Chapter XXVI…

Chapter XXVI

Never his worldly lot, or worldly state torments him: Less he would like, if less his God had sent him. FLETCHER.

Winthrop had taken no little charge upon himself in the charge of his little sister. In many ways. He had a scanty purse, and it better bore the demands of one than of two; but that was only a single item. Winnie was not a charge upon his purse alone, but upon his heart and his head and his time. The demands were all met, to the full.

As much as it was possible, in the nature of Winthrop's business, his sister had him with her; and when he could not be there, his influence and power. It was trying enough for the poor child to be left alone as much as she was, for she could not always find solace in Mrs. Nettley, and sometimes could not endure her presence. Against this evil Winthrop provided as far as he might by giving Winnie little jobs to do for him while he was gone, and by setting her about what courses of self-improvement her delicate system of mind and body was able to bear. He managed it so that all was for him; not more the patching and knitting and bits of writing which were strictly in his line, than the pages of history, the sums in arithmetic, and the little lesson of Latin, which were for Winnie's own self. He knew that affection, in every one of them, would steady the nerves and fortify the will to go patiently on to the end. And the variety of occupation he left her was so great that without tiring herself in any one thing, Winnie generally found the lonely hours of her day pretty well filled up. Mrs. Nettley was a great help, when Winnie was in the mood for her company; that was not always.

His little sister's bodily and mental health was another care upon Winthrop's mind, and on his time. Disease now constantly ruffled the sweet flow of spirits which once was habitual with her. Nothing ruffled his; and his soothing hand could always quiet her, could almost always make her happy, when it was practicable for him to spare time. Very often when he had no time to give beyond what a word or a look would take from his business. But those times were comparatively few. He was apt to give her what she needed, and make up for it afterwards at the cost of rest and sleep when Winnie was abed. Through the warm summer days he took her daily and twice daily walks, down to the Green where the sea air could blow in her face fresh from its own quarter, where she and he too could turn their backs upon brickwork and pavement and look on at least one face of nature unspotted and unspoiled. At home he read to her, and with her, the times when he used to read the classics; and many other times; he talked to her and he played with her, having bought a second-hand backgammon board for the very purpose; he heard her and set her her lessons; and he amused her with all the details of his daily business and experience that he could make amusing.

If these things were a charge, it was one for which he was abundantly rewarded, every night and every morning, and knew it. But the other part of the burden, the drain upon his purse, was not so easily to be met withal. There was no helping it. Winnie's state of health made her simple wants, simple as they were, far more costly than his own had been; and he would and did supply them. He could bear to starve himself and lie hard; but Winnie would very soon starve to death; and the time when she could sleep softly on a hard bed had once been, but would never be again, literally or figuratively. Winthrop never shewed her how it was with him; not the less it was almost the ebb; and whence the flow was to come, was a point he saw not. He was not yet admitted to practise law; his slender means were almost all gathered from teaching; and he could not teach any more than he did. And this consciousness he carried about with him, to the office, to market, and to his little sister's presence. For her his face was always the same; and while she had it Winnie thought little was wanting to her life.

One morning when she had it not, she was lying wearily stretched out on the couch which was hers by day and Winthrop's by night. It was early June; the sun was paying his first instalment of summer heat, and doing it as if he were behind-hand with pay-day. Winnie's attic roof gave her a full share of his benefits. The hours of the morning had worn away, when towards noon a slow step was heard ascending the stairs. It was her hostess, come up to look after her.

"All alone?" said Mrs. Nettley.

"Oh yes! --" came with most fervent breath from Winnie. Her head uneasily turned the other cheek to the pillow.

"Poor child!" said Mrs. Nettley; and every line of her careful and sympathetic face said it over again. "Poor child! -- And Mr. Winthrop's been away all the morning!"

"I don't know why you call me poor," said Winnie, whose nerves could not bear even that slight touch, if it happened to touch the wrong way; -- "Of course he's been away all the morning -- he always is."

"And you're tired. I didn't mean poor, dear, in the way that I am poor myself; -- not that poor, -- I only meant, -- because you were so much here all alone without your brother."

"I know what you meant," said Winnie.

"It's hot up here, isn't it," said Mrs. Nettley going to the window. "Dreadful. It's hot down stairs too. Can't we let a little air in?" --

"Don't! It's hotter with it."

Mrs. Nettley left the window and came and stood by Winnie's couch, her face again saying what her voice did not dare to say, -- "Poor child!" --

"Mrs. Nettley --"

"What, my love?"

"I'm very cross --"

"No you aren't, my love! you're only tired."

"I'm very cross -- I don't know what makes me so -- but sometimes I feel so it seems as if I couldn't help it. I'm cross even to Winthrop. I'm very much obliged to you, but you must think I aint."

"I don't think the least thing of the kind, dearest -- I know it's miserable and suffocating up here, and you can't feel -- I wish I could make it better for you!"

"O it'll be better by and by -- when Governor gets home and it grows cool."

"Come down and take a bit of dinner with me."

"O no, thank you, Mrs. Nettley," said Winnie brightening up, -- "I don't want anything; and Governor'll be home by and by and then we'll have our dinner. I'm going to broil the chicken and get everything ready."

"Well, that'll be sweeter than anything I've got," said the good lady. -- "Why, who's there? --"

Somebody there was, knocking at the door; and when the door was opened, who was there shewed herself in the shape of a young lady, very bright looking and well dressed. She glanced at Mrs. Nettley with a slight word of inquiry and passing her made her way on up to the couch.

"Is this Winifred?" she said, looking, it might be, a little shocked and a little sorrowful at the pale and mind-worn face that used to be so round and rosy; and about which the soft fair hair still clustered as abundantly as ever.

"Yes ma'am," Winifred said, half rising.

"Don't get up, -- don't you know me?"

Winnie's eye keenly scanned the bright fresh face that bent over her, but she shook her head and said 'no'.

"Can't you remember my being at your house -- some time ago? -- me and" she stopped. "Don't you remember? We spent a good while there -- one summer -- it was when you were a little girl."

"O!" -- said Winnie, -- "are you --"

"Yes."

"I remember. But you were not so large then, either."

"I am not very large now," said her visiter, taking a chair beside Winnie's couch.

"No. But I didn't know you."

"How do you do, dear?"

"I don't know," said Winnie. "I am not very well now-a-days."

"And Mannahatta is hot and dusty and disagreeable -- more than any place you ever were in before in your life, isn't it?"

"I don't care," said Winnie. "I'd rather be with Winthrop."

"And can he make up for dust and heat and bad air and all?"

The smile that broke upon Winnie's face Elizabeth remembered was like that of old time; there was a sparkle in the eyes that looked up at her, the lips had their childish play, and the thin cheek even shewed its dimple again. As she met the look, Elizabeth's own face grew grave and her brow fell; and it was half a minute before she spoke.

"But he cannot be with you a great deal of the time."

"O yes he is," said Winnie; -- "he is here in the morning, and at breakfast and dinner and tea, and all the evening. And all Sundays."

"That's the best day of the week then, I suppose."

"It's always that," said Winnie. "And he takes a great many walks with me -- every day almost, when it gets cool -- we go down on the Green and stay there as long as it's pleasant."

Elizabeth was silent again.

"But doesn't he have studying or writing to do in the evenings? I thought he had."

"O yes," said Winnie, "but then it don't hinder him from talking to me."

"And is he good enough to make you like this place better than your beautiful country home?"

"I would rather be here," said Winnie. But she turned her face a little from her questioner, and though it remained perfectly calm, the eyes filled to overflowing. Elizabeth again paused, and then bending over her where she still lay on her couch, she pressed her own full red lips to Winnie's forehead. The salute was instantly returned upon one of her little kid gloves which Winnie laid hold of.

"You don't know how rich you are, Winifred, to have such a good brother."

"Yes I do," said Winifred. "You don't."

If there was not a rush to Elizabeth's eyes, it was because she fought for it.

"Perhaps I don't," she said quietly; -- "for I never had any one. Will you go and ride with me to-morrow, Winifred?"

"Ride?" said Winifred.

"Yes. In my carriage. We'll go out of town."

"O yes! O thank you! I should like it very much."

"You don't look very strong," said Elizabeth. "How is it that you can take such long walks?"

"O Winthrop don't let me get tired you know."

"But how does he manage to help it?" said Elizabeth smiling. "Can he do everything?"

"I don't know," said Winnie. "He don't let me stand too long, and he doesn't let me walk too fast; and his arm is strong, you know; --he can almost hold me up if I do get tired."

"I have -- or my father has," -- said Elizabeth, "some very old, very good wine. -- I shall send you some. Will you try it? I think it would make you stronger."

"I don't know whether Winthrop would let me drink it."

"Why not?"

"O he don't like me to drink anything but water and milk -- he don't let me have tea or coffee -- and I don't know whether he'd like wine; -- but I'll ask him."

"Don't let you have tea or coffee!"

"No; we drink milk, and water."

"But don't he let you do whatever you have a mind?"

"No," said Winnie; "and I don't want to, either."

"Don't want to do what?"

"Why -- anything that he don't like."

"Do you love him well enough for that -- not to wish to do what he don't like, Winifred?"

"Yes!" said Winifred. "I think I do. I may wish it at first, of course; but I don't want to do it if he wishes me not."

"How did he ever get such power over you!"

"Power!" said Winnie, raising herself up on her elbow, -- "why I don't know what you mean! I should think everybody would do what Winthrop likes -- it isn't power."

"I wonder what is, then!" said Elizabeth significantly.

"Why it's -- it's -- goodness!" said Winnie, shutting her eyes, but not before they had filled again. Elizabeth bit her lips to keep her own from following company; not with much success.

"That's what it is," said Winnie, without opening her eyes; -- "he always was just so. No he wasn't either, -- though it almost seems as if he was, -- but now he's a Christian."

If outward signs had kept inward feelings company, Elizabeth would have started. She sat still; but the lines of her face wore a look of something very like startled gravity. There was a silence of more than one minute. Winnie opened her eyes and directed them upon her still companion.

"Is he any better than he used to be?" she forced herself to say.

"Why yes," said Winnie, -- "of course -- he must be. He used to be as good as he could be, except that; -- and now he's that too."

"What difference does 'that' make, Winifred?"

Winnie looked keenly once more at the face of her questioner.

"Don't you know what it is to be a Christian, Miss Haye?"

Elizabeth shook her head.

"You must ask Winthrop," said Winnie. "He can tell you better than I can."

"I want you to tell me. What difference, for instance, has it made in your brother?"

Winnie looked grave and somewhat puzzled.

"He don't seem much different to me," she said, -- "and yet he is different. -- The difference is, Miss Haye, that before, he loved us -- and now he loves God and keeps his commandments."

"Don't he love you now?"

"Better than ever!" said Winnie with her eyes opening; -- "why what makes you ask that?"

"Didn't he keep the commandments of the Bible before?"

"No, --not as he does now. Some of them he did, because he never was bad as some people are; -- but he didn't keep them as he does now. He didn't keep the first commandment of all."

"Which is that?" said Elizabeth.

Winnie gave her another earnest look before she answered.

"Don't you know?"

"No."

"'Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy mind, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength.'"

If Winifred's face was grave, Elizabeth's took a double shade of gravity -- it was even dark for a minute, as if with some thought that troubled her. Winnie's eyes seemed to take note of it, and Elizabeth roused herself. Yet at first it was not to speak.

"When -- How long ago, do you suppose," she said, "your brother was changed in this way?"

"Since -- since the time I came here; -- since mother died," Winnie said softly.

There was again a few minutes of absolute silence; and then Elizabeth rose to go.

"Shall I send you the wine?" she said smiling.

"I don't believe Winthrop will let me take it," Winifred said.

"Because he is good, are you bound not to get strong?" Elizabeth said with an air of slight vexation.

"No," -- said Winnie, "but because he is good I must do what he says."

"I wish I liked anybody so well as that!" said Elizabeth kissing her. "Good bye, dear, -- I'll come for you to-morrow. There's no objection to that, I suppose?"

"No," Winnie said laughing; and they parted.

Five minutes Winnie was alone, thinking over her visit and visiter. They were a great novelty, and very interesting. Winnie's thoughts roved with an odd mixture of admiration and pity over the beautiful dress, and fine face, and elastic step; they were bewitching; but Winnie had seen a shadow on the face, and she knew that the best brightness had never lighted it. Five minutes were all she had to think about it; then she heard a very different step on the stairs.

"I heard her go," said Mrs. Nettley, coming in, "and I had a little more time to spare; so I thought I would spend it with you; -- unless you've got enough with such a gay visiter and don't want me."

"O no indeed, Mrs. Nettley, I want you just as much. Have you done dinner?"

"George isn't ready yet;" and Mrs. Nettley took Miss Haye's chair and set her knitting-needles a going. "Has she tired you with talking?"

"No -- talking doesn't tire me, --and she wasn't a gay visiter, either, Mrs. Nettley -- what do you mean by 'gay'?"

"O, she was handsome, and young, and 'fine feathers make fine birds' I'm sure," said Mrs. Nettley; -- "wasn't she smartly dressed?"

"Yes," said Winnie, she had handsome things on; but that didn't make her gay."

"Well that was what I meant. How do you like that young lady?"

"I don't know," said Winnie. "I think I like her."

"This isn't the first of your seeing her, dear!"

"O no -- she was at our house once. I've seen her before, but that was a great while ago. I didn't know her again at first."

"Then she remembered you best."

"O --" said Winnie, considering, -- "she has seen Rufus and Winthrop since then."

"She's a handsome young lady, don't you think so?"

"I don't know --" said Winnie.

"Ask your brother if he don't think so."

"Why?"

"See if he don't think so."

"Which brother?"

"Your brother that's here -- your brother Winthrop."

"Does he think she is?"

"Ask him," repeated Mrs. Nettley.

"I don't know why I should ask him," said Winnie turning over uneasily on her couch; -- "I don't care if she is or no."

"Ay, but you might care."

"I don't know why," said Winnie.

"How would you like to have a new sister one of these days? -- by and by?"

"A sister?"

Mrs. Nettley nodded.

"A sister!" said Winnie. "How should I have a sister?"

"Why such a thing might be," said Mrs. Nettley. "Did you never think of one of your brothers getting married?"

"Winthrop won't!" said Winnie, -- "and I don't care what Rufus does."

"What makes you think Winthrop won't?"

"He won't!" said Winnie with flushing cheeks.

"Wouldn't you be glad? You would like anything that would make him happy."

"Happy!" said Winnie. -- "Glad! -- I do wish, Mrs. Nettley, you would go down stairs and leave me alone!"

Mrs. Nettley went away, in some astonishment. And before her astonishment had cooled off in her own kitchen, down came Winnie, with flushed cheeks still, and watery eyes, and a distressed face, to beg Mrs. Nettley's forgiveness. It was granted with her whole heart, and a burden of apologies besides; but Winnie's face remained a distressed face still. The chicken, broiled on Mrs. Nettley's fire, was salted with some tears; and all the simple and careful preparations for Winthrop's dinner were made more carefully than usual; but when Winthrop came home, his little sister was as far from being herself as ever.

It happened that Winthrop was very busy that day and had no time to talk, except the disjointed bits of talk that could come between the joints of the chicken; and pleasant as those bits were, they could not reach the want of poor Winnie's heart. Immediately after dinner Winthrop went out again; and she was left to get through the afternoon without help of anybody.

It had worn on, and the long summer day was drawing to its close, when Winthrop was at last set free from his business engagements and turned his face and his footsteps towards home. The day had been sultry and his toil very engrossing; but that was not the reason his footsteps flagged. They flagged rarely, but they did it now. It needed not that he should have noticed his little sister's face at dinner; his ordinary burdens of care were quite enough and one of them just now pressing. In a sort of brown study he was slowly pacing up one of the emptying business streets, when his hand was seized by some one, and Winthrop's startled look up met the round jocund well-to-do face of the German professor.

"Wint'rop! -- Where are you going?"

"Home, sir," -- said Winthrop returning the grasp of his friend's hand.

"How is all wiz you?"

"As usual, sir."

"Wint'rop -- what is de matter wiz you?"

"Nothing! --" said Winthrop.

"I know better!" said the naturalist, -- "and I know what it is, too. Here -- I will give you some work to do one of these days and then I will pay you the rest."

And shaking Winthrop's hand again, the philosopher dashed on. But Winthrop's hand was not empty when his friend's had quitted it; to his astonishment he found a roll of bills left in it, and to his unbounded astonishment found they were bills to the amount of three hundred dollars.

If he was in any sort of a study as he paced the rest of his way home, it was not a brown study; and if his steps were slow, it was not that they flagged any more. It had come in time; it was just what was needed; and it was enough to keep him on, till he should be admitted to the bar and might edge off his craft from her moorings to feel the wind and tide 'that lead on to fortune.' Winthrop never doubted of catching both; as little did he doubt now of being able some time to pay back principal and interest to his kind friend. He went home with a lighter heart. But he had never let Winnie know of his troubles, and could not for the same reason talk to her of this strange relief.

Thinking so, he went up the stairs and opened the door of his and her sitting-room. The sun was down by that time, and the evening light was failing. The table stood ready for tea; Winnie had all the windows open to let in the freshening air from the sea, which was beginning to make head against the heats and steams of the city; herself sat on the couch, away from the windows, and perhaps her attitude might say, away from everything pleasant. Winthrop came silently up and put a little basket in her hand.

"Oh! --" Winnie sprang forward with an accent of joy, -- "Strawberries! -- Beautiful! and so sweet! O Winthrop, aren't they sweet! -- how good they will be."

"I hope so," said he. "How are you?"

"O -- I'm well," said Winnie. "How big they are -- and fresh. They do smell so sweet, don't they, Governor?"

Winthrop thought they were not so fresh nor so sweet as those which grew in the Bright Spot under Wut-a-qut-o; but he didn't remind Winnie of that. He smiled at her, as she was picking over her basket of strawberries with an eager hand. Yet when Winnie had got to the bottom of the basket and looked up at him his face was very grave indeed.

"There's plenty for you and me, Governor," she said.

"No," said her brother.

"There is plenty, Winthrop!"

"There is only just enough for you, and you must prove that by eating them all."

"Why didn't you get some for yourself, Governor!"

He answered that by spreading for her a particularly nice piece of bread and butter and laying it on her plate alongside of the strawberries. Winnie took it in the same pleasant mood and began upon both with great zeal; but before she had got half through the strawberries something seemed to come over her recollection; and the latter part of the meal her face grew more shadowy than the growing evening. When it was over, Winthrop placed her gently on the couch, and himself put away the dishes and glasses and eatables from the table. Then he came and sat down beside her and drew her head to lean upon him. It was darkening by that time, and the air coming in more and more fresh at the windows.

"Have you been very tired to-day?"

"No -- I don't know --" said Winnie doubtfully.

"We couldn't have our walk this evening -- I am sorry for that -- but I was kept so long with Bob Satterthwaite. He is in a great feaze about some property that he thinks is owing to him somewhere, and he has been giving me a long detail of matters and things connected with the business. -- I believe that if I were in practice he would commission me to get his rights for him. And an old classmate and friend of mine, Bob Cool, was in town to-day and came to see me. He was expressing a very earnest wish that I were working on my own hook."

"Oh I wish you were!" -- said Winnie.

"Patience. I shall be in a little while more, if all goes well. Mr. Cool promises I shall have all his business."

"Is that much?"

"I don't know. It seems so."

"But isn't Mr. Satterthwaite rich?"

"Yes -- very."

"Then what is he in a feaze about money for?"

"He is not so rich he mightn't be richer, I suppose, Winnie. And besides, nobody likes to be cheated."

"Is Mr. Haye rich?"

"Yes! What made you think of him?"

Winnie hesitated. "She was here to-day."

"She! Who? -- Clam?"

