut of a sharpened knife was the pang with which he 
 thought of Katy, and wondered would she care if he were 
 blind. 
 
 Just then the long train stopped at Silverton, and, led 
 by his attendant, he stepped feebly into the crowd, which 
 sent up deafening cheers for Dr. Grant come home again. 
 At the sight of his helplessness, however, a feeling of awe 
 fell upon them, and whispering to each other, "I did not 
 suppose he was so bad," they pressed around him, offering 
 their hands and inquiring anxiously how he was. 
 
 "I have been sick, but I shall get better now. The 
 very sound of your friendly voices does me . good, even 
 though I cannot see you distinctly," he said, as he went 
 slowly to his carriage, led now bty^ Uncle Ephraim, who 
 could not keep back his tears as he saw how weak Morris 
 •was, panting for breath as he leaned back among the 
 cushions. 
 
 It was very pleasant that afternoon, and Morris en- 
 joyed the drive so much, assuring Uncle Ephraim that he 
 was growing better every moment. He did seem stronger 
 when at last the .carriage stopped at Linwood, and his step 
 was more rapid as he went up the steps where Helen, Katy 
 and Mrs. Hull were waiting for him. He could not see 
 them sufficiently to distinguish one from the. other, but 
 even without the aid of her voice he would have known 
 when Katy's hand was put in his, it was so small, so soft, 
 and trembled so as he held it. Her cap had been worn 
 for nothing, nor did she think of it in her sorrow at find- 
 ing him so helpless. Pity was the strongest feeling of 
 which she was conscious, and it manifested itself ii^ va- 
 rious ways. 
 
 "Let me lead you. Cousin Morris," she said, as she saw 
 him groping his way to his room, and without waiting for 
 his reply, she held his hand again in hers and led him to 
 his room, where the sweet English violets were. 
 
 "I used to lead you, Katy," Morris said, as he took his 
 seat by the window, "and I little thought then that you 
 
446 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 would one day return the compliment. It is very hard to 
 be blind." 
 
 The tone of his voice was inexpressibly sad, but his 
 smile was as cheerful as ever as his face turned toward 
 Katy, who could not answer for her tears. It seemed so 
 terrible to see a strong man so stricken, and that strong 
 man Morris — terrible to watch him in his helplessness, 
 trying to appear as of old, so as to cast on others no. part 
 of the shadow resting so darkly on himself. When dinner 
 was over and the sun began to decline, many of his former 
 friends came in, but he looked so pale and weary that they 
 did not tarry long, and when th? last one was gone, Mor- 
 ris was led back to his room, which he did not leave again 
 until the summer was over and the luscious fruits of Sep- 
 tember were ripening upon the trees. 
 
 Toward the middle of July, Helen, whose health was 
 suffering from her restless anxiety concerning Mark, was 
 taken by Mrs. Banker to Nahant, where Mark's sister, 
 Mrs. Ernst, was spending the summer, and thus on Katy 
 alone fell the duty of paying to Morris those little acts of 
 sisterly attentions such as no other member of the family 
 knew how to pay. In the room v/here he lay so helpless 
 Katy was not afraid of him, nor did she deem herself 
 faithless to Wilford's memory, because each day found 
 her at Linwood, sometimes bathing Morris' inflamed eyes, 
 som.etimes bringing him the cooling drink, and again read- 
 ing to him by the hour, until, soothed by the music of her 
 voice, he would fall away to sleep and dream it was an 
 angel there with him. 
 
 "My eyes are getting better," he said to her one day 
 toward the latter part of August, when she came as usual 
 to his room. "I knew last night that Mrs. Hull's dress 
 was blue, and I saw the sun shine through the shutters. 
 Soon, very soon, I hope to see you, Katy, and know if you 
 have changed." 
 
 She was standing close by him, and as he talked he 
 raised his hand as if to rest it on her head, but, with a 
 sudden movement, Katy eluded the touch, and stepped a 
 little farther from him. 
 
 She did not go to Linwood the next day, nor the next; 
 and when she Vvent again there was in her manner a shade 
 more of dis^n't-^', which had both amused and interested 
 
DR. GRANT. 447 
 
 Morris. He did not know for certain that Wilford had 
 told Katy of the confession made tliat memorable night 
 when her recovery seemed so doubtful, but he more than 
 half suspected it from the shyness of her manner and 
 from the various excuses she now made for not coming to 
 Linwood every day, as she had heretofore done. 
 
 "You do not 'need me as much as you did," she said to 
 him one morning in September, when he complained of his 
 loneliness, and told how he had waited for her the previous 
 day until night shut down, and he knew she would not 
 come. "You can see better than you did. You are able 
 to sit up all day, and walk about' a little, so if I come I am 
 not needed," and seating herself at a respectful distance 
 from him, Katy folded her white hands demurely over her 
 black dress, after having first adjusted the cap worn con- 
 stantly since the time when she learned that Morris' sight 
 was improving. 
 
 "I sometimes think I need you more than I did then, and 
 if you must stay away now, I am ungrateful enough to 
 wish you had not come at all," Morris replied, and Katy's 
 cheeks burned crimson as she felt that the dim eyes, seen 
 through the green shades, were trying to study her as they 
 had not studied her before. "What is that on your head ?" 
 Morris^asked, rather abruptly. "I have tried to make it 
 out, wondering if it were a handkerchief, and why it was 
 worn." 
 
 "It is my cap- — ^the widow's cap — worn for Wilford's 
 sake," was the reply, which silenced Morris for that time, 
 making him feel that between Katy Lennox, the girl, and 
 Katy Cameron, the widow, there was a vast difference, 
 and awakening in his heart a fear lest Wilford Cameron 
 dead should provq, as strong a rival as Wilford living had 
 been. 
 
 In his great pity for Katy when she was first a widow, 
 Morris had scarcely remembered that she was free, or if 
 it did flash upon his mind, he thrust the thought aside as 
 injustice to the dead ; but as the months and the year went 
 by, and he heard constantly from Helen of Katy's in- 
 creasing cheerfulness, it was not in his nature never to 
 think of what might be, and more than once he had 
 prayed that, if consistent with his Father's will, that the 
 woman he had loved so well should be his yet. If not, he 
 
448 FAMILY PRIDB. 
 
 could go his way alone, just as he had always done, know- 
 ing that it was right. 
 
 Such was the state of Morris' mind when he returned 
 from Washington, but now it was somewhat different. 
 The weary weeks of sickness, during which Katy had min- 
 istered to him so kindly, had not been without their effect, 
 and if Morris had loved the frolicsome, childlike Katy 
 Lennox much, he loved far more the gentle, beautiful 
 woman whose character had been so wonderfully devel- 
 oped by suffering, and who was now far more worthy of 
 his love than in her early girlhood. 
 
 "I cannot lose her now," was the thought constantly in 
 Morris' mind, as he experienced more and more how deso- 
 late were the days which did not bring her to him. "It is 
 twenty months, just, since Wilford died; and George 
 Washington asked Martha Custis for her hand within less 
 time than that after her husband's death," he said to him- 
 self one wet October afternoon, when he sat listening 
 dreamily to the patter of the rain falling upon the win- 
 dows, and looking occasionally across the fields to the 
 farmhouse, in the vain hope of spying in the distance the 
 little airy form, which, in its waterproof and cloud, had 
 braved worse storms than this at the time he was so ill. 
 
 But no such figure appeared. He hardly expected it 
 would, but he watched the pathway just the same, and the 
 smoke wreaths rising so high above the farmhouse. The 
 deacon burned out his chimney that day, and Morris, 
 whose sight had greatly improved of late, knew it by the 
 dense, black volume of smoke, mingled with rings of fire, 
 which rose above the roof, remembering so well another 
 rainy day, twenty years ago, when the deacon's chimney 
 was cleaned, and a little, toddling girl, in scarlet gown 
 and white pinafore, had amused herself with throwing into 
 the blazing fire upon the hearth a straw at a time, almost 
 upsetting herself with standing so far back and making 
 such efforts to reach the flames. A great deal had passed 
 since then. The little girl in the pinafore had been both 
 wife and mother. She was a widow now, and Morris 
 glanced across his hearth toward the empty chair he had 
 never seen in imagination filled by any but herself. 
 
 Surely, she would some day be his own, and leaning 
 his head upon the cane he carried, he prayed earnestly faf' 
 
DR. GRANT. 449 
 
 the good he coveted, keeping his head down so long that, 
 until it had left the strip of woods and emerged into the 
 open fields, he did not see the figure, wrapped in water- 
 proof and hood, with a huge umbrella over its head and a 
 basket upon its arm, which came picking its way daintily 
 toward the house, stopping occasionally, and lifting up the 
 little, high-heeled Balmoral, which the mud was ruining 
 so completely. Katy was coming to Linwood. It had 
 been baking day at the farmhouse, and remembering how 
 much Morris used to love her custards. Aunt Betsy had 
 prepared him some, which she warranted to "melt in his 
 mouth," and then asked Katy to take them over, so he 
 could have them for tea. 
 
 "The rain won't hurt you an atom," she said, as Katy 
 began to demur and glance at the lowering sky. "You 
 can wear your waterproof boots and my shaker, if you 
 like, and I do so want Morris to have them to-night." 
 
 Thus importuned, Katy consented to go, but declined 
 the loan of Aunt Betsy's shaker, which being large of the 
 kind, and capeless, too, was not the most becoming head- 
 gear a woman could' wear. With the basket of custards, 
 and cup of jelly she made herself, Katy finally started 
 forth, Aunt Betsy saying to her, as in the door she stopped 
 to take up her dress : "It must be dretful lonesome for 
 Morris to-day. S'posin' you stay to supper with him, and 
 when it's growin' dark I'll come over for you. You'll 
 find the custards fust-rate." 
 
 Katy did not think it very probable that she should stay 
 to tea with, Morris, but she made no reply, and walked 
 away, while Aunt Betsy went back to the coat she was 
 patching for her brother, saying to herself: 
 
 "I'm bound tq, fetch that 'round. It's a shame for two 
 young folks, just fitted to each other, to live apart when 
 they might be so happy, with Hannah, and Lucy, and 
 me, close by, to see to 'em, and alius make their soap, and 
 see to the butcherin', besides savin' peneryle and catnip for 
 the children, if there was any." 
 
 Aunt Betsy had turned matchmaker in her old age, 
 and day and night she planned how to bring about the 
 match between Morris and Katy. That they were made 
 for each other she had no doubt. From something which 
 Helra ;r?'"7--'-^:iti[y let fall she had guessed that Morris 
 
450 FAMILY PRIDE, 
 
 wanted Katy prior to her marriage with Wilforcf. She 
 had suspected as much beforCj she was sure of it now, and 
 straightway put her wits at work "to make it go," as she 
 expressed it. But Katy was too shy to suit her, and since 
 Morris' convalescence had stayed too much from Lin- 
 wood. To-day, however, Aunt Betsy "felt it in her 
 bones" that, if properly managed, something would hap- 
 pen, and the. cqistards were but the means to the .-desired 
 end. With no suspicion whatever of the good dame's in- 
 tentionSi (Katy picked her way to Linwood, and leaving 
 her damp garments in the hall, lest Morris should take 
 cold, went at once into the library, where he was sitting 
 near to a large chair kept sacred for her, his face looking 
 unusually cheerful, and the room unusually pleasant, with 
 the bright wood fire on the hearth. She knew he was 
 glad she had come, that he thought more of her being 
 there than of the custards she brought him. 
 
 "I have been so lonely, with no company but the rain," 
 he said, pushing the chair a little toward her, and bidding 
 her sit near the fire, where she could dry her feet. 
 
 Katy obeyed, and sat down so near to him that had he 
 chose he might have touched her head, which this day was 
 minus cap, or even net, the golden hair combed back and 
 fastened in heavy coils low down on her neck, giving to 
 her a very girlish appearance, as Morris thought, for he 
 could see her now, and while she dried her feet he looked 
 at her eagerly, wondering that the fierce storm she had 
 encountered had left so few traces upon her face. Just 
 about the mouth there was a deep-cut line, but this was ail ; 
 the remainder of the face was fair and smooth as in her 
 early girlhood, and far more beautiful, just as her char- 
 acter was lovelier, and more to be admired. 
 
 Morris had done well to wait if he could win her now. 
 Perhaps he thought so, too, and this was why his spirits 
 became so gay as he kept talking to her, suggesting at last 
 that she should stay to tea. The rain was falling in tor- 
 rents when he mads the proposition. She could not go 
 then, even had she wished it, and though it was earlier' 
 than his usual tea time, Morris at once rang for Mrs. Hull, 
 and ordered that tea be served in there as soon as possible. 
 
 "I ought not to stay. It is not proper, and my cap at 
 home, too," Katv kept thinking as she fidgeted in her 
 
DR. GRANT. 451 
 
 chair, and watched the girl setting the table so cosily for 
 two, and occasionally deferring some debatable point to 
 her as if she were mistress there. 
 
 "Shall we have some thin slices of cold chicken to go 
 with the jelly ?" she asked, looking at Katy, who answered 
 in the affirmative, wishing she was at home, and deploring 
 again the absence of her cap. 
 
 "You can go now, Reekie," Morris said, when the boil- 
 ing water was poured into the silver kettle, and tea was 
 on the table. "If we need you we will ring." 
 
 With a vague wonder as to who would toast the doc- 
 tor's bread and butter it, Reekie departed, and the two 
 were left together. It was Katy who toasted the bread, 
 kneeling upon the marble hearth, nearly blistering her 
 hands, burning her face and scorching the bread in her 
 nervousness at the novel position in which she so unex- 
 pectedly found herself. It was Katy, too, who prepared 
 Morris' tea, and tried to eat, but could not. She was not 
 hungry, she said, and the custard v/as the only thing she 
 tasted, besides the tea, which she sipped at frequent in- 
 tervals, so as to make Morris think she was eating more 
 than she was. But Morris was not deceived, nor yet dis- 
 heartened. Possibly she suspected his intention, and if so, 
 the sooner he reached the point the better. So when tliw 
 tea equipage was put away, and she began again to speak 
 of going home, he said : 
 
 "No, Katy, you can't go yet till I have said what's in 
 my mind to say," and laying his hand upon her shoulder 
 he made her sit down beside him and listen while he told 
 her the love he had borne for her long before she knew 
 the meaning of that word as she knew it now — of the 
 struggle to keep that love in bounds after its indulgence 
 was a sin, of his ffemptations and victories, of his sincere 
 regret for Wilford, and of his deep respect for her f rief, 
 which made her for a time as a sister to him. But that 
 time had passed. She was not his sister now, nor ever 
 could be again. She was Katy, dearer, more precious, 
 more desired even than before another called her wife, and 
 he asked her to be his, to come up there to Linwood and 
 live with him, making the rainy days brighter, balmier, 
 than the sunniest had ever been, and helping him in his 
 work of ca: ■ - for the poor and sick around them. 
 
452 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 "Will Katy come? Will she be the wife of Cousin 
 Morris ?" 
 
 There was a world of pathos and pleading in the voice 
 which asked this question, just as there was a world of 
 tenderness in the manner in which Morris smoothed and 
 caressed and fondled the bowed head resting on the chair 
 arm. And Katy felt it all, understanding what it was to 
 be offered such a love as Morris offered, but only compre- 
 hending in part what it would be to refuse that love. 
 For, alas! her blinded judgment said she must refuse it. 
 Had there been no sad memories springing from that 
 grave in Greenwood, no bitter reminiscences connected 
 with her married life — had Wilford never heard of Mor- 
 ris' love and taunted her with it so often, she might per- 
 haps consent, for she craved the rest there would be with 
 Morris to lean upon. But the happiness was too great for 
 her to accept. It would seem too much like faithlessness 
 to Wilford, too much as if he had been right when he 
 charged her with preferring Morris to himself. 
 
 "It cannot be — oh, Morris, it cannot be," she sobbed, 
 when he pressed her for answer. "Don't ask me why — ■ 
 don't ever mention it again, for I tell you it cannot be. 
 J^y answer is final ; it cannot be. I am sorry for you, so 
 sorry. I wish you had never loved me, for it cannot be." 
 
 She writhed herself from the arms which tried to detain 
 her, and rising to her feet left the room suddenly, and 
 throwing on her wrappings, quitted the house without an- 
 other word, leaving basket and umbrella behind, and never 
 knowing she had left them, or how the rain was pouring 
 down upon her unsheltered person until, as she entered 
 the narrow strip of woodland, she was met by Aunt Betsy, 
 who exclaimed at seeing her, and asked : 
 
 "What has become of your umberell? Your silk one, 
 too. It's hopeful you haven't lost it. What has happened 
 you?" and coming closer to Katy, Aunt Betsy looked 
 searchingly in her face. It was not so dark that she 
 could not see the traces of recent tears, and instinctively 
 suspecting their nature, she continued: "Catherine, have 
 you gin Morris the mitten ?" 
 