"No, not Clam."

"Who then?"

"Why -- Miss Haye."

"Was she here?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"This morning. She staid a good while with me."

"It was kind of her," said Winthrop after a little pause.

There was a pause then of some length.

"Has Miss Haye's being here and talking to you, tired you, Winnie?" said her brother, the arm that was round her drawing her more near.

"No --" Winnie said; but by no means as if Miss Haye's visit had had a sprightly effect.

"Staid here a good while talking? What did she talk about?"

"O -- I don't know, --" said Winnie, -- "about my drinking wine, and going to ride with her."

"She is very kind. And what did you tell her?"

"I said I didn't know whether you would let me drink it. I said I would go to ride."

"I am very much obliged to Miss Haye, and very glad for you, Winnie. It will do you good."

"Would you let me drink wine, if she should send it to me?"

"Did she speak of doing that?"

"Yes."

There was a little silence.

"Would you let me take it, Winthrop?"

"I suppose I should."

"I hope she won't send it," said Winnie; "and I wish I wasn't going to ride, either."

"Why?"

"O -- I'd rather stay here."

They sat a little while without speaking another word; and then Winthrop withdrawing his arm proposed to have 'some light on the subject.' Winifred sprang to get it, but he held her back, and himself got the candle and lit it and placed it on the table. The light shewed Winnie's face flushed and unresting, and of doubtful signification about the eyes. Winthrop came and took his former place and position by her side.

"How has the day been with you, Winnie?"

The tone was most gentle and kindly. Winnie hesitated and then said,

"It hasn't been good."

"What's the matter?"

"I haven't been good."

"That isn't such a new thing that you need be surprised at it, -- is it?" he said gently.

"No" -- under breath.

"And it isn't so strange a thing that I love you a bit the less for it."

"But it's very uncomfortable," said poor Winnie, whose voice bore her witness.

"I find it so often."

"You, Governor! -- you never do!" said Winnie energetically.

"Never do what?"

"Never feel like me."

"No, Winnie -- I am strong and you are weak -- you are sick and I am well. I have no excuse -- you have, a little."

"It don't make it a bit better," said poor Winnie. "I don't want to make any excuse. I got so cross with Mrs. Nettley to- day."

"What about?"

"O I couldn't bear to hear her talk, and I almost told her so."

"I dare say you did what you could to mend it afterwards, Winnie."

"O yes; -- and she didn't think anything of it at all; but I am always doing so, Winthrop."

"You never do it to me," said her brother soothingly.

"To you! -- But O Winthrop! -- if I loved God enough, I never should do anything to displease him!"

She had thrown herself further into her brother's arms and at this was weeping with all her heart.

"He said once himself," said Winthrop, "'Blessed are they that mourn now, for they shall be comforted.'"

Winnie clung faster to him, with a grateful clasp, and her tears came more gently.

"We sha'n't be quit of it till we get to heaven, Winnie; -- and 'the people that dwell therein,' you know, 'shall be forgiven their iniquity.' And more than that, 'white robes are given unto every one of them.' 'And they shall see the King's face, and his name shall be in their foreheads.'"

"I wish it was in mine now!" said Winnie.

"Stop, Winnie. -- I hope it is there, -- only not so bright as it will be by and by."

"But it ought to be bright now," said Winnie raising herself.

"Let it be brighter every day then," said her brother.

"I do try, Governor," said poor Winnie, -- "but sometimes I think I don't get ahead at all!"

It was with great tenderness that again he put his arm round her, and drew down her head upon him, and pressed her close to his side.

"Rest! --" said he, -- "and trust what is written, that 'they shall praise the Lord that seek him.' 'Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart; wait, I say, on the Lord.'"

"How much better I feel already," said poor Winnie presently.

There was a long silence. Winnie lay there still, and Winthrop was softly playing with one of her hands and striking it and stroking it against his own. The air came in fresh and cool from the sea and put the candle flame out of all propriety of behaviour; it flared and smoked, and melted the candle sideways, and threatened every now and then to go out entirely; but Winnie lay looking at Winthrop's hand which the moonlight shone upon, and Winthrop -- nobody knows what he was looking at; but neither of them saw the candle. Winnie was the one to break the silence.

"What sort of a person is she, Winthrop?"

"Who?" said her brother.

"What? -- O, I mean -- I meant -- I meant, who was here to-day, -- Miss Haye."

"You have seen her, Winnie," he said after a moment's hesitation.

"Yes, but you know her. Do you think she is a person I would like?"

"I do not know."

"You don't know! --"

"But you know her, Winthrop," said Winnie a little timidly, when she found he added nothing to his former words.

"Yes."

"Don't you like her?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't you know?"

"You don't like everything that I like," said her brother.

"Why yes I do! -- Don't I?"

"Not everything."

"What don't I?"

"Euripides -- and Plato."

"Ah but I don't understand those," said Winnie.

Winthrop was silent. Was that what he meant? -- was Winnie's instant thought. Very disagreeable. And his 'yes's' were so quiet -- they told nothing. Winnie looked at her brother's hand again, or rather at Miss Haye in her brother's hand; and Winthrop pursued his own meditations.

"Governor," said Winnie after a while, "is Miss Haye a Christian?"

"No."

Winnie asked no more; partly because she did not dare, and partly because the last answer had given her so much to think of. She did not know why, either, and she would have given a great deal to hear it over again. In that little word and the manner of it, there had been so much to quiet and to disquiet her. Undoubtedly Winnie would have done anything in the world, that she could, to make Miss Haye a Christian; and yet, there was a strange sort of relief in hearing Winthrop say that word; and at the same time a something in the way he said it that told her her relief had uncertain foundation. The 'no' had not been spoken like the 'yes' -- it came out half under breath; what meaning lurked about it Winnie could not make out; she puzzled herself to think; but though she could not wish it had been a willing 'no,' she wished it had been any other than it had. She could not ask any more; and Winthrop's face when he went to his reading was precisely what it was other evenings. But Winnie's was not; and she went to bed and got up with a sore spot in her heart, and a resolution that she would not like Miss Haye, for she would not know her well enough to make sure that she could.

END OF VOL. I.

PRINTED BY BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.

COLLECTION

OF

BRITISH AUTHORS

VOL. CCCLII.

THE HILLS OF THE SHATEMUC

BY

ELIZABETH WETHERELL.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

THE

HILLS OF THE SHATEMUC

BY

ELIZABETH WETHERELL,

AUTHOR OF "THE WIDE WIDE WORLD."

AUTHOR'S EDITION.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LEIPZIG

BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ

1856.

THE HILLS OF THE SHATEMUC.

VOL. II.

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

Chapter I

Ha, ha! what a fool honesty is! and trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! WINTER'S TALE.

Poor Winnie held to her resolution, though half unconsciously and quite involuntarily. She did not enjoy her ride, and therefore did not seem to enjoy it; for it was not in her nature to seem other than she was. Neither did she take or shew any but a very qualified pleasure in Miss Haye's company; and for this reason or for others Miss Haye made her visits few.

But this did not a bit help the main question; and in the want of data and the absence of all opportunity for making observations, Winnie had full chance to weary herself with fancies and fears. She could not get courage enough to say anything about Miss Haye again to her brother; and he never spoke of her. There was no change in him; he was always as careful of his little sister; always bestowed his time upon her in the same way; was always at home in the evenings. Unless when, very rarely, he made an arrangement that she should spend one with Mrs. Nettley and Mr. Inchbald. These times were seldom; and Winnie generally knew where he was going and that it was not to Mr. Haye's. But she was not sure of the integrity of her possession of him; and that want of security opened the sluice-gates to a flood-tide of wearisome possibilities; and Winnie's nervous and morbid sensibilities made the most of them. It was intolerable, to think that Winthrop should love anybody as he did her; that he should love anybody better, happily for Winnie, never entered her imaginings. She could not endure to think that those lips, which were to her the sweetest of earthly things, should touch any other cheek or mouth but her own. They were hers. It was bitter as wormwood to think that his strong arm could ever hold and guide another as it held and guided his little sister. "But guide? -- she'd never let him guide her!" -- said Winnie in a great fit of sisterly indignation. And her thoughts would tumble and toss the matter about, till her cheek was in a flush; she was generally too eager to cry. It wore upon her; she grew thinner and more haggard; but nobody knew the cause and no one could reach the remedy.

With all this the end of summer came, and Rufus. He came to establish himself under Mr. Haye's direction. "For the time," -- as Winthrop told Winnie, when she asked him if Rufus was going to turn merchant. And when she asked him further "what for?" -- he answered that Rufus was a spice merchant and dealt in variety. With the end of autumn came Winthrop's admission to the bar.

And Winnie drew a mental long breath. Winthrop was a lawyer himself, and no longer in a lawyer's office. Winthrop had an office of his own. The bark was shoved from the shore, with her sails set; and Winnie, no more than her brother, doubted not that the gales of prosperity would soon fill them. Rufus was greatly amused with her.

"You think it's a great thing to be a lawyer, don't you?" said he one night.

"I think it's a great thing to be such a lawyer as Governor will be," said Winnie.

At which Rufus laughed prodigiously.

"I think it's a great thing to be such a governor as this lawyer will be," he said when he had recovered himself. "Nothing less, Governor! You have your title beforehand."

"'Once a judge always a judge,'" said Winthrop. "I am afraid if you reverse the terms, so you will the conclusion."

"Terms!" said Rufus. "You will be governor of this state, and I shall be your financial secretary -- on any terms you please. By the way -- what keeps you from Haye's now-a-days? Not this girl?"

"No," said Winthrop.

It was that same 'no' over again. Winnie knew it, and her heart throbbed.

"What then? I haven't seen you there since I've been in town."

"How often are you there yourself?"

"O! -- every evening almost. What keeps you?"

"Duty --" said Winthrop.

"But what sort of duty! What on earth can hinder your coming there as you used to do, to spend a rational hour now and then?"

"My dear sir, it is enough for any man to know his own duty; it is not always possible for him to know that of another man."

"And therefore I ask you!" said Rufus.

"What?"

"Why! -- what's your reason for keeping away."

"In brief -- my engagements."

"You've nothing to do with briefs yet," said Rufus; "have the goodness to enlarge a little. You've not been more busy lately than you were a while ago."

"Yes I have."

"Yes, I suppose you have," -- said Rufus meditatively. "But not so much more as to make that a reason?"

"If my reasons were not only 'as plenty' but as precious, as blackberries," said his brother, "you could not shew more eagerness for them."

"I am afraid the blackberries would be the more savoury," said Rufus laughing a little. "But you didn't use to make such a hermit of yourself, Winthrop."

"I don't intend to be a hermit always. But as I told you, duty and inclination have combined to make me one lately."

Winnie could not make much of this conversation. The words might seem to mean something, but Winthrop's manner had been so perfectly cool and at ease that she was at a loss to know whether they meant anything.

Winthrop's first cause was not a very dignified one -- it was something about a man's horse. Winnie did not think much of it; except that it was his first cause, and it was gained; but that she was sure beforehand it would be. However, more dignified pieces of business did follow, and came fast; and at every new one Winnie's eyes sparkled and glistened, and her nervous troubles for the moment laid themselves down beneath joy, and pride in her brother, and thankfulness for his success. Before many months had passed away, something offered that in better measure answered her wishes for his opportunity.

Their attic room had one evening a very unwonted visiter in the shape of Mr. Herder. Beside Mr. Inchbald and his sister, Rufus was the sole one that ever made a third in the little company. Winthrop's friends, for many reasons, had not the entrance there. But this evening, near the beginning of the new year, there came a knock at the door, and Mr. Herder's round face walked in rounder than ever.

"Good evening! -- How is all wiz you, Wint'rop? -- and you? -- I would not let no one come up wiz me -- I knew I should find you."

"How did you know that, Mr. Herder?"

"O! -- I have not looked so long for strange things on the earth -- and in the earth -- that I cannot find a friend -- de most strange thing of all."

"Is that your conclusion, Mr. Herder? I didn't know you had quite so desperate an opinion of mankind."

"It is not despairate," said the naturalist; -- "I do not despair of nobody. Dere is much good among de world -- dere might be more -- a good deal. I hope all will be good one day -- it will be -- then we shall have no more trouble. How is it wiz you, Wint'rop?"

"Nothing to complain of, Mr. Herder."

"Does he never have nozing to complain of?" said the naturalist turning to Winnie.

"He never thinks he has," said Winnie. She had answered the naturalist's quick eye with a quick smile, and then turned on Winthrop a look that spoke of many a thing he must have passed over to make her words good. Mr. Herder's eye followed hers.

"How is everything with you, Mr. Herder?"

"It is well enough," said the naturalist, -- "like the common. I do not complain, neizer. I never have found time to complain. Wint'rop, I am come to give you some work."

"What do you want me to do, sir?"

"I do not know," said the naturalist; -- "I do not know nozing about what is to be done; but I want you to do something."

"I hope you will give me something more to go to work upon, sir. What is the matter?"

"It is not my matter," said the naturalist; -- "I did never get in such a quarrel but one, and I will never again in anozer -- it is my brother, or the man who married my sister -- his name is Jean Lansing."

"What is the matter with him?"

"Dere is too many things the matter wiz him," said Mr. Herder, "for he is sick abed -- that is why I am here. I am come to tell you his business and to get you to do it."

"I shall think I am working for you, Mr. Herder," Winthrop said, as he tied up a bundle of papers which had been lying loose about the table.

"Have you got plenty to do?" said the naturalist, giving them a good-humoured eye.

"Can't have too much, sir. Now what is your brother's affair?"

"I do not know as I can tell you," said the other, his bright jovial face looking uncommonly mystified, -- "it seems to me he does not know very well himself. He does not know that anybody has done nozing, but he is not satisfied."

"And my business is to satisfy him?"

"If you can do that -- you shall be satisfied too!" said the naturalist. "He does not know that any one has wronged him: but he thinks one has."

"Who?"

"Ryle -- John Ryle. He was Mr. Lansing's partner in business for years -- I do not know how many."

"Here?"

"In Mannahatta -- here -- they were partners; and Ryle had brothers in England, and he was the foreign partner and Lansing was here, for the American part of the business. Well, they were working togezer for years; -- and at the end of them, when they break up the business, it is found that Ryle has made himself money, and that my brother has not made none! So he is poor, and my sister, and Ryle is rich."

"How is that?"

"It is that way as I tell you; and Ryle has plenty, and Lansing and Therésa they have not."

"But has Mr. Lansing no notion how this may have come about?"

"He knows nozing!" said the naturalist, -- "no more than you know -- except he knows he is left wizout nozing, and Ryle has not left himself so. Dat is all he knows."

"Can I see Mr. Lansing?"

"He is too sick. And he could tell you nozing. But he is not satisfied."

"Is John Ryle of this city?"

"He is of this city. He is not doing business no more, but he lives here."

"Well, we can try, Mr. Herder," said Winthrop, tapping his bundle of papers on the table, in a quiet wise that was a strong contrast to the ardent face and gestures of the philosopher. It was the action, too, of a man who knew how to try and was in no doubt as to his own power. The naturalist felt it.

"What will you do, Wint'rop?"

"You wish me to set about it?"

"I do. I put it in your hands."

"I will try, Mr. Herder, what can be done."

"What will you do first?" said the naturalist.

"File a bill in equity," said Winthrop smiling.

"A bill? -- what is that?"

"A paper setting forth certain charges, made on supposition and suspicion only, to which charges they must answer on oath."

"Who will answer?"

"Ryle and his brothers."

"Dere is but one of them alive."

"Well, Ryle and his brother, then."

"But what charges will you make? We do not know nozing to charge."

"Our charges will be merely on supposition and suspicion -- it's not needful to swear to them."

"And they must swear how it is?"

"They must swear to their answers,"

"That will do!" said the naturalist, looking 'satisfied' already. "That will do. We will see what they will say. -- Do you do nozing but write bills all night, every night, and tie up papers? -- you do not come to my room no more since a long time."

"Not for want of will, Mr. Herder. I have not been able to go."

"Bring your little sister and let her look at my things some time -- while you and me we look at each other. It is good to look at one's friend sometime."

"I have often found it so, Mr. Herder. I will certainly bring Winnie if I can."

"Do you not go nowhere?" said the naturalist as if a thought had struck him. "What is de reason that I do not meet you at Mr. Haye's no more?"

"I go almost nowhere, sir."

"You are wrong," said the naturalist. "You are not right. Dere is more will miss you than me; and there is somebody there who wants you to take care of her."

"I hope you are mistaken, sir."

"She wants somebody to take care of her," said Mr. Herder; "and I do not know nobody so good as you. I am serious. She is just as afraid as ever one should take care of her, and poor thing she wants it all the more. She will not let your brother do it neizer."

"Do you think he is trying, Mr. Herder?" Winthrop said coolly.

"I believe he would be too glad! he looks at her so hard as he can; but she will not look at the tops of his fingers. She does not know what she shall do wiz herself, she is so mad wiz her father's new wife."

"What has she been doing?" Winthrop asked.

"Who, Rose? -- she has not done nozing, but to marry Elisabet's father, and for that she never will forgive her. I am sorry -- he was foolish man. -- Wint'rop, you must not shut yourself up here -- you will be directly rich -- you must find yourself a wife next thing."

"Why should a lawyer have a wife any more than a philosopher?" said Winthrop.

"A philosopher," said Mr. Herder, with the slightest comical expression upon his broad face, -- "has enough for him to do to take care of truth -- he has not time to take care of his wife too. While I was hunting after de truth, my wife would forget me."

"Does it take you so long for a hunt?"

"I am doing it all de time," said the naturalist; "it is what I spend my life for. I live for that."

The last words were spoken with a quiet deliberation which told their truth. And if the grave mouth of the other might have said 'I live for truth' too, it would not have belied his thoughts. But it was truth of another kind.

Winnie watched the course of this piece of business of Mr. Herder's with the most eager anxiety. That is, what there was to watch, for proceedings were slow. The very folio pages of that 'Bill,' that she saw Winthrop writing, were scrolls of interest and mysterious charm to Winnie's eyes, like nothing surely that other eyes could find in them. Certainly not the eyes of Mr. Ryle and his lawyer. Winnie watched the bill folded up and superscribed, standing over her brother with her hand on his shoulder.

"What is that about, now, Governor? -- what is it to do?"

"It charges Mr. Ryle and his brother with malpractices, Winnie -- with dealing unfairly by Mr. Lansing."

"But you don't know that they have done anything?"

"They can shew it, in that case; and the object of this bill is to make them shew one thing or the other, by their answer."

"And, dear Governor, how soon will they answer?"

"In forty days, Winnie, they must."

Winnie drew a breath of patience and impatience, and went back to her seat.

But before the forty days were gone by, Winthrop came home one night and told Winnie he had got the answer; and smiled at her face of eagerness and pleasure. Winnie thought his smiles were not very often, and welcomed every one.

"But it is not likely this answer will settle the question, Winnie," he remarked.

"O no, I suppose not; but I want to know what they say."

So they had supper; and after supper she watched while he sat reading it; as leaf after leaf was turned over, from the close-written and close-lying package in Winthrop's hand to the array of pages that had already been turned back and lay loose piled on the table; while Winthrop's pencil now and then made an admonitory note in the margin. How his sister admired him! -- and at last forgot the bill in studying the face of the bill-reader. It was very little changed from its old wont; and what difference there might be, was not the effect of a business life. The cool and invariable self-possession and self-command of the character had kept and promised to keep him himself, in the midst of these and any other concerns, however entangling or engrossing. The change, if any, was traceable to somewhat else; or to somewhat else Winnie laid it, -- though she would not have called it a change, but only an added touch of perfection. She could not tell, as she looked, what that touch had done; if told, perhaps it might be, that it had added sweetness to the gravity and gravity to the sweetness that was there before. How Winnie loved that broad brow, and the very hand it rested on! All the well-known lines of calmness and strength about the face her eye went over and over again; she had quite forgotten Mr. Ryle; and she saw Winthrop folding up the voluminous "answer," and she hardly cared to ask what was in it. She watched the hands that were doing it. They seemed to speak his character, too; she thought they did; calmness and decision were in the very fingers. Before her curiosity had recovered itself enough to speak, Mr. Herder came in.

They talked for awhile about other things; and then Winthrop told him of the answer.

"You have it!" cried the naturalist. "And what do they say?"

'Nothing, fully and honestly."

"Ah ha! -- And do they grant -- do they allow anything of your charges, that you made in your bill?"

"Yes -- in a vague and unsatisfactory way, they do."

"Vague --?" said the naturalist.

"Not open and clear. But the other day in the street I was stopped by Mr. Brick --"

"Who is Brick?" said Mr. Herder.

"He is Ryle's lawyer. He stopped me a few days ago and told me there was one matter in the answer with which perhaps I would not be satisfied -- which perhaps I should not think sufficiently full; but he said, he, who had drawn the answer, knew, personally, all about it; and he assured me that the answer in this matter granted all, and more, than I could gain in any other way; and that if I carried the proceedings further, in hopes to gain more for my client, the effect would only be an endless delay."

"Do they offer to give him something?" said the naturalist.

"The answer does make disclosures, which though, as I said, vague and imperfect, still promise to give him something."

"And you think it might be more?"

"Brick assures me, on his own knowledge, that by going on with the matter we shall only gain an endless lawsuit."

"What do you think, Wint'rop?"

"I want you to give this paper to Mr. Lansing, and ask him what he thinks. Ask him to read it, and tell him what Brick says; and then let him make up his mind whether we had better go on or not."

"I do not care for nobody's mind but yours," said the naturalist.

"Let us have Mr. Lansing's first."

So Mr. Herder carried away the answer to Mr. Lansing, and in a few days came back to report progress.

"He has read it," said Mr. Herder, "and he says he do not make anything of it at all. He leaves the whole thing wiz you."

"Does he understand what is hinted at by these half disclosures?"

"He says he does not understand nozing of it -- he knows not what they mean -- he does not know whether to go on, whether to stop here. He says, and I say, you judge and do what you please."

"I confess, Mr. Herder, that Mr. Brick's kind warning has made me suspicious of his and his principal's good faith; and my will would be to go on."

"Go on, then!" said the naturalist -- "I say so too -- go on! I do not trust that Brick no more than you do; and Mr. Ryle, him I do not trust. Now what will you do next?"

"Take exceptions to the answer, where it seems to be insufficient, and make them answer again."

"Exception --?" said the naturalist.

In answer to which Winthrop went into explanations at some length; from which at least this much was clearly made out by Mr. Herder and Winnie, -- that the cause would come to a hearing probably in May, before Chancellor Justice; when Winthrop and Mr. Brick would stand openly pitted against each other and have an opportunity of trying their mutual strength, or the strength of their principles; when also it would, according to the issue of said conflict, be decided whether the Ryles must or not reply to Winthrop's further demands upon them.

"And this Chancellor Justice -- is he good man?" said Mr. Herder.

"As good a man as I want to argue before," said Winthrop. "I ask no better. All is safe in that quarter."

That all was safe in another quarter, both Mr. Herder and Winnie felt sure; and both looked eagerly forward to May; both too with very much the same feeling of pride and interest in their champion.

Winnie's heart jumped again at hearing a few days after, that Mr. Satterthwaite had put his affairs into Winthrop's hands; partly, Winthrop said he supposed, out of friendship for him, and partly out of confidence in him. It was rather a mark of the former, that he insisted upon paying a handsome retaining fee.

"Now where's Mr. Cool and his affairs?" said Winnie.

"I suppose Mr. Cool is at Coldstream, where he keeps 'cool' all the year round, I understand."

"But he promised to put his affairs into your hands."

"Then he'll do it. Perhaps they keep cool too."

"I wish May would be here," said Winnie.

Winthrop was at the table one evening, -- while it still wanted some weeks of the May term, -- writing, as usual, with heaps of folio papers scattered all about him; writing fast; and Winnie was either reading or looking at him, who was the book she loved best to study; when Rufus came in. Both looked up and welcomed him smilingly; but then Winthrop went on with his writing; while Winnie's book was laid down. She had enough else now to do. Rufus took a seat by the fire and did as she often did, -- looked at Winthrop.

"Are you always writing?" said he somewhat gloomily.

"Not always," said Winthrop. "I sometimes read, for variety."

"Law papers?"

"Law papers -- when I can't read anything else."

"That's pretty much all the time, isn't it?"

"O no," said Winnie; -- "he reads a great deal to me -- we were reading a while ago, before you came in -- we read every evening."

Rufus brought his attention round upon her, not, as it seemed, with perfect complacency.

"What time does this girl go to bed?"

How Winnie's face changed. Winthrop answered without stopping his pen. --

"When she is tired of sitting up -- not until then."

"She ought to have a regular hour -- and an early one."

"You are an adviser upon theory, you see," said Winthrop going on with his writing; -- "I have the advantage of practice."

"I fancy any adviser would tell you the same in this case," said the elder brother somewhat stiffly.

"I can go now," Winifred said rising, and speaking with a trembling lip and a tremulous voice, -- "if you want to talk about anything."

She lit a candle and had got to the door, when her other brother said,

"Winnie! --"

Winnie stopped and turned with the door in her hand. Winthrop was busy clearing some books and papers from a chair by his side. He did not speak again; when he had done he looked up and towards her; and obeying the wish of his face, as she would have done had it been any other conceivable thing, Winnie shut the door, set her candle down, and came and took the chair beside him. But then, when she felt his arm put round her, she threw her head down upon him and burst into a fit of nervously passionate tears. That was not his wish, she knew, but she could not help it.

"Mr. Landholm," said Winthrop, "may I trouble you to put out that candle. We are not so extravagant here as to burn bedlights till we want them. -- Hush, Winnie, --" softly said his voice in her ear and his arm at the same time.

"Absurd!" said Rufus, getting up to do as he was bid.

"What?" said his brother.

"Why I really want to talk to you."

"I am really very willing to listen."

"But I do not want to talk to anybody beside you."

"Winnie hears everything that is said here, Will," said the younger brother gravely, at the same time restraining with his arm the motion he felt Winnie made to go.

"It don't signify!" said Rufus, getting up and beginning to walk up and down the room gloomily.

"What doesn't signify?"

"Anything! --"

The steps were quicker and heavier, with concealed feeling. Winthrop looked at him and was silent; while Rufus seemed to be combating some unseen grievance, by the set of his lip and nostril.

"What do you think Haye has done?" -- he broke out, like a horse that is champing the bit.

"What?" said Winthrop.

"He has sued me."

"Sued you!" exclaimed Winthrop, while even Winnie forgot her tears and started up. Rufus walked.

"What do you mean, Will?"

"I mean he has sued me!" -- said Rufus stopping short and facing them with eyes that for the moment had established a natural pyrotechny of their own.

"How, and what for?"

"How? -- by the usual means! What for? -- I will tell you!"

Which he sat down to do; Winthrop and Winnie both his most earnest auditors.

"You know it was Haye's own proposition, urged by himself, that I should go into business with him. Nobody asked him -- it was his own doing; it was his declared purpose and wish, unsolicited by me or my father or by anybody, to set me forward in his own line and put me in the way of making my fortune! -- as he said."

Winthrop knew it, and had never liked it. He did not tell Rufus so now; he gave him nothing but the attention of his calm face; into which Rufus looked while he talked, as if it were the safe, due, and appointed treasury in which to bestow all his grievances and passionate sense of them.

"Well! -- you know he offered, a year ago or more, that by way of making a beginning, I should take off his hands some cotton which he had lying in storage, and ship it to Liverpool on my own account; and as I had no money, I was to pay him by drawing bills in his favour upon the consignees."

"I remember very well," said Winthrop.

"Well sir! -- the cotton reached Liverpool and was found good for nothing!"

"Literally?"

"Literally, sir! -- wasn't worth near the amount of my bills, which of course were returned -- and Haye has sued me for the rest!"

Rufus's face looked as if a spark from it might easily have burnt up the whole consignment of cotton, if it had happened to be in the neighbourhood.

"How was the cotton? -- damaged?"

"Damaged? -- of course! -- kept in vaults here till it was spoiled; and he knew it!"

"For what amount has he sued you?" said Winthrop when Rufus had fed his fire silently for a couple of minutes.

"For more than I can pay -- or will! --"

"How much does that stand for, in present circumstances?"

"How much? A matter of several hundreds!"

"How many?"

"So many, as I should leave myself penniless to pay, and then not pay. You know I lost money down there."

"I know," said his brother.

Winifred brought her eyes round to Winthrop; and Winthrop looked grave; and Rufus, as before, fiery; and there was a silence this time of more than two minutes.

"My dependence is on you, Governor," Rufus said at last.

"I wish I could help you, Will."

"How can I get out of this scrape?"

"You have no defence in law."

"But there must be a defence somewhere!" said Rufus drawing himself up, with the whole spirit of the common law apparently within him, energizing the movement.

"The only hope of relief would be in the equity courts."

"How there?" said Rufus.

Winthrop hesitated.

"A plea of fraud -- alleging that Mr. Haye has overreached you, putting off upon you goods which he knew to be worthless."

"To be sure he did!" said Rufus. "Knew it as well as he does now. It was nothing but a fraud. An outrageous fraud!"

Winthrop made no answer, and the brothers paused again, each in his meditations. Winnie, passing her eyes from one to the other, thought Winthrop looked as if his were very grave.

"I depend upon you, Governor," the elder brother said more quietly.

"To do what?"

"Why! --" said Rufus firing again, -- "to do whatever is necessary to relieve me! Who should do it?"

"I wish you could get somebody else, Will," said the other.

"I am sorry I cannot!" said Rufus. "If I had the money I would pay it and submit to be trodden upon -- I would rather take it some ways than some others -- but unhappily necessity is laid upon me. I cannot pay, and I am unwilling to go to jail, and I must ask you to help me, painful as it is."

Winthrop was silent, grave and calm as usual; but Winnie's heart ached to see how grave his eye was. Did she read it right? He was silent still; and so was Rufus, though watching for him to speak.

"Well!" said Rufus at last getting up with a start, "I will relieve you! I am sorry I troubled you needlessly -- I shall know better than to do it again! --"

He was rushing off, but before he reached the door Winthrop had planted himself in front of it.

"Stand out of my way."

"I am not in it. Go back, Will."

"I won't, if you please. -- I'll thank you to let me open the door."

"I will not. Go back to your seat, Rufus -- I want to speak to you."

"I was under the impression you did not," said Rufus, standing still. "I waited for you to speak."

"It is safe to conclude that when a man makes you wait, he has something to say."

"You are more certain of it when he lets you know what it is," said Rufus.

"Provided he knows first himself."

"How long does it take you to find out what you have to say?" said Rufus, returning to his ordinary manner and his seat at once. The fire seemed to have thrown itself off in that last jet of flame.

"I sometimes find I have too much; and then there is apt to be a little delay of choice."

"A delay to choose? -- or a choice of delay?" said Rufus.

"Sometimes one and sometimes the other."

One or the other seemed still in force with Winthrop's present matter of speech, for he came before the fire and stood mending it, and said nothing.

"Winthrop," said Rufus gravely, "have you any particular reason to decline doing this business for me?"

Winthrop hesitated slightly, and then came forth one of those same "no's," that Winnie knew by heart.

"Have you any particular reason to dislike it?"

"Yes. They were my friends once."

"But is your friendship for them stronger than for anybody else?"

"It does not stand in the way of my duty to you, Will."

"Your duty to me, --" said the other.

"Yes. I cannot in this instance call it pleasure."

It was the turn of Rufus to hesitate; for the face of his brother expressed an absence of pleasure that to him, in the circumstances, was remarkable.

"Then you do not refuse to undertake this job for me?"

"I will do what I can," said Winthrop, working at a large forestick on the fire. How Winnie wished he would let it alone, and place himself so that she could see him.

"And don't you think there is good prospect of our succeeding?"

"If Chancery don't give it you, I'll take it to the Court of Errors," said Winthrop, arranging the log to his satisfaction, and then putting the rest of the fire in order.

"I'm sorry to give you trouble, Governor," his brother said thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry you've got it to give, Will."

But Rufus went on looking into the fire, and seeming to get deeper into the depths of something less bright as he looked.

"After all I am much the most to be pitied," he began. "I thought to-day, Governor -- I did not know what would become of me!"

"I can tell you that beforehand," said his brother. "You will become, exactly, what you choose to make yourself."

"That is what you always say," returned Rufus a little cynically.

"That is what I have found in my own practice," said Winthrop. He put up the tongs and took his old seat by Winnie. Rufus looked still into the fire.

"I am thrown out of this employment now," he said; -- "I am disgusted with it -- and if I were not, there is no way for me to follow it with advantage."

"I am not sorry for that, Will. I never liked it for you, nor you for it."

"I have nothing to do. -- I am a loose pin in the Mosaic of society -- the pattern is all made up without me."

"What pin has got your place?" said Winthrop.

"What do you mean?"

"Simply, that as in the nature of things there cannot be too many pins, a pin that is out of place must be such by a derelict of duty."

"What is my place?"

"If my word would set you in it, I would tell you."

"Tell me, and perhaps it will."

"I should bid you return to your engineer's work and serve God in it."

"Very poor chance for serving God or man, in that work," said Rufus. "Or myself."

"And no chance at all so long as you are doing nothing."

"I cannot bear to compare myself with you," -- Rufus went on moodily.

"Compare yourself with yourself, Will, -- the actual with the possible, -- and then go forward."

"What is possible in an engineer's life!" said Rufus.

"Everything is possible, in any place where Providence has put you, for the future at least. And the firm purpose of serving God in it, will dignify for the present any life.

"'A man that looks on glass "'On it may stay his eye; "'Or, if he pleaseth, through it pass, "'And then the heaven espy!'"

Rufus met the grave slight smile on his brother's face, and his eye watered.

"You are better than I am," he said with one of very different meaning.

"If that be true to-day, Will, don't let it be true to- morrow."

They wrung each other's hands, and the elder brother went soberly away.

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Chapter II

An't be any way, it must be with valour; for Policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brownist as a politician. TWELFTH NIGHT.

The family at No. 11 on the Parade, were seated at breakfast one morning towards the latter end of May; the old trio, only with Elizabeth and Rose in each other's places.

"What is the reason Winthrop Landholm don't come here any more?" said the latter lady.

"I don't know," said Mr. Haye, when the silence had threatened the failure of any answer at all.

"What's the reason, Lizzie?"

"I don't know! -- how should I?"

"I am sure I can't tell," said Rose, "but I didn't know but you did. I wish you'd ask him to come again, Mr. Haye -- do you know how he is getting up in the world?"

"I know how cotton is falling," said Mr. Haye, swallowing his tea and the newspaper apparently both at the same time.

"Cotton! --" said Rose. "Now Mr. Haye, just put down that paper and listen to me; -- do you know how Winthrop Landholm is holding his head up?"

"No," said Mr. Haye, looking at the pretty little head which was holding itself up, over against him.

"Well, he is. You didn't hear what Mr. Satterthwaite was saying about him last night, did you?"

"I didn't hear Mr. Satterthwaite say anything."

"Well he says he's had quite a great cause come on, now, just a few days ago --"

"Who has? Mr. Satterthwaite?"

"Why no, Mr. Haye! -- of course! -- I mean Mr. Landholm has -- a cause that he was to argue, you know -- that's what I mean -- before Chancellor Justice -- and Mr. Satterthwaite says he did it splendidly! -- he said everybody stood and looked; -- and the Chancellor gave him everything he asked for -- made all his exceptions, he said, whatever that means --"

"Allowed his exceptions," said Elizabeth.

"O you could listen when Mr. Satterthwaite was speaking of Winthrop Landholm!"

"Mr. Satterthwaite don't often have so good a subject. I listened certainly, and was very much interested; -- the only time I ever remember Mr. Satterthwaite's saying anything I cared to hear."

"Well, now, Mr. Haye, why isn't it just as well to say 'made an exception,' as 'allowed an exception'? I don't think 'allowed an exception' is good English."

"It is good law English, I suppose, Rose."

"Well, I don't care -- at any rate, he said the Chancellor allowed every one of Mr. Landholm's exceptions, -- suppose you understand it; -- and wouldn't allow a single thing to Mr. Brick; and Mr. Brick was the lawyer on the other side; and Mr. Satterthwaite said it was a great triumph for Mr. Landholm."

"Dustus O. Brick?" said Mr. Haye.

"Yes," said Elizabeth.

"I don't know," said Rose; "he said Mr. Brick, -- or the noted Mr. Brick -- I suppose that's the man."

"Dustus O. Brick!" said Mr. Haye -- "he's one of the best men in the bar, and a very clever man too; a distinguished lawyer; there's no one more thought of."

"That's what Mr. Satterthwaite said, -- he said so, -- he said it was a great triumph for Mr. Landholm; -- and now Mr. Haye, won't you ask him to come here again as he used to?"

"Who?"

"Winthrop Landholm."

"What for?"

"Why I want to see him -- and so do you, Mr. Haye. Now Mr. Haye, won't you? -- Though I don't know but Elizabeth would be the best one to ask him."

"Why?" dryly said the master of the house.

"I guess he'd be more likely to come."

"If I thought so, and it were my part to do it, I certainly should ask him," said Elizabeth. "There isn't any person so pleasant as he to take his place, among all that come here."

"You were glad of what Mr. Satterthwaite told us last night weren't you?" said Rose with a sinister smile.

"Very glad!"

"Did you ever hear Mr. Satterthwaite go on so about anybody? One would have thought Mr. Landholm was his own brother. I wonder if that was for your sake, Lizzie?"

"I presume it was for his own sake," said Elizabeth. "I should think anybody who had the privilege of being Mr. Landholm's friend, would know how to value it."

"You would value it, for instance, I suppose?"

"I have no doubt I should."

"It seems to me you are a little too sure of valuing it," said Mr. Haye, -- "for a young lady who has not that privilege."

Elizabeth's cheeks burned on the instant, but her eye was steady, and it looked full on her father while she asked him,

"Why, sir?"

"It is not worth while for you to like other people faster than they like you?"

"Why not?" -- said Elizabeth, her cheek and eye both deepening in their fire, but her look as steady and full, -- "Why not? -- if it should happen that I am less likeable than they?"

"Pshaw!" said Mr. Haye.

"If I were to gauge the respect and esteem I give others, by the respect and esteem they might be able to give me, -- I should cut off maybe the best pleasures of my life."

"Are respect and esteem the best pleasures of your life?" said Rose satirically.

"I have never known any superior to them," said Elizabeth. But she brought, as she spoke, her eye of fire to bear upon her cousin, who gave way before it and was mum.

"And what may respect and esteem lead to?" said Mr. Haye.

"I don't know," said Elizabeth. "And I don't care -- even to ask."

"Suppose they are not returned?"

"I have supposed that in the first place," she answered.

"At that rate you might be over head and ears in your regard for several people at once, none of whom cared a straw for you," said Mr. Haye.

"When I find several, men or women, that deserve the sort of respect and esteem I am talking of," said Elizabeth -- "I am not talking of a common kind, that you can give common people -- I shall be in a new world!"

"And have you this sort of 'respect and esteem' for Mr. Winthrop Landholm?" said her father.

"That's another question," said Elizabeth, for the first time dropping her eye and speaking more quietly; -- "I was talking of the general principle."

"And I am asking of the particular instance. Have you this respect and esteem for this particular person of your acquaintance?"