 "Aunt Betsy, is it possible that you and Morris con- 
 trived this plan?" Katy asked, half indignantly, as she 
 
DR. GRANT. 453 
 
 oegan in part to understand her aunt's great anxiety iot 
 her to visit Linwood that afternoon. 
 
 "Morris had nothing to do with it," Aunt Betsy replied. 
 "It was my doin's wholly, and this is the thanks I git. 
 You quarrel with him and git mad at me, who thought 
 only of your good. Catherine, you know you like Morris 
 Grant, and if he asked you to have him why don't you ?" 
 
 "I can't. Aunt Betsy. I can't, after all that has passed. 
 It would be unjust to Wilford." 
 
 'TJnjust to Wilford — ^fiddlesticks!" was Aunt Betsy's 
 expressive reply, as she started on toward Linwood, say- 
 ing she was going after the umberell before it got lost, 
 with nobody there to tend to things as they should be 
 tended to. "Have you any word to send?" she asked, 
 hoping Katy had relented. 
 
 But Katy had not ; and with a toss of her head, which 
 shook the raindrops from her capeless shaker, Aunt Betsy 
 went on her way, and was soon confronting Morris, sitting 
 just where Katy had left him, and looking very pale and 
 sad. 
 
 He was not glad to see Aunt Betsy. He would rather 
 be alone until such time as he could control himself and 
 still his throbbing heart. But with his usual affability, h« 
 bade Aunt Betsy sit down, shivering a little when he saw 
 her in the chair where Katy had sat, her thin, angular 
 body presenting a striking contrast to the graceful, girlish 
 figure which had sat there an hour since, and the huge 
 India rubbers she held up to the fire as unlike as possible 
 to the boot of fairy dimensions he had admired so much 
 when it was drying on the hearth. 
 
 "I met Catherine," Aunt Betsy began, "and mistrusted 
 at once that something was to pay, for a girl don't leaVe 
 her umberell in such a rain and go cryin' home for 
 nothin'." 
 
 Morris colored, resenting for an instant this interference 
 by a third party ; but Aunt Betsy was so honest and sim- 
 ple-hearted that he could not be angry long, and listened 
 calmly while she continued : 
 
 "I have not lived sixty-odd years for nothing, and I 
 know the signs pretty well. I've been through the mill 
 myself.'' 
 
454 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 Here Aunt Betsy's voice grew lower in its tone, and 
 Morris looked up with real interest, while she went on : 
 
 "There's Joel Upham — ^you know Joel — keeps a tin shop 
 now, and seats the folks in meetin'. He asked me once 
 for my company, and to be smart I told him 'no,' when all 
 the time I meant 'yes,' thinkin' he would ask ag'in, but he 
 didn't, and the next I knew he was keepin' company with 
 Patty Adams, now his wife. I remember I sniveled a 
 little at being taken at my word, but it served me right for 
 saying one thing when I meant another. However, it 
 don't matter now. Joel is as clever as the day is long, 
 but he is a shiftless critter, never splits his kindlin's till 
 jest bedtime, and Patty is pestered to death for wood, 
 while his snorin' nights, she says, is awful, and that I 
 never could abide; so, on the whole, I'm better off than 
 Patty." 
 
 Morris laughed a loud, hearty laugh, which did him 
 good, and emboldened his visitor to say more than she had 
 intended saying: 
 
 "You just ask her ag'in. Once ain't nothing at all, and 
 she'I! come to. She likes you ; 'tain't that which made her 
 say no. It's some foolish idea about faithfulness to Wil- 
 Jord, as if he deserved that she should be faithful. They 
 never orto have had one another — never ; and now that he 
 is well in heaven, as I do suppose he is, it ain't I who 
 hanker for him to come back. Neither does Katy, and all 
 she needs is a little urging to tell you yes. So ask her 
 again, will you?" 
 
 "I think it very doubtful. Katy knew what she was 
 doing, and meant what she said," Morris replied; and 
 with the consoling remark that if young folks would be 
 fools it was none of her business to bother with them. 
 Aunt Betsy pinned her shawl across her chest, and hunting 
 up both basket and umbrella, bade Morris good-night, 
 and went back across the fields to the farmhouse, hearing 
 from Mrs. Lennox that Katy had gone to bed with a rack- 
 ing headache. 
 
 "Just the way I felt when I heard about Joel and Patty," 
 Aunt Betsy said to herself, and as she remembered what 
 had helped her then, so, fifteen minutes later, she ap- 
 peared at Katy's bedside, with a cup of strong sage tea, 
 
KATY. 455 
 
 which she bade Katy swallow, telling her it was good for 
 her complaint. 
 
 To prevent being urged and annoyed, Katy drank the 
 tea, and then without a question concerning Aunt Betsy's 
 call at Linwood, lay down upon her pillow, asking to be 
 left alone. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 KATY. 
 
 "Are you of the same mind Still ?" Helen asked, when, 
 three weeks later, she returned from New York, and at 
 the hour for retiring sat in her chamber watching Katy 
 as she brushed her wavy hair, occasionally curling a tress 
 arovmd her fingers and letting it fall upon her snowy 
 nightdress. 
 
 They had been talking of Morris, whom Katy had only 
 seen once since that rainy night, and that at church, where 
 he had come the previous Sunday. Katy had written an 
 account of the transaction to her sister, who had chosen to 
 reply by word of mouth rather than by letter, and so the 
 first moment they were alone she seized the opportunity to 
 ask if Katy was of the same mind still as when she re* 
 fused the doctor. 
 
 "Yes ; why shouldn't I be?" Katy replied. "You better 
 < than any one else knew what passed between Wilford and 
 me concerning Morris, and you can " 
 
 "Do you love Morris?" Helen asked, abruptly, without 
 waiting for Katy to finish her sentence. 
 
 For an instant the hands stopped in their work, and 
 Katy's eyes filled with tears, which dropped into her lap 
 as she replied : * 
 
 "More than I wish I did, seeing I must always tell' him 
 no. It's strange, too, how the love for him keeps coming 
 in spite of all I can do. I have not been there since, nor 
 spoken with him until last Sunday, but though I did not 
 know he was coming, I knew the moment he entered the 
 church, and when in the first chant I heard his voice, my, 
 fingers trembled so that I could scarcely play, while all the 
 time my heart goes out after the rest I always find with 
 him. But it cannot be." 
 
456 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 "Suppose Morris had asked you first, what then?" was 
 Helen's next straightforward question, and Katy, who had 
 no secrets from her sister, answered : 
 
 "It might have been, perhaps, though I never thought of 
 it then. Oh, Helen, I wish Wilford had never known that 
 Morris loved me." 
 
 She was sobbing now, with her head in Helen's lap, and 
 Helen, smoothing her bright hair, said, gently : 
 
 "You have taken a morbid fancy, Katy. You do not 
 reason correctly. It is right for you to answer Morris 
 yes, and Wilford would say so, too. When I received 
 your letter apprising me of the refusal, I read it to Bell, 
 who said she was so sorry, and then told what Wilford 
 said before he died. You must have forgotten it, darling. 
 He referred to a time when you would cease to be his 
 widow, and he said he was willing, said so to her, and you. 
 Do you remember it, Katy ?" 
 
 "Yes, I do now, but I had forgotten. I was so stunned 
 then, so bewildered, that it made no impression. I did 
 not think he meant Morris. Helen, do you believe he 
 meant Morris?" and lifting up her face, Katy looked at 
 her sister with a wistfulness which told how anxiously 
 she waited for the answer. 
 
 - "I know that he meant Morris," Helen replied. "Bell 
 thinks so, too. So does her father, and both bade me tell 
 you to revoke your decision, to marry Dr. Grant, with 
 .whom you will be so happy." 
 
 "I cannot. It is too late. I told him no, and, Helen, I 
 told him a falsehood, too, which I wish I might take back," 
 she added. "I said I was sorry he ever loved me, when I 
 was not, for the knowing that he had made me very happy. 
 My conscience has smitten me cruelly since for tlmt false- 
 hood told, not intentionally, for I did not consider what 
 I said." 
 
 Here was an idea at which Helen caught at once. She 
 knew just how conscientious Katy was, and by working 
 upon this principle she hoped to persuade her into going 
 over to Linwood and telling Morris that when she said 
 .she was sorry he loved her she did not mean it. Biht this 
 Katy would not dj. Helen could tell him, if she liked, 
 but she must not encourage him to hope for a recantation 
 
KATY. 457 
 
 of all she had said to him. She meant the rest. She 
 could not be his wife. 
 
 Early the next morning Helen went to Linwood, and 
 the same afternoon Morris returned her call. He "had 
 been there two or three times since his return from Wash- 
 ington, but not since Katy's refusal, and her cheeks were 
 scarlet as he met him in the parlor and tried to be natural. 
 He did not look unhappy. He was not taking his rejec- 
 tion very hard, after all, she thought, and the little lady 
 felt a very little piqued to find him so cheerful, and even 
 gay, when she had scarcely known a moment's quiet since 
 3ie day she carried him the custards, and forgot to bring 
 away her umbrella. As it had rained that day, so it did 
 now, a decided, energetic rain, which set in after Morris 
 came, and precluded fiie possibility of his going home that 
 night. 
 
 "He would catch his death of cold," Aunt Betsy said, 
 while Helen, too, joined her entreaties until Morris con- 
 sented, and the carriage which came around for him at 
 dark returned to Linwood, with the message that the doc- 
 tor would pass the night at Deacon Barlow's. A misty, 
 rainy night, who does not enjoy it when sitting by a cheer- 
 ful fire, they listen dreamily to the falling rain sifting 
 softly through the leafless trees, and answering to the faint 
 sighing of the autumn wind. Morris enjoyed iv very 
 much, and but- for the green glasses he still wore would 
 have looked and appeared like his former self as he sat 
 in his armchair, now holding the skein of yarn which Aunt 
 Betsy wound, now talking with the deacon of the probable 
 exchange of all the prisoners, a theme which quickened 
 Helen's pulse and sent the blood to her pale cheeks, and 
 again standing by Katy as she played his favorite airs, his 
 rich bass voice mingling with hers and Helen's,, the three 
 making finer music. Aunt Betsy said, than that for which 
 she paid two dollars at the playhouse. 
 
 He did not often address Katy directly, but he knew 
 each time she moved, and watched every varying expres- 
 sion of her face, feeling a kind of pity for her, when with- 
 out appearing to do so intentionally, the family, one by 
 one, stole from the room — Uncle Ephraim and Aunt Han- 
 nah without any excuse ; Aunt Betsy to raise the cakes for 
 
458 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 breakfast; Mrs. Lennox to wind the clock, and Helen to 
 find a book for which Morris had asked. 
 
 Katy might not have thought strange of their departure 
 were it not that neither one came back again, and after 
 the lapse of ten minutes or more she felt convinced that 
 she had purposely been left alone with Morris. 
 
 The weather and the family had conspired against her, 
 but after one throb of fear she resolved to brave the difii- 
 culty and meet whatever might happen as became a woman 
 of twenty-three, and a widow, too. She knew Morris 
 was regarding her intently as she fashioned into shape the 
 coarse wool sock, intended for some soldier, and she could 
 almost hear her heart beat in the silence which fell be- 
 tween them ere Morris said to her, in a tone which re- 
 assured her at once : 
 
 "And so you told me a falsehood the other day, and your 
 conscience has troubled you ever since ?" 
 
 "Yes, Morris," and Katy. dropped her stitch as she re- 
 plied. "Yes ; that is, I told you I was sorry that you ever 
 loved me, which was not exactly true, for, after I knew 
 you did, I was happier than before." 
 
 Her words implied a knowledge of his love previous to 
 that night at Linwood when he had himself confessed it, 
 ,and he said to her, inquiringly : 
 
 "You knew it then before I told you?" 
 
 "From Wilford — yes," Katy faltered, a tear dropping 
 on her cheek as she recalled the circumstances of Wilford's 
 telling her. 
 
 "I understand now why you have been so shy of me," 
 Morris said. "It was only natural you should be until 
 you knew what my intentions were ; but, Katy, must this 
 shyness continue always ? Think now, and say if you did 
 not tell more than one falsehood the other night, as you 
 count falsehoods." 
 
 Katy looked wonderingly at him, and he continued : 
 
 "You said you could not be my wife. Was that true? 
 Can't you take it back, and give me a different answer ?" 
 
 Katy's cheeks were scarlet, and her hands had ceased to 
 flutter about the knitting which lay upon her lap. 
 
 "I meant what I said," she whispered ; "for knowing, as 
 I do, how Wilford felt, it would not be right for me to be 
 so happy." 
 
KATY. 459 
 
 "Then it's nothing- personal? If there were no harrow- 
 ing memories of Wilford, you could be happy with me. 
 Is that it, Katy ?" Morris asked, coming close to her now, 
 and imprisoning her hands, which she did not try to take 
 away, but let them lie in his as he continued : "Wilford 
 was willing at the last. Have you forgotten that ?" 
 
 "I had, until Helen reminded me," Katy replied. "But,- 
 Morris, the talking of this thing brings Wilford's death 
 back so vividly, making it seem but yesterday since I held 
 his dying head." 
 
 She was beginning to relent, Morris knew, and bending 
 nearer to her, he said : 
 
 "It was not yesterday. It will be two years in Feb- 
 ruary; and this, you know, is November. I need you, 
 Katy. I want you so much. I have wanted you all your 
 life. Before it was wrong to do so I used each day to pray 
 that God would give you to me, and now I feel just as 
 sure that he has opened the way for you to come to me as 
 I am sure that Wilford is in heaven. He is happy there, 
 and shall a morbid fancy keep you from being happy here ? 
 Tell me then, Katy, will you be my wife ?" 
 
 He was kissing her cold hands, and as he did so he felt 
 her tears dropping on his hair. * 
 
 "If I say yes, Morris, you will not think that I never 
 loved Wilford, for I did, oh yes, I did. Not exactly as I 
 supposed I might, even then, have loved you, had you 
 asked me first, but I loved him, and I was happy with him, 
 or if there were little clouds, his dying swept them all 
 away." 
 
 Katy was proving herself a true_ woman, who remem- 
 bered only the good there was in Wi^ord,"and Morris did 
 not love her less for it. She was all the dearer to him, all 
 the more desirable. Once he told her so, winding his arms 
 about her, and rSsting her head upon his shoulder, where 
 it lay just as it had never lain before, for with tMfe first 
 kiss Morris gave her, calling her "My own little Katy," 
 she felt stealing over her the same indescribable peace she 
 had always felt with him, intensified now, and sweeter 
 from the knowing it would remain if she should will it so. 
 And she did will it so, kissing Morris back when he asked 
 her to, and thus sealing the compact of her second be- 
 trothal. .It was not exactly like the first. There was no 
 
460 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 tumultuous emotions, or ecstatic joys, but Katy felt in her 
 inmost heart that she was happier now than then, that be- 
 tween herself and Morris there was more afiinity than 
 there had been between herself and Wilford, and as she 
 looked back over the road she had come, and remembereci 
 all Morris had been to her, she wondered at her blind- 
 ness in not recognizing and responding to the love in 
 which she had now found shelter. 
 
 It was very late that night when Katy crept up to bed, 
 and Helen, who was not asleep, knew by the face on which 
 the lamphght fell, as Katy sat for a moment in thoughtful 
 mood, looking out into the darkness, that Morris had not 
 sued in vain. Aunt Betsy knew it, too, next morning, by, 
 the same look on Katy's face, when she came downstairs, 
 but this did not prevent her saying, abruptly, as Katy 
 stood by the sink : 
 
 "Be you two engaged?" 
 
 "We are," was Katy's frank reply, which brought back 
 all Aunt Betsy's visions of roasted fowls and frosted cake, 
 and maybe a dance in the kitchen, to say nothing of the 
 feather bed which she had not dared to offer Katy 
 Cameron, but which she thought would come in play for 
 "Miss Dr. Grant." 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 THE PRISONERS. 
 
 Many of the captives were coming home. Prison after 
 prison had given up its starving, vermin-eaten inmates, 
 while all along the Northern lines loving hearts were 
 waiting, and friendly hands outstretched to welcome them 
 back to "God's land," as the poor, suffering creatures 
 termed the soil over which waved the Stars and Stripes, 
 for which they had fought so bravely. Wistfully, thou- 
 sands of eyes ran over the long columns of narries of those 
 returned, each eye seeking for its own, and growing dim 
 with tears as it failed to find it, or lighting up with 
 untold joy when it was found. 
 
 "Lieutenant Robert Reynolds" and "Thomas Tubbs," 
 Helen read among the list of those just arrived at An- 
 napolis, but "Captain Mark Ray" was not there, and with 
 
TOE PEISONEES. 461 
 
 a sipkening feeling of disappointment she passed the 
 paper to her mother-in-law, and hastened away, to weep 
 and pray that what she so greatly feared might not come 
 upon her. 
 
 It was after Katy's betrothal, and she was in New 
 York, happy to hear news from Mark, and perhaps to 
 see him- ere long, for, as nearly as she could trace him 
 from reports of others, he was last at Andersonville. 
 But there was no mention made of him, no sign by which 
 she could tell wheiiier he still lived, or had long since 
 been relieved frortj suffering. 
 
 Early the next^day she heard that Mattie Tubbs had 
 received a telegram from Tom, who would soon be at 
 home, while later in the day Bell Cameron came around to 
 say that Bob was living, but had lost his right arm, and 
 was otherwise badly crippled. It never occurred to 
 Helen to ask if this would make a difference. She only 
 kissed Bell fondly, rejoicing at her good fortune, and 
 then sent her back to the home where there were hot dis- 
 cussions regarding the propriety of receiving into the 
 family a maimed and crippled member. 
 
 "It -was preposterous to suppose Bob would expect it," 
 Juno said, while the mother admitted that it was a most 
 unfortunate affair, as indeed the whole war had proved. 
 For her part, she sometimes wished the North had let the 
 South go quietly when they wanted to, and so saved thou- 
 sands of lives, and prevented the country from being 
 flooded with cripples, and negroes, and calls for more 
 men and money. On the whole, she rather doubted the 
 propriety of re-electing Lincoln, and prolonging the war ; 
 and she certainly doubted the propriety of giving her 
 daughter to a cripple. There was Arthur Grey, who had 
 lately been so attentive; he was a wealthier man than 
 Lieutenant Bob, and if Bell had any discretion she would 
 take htm in preference to a disfigured soldier. 
 
 Such was the purport of Mrs. Cameron's remarks, to 
 which her husband listened, his eyes blazing with pas- 
 sion, which, the moment she finished, burst forth in a 
 storm of oaths and invectives against what, with his pet 
 adjective, he called her "Copperhead principles," de- 
 nouncing her as a traitor, rqwoadiing her for the cruelty 
 which would separate her daughter from Robert Rey- 
 
462 FAMILY PRIBB. 
 
 nolds because he had lost an arm in the service of his 
 country, and then turning fiercely to Bell with the words : 
 
 "But it isn't for you to say whether he shall or shall 
 not have Bell. She is of age. Let her speak for 
 herself." 
 
 And she did speak, the noble, heroic girl, who had lis- 
 tened, with bitter scorn, to what her mother and sister 
 said, and who now, with elevated nostrils and voice hoarse 
 with emotion, answered slowly and impressively : 
 
 "I would marry Lieutenant Reynolds if he had only his 
 ears left to hear me tell him- how much I love and honor 
 him ! Arthur Grey ! Don't talk to me of him ! the craven 
 coward, who will neither volunteer nor give a cent for 
 our poor, suffering soldiers, but turns people off with: 
 'Government provides,' or 'the stores do not reach them,* 
 and all those subterfuges to which mean men resort to 
 keep from giving, and to avoid the draft swore he was 
 forty-five, when we all know better. Don't insult Robert 
 with such a comparison, or think I will break my faith 
 with him." 
 
 After this no more was said to Bell, who waited anx- 
 iously for further news from Bob, and who, the moment 
 she heard he was at home, went to his father's house, and 
 asked to see him. 
 
 He was sleeping when she entered his room, and push- 
 ing back the heavy curtain, so that the light would fall 
 more directly upon him, Mrs. Reynolds went out and left 
 her there alone. 
 
 With a beating heart, she stood looking at his hollow 
 eyes, his sunken cheek, his short, dry hair, and thick, 
 gray skin — all marks of the brutal treatment he had re- 
 ceived. She did not think of his arm until she glanced 
 at the wall where hung a large-sized photograph, taken 
 in full uniform the last time he was at home, and in 
 which his full, well-developed figure showed to good ad- 
 vantage. Could it be that the wreck before her had ever 
 been as full of life and vigor as the picture would in- 
 dicate, and was that arm which held the sword severed 
 from the body, and left a token of the murderous war? 
 
 "Poor Bob! how much he must have suffered," she 
 whispered, and kneeling down beside him, she hid her 
 
THE PRISONERS. 463 
 
 face in her hands, weeping bitter tears for her armless 
 hero. 
 
 The motion awakened Robert, who gazed for a moment 
 in surprise at the kneeling, sobbing maiden ; then, when 
 sure it was she, he raised himself in bed, and ere Bell 
 could look up, two arms, one quite as strong as the other, 
 were wound around her neck, and her head was pillowed 
 upon the breast, which heaved with strong emotions as 
 the soldier said: 
 
 "My darling Bell, my promised wife, you don't know 
 how much good this meeting does me!" 
 
 He kissed her many times, £ind Bell did not prevent it, 
 tut gave him kiss after kiss, then, still doubting the evi- 
 dence of her eyes, she unclasped his clinging arms, and 
 holding both his poor hands in hers, gave vei^t to a second 
 gush of tears as she said: 
 
 "I am so glad — oh, so glad !" 
 
 Then, as it occurred to her that he might perhaps mis- 
 judge her, and put a wrong construction upon her joy, 
 she added : 
 
 "I did not care for myself, Robert. Don't think I cared 
 for myself, or was ever sorry a bit on my own account." 
 
 Bob looked a little bewildered as he replied: "Never 
 were sorry and never cared! I can scarcely credit that, 
 for surely your tears and present emotions belie your 
 words." 
 
 Bell knew he had not understood her, and she said : 
 
 "Your arm, Robert, your arm. We heard it was cut 
 off, and that you were otherwise mutilated." 
 
 "Oh, that's it, then!" and something like his old, mis- 
 chievous smle glimmered about Bob's mouth as he added : 
 "They spared my arms, but. Bell" — and he tried to look 
 very solemn — "suppose I tell you that they hacked off 
 both my legs, and if you marry me, as you seem to*think 
 you will, you must walk all your life by the side of 
 wooden pins and crutches?" 
 
 Bell knew by the curl of his lip that he was teasing 
 her, and she answered, laughingly : 
 
 "Wooden pins and crutches will be all the fashion when 
 the war is over; badges of honor of which any woman 
 might be proud.' ' 
 
 "Well, Bell," he replied, "I am afraid there is no such 
 
464 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 honor in store for my wife, for if I ever get back myj 
 strength and the flesh upon my bones, she must take me 
 with legs and arms included. Not even a scratch or 
 wound of any kind with which to awaken sympathy." 
 
 He appeared very bright and cheerful, but when, after 
 a moment. Bell asked for Mark Ray, there came a shadow; 
 over his face, and with quivering lips he told a tale which 
 blanched Bell's cheek, and made her shiver with pain and 
 dread as she thought of Helen, the wife who had never 
 known the sweets of matrimony, and who would never 
 taste them now, for Mark was dead — shot down as he at- 
 tempted to escape from the train which took them from 
 one place of torment to another. He was always de- 
 vising means of escape, succeeding several times, but was 
 immediately captured and brought back, or sent to some 
 closer quarters, Robert said; but his courage never de- 
 serted him, and in the muddy, filthy place where they 
 were herded like so many cattle, without shelter of any 
 kind, he was the life of them all, and by his presence kept 
 .many a poor fellow from dying of homesickness and- de- 
 spair. But he was dead; there could be no mistake, for 
 Robert saw him when he jumped, heard the ball which 
 went whizzing after him, saw him as he fell on the open 
 field, saw a man from a rude dwelling nearby go hur- 
 riedly toward him, firing his own revolver, as if to make 
 the death deed doubly sure. Then, as the train slacked 
 its speed, with the view, perhaps, to take the body on 
 board, he heard the man who had reached Mark and was 
 bending over him, call out : "Go on ; I'll tend to him. He 
 is dead as a stone; bullet went right through here," and he 
 turned the dead man's face toward the train, so all could 
 see the blood pouring from the temple which the finger 
 of the rebel ruffian touched. 
 
 "Oh, Helen! poor Helen! How can I tell her,. when 
 she loved him so much !" Bell sobbed, while Bob repeated 
 many things to prove how strong was the love the unfor- 
 tunate Mark Ray had borne foriiis young wife. 
 
 "He used to make pictures of her," he said, "with a 
 pencil which he had, and once he whittled out her face 
 with a lily in the hair. It was a good likeness, too, and I 
 saw Mark kiss it more than once when he thought he was 
 not seen. He had her photograph, it seems, but a brutal 
 
THE PRISONERS. 465 
 
 /deeper took it away, for no earthly purpose except to dis- 
 tress him. I never saw Mark cast down till then, when 
 for two whole days he scarcely spoke, but would stand 
 for hours with his face turned toward the North, and a 
 quivering motion around his lips, as if his heart were 
 broken." 
 
 Bell could hear no more, but motioned him to stop. 
 
 "It's too terrible even to think about," she said. "Oh, 
 how can I tell Helen I" 
 
 "You will do it better than any one else," Bob said. 
 "You will be very tender with her ; and, Bell, tell her, as 
 some consolation, that he did not break with the treat- 
 ment, as most of us wretches did; he kept up wonder- 
 fully — ^said he was perfectly well — ^and, indeed, he looked 
 so. Tom Tubbs, who was his shadow, clinging to him 
 with wonderful fidelity, will corroborate what I have said. 
 He was with us, he saw him, and only animal force pre- 
 vented him from leaping from the car and going to him 
 where he fell. I shall never forget his shriek of agony 
 at the sight of that blood-stained face turned an instant 
 toward us." 
 
 "Dc«i't, don't!" Bell cried again; "I can't endure it!" 
 and as Mrs. Reynolds then came in, she left her lover, 
 and with a foreboding heart, started for Mrs. Banker's, 
 meeting on the steps Tom Tubbs himself, who had come 
 on an errand similar to her own. 
 
 "Sit here in the hall a moment," she said to him, as the 
 servant admitted them both. "I must see Mrs. Ray 
 first." 
 
 Helen was reading to her mother-in-law, but she laid 
 down her book and came to welcome Bell, detecting at 
 once the agitation in her manner and asking if she had 
 liad bad news from Robert. 
 
 "No, Robert is at home; I have just come from there, 
 and he told me — oh ! Helen, can you bear it ? — Mark is 
 dead — shot twice as he jumped from the train taking him 
 to another prison. Robert saw it, and knew that he was 
 dead." 
 
 Beii cciuld get no further, for Helen, who had never 
 fainted in her life, did so now, lying senseless so long 
 that the physician began to think it would be a mercy if 
 she never came back to life,, 'kx her reason, he fancied, 
 
466 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 had fled. But Helen did come back to life with reason 
 unimpaired, and insisted upon hearing every detail of the 
 dreadful story, both from Bell and Tom. The latter con- 
 firmed all Lieutenant Reynolds had said, besides adding^ 
 many items of his own. Mark was dead, there could be 
 no doubt of it ; but with the tenacity of a strong, hopeful 
 nature, the mother clung to the illusion that possibly the 
 ball stunned, instead of killing — that he would yet com6 
 back ; and many a time, as the days went by, that mother 
 started at a step upon the walk or ring of the bell, which 
 she fancied might be his, hearing him sometimes call- 
 ing in the night storm for her to let him in, and hurrying 
 down to the door only to be disappointed, and go back to 
 her lonely room to weep the dark night through. 
 
 With Helen there were no such illusions. After talk- 
 ing calmly and rationally with both Robert and Tom, she 
 knew her husband was dead, and never watched and 
 waited for him as his mother did. She had heard from 
 Mark's companions in suffering all they had to tell, of his 
 captivity, and his love for her which manifested itself in 
 so many different ways. Passionately she had wept over 
 the tress of faded hair which Tom Tubbs brought to her, 
 saying: "He cut it from his head just before we left the 
 prison, and told me if he never got home and I did, to 
 give the lock to you, and say that all was well between 
 him and God — that your prayers had saved him. He 
 wanted you to know that, because, he said, it would com- 
 fort you most of all." 
 
 And it did comfort her, so that she could almost say 
 with a full heart: "Thy will be done," when she looked 
 up at the clear, wintry heavens and thought that her lost 
 one was there. It was her first real trial, and it crushed 
 her with its magnitude so that she could not submit at 
 once, and many a cry of desolate agony broke the silence 
 of her room, where the whole night through she sat mus- 
 ing of the past, and raining kisses upon the little lock of 
 hair which from the Southern prison had come to her, 
 sole relic of the husband so dearly loved and truly 
 mourned. How faded it was from the rich brown she 
 remembered so well, and Helen gazing at it could realize 
 in part the suffering and want which had worn so many 
 precious lives away. It was strange she never dreamed 
 
THE DAY OP THE WEDDING. 467 
 
 of him. She often prayed that she might, so as to drive 
 from her mind, if possible, the picture of the prostrate 
 form upon the low, damp field, and the blood-stained 
 face turned in its mortal agony toward the Southern sky 
 and the pitiless foe above it. So she always saw him, 
 shuddering as she wondered if the foe had buried him 
 decently or left his bones to bleach upon the open plain. 
 
 Poor Helen, she was widowed indeed, and it needed 
 not the badge of mourning to tell how terribly she was 
 bereaved. But the badge was there, too, for in spite of 
 the hope which said "he is not dead," Mrs. Banker yielded 
 to Helen's importunities, and cfbthed herself and daugh- ' 
 ter-in-law in the habiliments of woe, still waiting, still 
 watching, still listening for the step she shottld recognize 
 so quickly, still looking down the street ; but looking, alas ! 
 in vain. The winter passed away. Captive after captive 
 came home, heart after heart was cheered by the return- 
 ing loved one, but for the inmates of No. — the heavy 
 cloud grew blacker, for the empty ch^ir by the hearth re- 
 mained unoccupied, and the aching hearts uncheered. 
 Mark Ray did not come back. 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 THE DAY OF THE WEDDING. 
 
 Those first warm days of March, 1865, when spring 
 and summer seemed to kiss each other and join hands for 
 a brief space of time, how balmy, how still, how pleasant 
 they were, and how bright the farmhouse looked, where 
 preparations for Katy's second bridal were going rapidly 
 forward. Aunt Betsy, as chief directress, was in her ele- 
 ment, for now had come the reality of the vision sht had 
 seen so long, of house turned upside down in one grand 
 onslaught of suds and sand, then righted again by magic 
 power, and sjnelling very sweet and clean from its recent 
 ablutions — of turkeys dying in the barn, of chickens in 
 the shed, of ovens heating in the kitchen, of loaves of 
 frosted cake, v;ith cards and cards of snowy biscuit piled 
 upon the pantry shelf-^of jellies, tarts and chicken salad 
 —of home-made wine and home-brewed beer, with tea 
 
468 FAMILY PBIDE. 
 
 and coffee, portioned out and ready for the pots, the 
 latter mixed with fresh-laid eggs, and smelling strongly 
 of old Java, and the former as fragrant as two and one- 
 half dollars per pound could buy. 
 
 Aunt Betsy was very happy, for this, the brightest, 
 balmiest day of all, was Katy's wedding day, and in the 
 dining-room the table was already set with the new china- 
 ware and silver, a joint Christmas gift from Helen and 
 Katy to their good Aunt Hannah, as real mistress of the 
 house. 
 
 "Not plated-ware, but the gen-oo-ine article," Aunt 
 Betsy had explained at least twenty times to those who 
 came to see the silver, and she handled it proudly now 
 as she took it from the flannel bags where Mrs. Deacon 
 Bannister said it must be kept, and placed it on a side 
 table. 
 
 The coffee-urn was Katy's, so was the teakettle and 
 the massive pitcher, but the rest was "ours," Aunt Betsy 
 complacently reflected as she contemplated the glittering 
 array, and then hurried off to see what was burning on 
 the stove, or "spell" Uncle Ephraim, working indus- 
 triously at the ice-cream, out on the back stoop, stumbling 
 over Morris as she went, and telling him he had come to6 
 soon — it was not fittin' for him to be there under foot 
 until he was wanted. 
 