"I never gave it to many people in my life," said Elizabeth, colouring again somewhat. "He has as fair a share of it as most have."

"A little more?" said Mr. Haye smiling.

This time the answer she flashed at him was of proud and indignant bar to any further questioning -- with her eyes only; her lips did not move.

"Does he know it, Elizabeth?"

"Know what, sir?"

"This favour you have expressed for him."

"I have expressed nothing but what I would express for any one to whom I thought it due."

"But I ask, does he know it?"

"I feel injured, father, by your asking me such questions! -- I presume he does not know, since he has not had the honour of being told!"

The air with which this was given was regal.

"I wouldn't tell him, Lizzie," said her father quietly.

But at the insinuation conveyed in these words, Elizabeth's mood took another turn.

"I will tell whomsoever it may concern to know, at any time when I see occasion," she answered. "It is not a thing to be ashamed of; and I will neither do nor think anything I am unwilling to own."

"You had better reform public opinion in the first place," said Mr. Haye dryly.

"Why?" she said with startling quickness.

"It is apt to hold rather light of young ladies who tell their minds without being asked."

"How can you speak so, father! -- I said, when I saw occasion -- it seems I have very much misjudged in the present instance."

"And as that might happen again," said Mr. Haye, "it is just as safe, on the whole, that the person in question does not come here any more. I am glad that I have advertised his place for sale."

"What!" exclaimed Elizabeth and Rose both at once.

"Hush -- don't fire at a man in that way. His father's place, I should say."

"What have you done to it?" said Elizabeth.

"Advertised it for sale. You don't hear me as well as you do Mr. Satterthwaite, it seems."

"How come you to have it to sell?"

"Because it was mortgaged to me -- years ago -- and I can't get either principal or interest; so I am taking the best way I can to secure my rights."

"But Mr. Landholm was your friend?"

"Certainly -- but I am a better friend to myself. Can't do business with your friends on different principles from those you go upon with other people, Lizzie."

Elizabeth looked at him, with eyes that would have annihilated a large portion of Mr. Haye's principles, if they had been sentient things. Rose began a running fire of entreaties that he would have nothing to do with Shahweetah, for that she could not bear the place. Elizabeth brought her eyes back to her plate, but probably she still saw Mr. Haye there, for the expression of them did not change.

"I'm not going to have anything to do with the place, Rose," said Mr. Haye -- "further than to get it off my hands. I don't want to live there any more than you do. All I want to do is to pay myself."

"Father," said Elizabeth looking up quietly, "I'll buy it of you."

"You!" said Mr. Haye, -- while Rose went off into a succession of soft laughs.

"Do you care who does it, so that you get the money?"

"No, -- but what will you do with it?"

"Find a way, in time, of conveying it back to its right owners," said Rose. "Don't you see, Mr. Haye?"

Elizabeth favoured her with a look which effectually spiked that little gun, for the time, and turned her attention again to her father.

"Do you care who buys it of you, so that you get the money?"

"Why, no -- but you don't want such a piece of property, Lizzie."

"I want just such a piece of property."

"But my child, you can't manage it. It would be an absurd spending of your money. There's a farm of two or three hundred acres -- more, -- besides woodland. What could you do with it?"

"Trust me to take care of my own. May I have it, father?"

"Mr. Haye! --" Rose put in, pouting and whimpering, -- "I wish you'd tell Lizzie she's not to look at me so! --"

"Will you sell it to me?" pursued Elizabeth.

"If you'll promise it shall not go back to the original owners in any such way as Rose hinted."

"Are those your terms of sale?" said Elizabeth. "Because, though I may not choose to submit myself to them, I can find you another purchaser."

"What do you want of a great piece of land like that?"

"Nothing; I want the land itself."

"You can't do anything with it."

"It don't signify, if it all grows up to nettles!" said Elizabeth. "Will you take the money of me and let me take the land of you?"

"Hum --" said Mr. Haye, -- "I think you have enlightened me too much this morning. No -- I'll find a more disinterested purchaser; and let it teach you to take care of your eyes as well as your tongue."

Rose bridled. Mr. Haye got up leisurely from the breakfast- table and was proceeding slowly to the door, when his path was crossed by his daughter. She stood still before him.

He might well tell her to take care of her eyes. They glowed in their sockets as she confronted him, while her cheek was as blanched as a fire at the heart could leave it. Mr. Haye was absolutely startled and stood as still as she.

"Father," she said, "take care how you drive me too far! You have had some place in my heart, but I warn you it is in danger. -- If you care for it, I warn you! -- "

She was gone, like a flash; and Mr. Haye after casting a sort of scared look behind him at his wife, went off too; probably thinking he had got enough for one morning.

No doubt Elizabeth felt so for her part. She had gone to her own room, where she put herself on a low seat by the window and sat with labouring breath and heaving bosom, and the fire in her heart and in her eyes glowing still, though she looked now as if it were more likely to consume herself than anybody else. If herself was not present to her thoughts, they were busy with nothing then present; but the fire burned.

While she sat there, Clam came in, now one of the smartest of gay-turbaned handmaidens, and began an elaborate dusting of the apartment. She began at the door, and by the time she had worked round to Elizabeth at the window, she had made by many times a more careful survey of her mistress than of any piece of furniture in the room. Elizabeth's head had drooped; and her eyes were looking, not vacantly, but with no object in view, out of the window.

"I guess you want my friend here just now, Miss 'Lizabeth," said Clam, her lips parting just enough to show the line of white between them.

"Whom do you mean by your friend?"

"O -- Governor Landholm, to be sure -- he used to fix everybody straight whenever he come home to Wuttle Quttle."

Elizabeth passed over the implication that she wanted 'fixing,' and asked, "How? --"

"I don' know. He used to put 'em all in order, in less'n no time," said Clam, going over and over the dressing-table with her duster, as that piece of furniture kept her near her mistress. "Mis' Landholm used to get her face straight the minute his two feet sounded outside the house, and she'd keep it up as long as he stayed; and Winifred stopped to be queer and behaved like a Christian; and nobody else in the house hadn't a chance to take airs but himself."

"What sort of airs did he take?" said Elizabeth.

"O I don' know," said Clam; -- "his sort; -- they wa'n't like nobody else's sort."

"But what do you mean by airs?"

"Can't tell," said Clam, -- "nothin' like yours, Miss 'Lizabeth, -- I take a notion to wish he was here, once in a while -- it wouldn't do some folks no harm."

"Didn't his coming put you in order too?"

Clam gave a little toss of her head, infinitely knowing and satisfied at the same time, and once more and more broadly shewed the white ivory between her not unpretty parted teeth.

"I think you want putting in order now," said her mistress.

"Always did," said Clam with a slight arch of her eyebrows, -- "always shall. Best get him to manage it, Miss 'Lizabeth -- he can do it quicker'n anybody else -- for me, -- and I dare say he would for you."

"I don't believe you ever were put in order," said Elizabeth, -- "to stay."

"I didn't use to do a wrong thing as long as he was in the house!" said Clam. "Didn't want to. -- You wouldn't neither, if you was in the house with him."

"What do you mean by Mrs. Landholm's getting her face straight when he came? -- was'nt it always so?"

"'Twa'n't always so," said Clam, -- "for when he come, half the wrinkles went away, and the grey hairs all turned black again."

There came such a pang to Elizabeth's heart, such a gush to her eyes, that she hid her face on her knees and heard nothing of what her handmaid said for a long time after. If Clam talked, she had the talk all to herself; and when Elizabeth at last raised her head, her handmaiden was standing on the other side of the fireplace looking at her, and probably making up her mind that she wanted 'fixing' very much. There was no further discussion of the subject, however; for Miss Haye immediately called for her bonnet and veil, wrapped herself in a light scarf and went out. The door had hardly closed upon her when the bell rang again, and she came running up-stairs to her room.

"Clam, get me the newspaper."

"What news, Miss 'Lizabeth?"

"All the newspapers -- every one you can find; -- yesterday's and to-day's, or the day before."

Much wondering, Clam hunted the house and brought the fruits of her search; and much more wondering, she saw her mistress spend one hour in closely poring over the columns of page after page; she who never took five minutes a day to read the papers. At last a little bit was carefully cut from one of those Clam had brought up, and Elizabeth again prepared herself to go forth.

"If it had been Mr. Winthrop, now, who was doing that," said Clam, "he'd have took off his hat most likely, and sat down to it. How you do look, Miss 'Lizabeth!"

"Mr. Winthrop and I are two different people," said Elizabeth, hurriedly putting on the one glove she had drawn off.

"Must grow a little more like before you'll be one and the same," observed Clam.

Elizabeth let down her veil over her face and went out again.

With a quick nervous step she went, though the day was warm, making no delay and suffering no interruption; till she reached the University where Professor Herder made his daily and nightly abode. The professor was attending one of his classes. Elizabeth asked to be shewn to his room.

She felt as if she was on a queer errand, as she followed her conductor up the wide stone stairs and along the broad corridors, where the marks were evidently of only man's use and habitation, and now and then a man's whistle or footstep echoed from the distance through the halls. But she went on swiftly, from one corridor to another, till the guide opened a door and she stepped out from the public haunts of life to a bit of quite seclusion.

It was a pleasant enough place that Mr. Herder called home. A large, airy, light, high-ceiled apartment, where plainly even to a stranger's eye, the naturalist had grouped and bestowed around him all the things he best liked to live among. Enormous glass cases, filled with the illustrations of science, and not less of the philosopher's investigating patience, lined all the room; except where dark-filled shelves of books ran up between them from the floor to the ceiling. A pleasant cloth-covered table, with books and philosophical instruments, stood towards one side of the room, a little table with a lamp at the other; and scattered about, all over, were big stout comfortable well-worn leather arm-chairs, that said study and learning sat easy there and often received visits of pleasure in that room. Elizabeth felt herself as little akin to pleasure as to learning or study, just then. She put herself in one of the great leather chairs, with a sense of being out of her element -- a little piece of busy, bustling, practical life, within the very palings of science and wisdom.

She sat and waited. But that pulse of busy life beat never the cooler for all the cool aspect of the place and the grave shade of wisdom that lingered there; nay, it throbbed faster and more flutteringly. She got up to try the power of distraction the glass cases might hold; but her eye roved restlessly and carelessly over object and object of interest that withheld its interest from her; and weariedly she went back to her arm-chair and covered her face with her hands, that her mind might be at least uninterruptedly busy in its own way.

It must have been very busy, or the quick little step of the German professor must have been very soft withal; for he had come within a few feet of her before he knew who she was or she knew that he was there.

"Miss Elisabet'!" he exclaimed with a most good-humoured face of wonderment, -- "I never was so honoured before! How did you get in my arm-chair?"

Elizabeth jumped up and shook hands with him, laughing in very relief to see him come.

"How did I get here? -- I came up through the sun, Mr. Herder."

"I have asked you to come in better time," said the naturalist, -- "that is, better for you -- dis is very good time for me. I have nozing to do, and I will give you lesson in whatever you want."

"No sir, -- I am come to give you a lesson, Mr. Herder."

"Me? Well, I will take it," said the naturalist, who began at the same time to run about his room and open closet doors and jingle glasses together, apparently on his own business, -- "I like always to take lessons, -- it is not often that I have such a teacher. I will learn the best I can -- after I have got you some lemonade. I have two lemons here, -- somevere, -- ah! -- "

"I don't want it, Mr. Herder."

"I cannot learn nozing till you have had it," said Mr. Herder bringing his lemons and glasses to the table; -- "that sun is beating my head what was beating yours, and it cannot think of nozing till I have had something to cool him off. --"

Elizabeth sat still, and looked, and thought, with her heart beating.

"I did not know what was in my room when I see you in my chair wiz your head down -- you must be study more hard than me, Miss Elisabet' -- I never put my head down, for nozing."

"Nor your heart either, I wonder?" thought Elizabeth.

"I was studying, Mr. Herder, -- pretty hard."

"Is that what you are going to give me to study?" said the naturalist.

"Not exactly -- it was something about it. I want you to do something for me, Mr. Herder, -- if I may ask you, -- and if you will be so very kind as to take some trouble for me."

"I do not like trouble," said the naturalist shaking his head good-humouredly over a squeeze of his lemon; -- "dere is no use in having trouble -- I get out of it so soon as I can -- but I will get in it wiz pleasure for you, Miss Elisabet' -- what you tell me -- if you will tell me if that is too much sucker."

"To take trouble, and to be in trouble, are not quite the same thing, Mr. Herder," said Elizabeth, having at the moment a vivid realization of the difference.

"I thought trouble was trouble," said the naturalist, finishing the preparing his own glass of lemonade. "If you will lesson me to find trouble is no trouble -- Miss Elisabet' -- I will thank you much for that."

Elizabeth heartily wished anybody could teach her that particular lesson. She sipped her lemonade, slowly and abstractedly, busy yet with the study which Mr. Herder had broken off; while he talked benignly and kindly, to ears that did not hear. But the last of Elizabeth's glass was swallowed hastily and the glass set down.

"Mr. Herder, I have come to ask you to do something for me."

"I am honoured, Miss Elisabet'," said the philosopher bowing.

"Will you not speak of it to anybody?"

"Not speak of it!" said the naturalist. "Then it is a secret?"

The quick energetic little bend of Elizabeth's head said before her lips spoke the word, "Yes!"

"It is more honour yet," he said. "What am I to do, Miss Elisabet'?"

"Nothing, if it will be any real trouble to you, Mr. Herder. Promise me that first."

"Promise? -- what shall I promise?" said Mr. Herder.

"Promise me that if what I am going to ask would be any real trouble to you or to your business, you will tell me so."

"I do not love to be troubled," said the naturalist. "It shall not be no trouble to me."

"But promise me that you will tell me, Mr. Herder."

"Suppose you was to tell me first. I cannot tell nozing till I know."

"You will not speak of it to anybody, Mr. Herder?"

"I will not speak of nozing, Miss Elisabet'."

"Mr. Herder, there is a piece of land which I want to buy; and I have come to ask you, if you can, and if you will, to buy it for me."

"Miss Elisabet'," said the naturalist looking a little surprised at his fair questioner, -- "I will tell you the truth -- I have no money."

"I have, Mr. Herder. But I cannot go into the market and buy for myself."

"Cer-tain-ly, you cannot do that," said Mr. Herder. "But what is it you wish to buy?"

"It is a farm, --" said Elizabeth, feeling glad that her back was to the light; -- "it is a piece of land in the country -- up on the Shatemuc river. I think you have been there, Mr. Herder, -- it is the place where the Landholms' father lives. Wut-a-qut-o, they call it -- or Shahweetah; -- Wut-a-qut-o is the mountain opposite."

"Landholm!" cried the naturalist. "Is it Winthrop's place?"

Elizabeth bowed her head and answered, "His father's."

"Winthrop's place! Is that what you want, Miss Elisabet'?"

Elizabeth bowed her head again, this time without answering.

"Suppose they might not want to sell it?" said the naturalist.

"They do not -- but they can't help themselves. It must be sold -- they can't pay money that is owing upon it."

"Money!" -- said the naturalist; -- "that is de trouble of all that is in the world. I wish there was no such thing as money! It makes all the mischief."

"Or the want of it," said Elizabeth.

"No!" said the naturalist, -- "it is not that! I have want money all my life, Miss Elisabet', and I have never got into no trouble at all."

"Except when you fought the duels, Mr. Herder."

"Dat was not no trouble!" said the philosopher. "There was nozing about money there; and it was not no trouble, -- neizer before, neizer after."

"I have had money all my life; and it never made me any trouble."

"Ah, you have not come to the time," said Mr. Herder. "Wait, you will find it. Now you are in trouble because you want to buy this ground, and you could not do it wizout money."

"I can't do it with, unless you will help me, Mr. Herder -- you or somebody."

"I could get somebody," said Mr. Herder; -- "I know somebody what I could get."

"I don't know anybody who would be as good as you, sir."

"I do," said the naturalist. "Where is Mr. Haye? -- is he sick?"

"No sir, -- I don't wish him to know anything about it, Mr. Herder. -- He is the person making the sale."

"Your father? -- do you mean that Mr. Haye is the man what is selling the ground of Mr. Landholm?"

"Yes sir. And I wish to buy it."

"Then Miss Elisabet', what for do you not ask my friend Winthrop to buy it for you? He knows all business. He will do it."

"I cannot -- I have not the liberty -- He is not enough a friend of mine, for me to ask him such a favour."

"But Miss Elisabet', what will you do wiz all that large ground and water?"

"Buy it, -- first, sir; and then I will see. I want it."

"I see you do," said the naturalist. "Well, then I shall get it for you -- if I can -- I hope your money will not get me in trouble."

"If you are at all afraid of that, Mr. Herder, I will find some other way --"

"I never was afraid of nozing in my life, Miss Elisabet' -- only I do not know neizer how to get money, neizer how to spend it -- in this way. What will Mr. Haye say to me when I go to buy all this great land of him? He will say --"

"You're not to buy it of him, Mr. Herder."

"No?" said the naturalist. "Of who, then? I thought you said he was going to sell it."

"Yes, he is -- but he has somebody else to do it for him. Here, Mr. Herder, -- here is the advertisement; -- see -- don't read the first part, -- all that has nothing to do with it, -- here is the place. 'At the Merchant's Exchange, in the city of Mannahatta, on the first day of September, 1821, at 12 o'clock noon of that day' -- and then comes the description of the place. It is to be sold at public auction."

"Auc-sion? --" said the naturalist.

"It's to be sold in public, to whoever offers to give most for it."

"O, I know that," said Mr. Herder.

"And dear Mr. Herder, all I ask of you is to be there, at 12 o'clock the first of September, and buy it for me; and let nobody know. Can you do it?"

"I can do so much," said the naturalist. "I think I can. But suppose somebody will give more than you."

"Do not suppose that, sir. I will give more than anybody."

"Are you sure you will?" said the naturalist. "Maybe you do not know."

"I do know, sir, and am sure."

"Well," said the naturalist, shaking his head, -- "I do not know much about buying grounds -- I do know a leetle of some things -- but I do not know what sort of a lesson is this, Miss Elisabet'. But I will see if I can do it. Who is going to live up there wiz you?"

"Don't you suppose I can live alone, Mr. Herder."

"No, not there," said the naturalist. "You want some one to take care of you -- de engineer, Miss Elisabet'," said he smiling.

Elizabeth made no answer; she had risen up to go; and he guided her through the halls and down the staircases, till she was in the open street again. Then, after a farewell squeeze of his hand and nod of her little head, she pulled her veil down and went homeward, more slowly than she had come.

"Do I want somebody to take care of me?" she thought. "I believe I do! An engineer? -- I do not think the engine is under very good guidance -- it is too strong for me -- How could he know that? Oh what earthly thing would I give, for a hand wise and strong enough to lead me, and good enough that I could submit myself to!"

The wish was so deep drawn that her breast heaved with it, and starting tears made her draw her veil thicker before them. She bit her lip, and once more quickened her steps towards home.

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Chapter III

Then think I of deep shadows on the grass, -- Of meadows where in sun the cattle graze, Where, as the breezes pass, The gleaming rushes lean a thousand ways, -- Of leaves that slumber in a cloudy mass, Or whiten in the wind, -- of waters blue That from the distance sparkle through Some woodland gap, -- and of a sky above, Where one white cloud like a stray lamb doth move. LOWELL.

Finding that the old farm must pass out of his hands, Mr. Landholm made up his mind not to spend another summer of labour and of life upon it; but at once with his son Asahel to move off to the West. He stayed but to reap the standing crops of winter grain, dispose of stock, and gather up all the loose ends of business; and left the hills of the Shatemuc, to seek better fortunes on a Western level.

They passed through Mannahatta on their way, that they might have a short sight of Winthrop and Winifred and say good-bye to them. It was not so joyful a visit that anybody wished it to be a long one.

"It's pretty hard," said the farmer, "to start life anew again at my time of day; -- but these arms are not worn out yet; I guess they'll do something -- more or less -- on a new field."

"Asahel's got strong arms, father," said Winifred, who was fain to put in a word of comfort when she could.

"Ay, and a strong heart too," said his father. "He's a fine fellow. He'll do, I guess, in the long run, -- at the West or somewhere; and at the West if anywhere, they say. I'm not concerned much about him."

"There's no need, I think," said Winthrop.

"Where's Will? -- and what's he doing?"

"Will has just set off for Charleston -- on some agency business."

"Charleston in South Carolina?"

"Yes."

"Then he is not engineering now?"

"No."

"How long does he expect to be gone?"

"Some months -- more or less; -- I don't know."

"Is it a good business for him?"

"He has chosen it, -- not I."

"I would sooner trust your choice," said the father. "There's one thing Rufus wants; and that is, judgment."

"He'll do yet," said Winthrop. "And I shall not leave you long at the West, father. You will come when I send for you?"

"No, my boy," said the farmer looking gratified; -- "I'll live by my own hands as long as I have hands to live by; and as I said, mine haven't given out yet! No -- if the Lord prospers us, we'll have a visit from you and Winnie out there, I expect -- by and by, when we get things in order; -- you and Winnie, and anybody else you've a mind to bring along!"

It was spoken heartily, but with a tear in the eye; and nobody answered; unless it were answer, the long breath which Winnie drew at the very idea of such a visit.

Winthrop heard it; but through the long weeks of summer he could give her nothing more of country refreshment than the old walks on the Green and an occasional ride or walk on the opposite shore of one or the other of the rivers that bordered the city. Business held him fast, with a grip that he must not loosen; though he saw and knew that his little sister's face grew daily more thin and pale, and that her slight frame was slighter and slighter. His arm had less and less to do, even though her need called for more. He felt as if she was slipping away from him. August came.

"Winnie," said he one evening, when he came home and found her lying on her couch as usual, -- "how would you like to go up and pay Karen a visit?"

"Karen?" -- said Winnie, -- "where?"

"At home. -- At Wut-a-qut-o."

"Wut-a-qut-o!" said Winnie; -- "is Karen there? I thought Shahweetah was sold."

"It isn't sold yet -- it won't be till September -- and Karen is there yet, keeping house with her brother Anderese."

"Anderese! -- is old Anderese there?" said Winnie. "O I should like to go, Governor!" she said raising herself on her elbow. "Can we?"

"Yes, if you like. Hildebrand Cowslip is down here with his father's sloop -- how would you like to go up in her?"

"In the sloop? -- O how good!" said Winnie bringing her thin hands together. "Can we? But dear Governor, you can't be away?"

"Yes -- just as well as not. There isn't much doing in August -- everybody takes a resting time; and so you and I will, Winnie," said he, bending down to kiss her.

Winnie looked up at him gratefully and lovingly with her wistful large eyes, the more expressive from the setting of illness and weakness in the face.

"I'd like you to have a rest, dear Governor."

He stood stroking back the ringlets from the thin blue-veined temple.

"Wouldn't it do you good to see Wut-a-qut-o again?"

"O I am sure it would! -- And you too, wouldn't it?"

"I am good enough already," said Winthrop looking down at her.

"Too good," said Winnie looking up at him. "I guess you want pulling down!"

She had learned to read his face so well, that it was with a pang she saw the look with which he turned off to his work. A stranger could not have seen in it possibly anything but his common grave look; to Winnie there was the slight shadow of something which seemed to say the "pulling down" had not to be waited for. So slight that she could hardly tell it was there, yet so shadowy she was sure it had come from something. It was not in the look merely -- it was in the air, -- it was, she did not know what, but she felt it and it made her miserable. She could not see it after the first minute; his face and shoulders, as he sat reading his papers, had their usual calm stability; Winnie lay looking at him, outwardly calm too, but mentally tossing and turning.

She could not bear it. She crawled off her couch and came and sat down at his feet, throwing her arms around his knee and looking up at him.

"Dear Governor! -- I wish you had whatever would do you good!"

"The skill of decyphering would do me a little good just now," said her brother. She could detect nothing peculiar in look or word, though Winnie's eyes did their best.

"But somehow I don't feel as if you had," she went on to say.

"Where is your faith?" -- he said quietly, as he made a note in the margin of the paper he was reading. Winnie could make nothing of him.

"Governor, when shall we go?"

"Hildebrand moves his sloop off to-morrow afternoon."

"And shall we go to-morrow?"

"If you don't object."

Winnie left the floor, clapping her hands together, and went back to her couch to think over at large the various preparations which she must make. Which pleasant business held her all the evening.

They were not large preparations, however; longer to think of than to do; especially as Winthrop took upon himself the most of what was done. One or two nick-nackeries of preparation, in the shape of a new basket, a new book, and a new shawl, seemed delightful to Winnie; though she did not immediately see what she might want of the latter in August.

"We shall find it cooler when we get under the shadow of Wut- a-qut-o, Winnie," said her brother; and Winnie was only too glad of a pretext to take the pretty warm wrapper of grey and blue worsted along.

She did not want it when they set out, the next afternoon. It was very warm in the streets, very warm on the quays; and even when the sloop pushed her way slowly out and left the quays at her back, there was little air stirring and the August sun beat down steadily on river and shore.

"This don't look much like gettin' up to Cowslip's Mill this night," said the skipper. "Ain't it powerful!"

"The wind is coming off from the South," said Winthrop.

"Yes, I felt some little puffs on my cheek," said Winnie.

"Glad to hear it," said the sloop master, a tall, bony, ill- set-together specimen of a shore and water man; -- "there ain't enough now to send an egg-shell along, and I'd like to shew you a good run, Mr. Landholm, since you're goin' along with me. She looks smart, don't she?"

"If she'll only work as well," said Winthrop. "Hild', you haven't got much cargo aboard."

"Only as much as'll keep her steady," answered the skipper. "'Seems to me nobody ain't a wantin' nothin' up our ways. I guess you're the heaviest article on board, Winthrop; -- she never carried a lawyer before."

"Are lawyers heavy articles?" said Winnie laughing.

"'Cordin' to what I've heern, I should say they be; ain't they, squire? -- considerable, -- especially when they get on folks's hands. I hope you're a better sort, Winthrop, -- or ain't there much choice in 'em?"

"You shall try me when you get into trouble," said Winthrop.

"Is this Mr. Cowslip's old sloop?" said Winnie.

"She don't look old, does she?" inquired Mr. Hildebrand.

"But I mean, is it the same he used to have? -- No, she looks very handsome indeed."

"She's the old one though," said the skipper, "the same old Julia Ann. What's the use o' askin' ladies' ages? -- she's just as good as when she was young; and better dressed. I've had the cabin fixed up for you, Mr. Landholm, -- I guess it'll be pretty comfortable in there."

"It's a great deal pleasanter here," said Winnie. "There comes the wind! -- that was a puff! --"

"Well we're ready for it," said the skipper.

And stronger puffs came after, and soon a steady fair southerly breeze set up the river and sent the Julia Ann on before it. Straight up the river their course lay, without veering a point for miles. The sun was lowering towards the horizon and the heat was lessening momently, even without the south breeze which bade it be forgotten; and the blue waters of the river, so sluggish a little while ago, were briskly curling and rippling, and heading like themselves for Wut-a- qut-o.

Winnie sat still and silent in the shadow of the huge sail. Winthrop was standing close beside her, talking with the skipper; but he knew that his little sister had hold of his hand and had laid her unbonneted head against his arm; and when the skipper left him he stooped down to her.

"What do you think of it, Winnie?"

"O Winthrop! -- how delicious! -- Aren't you glad it is such beautiful world?"

"What are you thinking of in particular?"

"O everything. It isn't down here like Wut-a-qut-o, but everything is so delicious -- the water and the shore and the sunshine and the wind! --"

"Poor Winnie," said her brother stroking her hair, -- "you haven't seen it in a good while."

She looked up at him, a glance which touchingly told him that where he was she wanted nothing; and then turned her eyes again towards the river.

"I was thinking, Governor, that maybe I shall never go up here again."

"Well Winnie? --"

"I am very glad I can go this time. I am so much obliged to you for bringing me."

"Obliged to me, Winnie!"

He had placed himself behind his little sister, with one hand holding her lightly by each shoulder; and calm as his tone was, perhaps there came a sudden thought of words that he knew very well --

"There fairer flowers than Eden's bloom, "Nor sin nor sorrow know; "Blest seats! through rude and stormy seas "I onward press to you." --

For he was silent, though his face wore no more than its ordinary gravity.

"Governor," said Winnie half turning her head round to him, "I wish these people were not all round here within hearing, so that we could sing. -- I feel just like it."

"By and by, Winnie, I dare say we can."

"How soon do you think we shall get to Wut-a-qut-o."

"Before morning, if the wind holds."

The wind held fair and rather strengthened than lost, as the evening went on. Under fine headway the Julia Ann swept up the river, past promontory and bay, nearing and nearing her goal. Do her best, however, the Julia Ann could not bring them that night to any better sleeping advantages than her own little cabin afforded; and for those Winthrop and Winnie were in no hurry to leave the deck. After the skipper's hospitality had been doubtfully enjoyed at supper, and after they had refreshed themselves with seeing the sun set and watching the many-coloured clouds he left behind him, the moon rose in the other quarter and threw her 'silver light' across the deck, just as duskiness was beginning to steal on. The duskiness went on and shrouded the hills and the distant reaches of the river in soft gloom; but on board the Julia Ann, on her white sails and deck floor where the brother and sister were sitting, and on a broad pathway of water between them and the moon, her silver light threw itself with brightening and broadening power. By and by Mr. Hildebrand's two or three helpers disposed of themselves below deck, and nobody was left but Mr. Hildebrand himself at the helm.

"Now we can sing!" exclaimed Winnie, when one or two turns of her head had made her sure of this; and to Winthrop's surprise she struck up the very words part of which had been in his own remembrance.

"'Jerusalem! my happy home -- "'Name ever dear to me -- "'When shall my labours have an end, "' In joy and peace in thee!"'

Winnie's voice was as sweet and clear as a bird's, if weakness left it not much stronger; that of her brother was deep, mellow, and exceeding fine; it was no wonder that the skipper turned his head and forgot his tiller to catch the fulness of every note. When the last had sounded, there was nothing to be heard but the rippling of water under the sloop's prow; the sails were steady and full, the moonlight not more noiseless; the wind swept on with them softly, just giving a silent breath to their cheeks; the skipper held his tiller with a moveless hand.

"What next, Winnie?" her brother whispered. The soft gurgle of the water had been heard for several minutes.

"How fond Karen is of that hymn," said Winifred. "Governor, do you think I shall live long in this world?"

She was leaning, half lying, upon Winthrop, with his arm round her. Her voice had put the question in precisely the same tone that it had given the remark.

"Why do you ask me that, Winnie?"

"Because -- sometimes I think I sha'n't, -- and I want to know what you think."

"You will live, I am sure, dear Winnie, till God has done for you all he means to do; -- till he has fitted his child for heaven; -- and then he will take her."

"I know that," said Winifred with a grateful half look up at him; -- "but I mean -- you know I am not well quite, and weak, and I don't think I get any better; -- don't you think that it won't take a very great while, very likely?"

"How would you feel, Winnie, if you thought that was so?"

"I do think it sometimes -- pretty often," -- said Winnie, "and it don't make me feel sorry, Governor."

"You think heaven is better than earth."

"Yes, --and then -- that's one good thing of my sickness -- it don't seem as if I ever could do much if I lived, so it matters the less."

"Nobody knows how much he does, who does his duty," said Winthrop.

"Why I can't do anything at all!" said Winnie.

"Every talent that isn't buried brings something into the treasury," said Winthrop.

"Yes -- that's pleasant," said Winnie; -- "but I don't know what mine is."

"The good that people do unconsciously is often more than that they intend."

"Unconsciously! -- But then they don't know whether they do it or not?"

"It don't hurt them, not to know," said her brother smiling.

"But what sort of good-doing is that, Winthrop?"

"It only happens in the case of those persons whose eye is very single; -- with their eye full of the light they are reflecting, they cannot see the reflection. But it is said of those that 'their works do follow them.'"

Winnie was tearfully silent, thinking of the ingathering of joy there would be for one that she knew; and if Winthrop's arm was drawn a little closer round her little figure, perhaps it was with a like thought for her. How bright the moonlight shone!

"That's pleasant to think, Governor, -- both parts of it," said Winifred softly, beating his hand slightly with one of her own. He was silent.

"Now won't you sing something else? -- for I'm tired," she said, nestling her head more heavily on his breast.

And he sang again. --

"'Vain are all terrestrial pleasures, "' Mixed with dross the purest gold; "'Seek we then for heavenly treasures, "'Treasures never growing old. "'Let our best affections centre "'On the things around the throne; "'There no thief can ever enter, -- "'Moth and rust are there unknown.

"'Earthly joys no longer please us, "'Here would we renounce them all, "'Seek our only rest in Jesus, "'Him our Lord and Master call. "'Faith, our languid spirits cheering, "'Points to brighter worlds above; "'Bids us look for his appearing, "'Bids us triumph in his love.

"'Let our lights be always burning, "'And our loins be girded round, "'Waiting for our Lord's returning, "'Longing for the joyful sound. "'Thus the christian life adorning, "'Never need we be afraid, "'Should he come at night or morning, "'Early dawn, or evening shade."'

The air was slow, tender, and plaintive, and borne by the deep voice over all the breadth of the moon-lit river. Winnie's breath was fuller drawn; the skipper held his, and forgot his helm; and in every pause of the song, the sweet interlude was played by the water under the sloop's prow.

"Governor --" said Winnie, when the bubbling water had been listened to alone for a while.

"What?"

"Do you think those words are quite true?"

"Those words of the hymn?"

"Yes -- some of them. I think you like that hymn better than I do. 'Earthly joys no longer please us'; -- do you think that is right? -- They please me."

"It is only by comparison that they can be true, Winnie, certainly; -- except in the case of those persons whose power of enjoyment is by some reason or other taken away."

"But you like that hymn very much?"

"Yes. Don't you?"

"I like part of it very much, and I like the tune; but I like to be able to say all the words of a hymn. How sweet that was! -- Governor, don't you think it would be pleasant to stay here all night?"

"Singing?"

"No -- but talking, and sleeping."

"I am afraid it would sadly hinder to-morrow's talk, and oblige you to sleep instead."

"Then I'll go right away. Do you think we shall be at Wut-a- qut-o in the morning?"

"If the wind holds."

By Winthrop's care and management the little cabin was made not absolutely uncomfortable, and Winnie's bed was laid on the floor between door and window so that she could sleep without being smothered. He himself mounted guard outside, and sleeping or waking kept the deck for the whole night.

"Governor," said Winnie cautiously putting her head out at the door, just as the summer dawn was growing into day, -- "Governor! -- are we there?"

"We are here."

"Where?"

"Lying at Cowslip's Mill."

"Oh! --"

The rest of Winnie's joyous thought was worked into her shoes and dress and bonnet-strings, and put away in her bag with her night-cap. How fast it was all done! and she pushed open her cabin door and stood on the deck with Winthrop.

Yes -- there was the green wooded shore -- how fresh to her eyes! -- There was Mr. Cowslip's brown old house and mill; there was the old stage road; and turning, there two miles off lay Shahweetah, and there rose up Wut-a-qut-o's green head. And with a sob, Winnie hid her face in Winthrop's arms. But then in another minute she raised it again, and clearing away the mute witnesses of joy and sorrow, though it was no use for they gathered again, she looked steadily. The river lay at her feet and stretched away off up to Shahweetah, its soft gray surface unbroken by a ripple or an eddy, smooth and bright and still. Diver's Rock stood out in its old rough outline, till it cut off the west end of Shahweetah and seemed to shut up the channel of the river. A little tiny thread of a north wind came down to them from Home, over the river, with sweet promise. And as they looked, the morning light was catching Wut-a-qut-o's grave head, and then hill-top after hill-top, and ridge after ridge of the high mountain land, till all of them were alight with the day's warm hues, while all beneath slept yet in the greys of the dawn. The brother and sister stood side by side, perfectly silent; only Winnie's tears ran, sometimes with such a gush that it brought her head down, and sobs that could be heard came to Winthrop's ears. They stood till they were hailed by the old miller.

"Ha! Winthrop -- glad to see ye! how do you do? Haven't seen your face this great while. Winnie? is it? -- Glad to see ye! She's growed a bit. Come right along into the house -- we'll have something for breakfast by and by, I expect. I didn't know you was here till five minutes ago -- I was late out myself -- ain't as spry as I used to be; -- Come!" --

"Oh Governor, let's go straight home!" said Winnie.

"There's time enough yet, Mr. Cowslip, for your purposes. What o'clock do you suppose it is?"

"Well, I s'pose it's somewhere goin' on to six, ain't it?"

"It has left five. We can breakfast with Karen yet, Winnie."

"Oh do, Governor!"

"If you'll give us a boat instead of a breakfast, Mr. Cowslip, we will thank you just as much, and maybe take your hospitality another time."

"But won't you stop and take just a mouthful first? you'd better."

"No thank you. We shall have to take it up there; and two breakfasts a day don't agree with me."

With some sorrow on Mr. Cowslip's part, this was submitted to. The boat was got out; Hildebrand dropped into it and took the oars, "guessing he wouldn't mind going himself;" and Winthrop and Winnie sat close together in the stern. Not to steer; for Hildebrand was much too accustomed an oarsman to need any such help in coasting the river for miles up and down.

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Chapter IV

Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs -- To the silent wilderness Where the soul need not repress Its music, lest it should not find An echo in another's mind. SHELLEY.

Winnie drew a breath of gratification, as the oars began to dimple the still water and the little boat rounded out from behind the wharf and headed up the river; the very same way by which Winthrop had taken Mr. Haye's two young ladies once long before. The tide was just at the turn, and Hildebrand made a straight run for the rocks.

"How pleasant it is to hear the oars again!" Winnie said. Winthrop said nothing.

Swiftly they pulled up, dappling the smooth grey water with falling drops from the oar-blades, and leaving behind them two lines of spreading wavelets that tracked the boat's way. Cowslip's Mill fell into the distance, and all that shore, as they pulled out into the middle of the river; then they drew near the old granite ridge of Diver's Rock on the other side. The sun had got so low down as that now, and the light of years ago was on the same grey bluffs and patches of wood. It was just like years ago; the trees stood where they did, ay, and the sunlight; the same shadows fell; and the river washed the broken foot of the point with, it might be, the very same little waves and eddies. And there, a mile further on, Wut-a- qut-o's high green side rose up from the water. Winnie had taken off her bonnet and sat with her head resting upon Winthrop's side or arm, her common position whenever she could get it. And she sat and looked, first at one thing and then at another, with quiet tears running and some times streaming down her face. Then the boat struck off from Diver's Rock and pushed straight over for the rocks of Shahweetah. As it neared them, the dear old trees stood forth more plainly to view, each one for itself; and the wonted footholds, on turf and stone, could be told and could be seen, apart one from the other. Poor Winnie could not look at them then, but she put her head down and sobbed her greeting to them all.

"Winnie," -- said Winthrop softly, and she felt his arm closer drawn around her, -- "you must not do that."

It mattered little what Winthrop asked Winnie to do; she never failed to obey him. She stopped crying now, and in another moment was smiling to him her delight, through the drops that held their place yet in her eyes and on her cheeks.

The little boat was shoved in to the usual place among the rocks and the passengers got out.

"What's the fare, Hild'? -- sloop and all?"

The skipper stood on the rocks and looked into the water.