 Morris probably thought he was wanted, by one mem- 
 ber of the family at least, and without replying directly 
 to Aunt Betsy, he knocked with a vast amount of assur- 
 ance at a side door, which opened directly, and Katy's 
 glo , ing face looked out, and Katy's voice was heard, not 
 telling him he was not wanted, but saying, joyfully : 
 
 "Oh, Morris, it's you. I'm so glad you've come, for 
 I wanted " 
 
 But what she wanted was drowned by a succession of 
 certain mysterious sounds, such as are only produced by 
 a collision of lips, and which made Aunt Betsy mutter 
 to herself : 
 
 "It's all right, I know, but so much kissin' as- I've seen 
 the last fortni't is enough to turn a body's stomach. I 
 guess old bachelders and widders is commonly wus than 
 fresh hands at it." 
 
 And having thus expressed her thoughts, Aunt Betsy 
 
THE DAY OP THE WEDDING. 469 
 
 „«iized the handle of the ice-cream freezer and turned it 
 vigorously, thinking, perhaps, of Joel Upham, and what 
 might have been but for a freak of hers. Meanwhile 
 Morris and Katy sat alone in the little sewing-room, where 
 latterly they had passed so many quiet hours together, 
 and where lay the bridal dress, with its chaste and simple 
 decorations. Katy had clung tenaciously to her mourn- 
 ing robes, asking, half tearfully, if- she might wear black, 
 as ladies sometimes did. But Morris had promptly an- 
 swered no. His bride, if she came to him willingly, must 
 not come clad in widow's weeds, for when she became his 
 wife she would cease to be a widow. 
 
 And so the black was laid aside, and Katy, in soft tinted 
 colors, with her bright hair curling in her neck, looked as 
 girlish and beautiful as if in Greenwood there were no 
 pretentious monument, with Wilford's name upon it, nor 
 any little grave in Silverton where Baby Cameron slept. 
 She had been both wife and mother, but she was quite as 
 dear to Morris as if she had never borne other name than 
 Katy Lennox, and as he held her for a moment closely to 
 his heart, he thanked God, who had at last given to him 
 the idol of his boyhood and the love of his later years. 
 Across their pathway no shadow was lying, except when 
 they remembered Helen, on whom the mantle of widow- 
 hood had so darkly fallen just as Katy was throwing 
 it off. 
 
 Poor Helen, the tears always crept to Katy's eyes when 
 she thought of her, and now as she saw her steal across 
 the road and strike into the winding path which led to the 
 pasture where the pines and hemlock grew, she nestled 
 closer to Morris, and whispered': 
 
 "Sometimes I think it wrong to be so happy when 
 Helen is so sad. I pity jier so much to-day." 
 
 And Helen was to be pitied, for her heart was aching ta 
 its very core. She had tried to keep up through the 
 preparations for Katy's bridal, tried to seem interested, 
 and even cheerful, .while all the time a hidden agony was 
 tugging at her heart, and life seemed a heavier burden 
 than she could bear. 
 
 All her portion of the work was finished now, and in. 
 the balmy brightness of that warm April afternoon she 
 went into the fields where she could be alone beneath the 
 
470 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 soft, summer-like sky, and pour out her pent-up anguish 
 into the ear of Him who had so often soothed and com- 
 forted her when other aids had failed. Last night, for 
 the first time since she heard the dreadful news, she had 
 dreamed of Mark, and when she awoke she still felt the 
 pressure of his lips upon her brow, the touch of his arm 
 upon her waist, and the thrilling clasp of his warm hand 
 as it pressed and held her own. But that was a dream, 
 a cruel delusion, and its memory made the day more dark 
 and dreary as she went more slowly up the beaten path, 
 pausing once beneath a chestnut tree and leaning her 
 throbbing head against the shaggy bark as she heard in 
 the distance the shrill whistle of the downward train from 
 Albany, and thought, as she always did when she heard 
 that whistle, "Oh, if that heralded Mark's return, how 
 happy I should be." But many a sound like that had 
 e^oed across the Silverton hills, bringing no hope to her, 
 and now, as it again died away in the Cedar Swamp, she 
 pursued her way up the path till she reached the long, 
 white ledge of rocks where with Katy she used to play, 
 and where Bell Cameron had come with Lieutenant Bob, 
 while Morris, too, had more than once led Katy there 
 since the weather was so fine. 
 
 "The Lovers' Rock," some called it, for village boys . 
 and maidens knew the place, repairing to it often, whis- 
 pering their vows beneath the overhanging pines, which 
 whispered back again, and told the winds the story which, 
 though so old, is always new to her who listens to him 
 who tells. 
 
 Just underneath the spreading pine there was a large, 
 fiat stone, and there Helen sat down, gazing sadly upon 
 the valley below, and the clear waters of Fairy Pond 
 gleaming in the April sunshine, which lay so warmly on 
 the grassy hills and flashed so brightly from the cupola 
 at Linwood, where the national flag was flying. For a 
 time Helen watched the banner as it shook its folds to 
 the breeze, then, as she remembered with what a fearful 
 price that flag had been saved from foul dishonor, she hid 
 her face in her hands and sobbed bitterly : 
 
 "God help me not to begrudge the price or think I paid 
 too dearly for my country's rights. Oh, Mark, my mur- 
 dered husband, I may be wrong, but you \vc_rs dearer to 
 
THE DAY OP THE WEDDING. 471 
 
 me than many, many countries, and it is hard to give you 
 up-^hard. to know that the notes of peace which even now 
 float up to us from the South will not waken you in that 
 grave which I can never see. Oh, Mark, my darli:^, 
 my darling, I loved you so much, I miss you so much, I 
 want you so much. God help me to bear. God help riie 
 to say, 'Thy will be done.' " 
 
 She was rocking to and fro in her grief, with her hands 
 pressed o^r her face, as she thus moaned out a prayer 
 tliat God would help her to feel, as well as to say, "Thy 
 will be done," and for a long time she sat there thus, while 
 the sun crept on further toward the west, and the fresh- 
 ened breeze shook the tasseled pine above her head and 
 kissed the bands of rich brown hair, from which her hat 
 had fallen. She did not heed the lapse of time in the 
 earnest prayer she breathed for entire submission to God's 
 will, nor did she heiar the footstep coming up the pathway 
 to the ledge where she was sitting, the footstep which 
 paused at intervals, as if the comer were weary, or else 
 in quest of some one, but which at last came on with rapid 
 bounds as an opening among the trees showed where 
 Helen sat. It was a tall young man who came, a young 
 man sunburned and scarred, with uniform soiled and 
 worn, but with the fire in his brown eyes unquenched, the 
 love in his true heart unchanged, save as it was deeper, 
 more intense for the years of separation, and the long, 
 cruel suspense whieb was all over now. The grave had 
 given up its dead, the captive was released, and through 
 incredible suffering and danger had reached his Northern; 
 home, had sought and found his girl-wife of a few hours, 
 for it was Mark Ray speeding up the path, and holding 
 back his breath as jie came close to the, bowed form on the 
 rock, feeling a strange throb of awe when he saw the 
 mourning dress, and knew it was worn for him. A mo- 
 ment more, and she lay in his arms, white and insensible, 
 for with the sudden winding of his arms around her neck, 
 the pressure of his lips upon her cheek, the calling of her 
 name, and the knowing it was really her husband, she 
 had uttered a wild, impassioned cry, half of terror, half of 
 joy, and fainted entirely away, just as she did when told 
 that he was dead! There was no water near, but with 
 loving words and soft caresses, Mark brought l:er back 
 
472 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 to life, raining both tears and kisses upon the dear face 
 which had grown so white and thin since the Christmas 
 Eve when the wintry starlight had looked down upon 
 their parting. For several moments neither could speak 
 for the great choking joy which wholly precluded the 
 utterance of a word. Helen was the first to rally, and 
 lying in Mark's lap, with her head pillowed on Mark's 
 arm, she whispered : 
 
 "Let us thank God together. You, too, have learned 
 to pray." 
 
 Reverently Mark bent his face to hers, and the pine 
 boughs overhead heard, instead of mourning notes, a 
 prayer of praise, as the reunited wife and husband fer- 
 vently thanked God, who had brought them together 
 again. 
 
 Not until nearly half an hour was gone, and Helen 
 had begun to realize that the arm which held her so 
 tightly was genuine flesh and blood, and not a mere delu- 
 sion, did she look up into the face, glowi^ with so much 
 of happiness and love. Upon the forehead, and just be- 
 neath the hair, there was a savage scar, and the flesh 
 about it was red and angry still, showing how sore and 
 painful it must have been, and making Helen shudder as 
 she touched it with her lips, and said: 
 
 "Poor, darling Mark! that's where the cruel ball en- 
 tered ; but where is the other scar — ^the one made by the 
 man who went to you in the fields, 'and who also fired, 
 they said. I have tried so hard to hate him for firing at a 
 fallen foe." 
 
 "Rather, pray for him, darling. Bless him as the sa- 
 vior of your husband's life, the noble fellow but for 
 whom I should not have been here now, for he was a 
 Unionist, as true to the old flag as Abraham himself," 
 Mark Ray replied ; and then, as Helen looked wonderingly 
 at him, he laid her head in an easier position upon his 
 shoulder, and told her a story so strange in its details that 
 but for the frequent occurrence of similar incidents it 
 .would be pronounced wholly unreal and false. 
 
 Of what he suffered in the Southern prisons he did not 
 speak, either then or ever after, but began with the day 
 when, with a courage bom of desperation, he jumped 
 from the moving train, and was shot down by the guard. 
 
THE DAY OP THE WEDDING. 473 
 
 Partially stunned, he still- retained sense enough to know 
 when a tall form bent over him, and to hear the rough but 
 kindly voice which said : 
 
 "Play 'possum, Yank. ' Make b'lieve you're dead, and 
 throw them hellhounds off the scent." 
 
 This was the last he knew for many weeks, and when 
 again he awoke to consciousness he found himself on the 
 upper floor of a dilapidated hut, which stood in the center 
 of a little wood, his bed a pile of straw, over which was 
 spread a clean patchwork quilt, while seated at his side, 
 and watching him intently, was the same man who had 
 bent over him in the field, and shouted to the rebels that 
 he was dead. 
 
 "I shall never forget my sensations then," Mark said, 
 "for, with the exception of this present hour, when I hold 
 you, my darling, in my arms, and know the danger is 
 over, I never experienced a! moment of greater happiness 
 and rest than when, up in that squalid garret, where the 
 rafters, festooned with cobwebs and dust, could be touched 
 by stretching out my hand, and where the sunlight only 
 found an entrance through an aperture in the roof, which 
 admitted the rain as weft, I came back to life again, the 
 pain in my head all gqne, and nothing left save a delicious 
 feeling of languor, which prompted me to lie quietly for 
 several minutes, examining my surroundings, and specu- 
 lating upon the chaiice which brougf^ht me there. That I 
 was a prisoner I dffl not doubt, until the man at my side 
 said to me, cheerily : 'Well, old chap, you've come through 
 it like a major, though I lyas mighty dubious a spell about 
 that pesky ball. But old Aunt Bab and me fished it out, 
 and since then you've begun to rnend.' 
 
 " 'Where am I ? Who are you ?' I asked, and he re- 
 plied : 'Who be I ? Why, I'm Jack Jennin's, the rarinest, 
 red-hottest secesh thar is in these yere parts, so the rebs 
 thinks ; but 'twixt you and me, boy, I'm the tallest kind ol 
 a Union — got a piece of the old flag sewed inside of my 
 boots, and every night before sleepin' I prays Lord gin 
 Abe the victory, and raise Cain generally in t'other camp, 
 and forgive Jack Jennin's for tellin' so many lies, and 
 makin' b'lieve he's one thing, when you know and he 
 knows he's t'other. If I've spared one Union chap, I'll 
 bet I have a hundred, me and old Bab, a black woman 
 
474 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 who lives here and tends to the cases I fotch her, till we 
 contrive to git 'em inter Tennessee, whar they hev to shift 
 for themselves.' 
 
 "I could only press his bony hand in token of my grati- 
 tude, while he went on to say : 'Them was beans I fired at 
 you that day, but they sarved every purpose, and them 
 scalliwags on the train s'pose you were put under ground 
 weeks ago, if, indeed, you wasn't left to rot in the sun, as 
 heaps and heaps on 'em is. Nobody knows you are here 
 but Bab and me, and nobody must know if you want to git 
 ofif with a whole hide. I could git a hundred dollars by 
 givin' you up, but you don't s'pose Jack Jennin's is a- 
 gwine to do that ar infernal trick? No, sir,' and he 
 brought his brawny fist down upon his knee with a force 
 which made me tremble, while I tried to express my 
 thanks for his great kindness. He was a noble man, 
 Helen, while Aunt Bab, the colored woman, who nursed 
 me so tenderly, and whose black, bony hands I kissed at 
 parting, was as true a woman as any with a fairer skin 
 and more beautiful exterior. 
 
 "For three weeks longer I stayed up in that loft, and 
 in that time three more escaped prisoners were brought 
 there, and one Union refugee from North Carolina. We 
 left in company one wild, rainy night, when the storm 
 and darkness must have been sent for our special protec- 
 tion, and Jack Jennings cried like a little child when he 
 bade me good-by, promising, if he survived the war, to 
 find his way to the North and visit me in New York, 
 I should be prouder, Helen, to welcome him to our home 
 than to entertain the Emperor of France, while Bab 
 should have a seat at my own table, and I be honored by 
 it. There are many such noble spirits there, and when I 
 remember them, I wish to spare a land which I once 
 hoped might be burned with fire until no trace was left. 
 We found them everywhere, and especially among the 
 mountains of Tennessee, where, but for their timely aid, 
 we had surely been recaptured. The "ilegroes, too, were 
 powerful helps, and in no single case has a black man 
 proved treacherous to his suffering white brother. I was 
 not an Abolitk)nist when the war broke out, but I am one 
 now, and to .lee the negro free I would almost ^spill my 
 last drop of blood. They are a patient, all-enduring. 
 
THE DAY OP THE WEDDING. 475 
 
 faithful race, and without them the bones of many a poor 
 wretch who now sits by his own fireside and recounts the 
 perils he has escaped, would whiten in the Southern 
 swamps or on the Southern mountains. Three times were 
 we chased by bloodhounds, and in every case the ne- 
 groes were the means of saving us from certain death. 
 For weeks we were hidden in a cave, hunted by the Con- 
 federates by day, and fed at night by negroes, who told 
 us when and where to go. With blistered feet and 
 bruised limbs, we reached the lines at last, when fever at- 
 tacked me for the second time and brought me near to 
 death. Somebody wrote to yoji, but you never received 
 it, and when I grew better I would not let them write 
 again, as I wanted to surprise you. As soon as I was 
 able I started North, my thoughts full of the joyful meet- 
 ing in store — a meeting which I dreaded, too, for I knew 
 you must, think me dead, and I felt so sorry for you, my 
 darling, knowing, as I did, you would mourn for your 
 soldier husband. That my darling has mourned is writ- 
 ten on her face, and needs no words to tell it ; but that is 
 over now," Mark said, folding his wife closer to him, and 
 kissing the pale lips which whispered : 
 
 "Yes, I have been so sorry, Mark — so tired, so sad, and 
 ife was such a burden, I would gladly have laid it down." 
 
 "The burden is now removed," Mark said, and then he 
 ioM her how, arrived at Albany, he had telegraphed to his 
 mother, asking where Helen was. 
 
 "In Silverton," was the reply, and so he came on in the 
 morning train, meeting his mother in Springfield, as he 
 had half expected to do, knowing that she could leave 
 New York in time to join him there. 
 
 "No words of mine," he said, "are adequate to describe 
 the thrill of joy with which I looked again upon the hills 
 and rocks so identified with you that I loved thenj. for 
 your sake, hailing them as old, familiar friends, and ac- 
 tually growing sick and faint with excitement when, 
 through the leafless woods, I caught the gleam of Fairy 
 Pond, where I gathered .the lilies for you. Does my dar- 
 ling remember it ?" 
 
 He knew she did by the clasp of her hand, and he 
 "ontinued : 
 
 "Had a dead body risen from its grave, and walked into 
 
476 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 the farmhouse, carrying its coffin with it, it could not have 
 created greater consternation, or made worse havoc with 
 the people's wits than did my sudden appearance in their 
 midst. Good Aunt Betsy, 1 am sorry to say, fell the en- 
 tire length _of the cellar stairs, spraining her ankle, bruis- 
 ing her elbow shockingly, and, direst calamity of all, in 
 her estimation, brealdng the dish of charlotte russe she 
 was holding in her hand. There is a wedding in prog- 
 ress, I learned from mother, and it seems very meet that 
 I 'should come at this time, making, in reality, a double 
 wedding, when I can truly claim my bride," and Mark 
 kissed Helen passionately, laughing to see how the blushes 
 broke over her white face, and burned upon her neck. 
 
 Those were happy moments which they passed together 
 upon that ledge of rocks, happy enough to atone for all 
 the dreadful past, and when at last they arose and slowly 
 retraced their steps to the farmhouse, it seemed to Mark 
 that Helen's cheeks were rounder, fuller, than when he 
 found her, while Helen knew that the arm on which she 
 leaned was stronger than when it first inclosed her an 
 hour or two ago. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 THE WEDDING. 16; 
 
 o 
 Many times Aunt Betsy had hobbled to the door, atid 
 
 shading her eyes with her hand, had looked wistfully up 
 the hill in quest of Mark and Helen, wondering why they 
 stayed out so long, when they must know the sun was 
 nearly down, and wondering next if Morris would never 
 go home about his business and give Katy a chance to 
 dress. 
 
 Poor, worried, unfortunate Aunt Betsy! her foot was 
 very lame, and her arm was badly bruised ; but she ban- 
 daged it up in camphor and sugar, wincing at the terrible 
 smart when the wash was at first 'applied, but saying to 
 Morris, who asked if it did nojbi'-hurt cruelly: "Yes, it 
 hurts some, but nothin' to what the poor soldiers is hurt ; 
 and I wouldn't mind it an atom if I hadn't broke the dish 
 Jivith the heathenish name." 
 
 And, indeed, the loss of the charlotte russe did weigH 
 
THE WEDDING. 477 
 
 heavily on Aunt Betsy's mind, proving the straw too 
 many, and only Bell Cameron, who, with Lieutenant Bob, 
 had come on the same train with Mark and Mrs, Banker, 
 had power to reassure her by telling her that charlotte 
 russe was not essential at all ; that, iot" her part, she was 
 glad to have it out of sight, as it was her especial detesta- 
 tion. This comforted Aunt Betsy, who had made many 
 of her preparations for the wedding with a direct refer- 
 ence to the "city folks" so confidently expected. The 
 aubstantials were for the neighbors — those who would 
 have no supper at home, but reserve their appetites for 
 the wedding viands ; while the delicacies, the knickknacks, 
 were designed exclusively for "them stuck-up critters, the 
 Camerons," not one of whom, it now seemed, would be 
 present except Bell. Father Cameron was not able to 
 come ; he would gladly have done so if he could, and he 
 sent his blessing to Katy, with the wish that she might be 
 very happy in her second married life. This message 
 Bell gave to Katy, and then tried to form some reason- 
 able excuse for her mother's and Juno's absence, for she 
 could not tell how haughtily both had declined the invita- 
 tion, Juno finding fault because Katy had not waited 
 longer than two years, and Mrs. Cameron blaming her for 
 being so very vulgar as to be married at home, instead of 
 in church, where she ought to be. On this point Katy 
 herself had been a Uttle disquieted, feeling how much 
 more appropriate it was that she be married in the church, 
 biit shrinking from standing again a bride at the same 
 altar where she had once before been made a wife. She 
 could not do it, she finally decided; there would be too 
 many harrowing memories crowding upon her mind, and 
 as Morris did not particularly care where the ceremony 
 was performed, provided he got Katy at the last, it was 
 settled that it should be at the house, even though#Mrs. 
 Deacon Bannister did say that she had supposed Dr. Grant 
 too High Church to do anything as Presbyterianny as 
 that. 
 
 Bell's arrival at the farmhouse was timely, for the un- 
 expected appearance in their midst of one whom they 
 looked upon as surely dead had stunned and bewildered 
 the family to such an extent that it needed the presence 
 of just such a matter-of-fact, self-possessed woman as 
 
478 PAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 Bell to bring things back to their original shape. It was 
 wonderful how the city girl fitted into the vacant niches, 
 seeing to everything which needed seeing to, and still 
 finding time to st^l away alone with Lieutenant Bob, who 
 kept her in a painful state of blushing by constantly wish- 
 ing it was his bridal night as well as Dr. Grant's, and by 
 inveighing against the weeks which must still intervene 
 ere the day appointed for the grand ceremony to take 
 place in Grace Church, and which was to make Bell his 
 wife. 
 
 "Ain't Morris ever goin' home? He won't be dressed 
 in time,- as sure as the world, if he stays here much 
 longer," Aunt Betsy said a dozen times, until at last her 
 patience was exhausted, and going boldly in where he 
 was, she bade him start in at once, or he would not have 
 time to put on his best coat and jacket, let alone Katy's 
 changin' her clothes." 
 
 Thus importuned, Morris quitted the house, just as 
 Mark and Helen came slowly up, their faces happier, if 
 possible, than his own, and telling of the great joy which 
 had succeeded their dark night of sorrow. 
 
 "Come in here, Helen, I have something to show you," 
 Mrs. Banker said, after she had again embraced and wfpt 
 over her long-lost son, whose return was not quite real 
 yet, and leading her daughter-in-law to her bedroom, she 
 showed her the elegant white silk which had been made 
 for her just after her marriage, two years before, and 
 which' with careful forethought she had brought with her, 
 as more suitable now for the wedding than Helen's 
 mourning weeds. 
 
 "I made the most of my time last night after receiving 
 Mark's telegram, and had it modernized somewhat," she 
 said. "And I brought your pearls, for you know you will 
 be most as much a bride as Katy, and I have a pride in 
 seeing my son's wife appropriately dressed." 
 
 Far different were Helen's feelings now, as she donned 
 the elegant dress, from what they had been the first and 
 only time she wore it. Then the bridegroom was where 
 
THE WEDDING. 479 
 
 danger and death lay thickly around his -pathway, but now 
 he was at her side, kissing her cheek where the roses were 
 burning so brightly, and calling still deeper blushes to her 
 face by his teasing observations and humorous ridicule 
 of his own personal appearance. Would she not feel 
 ashamed of him, in his soiled, faded uniform? And 
 would she not cast longing glances at her handsome 
 brother-in-law and the stylish Lieutenant Bob? But 
 Helen was proud of her husband's uniform, as a badge of 
 what he had suffered, and when the folds of her rich dress 
 swept against it, she did not draw them away, but nestled 
 closer to him, leaning upon his shoulder, and when no one 
 was near, winding her soft arms about his neck, whisper- 
 ing : "My darling Mark, I cannot make it real yet." 
 
 Softly the night shadows fell around the farmhouse, 
 and in the rooms below a rather mixed group was as- 
 sembled — all the elite of the town, with many of Aunt 
 Betsy's neighbors, and the doctor's patients, who had come 
 to see their loved physician married, rejoicing in his hap- 
 piness, and glad that the mistress of Linwood was not to 
 be a stranger, but the young girl who had grown up in 
 their midst, and who, by suffering and sorrow, had been 
 molded into a noble woman, worthy of Dr. Grant. She 
 was ready now for her second bridal, and she looked like 
 some pure waxen figure in her dress of white, with no 
 vestige of color in her face, and her great blue eyes shin- 
 ing with a brilliancy which made them almost black. Oc- 
 casionally, as her thoughts leaped backward over a period 
 of almost six years, a tear trembled on her long eye- 
 lashes, but Morris, as often as he saw it, kissed it away, 
 asking if she were sorry. 
 
 "Oh, no, not sorry that I am to be your wife," she an- 
 swered ; "but it is not possible that I should forget entirely 
 the roughness of the road which has led me to you." ♦' 
 
 "They are waiting for you," was said several times ere 
 the parties waited for were quite ready to go ; but every- 
 thing was done at last, and slowly down the stairs passed 
 Mark Ray and Helen, Lieutenant Bob and Bell, with Dr. 
 Grant and Katy, whose face, as she stood again before the 
 clergyman and spoke her marriage vows, shone with a 
 strange, peaceful light, which made it seem to those who 
 gazed upon her like the face of some pure angel, t 
 
480 FAMILY PEIDB. 
 
 There was no thought then of that deathbed in George- 
 town — no thought of Greenwood, or the little grave in 
 Silverton, where the crocuses and hyacinths were blos- 
 soming — no thought of anything save the man at her side, 
 whose voice was so full and earnest, as it made the re- 
 sponses, and who gently pressed the little hand as he 
 fitted the wedding ring. It was over at last, and Katy 
 was Morris' wife, blushing now as they called her Mrs. 
 Grant, and putting up her rosebud lips to be kissed by all 
 who claimed that privilege. Helen, too, came in for her< 
 share of attention, and the opinion of the guests as to the 
 beauty of the respective brides, as they were termed, was 
 pretty equally divided ; both were beautiful, and both bore 
 traces of the suffering and suspense which had purified 
 and made them better. 
 
 In heavy, rustling silk, which actually trailed an inch, 
 and cap of real lace. Aunt Betsy hobbled among the 
 crowd, her face aglow with the satisfaction she felt at 
 seeing her nieces so much admired and appreciated, and, 
 her heart so full of good will and toleration tha,t aftet 
 the supper was over, and she fancied a few of the younger 
 ones were beginning to feel tired, she suggested to Bell 
 that she might start a dance if she had a mind to, eitheii 
 in the kitchen or parlor, it did not matter where, and 
 "Ephraim would not care an atom," a remark which 
 brought from Mrs. Deacon Bannister a most withering 
 look of reproach, and slightly endangered Aunt Betsy's 
 standing in the church. Perhaps Bell Cameron suspected 
 as much, for she replied that they were having a splendid 
 time as it was, and as Dr. Grant did not dance, they might 
 as well dispense with it altogether. And so it happened 
 that there was no dancing at Katy's wedding, and Uncle 
 Ephraim escaped the reproof which his brother deacon 
 would have felt called upon to give him had he permitted 
 so grievous a sin, while Mrs. Deacon Bannister, who, at 
 the first trip of the toe, would have felt it her duty to de- 
 part, lest her eyes should look upon the evil thing, was 
 thus permitted to remain until "it was out," and the 
 guests retired en masse to their respective homes. 
 
 The carriage from Linwood stood a' he i_jinhous© 
 
CONCLUSION. 481 
 
 door, and Katy, wrapped in shawls and hood, was ready 
 to go with her husband to the home where she knew so 
 much of rest and quiet awaited her. There were no tears 
 shed at this parting, for their darling was not going far 
 away; her new home was just across the fields, and 
 through the soft moonlight they could see its chimney 
 tops, and trace for some little distance the road over which 
 the carriage went, bearing her swiftly on, her hands fast 
 locked in Morris', her head upon his arm, and the hearts 
 of both too full of bliss for either to speak a word until 
 Linwood was reached, when, folding Katy to his bosom 
 in a passionate embrace, Morris said to her : 
 
 "We are home at last — ^your home and mine, my pre- 
 cia*s, precious wife." 
 
 The village clock was striking one, and the sound 
 echoed across the waters of Fairy Pond, awakening, in 
 his marshy bed, a sleeping frog, who sent forth upon the 
 tvarm, still air a musical, plaintive note as Morris bore his 
 bride over the threshold and into the library, where on the 
 hearth a cheerful fire was blazing. He had ordered it 
 kindled there, for he had a fancy ere he slept to see ful- 
 filled the dream he had dreamed so often, of Katy sitting 
 in the chair across the hearth, where he placed her now, 
 himself removing her shawl and hood, then kneeling 
 down before her, with his arm around her waist and his 
 head upon her shoulder, he prayed aloud to the God who 
 had brought her there, asking His blessing upon their fu- 
 ture life, and dedicating himself and all he had to his 
 Master's service. It is such prayer which God delights to 
 answer ; and a peace, deeper than they had yet known, fell 
 upon that newly-married pair at Linwood. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 The scene shifts now to New York, where, one week 
 after that wedding in Silverton, Mark and Helen were, 
 and where, too, were Morris and Katy. But not on Mad- 
 ison Square. That house had been sold, and Katy had 
 «eer. H but once, her tears falling f^ 3£ driving slowly 
 
482 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 by with Morris she gazed at the closed doors and win- 
 dows of what was once her home, and around which 
 lingered no pleasant memories save that it was the birth- 
 place of Baby Cameron. Once Lieutenant Reynolds had 
 thought to buy it, but Bell said: "No, it would not be 
 quite pleasant for Katy to wit me there, and I mean to 
 have her with me as much as possible," so the house went 
 to strangers, and a less pretentious, but quite as comfort- 
 able, one was bought for Bell, so far uptown that Mrs. 
 Cameron pronounced it quite in th?. country, while Juno 
 wondered how her sister would manage to exist so far 
 from everything, intimating that her visits would be far 
 between, a threat which Lieutenant Bob took quite hero- 
 ically ; indeed, it rather enhanced the value of his pleasant 
 home than otherwise, for Juno was not a favorite, and his 
 equanimity was not likely to be disturbed if she never 
 crossed his threshold. She was throwing bait to Arthur 
 , Grey, the man who swore he was forty-five to escape the 
 draft, and who, now that the danger was over, would 
 gladly take back his oath and be forty, as he really was. 
 With the most freezing kiss imaginable, Juno had greeted 
 Katy, calling her "Mrs. Grant," and treating Morris as 
 if he were an entire stranger, instead of the man whom to 
 get she would once have moved both earth and heaven. 
 Mrs. Cameron, too, though glad in her *heart that Katy 
 was married, and fully approving of her choice, threw 
 into her manner so much reserve that Katy's intercourse 
 with her was anything but agreeable, and shQ> turned with 
 alacrity to Father Cameron, who had received her with 
 open arms, calling her his daughter, and welcoming Mor- 
 ris as his son, taken in Wilford's stead. "My boy," he 
 frequently called him, showing by his manner how will- 
 ingly he accepted him as the husband of ene whom he 
 really loved as his child. Greatly he wished that they 
 should stay with him while they remained in New York, 
 but Katy preferred going with Helen to Mrs. Banker's, 
 where she would be more quiet, and avoid the bustle and 
 confusion attending the preparations for Bell's wedding. 
 It was to be a grand church affair, and to take place dur- 
 ing Easter week, after which the bridal pair were going 
 on to Washington, Fortress Monroe, and, if possible, to 
 Richmond, where Bob had been a prisoner. Everything 
 
CONCLUSION. 483 
 
 seemed conspiring to make the occasion a joyful one, for 
 all through the North, from Maine to California, the air 
 was rife with the jubilee songs of victory, and the notes 
 of approaching peace. But, alas! He who holds our 
 couhtry's destiny in His hand changed that song of glad- 
 ness into a wail of woe, which, echoing through the land, 
 rose up to Heaven in one tnighty sob of anguish, as the 
 whole nation bemoaned its loss. Our President was dead ! 
 — foully, cruelly murdered! — and New York was in 
 mourning, so black, so profound, that with a shudder Bell 
 Cameron tossed aside the orange wreath and said to her 
 lover : "We will be married at home. I cannot now go to 
 the church, when everything seems so like one great 
 funeral." 
 
 And so in Mrs. Cameron's drawing-room, there was a 
 quiet wedding one pleasant April morning, and Bell's 
 plain traveling dress was far more in keeping with the 
 gloom which hung over the great city than her gala robes 
 would have been,, with a long array of carriages and 
 merry wedding chimes. Westward they went, instead of 
 South, and when our late lamented President was borne 
 back to the prairie of Illinois, they were there to greet the 
 noble dead, and mingle their tears with those who knew 
 and loved him long before the world appreciated hj^ 
 worth. 
 
 Softly the May rain falls on Linwood, where the fresh 
 green grass is springing and the early spring flowers 
 blooining, and where Katy, fairest flower of all, stands 
 for a moment in the deep bay window of the library, lis- 
 tening dreaniily to the patter on the tin roof overhead, 
 and gazing wistfully down the road, as if watching for 
 some one, then turning, she enters the dining-room and 
 inspects the supper table, shining with silver, and laid for 
 six, for her mother. Aunt Hannah and Aunt Betsy are 
 visiting her this rainy afternoon, while Morris, on his re- 
 turn from North Silverton, where he has gone to see a 
 patient, is to call for Uncle Ephraim, who, in clean linen, 
 checked gingham neck handkerchief and the swallow- 
 tailed coat which has served him for so many years, sits 
 
484 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 iwaiting at home, with one kitten in his lap and another 
 on his shoulder. 
 