"Will you let me come to you to clear me out, the first time I get into trouble?"

"Yes."

"Then we're square!" he said, preparing to jump back into his boat.

"Then hasn't come," said Winthrop; "let's keep things square as we go along."

"All right," said the skipper. "Couldn't take nothin' from you the first time, Governor."

And Hildebrand after giving Winthrop's hand a shake, into which there went a sort of grateful respect which he would never have yielded to one who had laid any manner of claim to it, dropped into his seat again and pushed off. Winthrop and Winnie turned their steps slowly towards the house.

Very slowly; for each step now was what they had come for. How untravelled the road was!

"How it looks as if we didn't live here, Governor," Winnie said with half a sigh.

"Old Karen and Anderese don't come this way very often," replied her brother.

"Governor, I am very sorry it has got to be sold!"

They walked a few more steps up the rocky path in silence.

"O Governor, look at that great limb of that cedar tree -- all dragging! What a pity."

"Broken by the wind," said Winthrop.

"How beautifully the ivy hangs from that cedar -- just as it did. Dear Governor, won't you get a saw while you're here, and take off the branch and make it look nice again? -- as nice as it can; -- and there's the top of that little white pine!" --

"Winter-killed," said Winthrop.

"Won't you put it in order, as you used to do, this one time more?"

"If I can get a saw, I will, Winnie, -- or a hatchet."

"I'm sorry we can't do it but this one time more," said Winnie, with a second and a better defined sigh, as they reached the house level. "O how funny it looks, Governor! how the grass has run up! and how brown it is! But the cedars don't change, do they?"

"It is August, Winnie," was all Winthrop's remark.

The front of the house was shut up; they went round. Old Anderese was cutting wood at the back of the house; but without stopping to enlighten him, Winthrop passed on and led Winnie into the kitchen. There the kitchen fire was burning as of yore, and on the hearth before it stood Karen, stooping down to oversee her cooking breakfast. At Winthrop's voice she started and turned. She looked at them; and then came a long and prolonged "Oh! --" of most mingled and varied tone and expression; hands and eyes keeping it company.

"Karen, we have come to see you."

In perfect silence she shook the hand of each, and then sat down and threw her apron over her face. Winnie stood still and sobbed; Winthrop walked off.

"Oh, dear," said the old woman presently rising and coming up to Winnie, -- "what's made ye come to see me again? What did you come for, dear?"

The tone was wondering and caressing, and rejoicing, all in a breath. Winnie dried her eyes and answered as well as she could.

"Why we wanted to see the old place again, Karen, and to see you; and Governor thought it would do me good to be in the country a little while; and he couldn't come before, and so we have come up now to stay a few days. And we've brought things to eat, so you needn't be troubled about that."

"Ye needn't," said old Karen. "Anderese and me'd find something for you to eat, in all the wide country -- do ye think we wouldn't? And how are you, dear," said she scanning Winnie's pale face; -- "are ye ever yet any stronger?"

Winnie shook her head smiling and answered, "Not much."

"I see ye ain't. Well -- ye're the Lord's child. He'll do what he will with his own. Where did ye come from, dear?"

"Up from Mr. Cowslip's mill," said Winnie. "We came in his sloop last night."

"The sloop!" said Karen. "Why then ye haven't had anything to eat! -- and what was I thinking of! Sit down, dear -- take your own chair, till I get the other room fit for ye; and you shall have breakfast jus' so soon I can make it. Where's the Governor gone to?"

He came in; and Karen's face grew bright at the sight of him. All the while she was getting the breakfast he stood talking with her; and all the while, her old face kept the broad gleam of delight that had come into it with his entering the kitchen. With what zeal that breakfast was cooked for him; with what pleasure it was served. And while they were eating it, Karen sat in the chimney corner and looked at them, and talked.

"And isn't the place sold then, Governor?"

"Not yet, Karen -- in a few weeks it will be."

"And who's goin' to buy it?"

"I don't know."

"And ye ain't goin' fur to buy it yourself?"

"No Karen -- I am not rich enough to keep a country house."

"You had ought to have it," said Karen. "It don't belong to nobody else but you. And you don't know who's a goin' to have it, Governor?"

"I don't know."

"'Tain't likely they'll let the old woman stay in her corner, whoever they'll be," said Karen. "Well -- 'tain't fur now to the end, -- and then I'll get a better place where they won't turn me out. I wish I was there, Governor."

"'There' will be better at the end of your way, Karen, than at any other time."

"Ay -- O I know it, dear; but I get so impatient, days, -- I want to be gone. It's better waiting."

"Perhaps you'll have something yet to do for us, Karen," said Winnie.

"Ye're too fur off," said the old woman. "Karen's done all she can for ye when she's took care of ye this time. But I'll find what I have to do -- and I'll do it -- and then I'll go!" -- she said, with a curious modulation of the tones of her voice that came near some of the Methodist airs in which she delighted. "Governor'll take care o' you, Winnie; and the Lord'll take care o' him!"

Both brother and sister smiled a little at Karen's arrangement of things; but neither contradicted her.

"And how do you manage here, Karen, all alone? -- do you keep comfortable?"

"I'm comfortable, Mr. Winthrop," she said with half a smile; -- "I have lived comfortable all my life. I seem to see Mis' Landholm round now, times, jus' like she used to be; and I know we'll be soon all together again. I think o' that when I'm dreary."

She was a singular old figure, as she sat in the corner there with her head a little on one side, leaning her cheek on her finger, and with the quick change of energetic life and subdued patience in her manner.

"Don't get any dinner for us, Karen," said Winthrop as they rose from table. "We have enough for dinner in our basket."

"Ye must take it back again to Mannahatta," said Karen. "Ye'r dinner'll be ready -- roast chickens and new potatoes and huckleberry pie -- the chickens are just fat, and ye never see nicer potatoes this time o' year; and Anderese don't pick very fast, but he'll have huckleberries enough home for you to eat all the ways ye like. And milk I know ye like'm with, Governor."

"Give me the basket then, Karen, and I'll furnish the huckleberries."

"He'll do it -- Anderese'll get 'em, Mr. Winthrop, -- not you."

"Give me the basket! -- I would rather do it, Karen. Anderese has got to dig the potatoes."

"O yes, and we'll go out and spend the morning in the woods, won't we, Governor?" said his sister.

The basket and Winnie were ready together and the brother and sister struck off into the woods to the north of the house. They had to cross but a little piece of level ground and sunshine and they were under the shade of the evergreens which skirted all the home valley. The ground as soon became uneven and rocky, broken into little heights and hollows, and strewn all over with a bedding of stones, large and small; except where narrow foot-tracks or cowpaths wound along the mimic ravines or gently climbed the hilly ridges. Among these stones and sharing the soil with them, uprose the cedars, pines, hemlocks, and a pretty intermingling of deciduous trees; not of very tall or vigorous growth, for the land favoured them not, but elegant and picturesque in varied and sweet degree. That it pleased those eyes to which it had been long familiar, and long strange, was in no measure.

Leaving the beaten paths, the brother and sister turned to the right of the first little ravine they had entered, just where a large boulder crowned with a tuft of ferns marked the spot, and toiled up a very rough and steep rising. Winthrop's help was needed here to enable Winnie to keep footing at all, much more to make her way to the top. There were steep descents of ground, spread with dead pine leaves, a pretty red-brown carpeting most dainty to the eyes but very unsure to the foot; -- there were sharp turns in the rocky way, with huge granitic obstacles before and around them; -- Winnie could not keep on her feet without Winthrop's strong arm; although in many a rough pitch and steep rise of the way, young hickories and oaks lent their aid to her hand that was free. Mosses and lichens, brown and black with the summer's heat, clothed the rocks and dressed out their barrenness; green tufts of fern nodded in many a nook, and kept their greenness still; and huckleberry bushes were on every hand, in every spare place, and standing full of the unreaped black and blue harvest. And in the very path, under their feet, sprang many an unassuming little green plant, that in the Spring had lifted its head in glorious beauty with some delicate crown of a flower. A stranger would have made nothing of them; but Winnie and Winthrop knew them all, crowned or uncrowned.

"It's pretty hard getting up here, Governor -- I guess I haven't grown strong since I was here last; and these old yellow pines are so rotten I am afraid to take hold of anything -- but your hand. It's good you are sure-footed. O look at the Solomon's Seal -- don't you wish it was in flower!"

"If it was, we shouldn't have any huckleberries," said her brother.

"There's a fine parcel of them, isn't there, Winthrop? O let's stop and pick these -- there are nice ones -- and let me rest."

Winnie sat down to breathe, with her arm round the trunk of a pine tree, drinking in everything with her eyes, while that cluster of bushes was stripped of its most promising berries; and then a few steps more brought Winthrop and Winnie to the top of the height.

Greater barrenness of soil, or greater exposure to storms, or both causes together, had left this hill-top comparatively bare; and a few cedars that had lived and died there had been cut away by the axe, for firewood; making a still further clearance. But the shallow soil everywhere supported a covering of short grass or more luxuriant mosses; and enough cedars yet made good their hold of life and standing, to overshadow pretty well the whole ground; leaving the eye unchecked in its upward or downward rovings. The height was about two hundred feet above the level of the river, and seemed to stand in mid-channel, Shahweetah thrusting itself out between the north and southerly courses of the stream, and obliging it to bend for a little space at a sharp angle to the West. The north and south reaches, and the bend were all commanded by the height, together with the whole western shore and southern and south-eastern hills. To the northwest was Wut-a-qut-o, seen almost from the water's edge to the top; but the out-jutting woods of Shahweetah impinged upon the mountain's base, and cut the line of the river there to the eye. But north there was no obstruction. The low foreground of woods over which the hill-top looked, served but as a base to the picture, a setting on the hither side. Beyond it the Shatemuc rolled down from the north in uninterrupted view, the guardian hills, Wut-a-qut-o and its companions, standing on either side; and beyond them, far beyond, was the low western shore of the river sweeping round to the right, where the river made another angle, shewing its soft tints; and some faint and clear blue mountains still further off, the extreme distance of all. But what varied colouring, -- what fresh lights and shades, -- what sweet contrast of fair blue sky and fair blue river, -- the one, earth's motion; the other, heaven's rest; what deep and bright greens in the foreground, and what shadowy, faint, cloud-like, tints of those far off mountains. The soft north wind that had greeted the travellers in the early morning, was blowing yet, soft and warm; it flickered the leaves of the oaks and chestnuts with a lazy summer stir; white sails spotted the broad bosom of the Shatemuc and came down with summer gentleness from the upper reaches of the river. And here and there a cloud floated over; and now and then a locust sang his monotone; and another soft breath of the North wind said that it was August; and the grasshoppers down in the dell said yes, it was.

Winnie sat or lay down under the trees, and there Winthrop left her for a while; when he came back it was with flushed face and crisped hair and a basket full of berries. He threw himself down on the ground beside Winnie, threw his hat off on the other side, and gave her the basket. Winnie set it down again, after a word of comment, and her head took its wonted place of rest with a little smothered sigh.

"How do you feel, Winnie?" said her brother, passing his hand gently over her cheek.

"O I feel very well," said Winnie. "But Governor, I wish you could keep all this! --"

"I couldn't live here and in Mannahatta too, Winnie."

"But Governor, you don't mean always to live in Mannahatta, do you? -- and nowhere else?"

"My work is there, Winnie."

"Yes, but you can't play there, Governor."

"I don't want to play," he said gently and lightly.

"But why, Governor?" -- said Winnie, whom the remark made uneasy, she couldn't tell why; -- "why don't you want to play? why shouldn't you?"

"I feel more appetite for work."

"But you didn't use to be so," said Winnie, raising her head to look at him. "You used to like play as well as anybody, Winthrop?"

"Perhaps I do yet, Winnie, if I had a chance."

"But then what do you mean by your having more appetite for work? and not wanting to play?"

"I suppose it means no more but that the chance is wanting."

"But why is it wanting, Governor?"

"Why are your Solomon's Seals not in flower?"

Winnie turned her head to look at them, and then brought it round again with the uneasiness in full force.

"But Governor! -- you don't mean to say that your life is like that?"

"Like what, Winnie?" said he with a pleasant look at her.

"Why, anything so dismal -- like the Solomon's Seals with the flower gone?"

"Are they dismal?"

"Why, no, -- but you would be, if you were like anything of that kind."

"Do I look like anything of that kind?"

"No," said Winnie, "indeed you don't, -- you never look the least bit dismal in the world."

"I am not the least bit in the world, Winnie."

"I wish you had everything in the world that would give you pleasure!" she said, looking at him wistfully, with a vague unselfish consciousness that it might not all be for hers.

"That would be too much for any man's share, Winnie. You would make a Prince in a fairy tale of me."

"Well, what if I would?" said Winnie, half smiling, half sighing, and paying him all sort of leal homage in her heart's core.

"That is not commonly the lot of those who are to reign hereafter in a better kingdom."

Winnie rose up a little so that she could put both hands on his shoulders, and kissed him on forehead and cheeks; most loving kisses.

"But dear Governor, it isn't wrong for me to wish you to have both things, is it?"

"I hope not, dear Winnie. I don't think your wishes will do any mischief. But I am content to be here to-day."

"Are you? do you enjoy it?" she asked eagerly.

"Very much."

"I am so glad! I was afraid somehow you didn't -- as much as I did. But I am sorry you can't keep it, Governor. Isn't it all beautiful? I didn't know it was so delightful as it is."

And Winnie sighed her wish over again.

"You can't have your possessions in both worlds, Winnie."

"No, -- and I don't want to."

"You only wish that I could," he said smiling.

"Well, Winthrop, -- I can't help that."

"I am in better hands than yours, Winnie. Look at that shadow creeping down the mountain."

"It's from that little white cloud up there," said Winnie. "O how beautiful! --"

"You see how something that is bright enough in itself may cast a shadow," he said.

"Was that what you thought of when you told me to look at it?"

"No, -- not at that minute."

"But then we can see the cloud and we know that it is bright."

"And in the other case we don't see the cloud and we know that it is bright. 'We know that all things shall work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose!'"

"But Governor, what are you talking of?"

"That little cloud which is rolling away from Wut-a-qut-o."

"But what cloud is over you, or rolling away from you?"

"I thought the whole land was in shadow to you, Winnie, because I cannot buy it."

"Why no it isn't," said Winnie. "It never looked so bright to me. It never seemed near so beautiful when it was ours."

"The other land never seemed so bright and never will seem so beautiful, as when it is ours. 'Thine eyes shall see the King in his beauty; they shall behold the land that is very far off.'"

Winnie smiled a most rested, pleased, gratified smile at him; and turned to another subject.

"I wonder what's become of your old little boat, Governor -- the Merry-go-round?"

"I suppose it is lying in the barn-loft yet," he replied rather gravely.

"I wonder if it is all gone to pieces."

"I should think not. Why?"

"I was looking at the river and thinking how pleasant it would be to go out on it, if we could."

"If we can get home, Winnie, I'll see how the matter stands."

"I don't want to go home," said Winnie.

"But I want to have you. And Karen will want the huckleberries."

"Well -- I'll go," said Winnie. "But we'll come again, Governor -- won't we?"

"As often as you please. Now shall I carry you?"

"O no!"

But Winthrop presently judged of that also for himself, and taking his little sister on one arm, made his way steadily and swiftly down to the level ground.

"You're a good climber," was Winnie's remark when he set her on her feet again. "And I don't know but I was once. I've almost forgotten. But it's as good to have you carry me, and to see you do it."

The Merry-go-round was found in good condition, only with her seams a little, or not a little, opened. That trouble however was got over by the help of a little caulking and submersion and time; and she floated again as lightly as ever. Some days still passed, owing to weather or other causes, before the first evening came when they went out to try her.

That evening, -- it was the seventeenth of August, and very fair, -- they went down to the rocks, just when the afternoon had grown cool in the edge of the evening. Winnie put herself in the stern of the little white boat, and Winthrop took his old place and the oars. Winnie's eyes were sparkling.

"It will be harder work to pull than it used to be," she remarked joyously, -- "you're so out of the habit of it."

Winthrop only replied by pushing the little skiff off.

"However," continued Winnie, "I guess it isn't much to pull me anywhere."

"Which way shall we go?" said Winthrop, one or two slow strokes of his oar sending the little boat forward in a way that made Winnie smile.

"I don't know -- I want to go everywhere -- Let's go up, Winthrop, and see how it looks -- Let's go over under Wut-a- qut-o. O how beautiful it is, Winthrop! --"

Winthrop said nothing, but a repetition of those leisurely strokes brought the boat swiftly past the cedars and rocks of Shahweetah's shore and then out to the middle of the river, gradually drawing nearer to the other side. But when the mid- river was gained, high enough up to be clear of the obstructing point of Shahweetah, Winnie's ecstatic cry of delight brought Winthrop's head round; and with that he lay upon his oars and looked too. He might. The mountains and the northern sky and clouds were all floating as it were in a warm flush of light -- it was upon the clouds, and through the air, and upon the mountains' sides, -- so fair, so clear, but beyond that, so rich in its glowing suffusion of beauty, that eyes and tongue were stayed, -- the one from leaving the subject, the other from touching it. Winthrop's oars lay still, the drops falling more and more slowly from the wet blades. The first word was a half awed whisper from Winnie --

"O Winthrop, -- did you ever see it look so?"

The oars dipped again, and again lay still.

"Winthrop, this isn't much like Mannahatta!" Winnie said next, under breath.

The oars dipped again, and this time to purpose. The boat began to move slowly onward.

"But Winthrop you don't say anything?" Winnie said uneasily.

"I don't know how."

"I wish I could keep a picture of that," she went on with regretful accent as her eyes turned again to the wonderful scene before them in the north, floating as it seemed in that living soft glow.

"I shall keep a picture of it," said Winthrop.

Winnie sighed her regrets again, and then resigned herself to looking with her present eyes, while the little boat moved steadily on and the view was constantly changing; till they were close under the shadow of Wut-a-qut-o, and from beneath its high green and grey precipice rising just above them, only the long sunny reach of the eastern shore remained in view. They looked at it, till the sunset began to make a change.

"O Winthrop, there is Bright Spot," said Winnie, as her head came round to the less highly coloured western shore.

"Yes," -- said Winthrop, letting the boat drop a little down from under the mountain.

"How it has grown up! -- and what are all those bushes at the water's edge?"

"Alders. Look at those clouds in the south."

There lay, crossing the whole breadth of the river, a spread of close-folded masses of cloud, the under edges of which the sun touched, making a long network of salmon or flame-coloured lines. And then above the near bright-leaved horizon of foliage that rose over Bright Spot, the western sky was brilliantly clear; flecked with little reaches of cloud stretching upwards and coloured with fairy sunlight colours, gold, purple, and rose, in a very witchery of mingling.

Winthrop pushed the boat gently out a little further from the shore, and they sat looking, hardly bearing to take their eyes from the cloud kaleidoscope above them, or to speak, the mind had so much to do at the eyes. Only a glance now and then for contrast of beauty, at the south, and to the north where two or three little masses of grey hung in the clear sky. Gently Winthrop's oars dipped from time to time, bringing them a little further from the western shore and within fuller view of the opening in the mountains. As they went, a purplish shade came upon the grey masses in the north; -- the sunlight colours over Bright Spot took richer and deeper hues of purple and red; the salmon network in the south changed for rose. And then, before they had got far, the moon's crescent, two or three days old, a glittering silver thread, hung itself out amid the bright rosy flecks of cloud in the west just hard by the mountain's brow. Winnie had to look sharp to find it.

"And there is Venus too," said Winthrop; -- "look at her."

"Where?"

"In the blue -- a little lower down than the moon; and further to the south -- do you see? --"

"That white bright star? -- O how beautiful! -- in that clear blue sky. O how bright! -- how much brighter than the moon, Winthrop?"