 Linwood is a nice place to visit, and the old ladies enjoy 
 it vastly, especially Aunt Betsy, who never tires of telling 
 what they have "over to Katy's," and whose capeless 
 shaker hangs often on the hall stand, just as it hangs now, 
 while she, good soul, sits in the pleasant parlor, near the 
 blazing fire, and darns the socks for Morris, taking as 
 much pains as if it were a network of fine lace she was 
 .weaving, instead of a shocking rent in some luckless heel 
 or toe. Upstairs there is a pleasant room which Katy 
 calls Aunt Betsy's, and in it is the feather bed on which 
 iWilford Cameron once slept, a part of Katy's "setting 
 out," which never found its way to Madison Square. 
 Morris himself did not think much of feathers, but he 
 made no objection when Aunt Betsy insisted on sending 
 over the bed kept for so many years, and only smiled a 
 droll kind of smile when he one morning met it coming 
 up the walk in the wheelbarrow which Uncle Ephraim 
 trundled. 
 
 Morris and his young wife were very happy together, 
 and Katy found the hours of his absence very long, es- 
 pecially when she was left alone. Even to-day, with her 
 srants and mother, the time drags heavily, and she looks 
 more than once from the bay window, until at last 
 Brownie's head is seen over the hill, and a few moments 
 after Morris' arm is around her shoulders, and her lips 
 are upturned for the kiss he gives as he leads her into the 
 house out of the chill, damp air, chiding her gently for 
 exposing herself to the rain, and placing in her hand three 
 letters, which she does not open until the cozy tea is over 
 and her family friends have gone. Then, while her hus- 
 band looks over his evening paper, she breaks the seals, 
 one by one, reading first the letter from "Mrs. Bob Rey- 
 nolds," who has returned from the West, and who is in 
 the full glory of her bridal calls. 
 
 "I was never so happy in my life as I am now," she 
 wrote. "Indeed, I did not know that a married woman 
 could be so happy ; but then every woman has not a Bob 
 for her husband, which makes a vast difference. You 
 ought to see Juno. I know she envies me, though she 
 
CONCLUSION. 485 
 
 affects the utmost contempt for matrimony, and reminds 
 me forcibly of the fox and the grapes. You see, Arthur 
 Grey is a failure, so far as Juno is coHcerned, he having 
 withdrawn from the field and laid himself, with his forty- 
 five years, at the feet of Sybil Grandon, who will be Mrs. 
 Grey, and a bride at Saratoga the coming summer. Juno, 
 I believe, intends going, too, as the bridesmaid of the par- 
 ty ; but every year her chances lessen, and I have very Httle 
 hope that father will ever call other than Bob his son, al- 
 ways excepting Morris, of course, whom he really has 
 adopted in place of Wilford, You don't know, Katy, how, 
 much father thinks of you, blessing the day which brought 
 you to us, and saying that if he is ever saved, he shall in a 
 great measure owe it to your sweet influence and consist- 
 ent life after the great trouble came upon you." x 
 
 There were tears in Katy's eyes as she read this letter 
 from Bell, and with a mental prayer of thanksgiving that 
 she had been of any use in guiding even one to the Shep- 
 herd's fold, she took next the letter whose superscription 
 made her tremble for a moment and turn faint, it brought 
 back so vividly to her mind the daisy-covered grave in 
 Alnwick, whose headstone bore Genevra Lambert's name. 
 Marian, who was now at Annapolis, caring for the re- 
 turned prisoners, did not write often, and her letters were 
 prized the more by Katy, who read with a beating heart 
 the kind congratulations upon her recent marriage, sent 
 by Marian Hazelton. 
 
 "I knew how it would end, even when you were in 
 Georgetown," she wrote, "and I am glad that it is so, 
 praying daily that you. may be as happy with Dr. Grant 
 as to remember the sad past only as some dream from 
 which you have awakened. I thank you for your invitation 
 to visit Linwood, and when my work is over I may come 
 for a few weeks and rest in your bird's nest of a home. 
 Thank God the war is ended ; but my boys need me yet, 
 and until the last crutch has left the hospital, and the last 
 worn figure gone, I shall stay where duty lies. What my 
 life will henceforth be I do not know, but I have some- 
 times thought that with the ample funds you so gener- 
 ously bestowed upon me, I shall open a school for orphan 
 children, taking charge myself, and so doing some good. 
 Will you be the lady patroness, and occasionally enliven 
 
486 FAMILY PRIDE. 
 
 US with the light of your countenance? I have left the 
 hospital but once since you were here, and then I went to 
 Wilford's grave. Forgive me, Katy, if I did wrong in 
 wishing to kneel once upon the sod which covered him. I 
 prayed for you while there, remembering only that you 
 had been his wife. In a little box where no eyes but mine 
 ever look, there is a bunch of flowers plucked from Wil- 
 ford's grave. They are faded now and withered, but 
 something of their sweet perfume lingers still ; and I prize 
 them as my greatest treasure, for, except the lock of raven 
 hair severed from his head, they are all that is remain- 
 ing to me of the past, which now seems so far away. It 
 is time to make my nightly round of visits, so I must bid 
 you good-by. The Lord lift up the light of His counte- 
 nance upon you, and be with you forever. 
 
 "Marian Hazelton." 
 
 For a long time Katy held this letter in her hand, won- 
 dering if the sorrowful woman whose life was once so 
 strangely blended with that of Marian Hazelton and the 
 pale occupant of that grave at Greenwood, whence the 
 flowers came, could be the Katy Grant who sat by the 
 evening fire at Linwood, with no shadow on her brow, 
 aad only the sunshine of perfect happiness resting on her 
 heart. "Truly, He doeth all things well to those who 
 wait upon Him," she thought, as she laid down Marian's 
 letter and took up the third and last, Helen's letter, dated 
 at Fortress Monroe, whither with Mark Ray she had gone 
 just after Bell Cameron's bridal. 
 
 "You cannot imagine," she wrote, "the feelings of awe 
 and even terror which steal over me the nearer I get to 
 the seat of war, and the more I realize the bloody strife 
 we have been engaged in, and which, thank God, has now 
 so nearly ceased. You have heard of John Jennings, the 
 noble man who saved my dear husband's life, and of Aunt 
 Bab, who helped in the good work? Both are here. It 
 seems that suspicion was aroused against them at last, 
 and Bab was cruelly whipped to m.ake her confess where 
 a Union prisoner was hidden ; but, though the blows cut 
 deep into her back, bringing the blood at every stroke, 
 she never uttered a word ; and with her wounds all smart- 
 ing as they were, she helped the poor boy off, and then 
 
CONCLUSION. 481 
 
 with her master, John Jennings, started for the North. 
 I never saw Mark more pleased than when seized around 
 the neck by two long, brawny arms, while a cheery voice 
 called out: 'Hello, old chap, has you done forgot John 
 Jennin's ?' I verily believe Mark cried, and I know I did, 
 especially when old Bab came up and shook 'young 
 misses' hand.' I kissed her, Katy — all black, and rough, 
 and uncouth as she was. I kissed her more than once, and 
 felt honored in doing so. Poor Bab! her back is still a 
 piteous sight, and I dress it every day, shuddering at the 
 sight, and thanking God that slavery, with all its horrors, 
 is at an end. I wish you could see how grateful the old 
 creature is for every act of kindness. She says 'the very 
 feel of misses' soft, white hands makes her old back bet- 
 ter,' and she praises me continually to Mark, who is just 
 foolish enough to believe all she says. When we come 
 home again, both John and Bab will come with us, though 
 what we shall do with John is more than I can tell. Mark 
 says he shall employ him about the office, and this I know 
 will delight Tom Tubbs, who has again made friends with 
 Chitty, and who will almost worship John as having saved 
 Mark's life. Aunt Bab shall have an honored seat by the 
 kitchen fire, and a pleasant room all to herself, working 
 only when she likes, and doing as she pleases. '" 
 
 "Did I tell you that Mattie Tubbs was to be my seam- 
 stress ? I am getting together a curious household, you 
 will say ; but I like to have those about me to whom I can 
 do the greatest amount of good, and as I happen to know 
 how much Mattie admires 'the Lennox girls,' I did not 
 hesitate to take her, even though Mark did ask if I in- 
 tended bringing her into the parlor to help entertain my 
 company. Mark is a saucy, teasing fellow, and I see 
 more and more how he kept up that dreadful Andergon^ 
 ville while so many of his comrades died. Dear Mark! 
 can I ever be grateful enough to God for bringing him 
 home? 
 
 "We stopped at Annapolis on our way here, and I shall 
 never forget the pale, worn faces, or the great, sunken 
 eyes which looked at me so wistfully as I went from cot to 
 cot, speaking words of cheer to the sufferers, some of 
 whom were Mark's companions in prison, their dim eyes 
 lighting up with joy as they recognized him and heard of 
 
488 /AMILT PEIDE. 
 
 his escape. There are several nurses here, but no words 
 of mine can tell what one of them is to the poor fellows, 
 or how eagerly they watch for her coming, following her 
 with so greedy glances as he moves about the room, and 
 holding her hand with a clasp, as if they would keep her 
 with them always. Indeed, more than one heart, as I am 
 told, has confessed its allegiance to her; but she answers 
 all the same: 'I have no love to give. It died out long 
 ago, and cannot be recalled.' You can guess who she is, 
 Katy. The soldiers call her an angel, but we know her 
 as Marian," 
 
 There were great tear-blots upon that letter as Katy 
 put it aside, and nestling close to Morris, laid her head 
 upon his knee, where his hand could smooth her golden 
 curls, while she gazed long and earnestly into the fire, 
 musing upon Helen's closing words, and thinking how 
 much they expressed, and how just a tribute they were 
 to the noble woman whose life had been one constant sac- 
 rifice of self for another's good — "The soldiers call her aa 
 angel, but we know her as Marian." 
 
 THE Kjm, 
 
MAGOIE Ljll " m 
 
 MAGGIE LEE. 
 
 The usually quiet little village of EUerton was, <jd9 
 June morning, thrown into a state of great excitement 
 fcy the news that the large stone building on the hill, 
 which, for several years had been shut up, was at last 
 to have an occupant, and that said occupant was no 
 less a personage than its owner, Graham Thornton, 
 who, at the early age of twenty-eight, had been chosen 
 to fill the responsible office of judge of the county. 
 Weary of city life, and knowing that a home in the 
 country would not materially interfere with the dis- 
 charge of his new duties, particularly as Ellerton was 
 within half an hour's ride of the city, young Thornton 
 had conceived the idea of fitting up the old stone house, 
 bequeathed to him by his grandfather, in a style suited 
 to his abundant means and luxurious taste. Accord- 
 ingly, for several weeks, the people of Ellerton were 
 kept in a constant state of anxiety, watching, wonder- 
 ing and guessing, especially Miss Olivia Macey, who 
 kept a small store in the outskirts of the village, and 
 whose fertile imagination supplied whatever her neigh- 
 bors lacked in actual knowledge of the proceedings at 
 " Greystone Hall," as Judge Thornton called his place 
 of residence. 
 
 At last, everything wsm completed, and the day ap. 
 pcifited for the arriv^ of the Judge, who, dislikiag co^ 
 
86 ' MAGGIE LIB. 
 
 "Yes, sir," atiriwered Maggie, and Myitifg nenhan 
 gently down, she went round behind the counter, while 
 the young man, gazing curiously at her, continued, 
 " Ton surely are not Miss Macey ? " 
 
 There was a most comical expression In the brown 
 eyes which met the black ones of the stranger, as Maggie 
 answered, " No sir, I am nobody but Maggie Lee. " 
 
 There must have been something attractive either 
 in the name or the little maiden who bore it, for long 
 after the gentleman had received the articles for which 
 he came, he lingered, asking the yoing girl numberless 
 questions and playing with little Ben, who, now wide 
 awake, met his advances more than half way, and was 
 on perfectly familiar terras both with the stranger and 
 the dog Ponto, who had stretched his shaggy length 
 before the door. 
 
 "Mag cries, she does, when Aunt Livy makes her 
 stay home from school, " said Ben, at last, beginning 
 to feel neglected and wishing to attract attention. 
 
 Showing his white, handsome teeth, the gentleman 
 playfully smoothed the silken carls of little Ben, and 
 turning to the blushing Maggie, asked " if she were 
 fond of books ! " 
 
 " Oh, I love them so much," was the frank, impulsive 
 answer, and ere ten minutes had passed away. Judge 
 Thornton, for he it was, understood Maggie's character 
 as well as if he had known her a lifetime. 
 
 Books, poetr7, Tiusic, paintings, flowers, she wor- 
 shiped them all, and without the slightest means either 
 of gratifying her taste. 
 
 " I have in my library many choice books, to which 
 you are welcome at any time when you will call at 
 Greystone Hall,** the stranger said at last. 
 . " Greysfeone Hali I " gasped Maggie, JtieJi^|b ^^ 
 
MAGGIE LE&. 8f 
 
 i^is coimag out all over her neck and face — '* Cttey- 
 fltone Hall 1 — then you must be " 
 
 " Judge Thomt(Hi, and your friend hereafter," an- 
 swered the gentleman, offering his hand and bidding 
 her good-by. 
 
 There are moments whioh leave their impress upon 
 one's lifetime, changing instantaneously, as it were^ 
 our thoughts and feelings, and such an one had come 
 to Maggie Lee, who was roused from a deep reverie 
 by the shrill voice of her aunt, exclaiming, " Well, I've 
 been on a Tom-fool's errand once in my life. Here 
 I've waited in that hot depot over two trains, and 
 heard at the last minute that Mrs. Thornton and her 
 sou came up last night, and I hain't seen them after 
 all. It's too bad." 
 
 Very quietly Maggie told of the judge's call, repeat< 
 ing all the particulars of the interview ; then stealing 
 away to her chamber, she thought again, wondering 
 vAere and tohai she would be three years frqoi that 
 day. 
 
 A year has passed away, and Graham Thornton, 
 grown weary of his duties, has resigned the office of 
 judge, and turned school-teacher, so the gossiping 
 villagers say, and with some degree of truth, for regu- 
 larly each day Maggie Lee and Ben go up to Grey, 
 ftone Hall, where they recite their lessons to its ofrner, 
 though always in the presence of its lady mistress, 
 who has taken a strange fancy to Maggie Lee^ an^ 
 whose white hand has more than once rested caresa 
 ingly on the dark, glossy hair of the young girl. To & 
 OBsaal observer, the Maggie of eiesteen is little changed 
 from the ltaf{g^ of ^toen, years; but to.^ un, hfOr 
 
88 MAGOIE LEE. 
 
 teaeher, 8b» «» net the same, for while in some reA|,.„»tf,. 
 she is more a woman and less a child, in everything 
 pertaining to himself she is far more a child than 
 when first he met her one short year ago. Then there 
 was about her a certain self-reliance, which is now all 
 gone, and he who has looked so often into the thoughts 
 and feelings of that childish heart knows he can sway 
 her at his will. 
 
 " But 'tis only a girlish friendship she feels for him," 
 ke says ; " only a brotherly interest he entertains for 
 her ; " and so day after day she comes to his library, 
 and on a low stool, her accustomed seat at his side, she 
 drinks in new inspirations with which to feed that 
 girlish friendship, while he, gazing down into her soft, 
 brown, dreamy eyes, feels more and more how neces- 
 sary to his happiness is her daily presence there. And 
 M sometimes the man of the world asks himself " where 
 all this will end?" his conscience is quieted by the 
 answer that Maggie Lee merely feels toward him 
 as she would toward any person who had done her a 
 like favor. So all through the bright summer days 
 and through the hazy autumn time, Maggie dreams on, 
 perfectly happy, though she knows not why, for never 
 yet has a thought of love for him entered her soul. 
 She only knows that he to her is the dearest, best of 
 friends, and Greystone HaU the loveliest spot on earth, 
 but the wish that she might ever be its mistress has 
 never been conceived. 
 
 With the coming of the holidays the lessons were 
 suspended for a time, for there was to be company at 
 fehe hall, and the master would need all his leisure. 
 
 " I shall miss you so much," he said to Maggie, as he 
 walked with her across the fields which led to her 
 SeaiMiMA hovsm- ** I Ahall miss yoa,^at t^ dairas of 
 
MAGGIE LEV 89 
 
 sofsuaey must be met, and these ladies ba^e long talked 
 of visiting us." 
 
 " Are they young and handsome f " Maggie asked ia- 
 voluntarily. 
 
 " Only one — Miss Helen Deane is accounted a beauty. 
 She is an heiress, too, and the best match in all the city 
 
 of L ," answered Mr. Thornton, more to himself 
 
 than Maggie, who at the mention of Helen Deane felt 
 a cold shadow folding itself ground her heart. 
 
 Alas, poor Maggie Lee. The world had long since 
 selected the proud Helen as the future bride of Graham 
 Thornton, who, as he walks slowly back across the 
 snowclad field, tramples upon the delicate footprints 
 you have made, and wishes it were thus easy to blot 
 out from his heart all memory of you ! Poor, poor 
 Maggie Lee, Helen Deane is beautiful, far more beauti- 
 ful than you, and when in her robes of purple velvet, 
 with her locks of golden hair shading her soft eyes of 
 blue, she flits like a sunbeam through the spacious 
 rooms of Greystone Hall, waking their echoes with 
 her voice of richest melody, what marvel if Graham 
 Thornton does pay her homage, and reserves all 
 thoughts of you for the midnight hour, when the hall 
 is still and Helen's voice no longer heard ? He is but 
 a man — a man, too, of the world, and so, though you, 
 Maggie Lee, are^very dear to him, he does not think it 
 possible that he can raise you to his rank — make yon 
 the honored mistress of his home, and still lower him- 
 self not one iota from the station he has ever filled. 
 And though his ipiother loves you, too, 'tis not with a 
 mother's love, and should children ever climb her knee 
 calling her son their sire, she would deem you a gover- 
 ness befitting such as they, and nothing more. But all 
 this Maep^fi does not know, and when the visiting is over 
 
40 MAGGIE LEE. 
 
 and Helen £)eane is gone, she goes back to lier old 
 pla&e and sits agEiin at the feet of Graham Thornton, 
 never woadering why he seems so often lost in t^onght^ 
 or why he looks so oft into her eyes of brown, trying 
 to read there that he has not wronged her. 
 
 * *»***» 
 
 Another year has passed, and 'With the light of the 
 full moon shining down upon him, Graham Thorntcm 
 walks again with Maggie Lee across the fields where 
 now the summer grass is growing. The footprints 
 in last winter's snow have passed away just as the 
 light will go out from Maggie's heart when Graham 
 Thornton shall have told the tale he has come with h&e 
 to tell. With quivering lips and bloodless cheek she 
 listened while he told her indifferently, as if it were a 
 piece of news she had probably heard before, that 
 when the next full moon should shine on Greystone 
 Hall, Helen Deane would be there — ^his bride I 
 
 " This, of course, will effectually break np owe 
 pleasant meetings," he continued, looking everywhere 
 save in Maggie's face. " And this I regret — but my 
 books are still at your disposal. Ton will like Helen, 
 I think, and will call on her of course." 
 
 They had reached the little gate, and taking Magv. 
 gie's hand, he would have detained her for a few more 
 parting words, but she broke away, and in reply to hia 
 \ast question, hurriedly answered, " Yes, yes." 
 
 The next moment he was alone — alone in the bright 
 /noonlight. The door was shut. There was a barrier 
 between himself and Maggie Lee, a barrier his own 
 Iftands had built, and never again, so long as he lived, 
 {vould Graham Thornton's conscience be at rest. Amid 
 all the pomp of his bridal day — at the hour "when, re* 
 splendent with beauty, Helen stood bj his side at the 
 
MAGGIE LEE. 41 
 
 koly uXtar, and breathed the vows 'wmcu maae her 
 hifi forever — amid the gay festivities which followed, 
 and the noisy mirth which for days pervaded his 
 home, there was ever a still, small voice which whis- 
 pered to him of the great wrong he had done to Mag- 
 gie Lee, who never again was seen at Greystone HaLL 
 
 Much the elder Mrs. Thornton marveled at her ab. 
 eence, and once when her carriage was rolUng past the 
 door of the little store, she bade her coachman stop, 
 while she herself went in to ask if her favorite were ill. 
 Miss Olivia's early call at Greystone Hall had never 
 been returned, and now she bowed coldly and treated 
 her visitor with marked reserve, until she learned why 
 she had come ; then, indeed, her manner changed, but 
 she could not tell her how, on the night when Graham 
 Thornton had cruelly torn the veil from Maggie's, 
 heart leaving it crushed and broken, she had found her 
 long after midnight out in the tall, damp grass, where, 
 in the wild abandonment of grief she had thrown her- 
 self ; nor how in a calmer moment she had told her sad 
 story, exonerating him from wrong, and blaming only 
 herself for not having learned sooner how much she 
 loved one so far above her, so she simply answered, 
 ** Yes, she took a violent cold and has been sick for 
 •weeks. Her mother died of consumption ; I'm afraid 
 Maggie will follow." 
 
 " Poor girl, to die so young," sighed Mrs. Thornton, 
 as she returned to her carriage and was driven back to 
 Greystone Hall, where, in a recess of the window Gra- 
 bam sat, his arm around his wife, and his fingers playing 
 with the curls of her golden hair. 
 
 But the hand dropped nervously at his side when his 
 mother startled him with the news that " Maggie Lee 
 was dying.",. Very wonderingly the laxge blue ejes of 
 
42 ¥AGGIE LEE, 
 
 Helen followed faim, as, feigning snddea taitiunefcis, he 
 fled out into the open air, which, laden though it was 
 with the perfume of the summer flowers, had yet no 
 power to quiet the voice within which told him that if 
 Maggie died, he alone was guilty of her death. " But 
 whatever I can do to atone for my error shall be done," 
 he thought at last, and until the chill November wind 
 had blasted the last bud, the choicest fruit and flowers 
 which g;rew at Greystone Hall daily found entrance to 
 the chamber of the sick girl, who would sometimes push 
 them awa}', as if there still lingered among them the 
 atmosphere they had breathed. 
 
 " They remind me so much of the past that I cannot 
 endure them in my presence," she said one day when 
 her aunt brought her a beautiful bouquet, composed of 
 her favorite flowers, and the hot tears rained over the 
 white, wasted face, as she ordered them from the room. 
 
 Much she questioned both her aunt and Bennie of 
 her rival, whose beauty was the theme of the whole 
 village, and once, when told that she was passing, she 
 hastened to the window, but her cheek grew whiter still, 
 and her hands clasped each other involuntarily as she 
 saw by the side of the fair Helen the form of Graham 
 Thornton. They both were looking toward her win- 
 do^^', and as Helen met the burning gaze, she exclaimed, 
 " Oh, Graham, it is terrible. It makes me faint," and 
 shudderingly she drew nearer to her husband, who, to 
 his dying hour, never forgot the wild, dark eyes which 
 looked down so reproachfully upon him that memorable 
 wintry day. 
 
 * * * » * «' « 
 
 Three years have passed away since the time when 
 §rst we met with Maggie Lee — three years which 
 ''^med so_lonp' t^ hptp then, and which have brone^ht 
 
MAGGIE LEE. 43 
 
 ber so mueli pain. She has watched tne snow and ice 
 as they melted from off the hill-side. She has seen the 
 grass spring up by the open door — has heard the robin 
 singing in the old oak tree — has felt the summer air 
 upon her cheek. She has reached her eighteenth birth- 
 day, and ere another sun shall rise will indeed be free. 
 
 " Oh, I cannot see her die," cried poor little Ben, 
 when he saw the pallor stealing over her face, and run- 
 ning out into the yard he th^pw himself upon the grass, 
 sobbing bitterly, " My sister, oh, my sister." 
 
 " Is she worse ? " said the voice of Graham Thornton, 
 
 He was passing in the street and had heard the wail- 
 ing cry. Ben knew that in some way Judge Thornton 
 was connected with his grief, but he answered respect- 
 fully, " She is dying. " Oh, Maggie, Maggie. What 
 shall /do without her ? " 
 
 " You shall live with me," answered Mr. Thornton. 
 
 Twas a sudden impulse, and thinking the assurance 
 that Tier brother should be thus provided for would bo 
 a comfort to the dying girl, he glided noiselessly into 
 the sick room. But she did not know him, and falling 
 on his knees by her side, he wept like a little child. 
 " She was sleeping," they said, at last, and lifting up 
 his head, he looked upon her as she slept, while a fear^ 
 undefined and terrible, crept over him, she lay so still 
 and motionless.. At length rising to his feet, he bent 
 down so low that his lips touched hers, and then^ with- 
 out a word, he went out from her presence, for he knew 
 that Maggie Lee was dead ! 
 
 The next day, at sunset, they buried her in the valley 
 where thai mound could always be seen from the 
 window of Graham Thornton's room, and, as with 
 folded arms and aching heart he stood by, while they 
 lowered tb-" "-*»»» to its resting-place, he felt gkd that 
 
44 MAGOIE LEE. 
 
 it was so. '• It will make me a better man," iie xh^ughcf 
 " for when evil passions rise, and I am tempted to do 
 wrong, I have only to look across the fields toward the 
 little grave vfhich but for me would not have been 
 made so soon, and I shall be strengthened to do what is 
 right." 
 
 Slowly and sadly he walked away, going back to his 
 home, where, in a luxuriously furnished chamber, on a 
 couch whose silken hangings swept the floor, lay his 
 wife, and near her his infant daughter, that day four 
 weeks of age. As yet she had no name, and when the 
 night had closed upon them, and it was dark within the 
 room, Graham Thornton drew his chair to the side of 
 his wife, and in low, subdued tones, told her of the fair 
 young girl that day buried from his sight. Helen was 
 his wife, a gentle, faithful wife, and he could not tell 
 her how much he had loved Maggie Lee, and that^but 
 for his foolish pride she would perhaps at that moment 
 have been where Helen was, instead of sleeping ii^-her 
 early grave. No, he could not tell her this, but he told 
 her Maggie had been very dear to him, and that he 
 feared it was for the love of him that she had died. 
 " I wronged her, Nellie, darling," he said smoothing 
 the golden tresses which lay upon the pillow. "/ 
 broke her heart, and now that she is gone I would 
 honor her memory by calling our first-bom daughter 
 Maggie Lee. 'Tis a beautiful name," he continued. 
 " and you will not refuse my request." 
 
 There was much of pride in Helen Thornton's nature, 
 and she did refuse, for days and even weeks ; but wheu 
 Bhe saw the shadows deepened on the brow of ker hus- 
 band, who would stand for hours looking out through 
 the open window toward the valley where slept the 
 ViII^^«! t^ad. and when the mother, in pi$y lir^her son. 
 
MAGOIE L££. 4ft 
 
 joined ai»o In the request, she yielded ; and, as u the 
 
 eaorifice were accepted and the atonement good, the 
 
 first smile which ever dimpled the infant's cheek, played 
 
 on its mouth, as with its large, strange, bright eyes 
 
 fixed upon its father's face, it was baptized " Maggie 
 
 Lee." 
 
 * « * * * * * 
 
 Four years of sunshine and storms have fallen upon 
 Maggie's grave, where now a costly marble stands, while 
 the handsome iron fence and the well-kept ground 
 within show that some hand of love is often busy there. 
 In a distant city Ben is striving to overcome his old 
 dislilie for books, and seeking to make himself what he 
 knows his sister would wish him to be. At home, the 
 little store has been neatly fitted up, and Miss Olivia 
 sits all day long in her pleasant parlor, feeling sure that 
 the faithful clerk behind the counter will discharge his 
 duties well. Greystone Hall is beautiful as ever, with 
 its handsome rooms, its extensive grounds, its winding 
 walks, its bubbling fountains and its wealth of flowers, 
 but there is a shadow over all — a plague-spot which 
 has eaten into the heart of Graham Thornton, and 
 woven many a thread of silver among his raven locks. 
 It has bent the stately form of his lady mother, and his 
 once gay-hearted wife wanders with a strange unrest 
 from room to room, watching ever the uncertain foot- 
 steps of their only child, whose large, dark eyes, so much 
 like those which, four long years ago flashed down on 
 Helen their scrutinizing gaze, are darkened forever, for" 
 Utile 2f aggie Zee is Mind! 
 
 They are getting somewhat accustomed to it now — 
 accustomed to calling her their " poor, blind bird," but 
 the blow was crushing when first it came, and on the 
 grave in the valley, Graham Thornton moace than one© 
 
46 tlAQOIE LSk 
 
 laid bia iorenead in the dust, and, eneu, *' My pnoiah. 
 ment is greater than I can bear." 
 
 But He " who doeth all things well," has in a measure 
 healed the wound, throwing so much of sunshine and 
 ©f joy around her, who never saw the glorious light ol 
 day, that with every morning's dawn and every even- 
 ing's shade, the fond parents bless their Uttie blind giti, 
 the angel ox their home. 
 
THE ANSWERED PRAYER. 4T 
 
 THE AN8WEKED PRAYER. 
 
 All day long the canary bird had sun^ unheeded ih 
 his gilded cage by the door, and the robin had carolec! 
 unheard by his nest in the tall maple tree, while the sol'fe 
 summer air and the golden rays of the^warm June sun 
 entered unnoticed the open windows of the richly 
 furnished room, where a pale young mother kept her 
 tireless watch by the bedside of her only child, a boHU- 
 tifnl boy, three summers old. For many days he had 
 hovered between life and death, while she, his mother, 
 had hung over him with speechless agony, terrible to 
 behold in one so young, so fair as she. He was her ail, 
 the only happiness she knew, for poor Lina Hastings 
 was an unloving wife, who never yet had felt, a thrill of 
 joy at the sound of her husband's voice, and when oc- 
 casionally his broad hand rested fondly upon her flow- 
 ing curls, while he whispered in her ear how dear she 
 was to him, his words awoke no answering chord of 
 love. 
 
 How came she then his wife — and the mistress of his 
 princely home ? Alas! wealth was then the god which 
 Lina Moore worshiped, and when Ealph Hastings, 
 with his uncouth form and hundreds of thousands asked 
 her to be his wife, she stifled the better feelings of her 
 nature which prompted her to tell him No, and with a 
 g'leam of pride in her dark blue eyes, and a deeper glow 
 
48 THE ANSWERED PRAYER. 
 
 upon iier cheek, she one day passed from the bright 
 sunshine of heaven into the sombre gloom of the gray 
 old church, whence she came forth Lina Hastings, 
 shuddering even as she heard that name, and shrinking 
 involuntarily from the caresses which the newly made 
 husband bestowed upon her. And so the love she 
 withheld from him was given to the child who now 
 lay motionless and white as the costly linen on which 
 his golden curls were streaming. 
 
 All day she had watched him, for they told her that 
 if he lived until the sun setting, there was hope, and as 
 the hours wore on and the long shadows, stretching to 
 the eastward, betokened the approach of night, oh, how 
 intense became the anxiety in her bosom. Fainter and 
 softer grew the sunlight on the floor, and whiter grew 
 the face of the sleeping boy. 'Twas the shadow of 
 death, they said, and wijbh a bitter wail of woe, Lina 
 fell upon her knees, and as if she would compel the 
 God of Heaven to hear her, she shrieked, " Spare my 
 child. Let him live, and, I wiE bear whatsoever else 
 of evil thou shalt send i^on me. AfQict me in any 
 other way and I can b^ it, but spare to me my 
 child." 
 
 In mercy or in wrath, Lina Hastings' prayer was an- 
 swered. The pulse grew stronger beneath her touch 
 —the breath came faster through the parted lips — a 
 faint moisture was perceptible beneath the yellow curls, 
 and when the sun was set the soft eyes of Eddie Has- 
 tings unclosed, and turned with a look of recognition 
 upon his mother, who, clasping him in her arms, wept 
 for joy, but returned no word or thought of gratitude 
 toward Him who had been thus merciful to her. 
 
 In a small brown cottage in a distant part of the 
 
THE ANSWERED PRATER. 49 
 
 same village, another mother was watching beside her 
 first-born, only son. They had been friends in their 
 girlhood, she and Lina Hastings. Together they had 
 conned the same hard tasks — together they had built 
 their playhouse beneath the same old chestnut tree — 
 together, hand in hand, had they wandered over the 
 rocky hills and through the shady woods of 'New Eng. 
 land, and at the same altar had they plighted their 
 marriage vows, the one to the man she loved, the 
 other to the man she tolerated for the sake of his sur- 
 roundings. From' this point their paths diverged, 
 Lina moving in the sphere to which her husband's 
 wealth had raised her, wliile Mabel Parkman one sad 
 morning awoke from her sweet dream of bliss to find 
 herself wedded to a drunkard ! Only they who like 
 her have experienced a similar awakening, can know 
 the bitterness of that hour, and yet methinks she was 
 happier than the haughty L'ina, for her love was no 
 idle passion, and through weal and woe she elung 
 to her husband, living oft on the remembrance of 
 what he had been, and the'hope of what he might be 
 again, and when her little Willie was first laid upon her 
 bosom, and she felt her husband's tears upon her cheek 
 as he promised to reform for her sake and for his son's, 
 she would not have exchanged her lot with that of the 
 proudest in the land. That vow, alas, was er« long 
 broken, and then, though she wept bitterty over his 
 faU, she felt that she was not desolate, for there was 
 music in her Willie's voice and sunshine in his presence. 
 • But now he was dying, he was leaving her for ever, and 
 as she thought of the long, dark days when she should 
 look for him in vain, she staggered beneath the heavy 
 blow, and in tones as heart broken as those which had 
 fallen from Lina Hasting's lips, she prayed, " If it be 
 
59 THE ANSWERED PRAYm. 
 
 possibio i«t this cup pass from me," adding, ■• x>rot my 
 will, oh God, but thine be done." 
 