"Yes, -- she has a way of looking bright."

"How did you know it was Venus, or how do you know?"

"Very much in the same way that I know it is Winnie. I have seen her before. I never saw those clouds before."

"Did you ever see such clouds before! And how long they stay, Winthrop. O what a place!"

Slowly the little boat pulled over the river, getting further and further from Bright Spot and its bright bit of sky scenery, which faded and changed very slowly as they sailed away. They neared the high rocky point of Shahweetah, and then instead of turning down the river, kept an easterly course along the low woody shore which stretched back from the point. As they went on, and as the clouds lost their glory, the sky in the west over Wut-a-qut-o's head tinged itself with violet and grew to an opal light, the white flushing up liquidly into rosy violet, which in the northeast quarter of the horizon melted away to a clear grave blue.

"It's more beautiful than the clouds," said Winnie.

"It is a wonderful evening," said Winthrop, as he set his oars more earnestly in the water and the little boat skimmed along.

"But dear Governor, where are you going?"

"Going to land, somewhere."

"To land! But it'll be time to go home, won't it? We're a great way from there."

"We'll take a short cut home," said Winthrop, looking round for a place to execute his purpose.

"How can you?"

"Through the woods. Wouldn't you like it? You've had no exercise to-day."

"O I'd like it. But what will you do with the boat? leave her here? -- O in the Aegean sea, Winthrop!"

"That is what I am steering for," said her brother. "But I want to see the after-glow come out first."

The 'Aegean Sea' was a little bay-like cove on the north side of Shahweetah; to which a number of little rock-heads rising out of the water, or some freak of play, had long ago given its classic name. Winthrop pushed his boat to the shore there, and made her fast; and then he and Winnie waited for the after-glow. But it was long coming and the twilight grew on; and at last they left the bay and plunged into the woods. A few steps brought them to a path, which rough and untravelled as it was, their knowledge of the land enabled them easily to follow. Easily for all but their feet. Winnie's would have faltered utterly, so rough, stony, and broken it was, without her brother's strong arm; but helped and led and lifted by him, she went on joyously through the gathering gloom and under the leafy canopy that shut out all the sky and all knowledge of the after-glow, if it came. But when they had got free of the woods, and had come out upon the little open cedar field that was on the river side of Shahweetah, near home, -- there it was! Over Wut-a-qut-o's head lay a solid little long mass of cloud with its under edges close-lined with fine deep beautiful red. The opal light was all gone; the face of the heavens was all clear blue, in the gravity of twilight. Venus and the moon were there yet, almost down -- bright as ever; the moon more brilliant and bright; for now the contrast of her sharp crescent was with Wut-a-qut-o's dark shadowy side.

That was the beginning of that August boating. And often again as in old times the little skiff flew over the water, in the shadow of the mountain and the sunlight of the bay, coasting the shores, making acquaintance with the evergreens and oaks that skirted them and looked over into the water's edge. Where once Elizabeth had gone, Winthrop and Winnie with swifter and surer progress went; many an hour, in the early and the late sunbeams. For those weeks that they stayed, they lived in the beauties of the land, rather than according to old Karen's wish, on the fatness of it.

But she did her best; and when at last Winthrop must return to his business, and they bid her good bye and left her and Wut- a-qut-o once more, the old woman declared even while she was wiping the eyes that would not be dry, that their coming had "done both of 'em real good -- a power of it -- and her too."

"He hasn't his beat in this country," she said to old Anderese her brother, as she was trying to take up again her wonted walk through the house. -- "And she, dear thing! ain't long for this world; but she's ready for a better."

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Chapter V

It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be, Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall at last a log, dry, bald, and sear. A lily of a day Is fairer far, in May. BEN JONSON.

"What has become of the Landholms?" said Mr. Haye's young wife, one evening in the end of December.

"Confound the Landholms!" -- was Mr. Haye's answering ejaculation, as he kicked his bootjack out of the way of his just-slippered foot.

"Why Mr. Haye!" said Rose, bridling over her netting-work. "What have the Landholms done?"

"Done!"

"Well, what have they?"

"One of them won't pay me his dues, and the other is fighting me for trying to get them," said Mr. Haye, looking at the evening paper with infinite disgust.

"What dues?"

"And what fighting, Mr. Haye?" said Elizabeth and Rose in a breath.

"I can't answer you if you both speak at once."

"Well, what do you mean by fighting, Mr. Haye?"

"Fighting."

"Well, but what sort?" said Rose laughing, while the other lady laid down her book and waited.

"With his own cursed weapons."

"And what are those, Mr. Haye? you haven't told us which of the Landholms you mean, yet."

"One of 'em hasn't any weapons but his fists and his tongue," said Mr. Haye. "He hasn't tried the first on me -- I have some small knowledge of the last."

"What has the other done?" said Elizabeth.

"He is doing what he can, to hinder my getting my rights of his brother."

"What does his brother owe you?"

"Money, --" said Mr. Haye shortly.

"I suppose so. But what for?"

"Business! What does it signify what for?"

"I should like to know, father. It must be something which can be told."

"He bought cotton of me."

"Can he pay for it?"

"I suppose so. I'll try."

"But what is his brother doing?"

"Trying to hinder, as I told you."

"But how? How can he?"

"Don't ask me what lawyers can or can't do. They can put their fingers into any dirty job that offers!"

Elizabeth sat silent a minute with a very disturbed look. Rose had gone back to her netting, only glancing up once in a while at the faces of the other two.

"Upon what plea does he pretend to hinder it, father?"

"A plea he won't be able to bear out, I fancy," said Mr. Haye, turning round in his chair so as to bring his other side to the fire, and not ceasing to look at the paper all this while.

"But what?"

"What does it signify what! Something you can't understand."

"I can understand it, father; and I want to know."

"A plea of fraud, on my part, in selling the cotton. I suppose you would like to cultivate his acquaintance after that."

Elizabeth sat back in her seat with a little start, and did not speak again during the conversation. Rose looked up from her mesh-stick and poured out a flood of indignant and somewhat incoherent words; to which Mr. Haye responded briefly, as a man who was not fond of the subject, and finally put an end to them by taking the paper and walking off. Elizabeth changed her position then for a low seat, and resting her chin on her hand sat looking into the fire with eyes in which there burned a dark glow that rivalled it.

"Lizzie," said her companion, "did you ever hear of such a thing!"

"Not 'such a thing,'" she answered.

"Aren't you as provoked as you can be?"

"'Provoked' is not exactly the word," Elizabeth replied.

"Well you know what to think of Winthrop Landholm now, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you surprised?"

"I wish I could never be surprised again," she answered, laying her head down for an instant on her lap; but then giving it the position it held before.

"You take it coolly!" said Rose, jerking away at her netting.

"Do I? You don't."

"No, and I shouldn't think you would. Don't you hate those Landholms?"

"No."

"Don't you! You ought. What are you looking at in the fire?"

"Winthrop Landholm, -- just at that minute."

"I do believe," said Rose indignantly, "you like Winthrop Landholm better than you do Mr. Haye!"

Elizabeth's eyes glared at her, but though there seemed a moment's readiness to speak, she did not speak, but presently rose up and quitted the room. She went to her own; locked the door, and sat down. There was a moment's quiver of the lip and drawing of the brow, while the eyes in their fire seemed to throw off sparks from the volcano below; and then the head bent, with a cry of pain, and the flood of sorrow broke; so bitter, that she sometimes pressed both hands to her head, as if it were in danger of parting in two. The proud forehead was stooped to the knees, and the shoulders convulsed in her agony. And it lasted long. Half hour and half hour passed before the struggle was over and Elizabeth had quieted herself enough to go to bed. When at last she rose to begin the business of undressing, she startled not a little to see her handmaid Clam present herself.

"When did you come in?" said Elizabeth after a moment's hesitation.

"When the door opened," said Clam collectedly.

"How long ago?"

"How long have you been here, do you s'pose, Miss 'Lizabeth?"

"That's not an answer to my question."

"Not ezackly," said Clam; "but if you'd tell, I could give a better guess."

Elizabeth kept a vexed silence for a little while.

"Well Clam," she said when she had made up her mind, "I have just one word to say to you -- keep your tongue between your teeth about all my concerns. You are quite wise enough, and I hope, good enough for that."

"I ain't so bad I mightn't be better," said Clam picking up her mistress's scattered things. "Mr. Winthrop didn't give up all hopes of me. I 'spect he'll bring us all right some of these days."

With which sentence, delivered in a most oracular and encouraging tone, Clam departed; for Elizabeth made no answer thereto.

The next morning, after having securely locked herself into her room for an hour or more, Elizabeth summoned her handmaid.

"I want you to put on your bonnet, Clam, and take this note for me up to Mr. Landholm's; and give it with your own hand to him or to his sister."

Clam rather looked her intelligence than gave any other sign of it.

"If he's out, shall I wait till I see him?"

"No, -- give it to his sister."

"I may put on more than my bonnet, mayn't I, Miss 'Lizabeth? This won't keep me warm, with the snow on the ground."

But Elizabeth did not choose to hear; and Clam went off with the note.

Much against her expectations, she found Mr. Winthrop at home and in his room, and his sister not there.

"Mornin', Mr. Winthrop!" said Clam, with more of a courtesy than she ever vouchsafed to her mistress or to any one else whomsoever. He came forward and shook her hand very kindly and made her sit down by the fire. The black girl's eyes followed him, as if, though she didn't say it, it was good to see him again.

"What's the word with you, Clam?"

"'Tain't with me -- the word's with you, Mr. Winthrop."

"What is it?"

"I don' know, sir. I've nothin' to do but to bring it."

"How do you do this cold day?"

"I ain't cold," said Clam. "I bethought me to put my cloak on my shoulders. Miss 'Lizabeth wanted me to come off with only my bonnet."

And she produced the note, which Winthrop looked at and laid on the table.

"How is Miss Elizabeth?"

"She's sort o'," said Clam. "She has her ups and downs like other folks. She was down last night and she's up this mornin' -- part way."

"I hope she is pleased with you, Clam."

"She ain't pleased with anything, much," said Clam; "so it can't be expected. I believe she's pleased with me as much as with anything else in our house. Last night she was cryin' as if her head would split -- by the hour long."

"That is not part of your word to me, is it?"

"Not just," said Clam. "Mr. Winthrop, will you have me come back for an answer?"

"Did Miss Elizabeth desire it?"

"I guess so," said Clam. "But she didn't tell me to come but once."

"Then don't come again."

Clam rose to go and settled her cloak as she moved towards the door.

"If she sends me I may come again, mayn't I, Mr. Winthrop?" she said pausing.

"Yes," he said with a smile; but it was a very little bit of one.

"How is Winifred?" said Clam.

"She is not well."

The smile had entirely passed away; his face was more grave than ever.

"Is she more than common unwell?"

"Yes. Very much."

"Can I go in and see her, Mr. Winthrop?"

"Yes, if you please."

Clam went; and Winthrop took up Elizabeth's note.

"No 11 Parade, Dec. 20, 1821.

"I have just heard, briefly and vaguely, of the difficulties between my father and your brother, and of the remedies you, Mr. Landholm, are employing. I do not know the truth nor the details of anything beyond the bare outlines. Those are enough, and more than I know how to bear. I don't wish to have anything explained to me. But Mr. Landholm, grant me one favour -- you must grant it, if you please -- do not let it be explained any further to anybody. All you want, I suppose, is to see your brother righted. I will pay the utmost of what is due to him. I do not understand how the business lies -- but I will furnish all the money that is wanting to set it right and put an end to these proceedings, if you will only let me know what it is. Please let me know it, and let me do this, Mr. Landholm; it is my right; and I need not ask you, keep my knowledge of it secret from everybody. I am sure you must see that what I ask is my right.

"Elizabeth Haye."

Winthrop had hardly more than time to read this when Clam put herself within his door again, shutting it at her back.

"If the Governor'll let me," she said, "I'll come and take care of her; -- or I'll run up and down stairs, from the bottom to the top, -- whichever's useful."

"It is very kind of you, Clam. Winnie and I thank you very much. But your mistress will want you."

"She won't. She'll want me here. Let me come, Governor. I shan't do nothin' for Miss 'Lizabeth if I stay with her."

"Go and do all she wants you to do. No, I can't let you come. My sister is taken care of."

"She'd be that where you are," muttered Clam as she went out and went down the stairs, -- "and so would anybody else. I wish some of the rest of us had a chance. Well -- maybe we'll get it yet! --"

She found Elizabeth at her desk where she had left her, waiting.

"Did you find him?"

"Yes, miss."

"And you gave him the note?"

"No, miss -- I mean, yes, miss."

"Don't say 'miss' in that kind of way. Put a name to it."

"What name?" said Clam.

"Any one you like. Did you see anybody else?"

"I see the brother and the sister," said Clam. "The brother was never lookin' better, and the sister was never lookin' worse; -- she ain't lookin' bad, neither."

"Is she ill?"

"She's lyin' abed, and so far from bein' well that she'll never be well again."

"She hasn't been well this great while, Clam; that's nothing new."

"This is," said Clam.

"Does her brother think she is very ill?"

"He knows more about it than I do," said Clam. "I said I would go to take care of her, and he said I wouldn't, for you'd be a wantin' me."

"I don't want you at all!" said Elizabeth, -- "if you could be of any use. Are you quiet and careful enough for a nurse?"

"Firstrate!" -- said Clam; -- "no, I guess I'm not ezackly, here; but I were, up to Wutsey-Qutsey."

"Up where?" said Elizabeth.

"Yes, miss."

"I told you not to speak to me so."

Clam stood and gave no sign.

"Do you think you could be of any use up there, Clam?"

"Mr. Winthrop says everybody can be of use."

"Then go and try; I don't want you; and stay as long as they would like to have you."

"When will I go, Mis' Landholm?"

"What?"

"I asked Mis' Landholm, when will I go."

"What do you mean, Clam!"

"You said call you any name I liked -- and I like that 'bout as well as any one," said Clam sturdily.

"But it isn't my name."

"I wish 'twas," said Clam; -- "no, I don' know as I do, neither; but it comes kind o' handy."

"Make some other serve your turn," said Elizabeth gravely. "Go up this afternoon, and say I don't want you and shall be most happy if you can be of any service to Miss Winifred."

"Or Mr. Winthrop --" said Clam. "I'll do all I can for both of 'em, Miss 'Lizabeth."

She was not permitted to do much. She went and stayed a night and a day, and served well; but Winifred did not like her company, and at last confessed to Winthrop that she could not bear to have her about. It was of no use to reason the matter; and Clam was sent home. The answer to Elizabeth's note came just before her handmaiden, by some other conveyance.

"Little South St. Dec. 21, 1821.

"Your note, Miss Haye, has put me in some difficulty, but after a good deal of consideration I have made up my mind to allow the 'right' you claim. It is your right, and I have no right to deprive you of it. Yet the difficulty reaches further still; for without details, which you waive, the result which you wish to know must stand upon my word alone. I dislike exceedingly it should so stand; but I am constrained here also to admit, that if you choose to trust me rather than have the trouble of the accounts, it is just that you should have your choice.

"My brother's owing to Mr. Haye, for which he is held responsible, is in the sum of eleven hundred and forty-one dollars.

"I have the honour to be, with great respect,

"Winthrop Landholm."

Elizabeth read and re-read.

"It is very polite -- it is very handsome -- nothing could be clearer from any shadow of implications or insinuations -- no, nor of anything but 'great respect' either," she said to herself. "It's very good of him to trust and understand me and give me just what I want, without any palaver. That isn't like common people, any more. Well, my note wasn't, either. But he hasn't said a word but just what was necessary. -- Well, why should he? --"

She looked up and saw Clam.

"What's brought you back again?"

"I don' know," said Clam. "My two feet ha' brought me, but I don' know what sent me."

"Why did you come then?"

"'Cause I had to," said Clam. "Nothin' else wouldn't ha' made me. I told you it was good livin' with him. I'd stay as long as I got a chance, if I was anybody!"

"Then what made you come home?"

"I don' know," said Clam. "He wouldn't let me stay. He don't stop to make everything clear; he thinks it's good enough for him to say so; and so it is, I suppose; and he told me to come."

"I am afraid you didn't do your duty well."

"I'd like to see who wouldn't," said Clam. "I did mine as well as he did his'n."

"How is Winifred?"

"She's pretty bad. I guess he don't think he'll have much more of her, and he means to have all he can these last days. And she thinks she's almost in Paradise when he's alongside of her."

Elizabeth laid her face down and asked no more questions.

But she concerned herself greatly to know how much and what she might do in the premises, to shew her kind feeling and remembrance, without doing too much. She sent Clam once with jellies; then she would not do that again. Should she go to see Winifred herself? Inclination said yes; and backed its consent with sundry arguments. It was polite and kind; and everybody likes kindness; she had known Winifred, and her brother, long ago, and had received kindness in the family, yes, even just now from Winthrop himself; and though his visiting had so long been at an end, this late intercourse of notes and business gave her an opening. And probably Winifred had very few friends in the city to look after her. And again inclination said "Go." But then came in another feeling that said "Go not. You have not opening enough. Mr. Landholm's long and utter cessation of visits, from whatever cause, says plainly enough that he does not desire the pleasure of your society; don't do anything that even looks like forcing it upon him. People will give it a name that will not please you." "But then," said inclination on the other hand, "my going could not have that air, to him, for he knows and I know that in the existing state of affairs it is perfectly impossible that he should ever enter the doors of my father's house -- let me do what I will." "People don't know as much," said the other feeling; "err on the safe side if at all, and stay at home." "And I don't care much for people," -- said Elizabeth.

It was so uncommon a thing for her to find any self-imposed check upon what she wished to do, that Miss Haye was very much puzzled; and tried and annoyed out of all proportion by her self-consultations. She was in a fidget of uneasiness all day long; and the next was no better.

"What is the matter, Lizzie?" said Rose, as she busily threaded her netting-needle through mesh after mesh, and Elizabeth was patiently or impatiently measuring the length of the parlour with her steps. "You look as if you had lost all your friends."

"Do I?"

"Yes. Why do you look so?"

"What is the difference between losing all one's friends, and having none to lose?"

"Why -- haven't you any?"

"Whom have I?"

"Well, you might have. I am sure I have a great many."

"Friends!" said Elizabeth.

"Well -- I don't know who you call friends," said Rose, breaking her silk with an impatient tug at a knot, -- "There! -- dear! how shall I tie it again? -- I should think you needn't look so glum."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Why -- because. You have everything in the world."

"Have I?" said Elizabeth bitterly. "I am alone as I can be."

"Alone!" said Rose.

"Yes. I am alone. My father is buried in his business; I have nothing of him, even what I might have, or used to have -- you never were anything to me. There is not a face in the world that my heart jumps to see."

"Except that one?" said Rose.

"'That one,' as you elegantly express it, I do not see, as it happens."

"It's a pity he didn't know what effect his coming and looking in at our windows might have," said Rose. "I am sure he would be good enough to do it."

But Elizabeth thought a retort unworthy of the subject; or else her mind was full of other things; for after a dignified silence of a few minutes she left Rose and went to her own quarters. Perhaps the slight antagonistic spirit which was raised by Rose's talk came in aid of her wavering inclinations, or brought back her mind to its old tone of wilfulness; for she decided at once that she would go and see Winifred. She had a further reason for going, she said to herself, in the matter of the money which she wished to convey to Winthrop's hands. She did not want to send Clam with it; she did not like to commit it to the post; there was no other way but to give it to him herself; and that, she said, she would do; or to Winifred's hands for him.

She left home accordingly, when the morning was about half gone, and set out for Little South Street; with a quick but less firm step than usual, speaking both doubt and decision. Decision enough to carry her soon and without stopping to her place of destination, and doubt enough to make her tremble when she got there. But without pausing she went in, mounted the stairs, with the same quick footstep, and tapped at the door, as she had been accustomed to do on her former visits to Winifred.