 " I will do all things well," seemed whispered in her 
 ear, and thus comforted she nerved herself to meet the 
 worst. All the day she watched by her child, chafing 
 his little hands, smoothing his scanty pillow beneath 
 his head, bathing his burning forehead, and forcing 
 oown her bitter tears when in his disturbed sleep he 
 ■would beg of his father to " bring him an orange — a 
 nice yellow orange — he was so dry." 
 
 Alas, that father was where the song of the inebriate 
 rose high on the summer air, and he heard not the plead- 
 ings of his son. 'Twas a dreary, desolate room where 
 "Willie Parkman lay, and when the sun went down and 
 the night shadows fell, it seemed darker, drearier still 
 On the rude table by the window a candle dimly burned, 
 but as the hours sped on it flickered awhile in its 
 socket, then for an instant flashed up, illuminating the 
 strangely beautiful face of the sleeping boy, and went 
 out. 
 
 An hour later, and Willie awoke. Feeling for his 
 mother's hand, he said, " Tell me true, do drunkards 
 go to heaven ? " 
 
 " There is for them no promise," was the wretched 
 mother's answer. 
 
 " Then I shall never see pa again. Tell him good- 
 by, good-by forever." 
 
 The next time he spoke it was to ask his mother to 
 come near to him, that he might see her face once 
 more. She did so, bending low and stifling her ov^ra 
 great agony, lest it should add one pang to his dying 
 hour. 
 
 " I cannot see you," he whispered, " it is so dark — so 
 dark." 
 
THE ANSWERED PRAYER. 51 
 
 Oh, what would not that mother have given then for 
 one of the lights which gleamed from the -vvindows of 
 the stately mansion where Eddie Hastings was watched 
 by careful attendants. But it could not be, and when 
 at last the silvery moonbeams came struggling through 
 the open window and fell upon the white brow of the 
 little boy they did not rouse him, for a far more glorious 
 light had dawned upon his immortal vision — even the 
 light of the Everlasting. 
 
 ******* 
 
 In her tasteful boudoir sat Lina Hastings, and at 
 her side, on a silken lounge, lay Eddie, calmly sleeping. 
 The crisis was past — she knew he would live, and her 
 cup of happiness was full. Suddenly the morning still- 
 ness was broken by the sound of a tolling bell. 'Twas 
 the same which, but for God's mercy, would at that 
 moment, perhaps, have tolled for her boy, and Lina in- 
 voluntarily shuddered as she listened to the strokes, 
 which, at first, were far between. Then th;ey came 
 faster, and as Lina counted ^e, she said aloud, "'Twas 
 a child but two years older than Eddie." 
 
 Later in the day it came to her that the bereaved 
 one was her early friend, whom now she seldom met. 
 Once Lina would have flown to Mabel's side, and poured 
 into her ear words of comfort, but her heart had grown 
 hard and selfish, and so she only said, " Poor Mabel, 
 she never was as*fortunate as I " — and her eye glanced 
 proudly around the elegantly-furnished room, falling 
 at last upon Eddie, whom she clasped to her bosom 
 passionately, but without thought of Him who had de- 
 creed that not then should she be written childless. 
 ****** 
 
 The humble funeral was over. The soft, green turf 
 4ad been broken, and the bright June flowers had fallen 
 
52 THE ANSWEKED PRATER. 
 
 beneath the old sexton's spade as he dug the licvat 
 grave where Willie Parkman was laid to rest. In the 
 drunkard's home there was again darkness and a silence 
 which would never be broken by the prattle of a child, 
 ish voice. Sobered, repentant, and heartbroken, the 
 wretched father laid his head in the lap of his faithful 
 wife, beseeching of her to pray that the vow that morn* 
 ing breathed by Willie's coffin and renewed by Willie's 
 grave might be kept unbroken . And she did pray, poor 
 Mabel. With her arms around the neck of the weep- 
 ing man, she asked that this, her great bereavement, 
 might be sanctified to the salvation of her erring hus- 
 band. 
 
 " I will do all things well," again seemed whispered 
 in her ear, and Mabel felt assured that Willie had not 
 died in vain. 'Twas hard at first for Eobert Parkman 
 to break the chains which bound him, but the remem- 
 brance of Willie's touching message — " Tell pa good- 
 by, good-by forever," would rush to his mind when- 
 ever he essayed to take the poisonous bowl, and thus 
 was he saved, and when the first day of a new year 
 was ushered in, he stood with Mabel at the altar, and 
 on his upturned brow received the baptismal waters, 
 while the man of God broke to him the bread of life. 
 Much that night they missed their child, and Mabel's 
 tears fell like rain upon the soft, chestnut curl she had 
 severed from his head, but as she looked upon her hus- 
 band, now strong again in his restored manhood, she 
 murmured — " It was for this that Willie died, and I 
 would not that it should be otherwise." 
 
 * * * » * * .* 
 
 Fifteen years have passed away since the day when 
 Lina Hastings breathed that almost impious prayer — 
 ** Send upon me. any evil but this," and upon the deep 
 
THE ANSWERED PRAYER. 53 
 
 blue waters of the Pacific a noble vessel lay becalmed. 
 Fiercely the rays of a tropical sun poured down upon 
 her hardy crew, but they heeded it not. With anxious, 
 frightened faces and subdued step, they trod the deck, 
 speaking in whispers ot some dreaded event. There 
 had been mutiny on board that man-of-war — a deep- 
 laid plot to murder the commanding officers, and now, 
 at the sun-setting, the instigators, four in number, were 
 to pay the penalty of their crime. Three of them 
 were old and hardened in sin, but the fourth, the 
 fiercest spirit of all 'twas said, was young and beauti- 
 ful to look upon. In the brown curls of his waving 
 hair there were no threads of silver, and on his brow 
 there were no lines save those of reckless dissipation, 
 while his beardless cheek was round and smooth as 
 that of a girl. Accustomed from his earliest childhood 
 to rule, he could not brook restraint, and when it was 
 put upon him, he had rebelled against it, stirring up 
 strife, and leading on his comrades, who, used as they 
 were to vice, marveled that one so young should be so 
 deeply depraved. 
 
 The sun was set. Darkness was upon the mighty 
 deep, and the wa^s moved by the breeze which had 
 sprung up, seemed to chant a mournful dirge forth© 
 boy who, far below, lay sleeping in a dishonored grave, 
 'f grave it can be called, where 
 
 " The purple mullet and gold fish rove, 
 Where the sea flower spreads its leaves of blue 
 Which never are wet with the falling dew, 
 But in bright and changeful beauty shine 
 Far down in the depths of the glassy brine." 
 
 Over the surging billow and away to the northward, 
 Otb^ robins are singing in the old xnanle-tree tbaa 
 
54 THE ANSWERED PRAYEE. 
 
 those which sang there years ago, when death seemevi 
 brooding o'er the place. Again the summer shadows 
 fall aslant the bright green lawn, and the soft breezes 
 laden with the perfume of a thousand flowers kiss the 
 faded brow of Lina Hastings, but they bring no glad- 
 ness to her aching heart, former thoughts are afar on 
 the deep with the wayward boy who, spurning alike 
 her words of love and censure, has gone from her "to 
 return no more forever," be said, for he left her in 
 bitter anger. For three years the tall grass has grown 
 over the grave of her husband, who to the last was 
 unloved, and now she is alone in her splendid home, 
 watching at the dawn of day and watching at the hour 
 of eve for the return of hei' son. 
 
 Alas, alas, fond mother, Mabel Parkman in her 
 hour of trial, never felt a throb of such bitter agony 
 as that which wrung your heart-strings when first yon 
 heard the dreadful story of your disgrace. There were 
 days and weeks of wild frenzj"^, during which she would 
 shriek, " Would to Heaven he had died that night 
 when he was young and innocent," and then she grew 
 calra, sinking into a state of imbecility from which 
 naught had power to rouse her. 
 
 A year or two more, and they made for her a grave 
 hy the side of her husband, and the hearts wliich in 
 ■ife were so divided, now rest quietly together, whiU 
 on the costly marble above them there is inscribed the 
 nirae of their son, who sleeps alone and unwept in 
 the far-oflf Southern Seas. 
 
 I 
 
 THE END. 
 
ALWAYS ^«^ poR THE DONOHUE 
 
 COMPLETE EDITIONS — THE BEST FOR LEAST MONEY 
 
 Irs. L.T. Meads 
 
 = SERIES — 
 
 I N excellent edition of the works of this very 
 popular author of books for girls. Printed 
 from large type on an extra quality of paper, 
 
 1 cover design stamped in three colors, large 
 
 side title letterings, each book in glazed paper printed 
 wrapper. Each book with a beautiful colored frontis- 
 piece. Printed wrapper, 12 mo. cloth. 
 
 1 Bad Little Hannah 
 
 2 Bunch of Cherries, A 
 
 4 Children's Pilgrimage 
 
 5 Daddy's Girl 
 
 6 Deb and the Duchess 
 
 7 Francis Kane's 
 
 Fortune 
 
 8 Gay Charmer, A 
 
 9 Girl of the People, A 
 
 10 Gi rl in Ten 
 
 Thousand, A 
 
 11 Girls of St. Wodes, 
 
 The 
 
 12 Girls of the True 
 
 Blue 
 
 13 Good Luck 
 
 14 Heart of Gold, The 
 
 15 Honorable Miss, The 
 1 7 Light of the Morning 
 
 18 
 
 to 
 
 20 
 
 21 
 22 
 23 
 
 of 
 
 A 
 
 Little Mother 
 
 Others 
 Merry Girls 
 
 England 
 Miss Nonentity 
 Modem Tomboy, 
 Out of Fashion 
 
 24 Palace Beautiful 
 
 25 Polly, A New-Fash- 
 
 ioned Girl 
 
 26 Rebels of the School 
 
 27 School Favorite 
 
 28 Sweet Girl Graduate, 
 
 A 
 
 29 Time of Roses, The 
 
 30 Very Naughty Girl, A 
 
 31 Wild Kitty 
 
 32 World of Girls 
 
 33 Young Mutineer, The 
 
 All of the above books may be had at the store 
 where this book was bought, or will be sent postage 
 prepaid to any address at 50o each, by the publishers 
 
 M. A. Donohue & Co., 
 
 701-727 South Dearborn St., CHICAGO 
 
ALWAYS ^«^ FOR THE DONOHUE 
 
 COMPLETE EDITIONS — THE BEST FOE LEAST MONEY 
 
 BOOKS 
 BY 
 
 MARY J. 
 
 HOLMES 
 
 caAnamio jiouakcbs bt tbss 
 
 FAV<mTB AUTHOR OF 
 SIOffiBSFORGISLS 
 
 THIS attractive line has 
 inlays of most artistic 
 and i^erfect female heads 
 lithographed in twelve colors, 
 title being stamped in green 
 ink. The brown tones pre- 
 dominate in the lithograph- 
 ing, harmonizing beautifully 
 with the color of the cloth. 
 An artistically attractive and 
 pleasing binding. Each book 
 in a printed glazed paper 
 wrapper. Clotii. 12mo siw. 
 
 1 Aikensida 12 
 
 2 Bad Hugh 13 
 
 3 Cousin Maude 14 
 
 4 Darkness and Da^ligtlS 15 
 B Dora Deane 16 
 
 6 Edith Lyle'B Secret 17 
 
 7 English Orphans 18 
 
 8 Ethelyn's Mistake 18 
 B Family Pride 20 
 
 Homestead on the Hillside 81 
 
 1 Leighton Homestead. The 22 
 
 heaa Rivers 
 
 Maggie Miller 
 
 Maxian Grey 
 
 Meadowbrook Farm 
 
 MUdred 
 
 Millbank 
 
 Miss McDonald 
 
 Rector of St. Marks 
 
 Rosamond 
 
 Rose Mather 
 
 Tempest and Sunahine 
 
 All of the above books may be had at the store where tUa 
 book was bought, or will be Bent postpaid at 50c per copy by the 
 
 publiahera. 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 
 
 7CI-727 S. Dearborn Street CHICAGO 
 
ALWAYS ASK FOR THE DONOHUE 
 
 Complete Editions and you 'nrill get the best for the least money 
 
 ^^1^''^^ MRS. E. D. E. N. 
 
 SOUTHWORTH 
 
 AN ATTRACTIVE LIST OF THE 
 WORKS OF THIS POPULAR AUTHOR 
 
 THE first eighteen titles with brackets are books 
 with sequels, "Victor's Triumph," being a sequel 
 to "Beautiful Fiend," etc. They are all printed 
 from large, clear type on a superior quality of flexible 
 paper and bound in English vellum cloth, assorted col- 
 ors, containing charming female heads lithographed in 
 twelve colors, as inlays; the titles being stamped in 
 harmonizing colors of ink or foil. Cloth, 12mo size. 
 
 r 1 Beautiful Fiend, A 26 Discarded Daogbter, The 
 
 I 2 Victor's Triumpli 27 Doom of DeTille, The 
 
 / 3 Bride's F^e gg Eudora 
 
 \ 4 Changed Bndes ^9 Fatal Secret. A 
 
 J 5 Cruel as the Grave ^n t, .. «. 7 
 
 \ 6 Tried for Her Life 3° Fortune Seeker 
 
 / 7 Fair Flay 31 Gypsy's Prophecy 
 
 1 8 How He Won Her 32 Haunted Homestead 
 
 J 9 Family Doom 33 Indian or. The Pearl of 
 
 110 Maiden Widow Pearl River 
 
 f 11 Hidden Hand, The 34 tady of the Isle, The 
 
 112 Capitola's Peril 35 Lost Heiress, The 
 
 j}3 Jfhmael 35 Love's Labor Won 
 
 U4 Self Raised Missing Bride, The 
 
 fl5 Lost Heu- of Linlithgow „ 1ln„^^.J. i„ 1 .„ 
 
 tl6 Noble Lord, A 38 Mother-in-Law 
 
 t ij Unknown 39 Prince of Darkness, and 
 
 i 18 Mystersr of Raven Rocks Artist's Love 
 
 19 Bridal Eve, The *° Retribution 
 
 20 Bride's Dowry, The *! Three Beauties, The 
 
 21 Bride of LleweUyn, The « Three Sisters, The 
 
 22 BrokenEngagement,The 43 Two Sisters, The 
 
 23 Christmas Guest, The 44 Vivian 
 
 24 Curse of Clifton 45 Widow's Son 
 
 25 Deserted Wife, The 46 Wife's Victory 
 
 All of the above books may be had at the store where (hia 
 book was bought, or will be sent postpaid at 50 cants each by 
 the publishers 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 
 
 701'727 Dearborn Street CHICAGO 
 
ALWAYS ASK FOR THE DONOHUE 
 
 Complete Editions and you will get the best for the least money 
 
 The Latest and Most Complete Edition of 
 
 Hoyle's 
 
 Book of Games 
 
 mmm 
 
 Contains all the card games 
 played in the United States, 
 with rules, regulations, techni- 
 calities, scoring, counting, etc. 
 Besides all the older games 
 such as Euchre, Sixty -six, 
 Forty - five, Rounce, Pedro, 
 Pinochle, Pitch, California 
 Jack, Poker, Cribbage, Loo, 
 All Fours, Catch the Ten, 
 Casino, Hearts, Whist, etc: 
 there are added explicit direc- 
 tions for playing 
 
 Five Hundred, Bridge Whist, 
 Auction Bridge and Rlium 
 
 Rules with directions for playing Chess, Backgammon, 
 Checkers, Billiards, Pool, Bagatelle, Bowling, etc., are 
 also given 
 
 With Numerous 
 
 Diagrams and Engravings 
 
 The Donohue Edition is the latest and only com- 
 plete Hoyle on the market. Printed from new plates, 
 substantially bound in cloth; 420 pages. Price $1.00, 
 postpaid. Paper _ edition with illustrated cover in 
 colors, 25c, postpaid. 
 
 For sale by all Book and Newsdealers, or will be sent to any 
 address in the United States, Canada or Mexico, postage paid, 
 on receipt of price, in currency, money order or stamps. 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 
 
 701-727 S. DEARBORN STREET :: CHICAGO