No gentle voice said "come in," however, and the step which Elizabeth heard withinside after her knock, was not Winifred's. She had not expected that it would be; she had no reason to suppose that Winifred was well enough to be moving about as usual, and she was not surprised to see Winthrop open the door. The shadow of a surprise crossed his face for an instant, -- then bowing, he stepped back and opened the door wide for her to enter; but there was not the shadow of a smile.

"Well, you do look wonderfully grave!" was Elizabeth's thought as her foot crossed the threshold, -- "I wonder if I am doing something dreadful --"

And the instant impulse was to account for her being there, by presenting her business -- not the business she had intended to mention first.

She came in and stood by the table and began to speak; then he placed a chair for her, and after a second of hesitation she sat down. She was embarrassed for a minute, then she looked up and looked him full in the face.

"Mr. Landholm, I am exceedingly obliged to you for your kindness in this late business, -- you were very good to me."

"It was not kindness -- I felt you had a right to ask what I could not refuse, Miss Elizabeth."

"I have come to bring you the money which I did not like to get to you by any other means."

She handed it to him, and he took it and counted it over. Elizabeth sat looking on, musing how tremulous her own hand had been, and how very cool and firm his was; and thinking that whatever were said by some people, there certainly was character in some hands.

"This will be handed to Mr. Haye," he said, as he finished the counting, -- "and all the proceedings will fall to the ground at once."

"Thank you."

"I cannot receive any thanks, Miss Elizabeth. I am merely an agent, doing what I have been obliged to conclude was my duty."

"I must thank you, though," said Elizabeth. "I feel so much relieved. You are not obliged to disclose my name to Mr. Rufus Landholm?"

"Not at all. To no one."

"That is all my excuse for being here," said Elizabeth with a slight hesitation, -- "except I thought I might take the privilege of old friendship to come and see your sister."

"Thank you," he said in his turn, but without raising his eyes. Yet it was not coldly spoken. Elizabeth did not know what to think of him.

"Can I see her, Mr. Landholm? Is she well enough to see me?"

He looked up then; and there was, hardly a smile, but a singular light upon his whole face, that made Elizabeth feel exceedingly grave.

"She is well, but she will not see you again, Miss Elizabeth. Winnie has left me."

"Left! --" said Elizabeth bewildered.

"Yes. She has gone to her home. Winnie died yesterday morning, Miss Haye."

Elizabeth met the clear intent eye which, she did not know why, fixed hers while he spoke; and then dropping her own, trembled greatly with constrained feeling. She could not tell in the least how to answer, either words or look; but it would have been impossible for her to stir an inch from the spot where she stood.

"Does it seem terrible to you?" he said. "It need not. Will you see her?"

Elizabeth wished very strongly not; but as she hesitated how to speak, he had gently taken her hand and was leading her forward out of the room; and Elizabeth could not draw away her hand nor hinder the action of his; she let him lead her whither he would.

"Are you afraid?" he said, as he paused with his hand upon the door of the other room. Elizabeth uttered an incomprehensible 'no,' and they went in.

"There is no need," he said again in a gentle grave tone as he led her to the side of the bed and then let go her hand. Elizabeth stood where he had placed her, like a person under a spell.

'There was no need' indeed, she confessed to herself, half unconsciously, for all her thoughts were in a terrible whirl. Winnie's face looked as though it might have been the prison of a released angel. Nothing but its sweetness and purity was left, of all that disease and weariness had ever wrought there; the very fair and delicate skin and the clustering sunny locks seemed like angel trappings left behind. Innocence and rest were the two prevailing expressions of the face, -- entire, both seemed. Elizabeth stood looking, at first awe- stricken; but presently thoughts and feelings, many and different ones, began to rise and crowd upon one another with struggling force. She stood still and motionless, all the more.

"There is no pain in looking there?" said her companion softly. Elizabeth's lips formed the same unintelligible 'no,' which her voice failed to bring out.

"Little sleeper!" said Winthrop, combing back with his fingers the golden curls, which returned instantly to their former position, -- "she has done her work. She has begun upon her rest. I have reason to thank God that ever she lived. -- I shall see the day when I can quietly thank him that she has died."

Elizabeth trembled, and in her heart prayed Winthrop not to say another word.

"Does not this face look, Miss Haye, as if its once owner had 'entered into peace?'"

If worlds had depended on Elizabeth's answering, she could not have spoken. She could not look at the eye which, she knew, as this question was put, sought hers; her own rested only on the hand that was moving back those golden locks, and on the white brow it touched; she dared not stir. The contact of those two, and the signification of them, was as much as she could bear, without any help. She knew his eye was upon her.

"Isn't it worth while," he said, "to have such a sure foothold in that other world, that the signal for removing thither shall be a signal of peace?"

Elizabeth bowed her head low in answer.

"Have you it?" was his next question. He had left the bed's side and stood by hers.

Elizabeth wrung her hands and threw them apart with almost a cry, -- "Oh I would give uncounted worlds if I had! --"

And the channel being once opened, the seal of silence and reserve taken off, her passion of feeling burst forth into wild weeping that shook her from head to foot. Involuntarily she took hold of the bedpost to stay herself, and clung to it, bending her head there like a broken reed.

She felt even at the time, and remembered better afterwards, how gently and kindly she was drawn away from there and taken back into the other room and made to sit down. She could do nothing at the moment but yield to the tempest of feeling, in which it seemed as if every wind of heaven shook her by turns. When at last it had passed over, the violence of it, and she took command of herself again, it was even then with a very sobered and sad mind. As if, she thought afterwards, as if that storm had been, like some storms in the natural world, the forerunner and usher of a permanent change of weather. She looked up at Winthrop, when she was quieted and he brought her a glass of water, not like the person that had looked at him when she first came in. He waited till she had drunk the water and was to appearance quite mistress of herself again.

"You must not go yet," he said, as she was making some movement towards it; -- "you are cold. You must wait till you are warmed."

He mended the fire and placed a chair for her, and handed her to it. Elizabeth did as she was bade, like a child; and sat there before the fire a little while, unable to keep quiet tears from coming and coming again.

"I don't know what you must think of me, Mr. Winthrop," she said at last, when she was about ready to go. "I could not help myself. -- I have never seen death before."

"You must see it again, Miss Elizabeth; -- you must meet it face to face."

She looked up at him as he said it, with eager eyes, from which tears ran yet, and that were very expressive in the intensity of their gaze. His were not less intent, but as gentle and calm as hers were troubled.

"Are you ready?" he added.

She shook her head, still looking at him, and her lips formed that voiceless 'no.' She never forgot the face with which he turned away, -- the face of grave gentleness, of sweet gravity, -- all the volume of reproof, of counsel, of truth, that was in that look. But it was truth that, as it was known to him, he seemed to assume to be known to her; he did not open his lips.

Elizabeth rose; she must go; she would have given a world to have him say something more. But he stood and saw her put on her gloves and arrange her cloak for going out, and he said nothing. Elizabeth longed to ask him the question, "What must I do?" -- she longed and almost lingered to ask it; -- but something, she did not know what, stopped her and choked her, and she did not ask it. He saw her down to the street, in silence on both sides, and they parted there, with a single grasp of the hand. That said something again; and Elizabeth cried all the way home, and was well nigh sick by the time she got there.

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Chapter VI

How now? Even so quickly may one catch the plague? TWELFTH NIGHT.

Miss Haye came down to breakfast the next morning; but after little more than a nominal presentation of herself there, she escaped from Rose's looks and words of comment and innuendo and regained her own room. And there she sat down in the window to muse, having carefully locked out Clam. She had reason. Clam would certainly have decided that her mistress 'wanted fixing,' if she could have watched the glowing intent eyes with which Elizabeth was going deep into some subject -- it might be herself, or some other. Herself it was.

"Well," -- she thought, very unconscious how clearly one of the houses on the opposite side of the street was defined on the retina of either eye, -- "I have learned two things by my precious yesterday's expedition, that I didn't know before -- or that if I did, it was in a sort of latent, unrecognized way; -- two pretty important things! -- That I wish I was a Christian, -- yes, I do, -- and that there is a person in the world who don't care a pin for me, whom I would lay down my life for! -- How people would laugh at me if they knew it -- and just because themselves they are not capable of it, and cannot understand it. -- Why shouldn't I like what is worthy to be liked? -- why shouldn't I love it? It is to my honour that I do! -- Because he don't like me, people would say; -- and why should he like me? or what difference does it make? It is not a fine face or a fair manner that has taken me -- if it were, I should be only a fool like a great many others; -- it is those things which will be as beautiful in heaven as they are here -- the beauty of goodness -- of truth -- and fine character. -- Why should I not love it when I see it? I shall not see it often in my life-time. And what has his liking of me to do with it? How should he like me! The very reasons for which I look at him would hinder his ever looking at me -- and ought. I am not good, -- not good enough for him to look at me; there are good things in me, but all run wild, or other things running wild over them. I am not worthy to be spoken of in the day that his name is mentioned. I wish I was good! -- I wish I was a Christian! -- but I know one half of that wish is because he is a Christian. --That's the sort of power that human beings have over each other! The beauty of religion, in him, has drawn me more, unspeakably, than all the sermons I ever heard in my life. What a beautiful thing such a Christian is! -- what living preaching! -- and without a word said. Without a word said, -- it is in the eye, the brow, the lips, -- the very carriage has the dignity of one who isn't a piece of this world. Why aren't there more such! -- and this is the only one that ever I knew! -- of all I have seen that called themselves Christians. -- Would any possible combination ever make me such a person? -- Never! -- never. I shall be a rough piece of Christianity if ever I am one at all. But I don't even know what it is to be one. Oh, why couldn't he say three words more yesterday! But he acted -- and looked -- as if I could do without them. What did he mean! --"

When she had got to this point, Elizabeth left her seat by the window and crossed the room to a large wardrobe closet, on a high shelf of which sundry unused articles of lumber had found a hiding place. And having fetched a chair in, she mounted upon the top of it and rummaged, till there came to her hand a certain old bible which had belonged once to her mother or her grandmother. Elizabeth hardly knew which, but had kept a vague recollection of the book's being in existence and of its having been thrust away up on that shelf. She brought it down and dusted off the tokens of many a month's forgetfulness and dishonour; and with an odd sense of the hands to which it had once been familiar and precious, and of the distant influence under the power of which it was now in her own hands, she laid it on the bed, and half curiously, half fearfully, opened it. The book had once been in hands that loved it, for it was ready of itself to lie open at several places. Elizabeth turned the leaves aimlessly, and finally left it spread at one of these open places; and with both elbows resting on the bed and both hands supporting her head, looked to see what she was to find there. It chanced to be the beginning of the 119th psalm.

"BLESSED ARE THE UNDEFILED IN THE WAY, WHO WALK IN THE LAW OF THE LORD."

By what thread of association was it, that the water rushed to her eyes when they read this, and for some minutes hindered her seeing another word, except through a veil of tears?

"Am I becoming a Christian?" she said to herself. "But something more must be wanting than merely to be sorry that I am not what he is. How every upright look and word bear witness that this description belongs to him. And I -- I am out of 'the way' altogether."

"BLESSED ARE THEY THAT KEEP HIS TESTIMONIES, AND THAT SEEK HIM WITH THE WHOLE HEART."

"'Keep his testimonies,'" said Elizabeth, -- "and 'seek him with the whole heart.' -- I never did, or began to do, the one or the other. 'With the whole heart' -- and I never gave one bit of my heart to it -- and how is he to be sought? --"

"THEY ALSO DO NO INIQUITY; THEY WALK IN HIS WAYS."

The water stood in Elizabeth's eyes again.

"How far from me! -- how very far I am from it! 'Do no iniquity,' -- and I suppose I am always doing it -- 'They walk in his ways,' and I don't even so much as know what they are. -- I wish Mr. Winthrop had said a little more yesterday!" --

She pondered this verse a little, feeling if she did not recognize its high and purified atmosphere; but at the next she sprang up and went back to her window.

"THOU HAST COMMANDED US TO KEEP THY PRECEPTS DILIGENTLY."

Elizabeth and the Bible were at issue.

She could heartily wish that her character were that fair and sweet one the first three verses had lined out; but the command met a denial; or at the least a putting off of its claim. She acknowledged all that went before, even in its application to herself; but she was not willing, or certainly she was not ready, to take the pains and bear the restraint that should make her and it at one. She did not put the case so fairly before herself. She kept that fourth verse at arm's length, as it were, conscious that it held something she could not get over; unconscious what was the precise why. She rushed back to her conclusion that the Bible teaching was unsatisfactory, and that she wanted other; and so travelling round in a circle she came to the point from which she had begun. With a more saddened and sorrowful feeling, she stood looking at Winthrop's character and at her own; more certified, if that had been wanting, that she herself was astray; and well she resolved that if ever she got another chance she would ask him to tell her more about her duty, and how she should manage to do it.

But how was she to get another chance? Winthrop never came, nor could come, to Mr. Haye's; all that was at an end; she never could go again to his rooms. That singular visit of yesterday had once happened, but could never happen again by any possibility. She knew it; she must wait. And weeks went on, and still her two wishes lived in her heart; and still she waited. There was nobody else of whom she chose to ask her questions; either from want of knowledge, or from want of trust, or from want of attraction. And there were few indeed that came to the house whom she could suppose capable of answering them.

One evening it happened that Mr. Satterthwaite came in. He often did that; he had never lost the habit of finding it a pleasant place. This time he threw himself down at the tea- table, in tired fashion, just as the lady of the house asked him for the news.

"No news, Mrs. Haye -- sorry I haven't any. Been all day attending court, till I presume I'm not fit for general society. I hope a cup of tea 'll do something for me."

"What's taken you into court?" said Rose, as she gave the asked-for tea.

"A large dish of my own affairs, -- that is to say, my uncle's and fathers and grandfather's -- which is in precious confusion."

"I hope, getting on well?" said Rose sweetly.

"Don't know," said Mr. Satterthwaite contentedly. "Don't know till we get out of the confusion. But I have the satisfaction of knowing it's getting on as well as it can get on, -- from the hands it is in."

"Whose hands are they?" Elizabeth asked.

"In Mr. Landholm's. -- He'll set it right, if anybody can. I know he will. Never saw such a fellow. Mrs. Haye -- thank you -- this bread and butter is all sufficient. Uncommon to have a friend for one's lawyer, and to know he is both a friend and a lawyer."

"Rather uncommon," said Elizabeth.

"Is Winthrop Landholm your friend?" said Rose dryly.

"Yes! The best friend I've got. I'd do anything in the world for that fellow. He deserves it."

"Mr. Satterthwaite," said Elizabeth, "that bread and butter isn't so good as these biscuits -- try one."

"He don't deserve it from everybody!" said Rose, as Mr. Satterthwaite gratefully took a biscuit.

"Why not?"

"He don't deserve it from me. I've known him to do unhandsome things. Mean!"

"Winthrop Landholm! -- My dear Mrs. Haye, you are under some misapprehension. I'll stake my reputation he never did an unhandsome or a mean thing. He couldn't."

"He did," said Rose.

"Will you favour me with the particulars you have heard?"

"I haven't heard," said Rose, -- "I know."

"You have heard!" said Elizabeth sternly, -- "and only heard. You forget. You may not have understood anything right."

The gentleman looked in a little astonishment from the bright- coloured cheeks of one lady to the cloudy brow of the other; but as neither added anything further, he took up the matter.

"I am almost certain Miss Elizabeth is right. I am sure Mr. Landholm would not do what you suspect him of. He could not do it."

"He is mortal, I suppose," said Rose sourly, "and so he would do what other mortals do."

"He is better than some other mortals," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "I am not a religious man myself; but if anything would make me believe in it, it would be that man."

"Don't you 'believe in it,' Mr. Satterthwaite?" asked Elizabeth.

"In a sort of way, yes, I do; -- I suppose it's a thing one must come to at last."

"If you want to come to it at last, I should think you would at first," said Elizabeth, "I would. I shouldn't think it was a very safe way to put it off."

Mr. Satterthwaite mused over his tea and made no answer; clearly the conversation had got upon the wrong tack.

"Are you going to be in court to-morrow again, Mr. Satterthwaite?" asked the lady of the house.

"I don't know -- not for my own affairs -- I don't know but I shall go in to hear Winthrop's cause come on against Mr. Ryle."

"I never was in court in my life," said Elizabeth.

"Suppose you go, Miss Elizabeth -- If you'll allow me to have the honour of taking care of you, I shall be very happy. There'll be something to hear, between Chancellor Justice and my friend Winthrop and Mr. Brick."

"Is Mr. Brick going to speak to-morrow?" said Rose.

"Yes -- he is on the other side."

"Let's go, Lizzie," said her cousin. "Will you take me too, Mr. Brick? -- Mr. Satterthwaite, I mean."

Mr. Satterthwaite declared himself honoured, prospectively; Elizabeth put no objection of her own in the way; and the scheme was agreed on.

The morrow came, and at the proper hour the trio repaired to the City Hall and mounted its high white steps.

"Don't you feel afraid, Lizzie, to be coming here?" said her cousin. "I do."

"Afraid of what, Mrs. Haye?" inquired their attendant.

"O I don't know, -- it looks so; -- it makes me think of prisoners and judges and all such awful things!"

Mr. Satterthwaite laughed, and stole a glance beyond Mrs. Haye to see what the other lady was thinking of. But Elizabeth said nothing and looked nothing; she marched on like an automaton beside her two companions, through the great halls, one after another, till the room was reached and they had secured their seats. Then certainly no one who had looked at her face would have taken it for an automaton. Though she was as still as a piece of machine-work, except the face. Rose was in a fidget of business, and the tip of her bonnet's white feather executed all manner of arcs and curves in the air, within imminent distance of Mr. Satterthwaite's face.

"Who's who? -- and where's anybody, Mr. Satterthwaite," she inquired.

"That's the Chancellor, sitting up there at the end, do you see? -- Sitting alone, and leaning back in his chair."

"That?" said Rose. "I see. Is that Chancellor Justice? A fine- looking man, very, isn't he?"

"Well -- I suppose he is," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "He's a strong man."

"Strong?" said Rose; -- "is he? Lizzie! -- isn't Chancellor Justice a fine-looking man?"

"Fine-looking?" -- said Elizabeth, bringing her eyes in the Chancellor's direction. "No, I should think not."

"Is there anybody that is fine-looking here?" whispered Rose in Elizabeth's bonnet.

"Our tastes are so different, it is impossible for one to tell what will please the other," replied Elizabeth coolly.

"Where's Mr. Landholm, Mr. Satterthwaite?"

"Winthrop? -- He is down there -- don't you see him?"

"'Down there?'" said Rose, -- "There are a great many people down there --"

"There's Mr. Herder shaking hands with him now --"

"Mr. Herder? -- Lizzie, do you see them?"

"Who?"

"Winthrop Landholm and Mr. Herder."

"Yes."

"Where are they?"

"Hush --"

For just then proceedings began, and Rose's tongue for a few minutes gave way in favour of her ears. And by the time she had found out that she could not make anything of what was going on, Mr. Herder had found his way to their side.

"Miss Elisabet'!" he said, -- "and Mistress Haye! what has made you to come here to-day?"

"Mr. Satterthwaite wanted us to hear your favourite Mr. Landholm," said Rose, -- "so I came. Lizzie didn't come for that."

Elizabeth shook hands with her friend smilingly, but said never a word as to why she was there.

"Winthrop is good to hear," said Mr. Herder, "when you can understand him. He knows how to speak. I can understand him -- but I cannot understand Mr. Brick -- I cannot make nozing of him when he speaks."

"What are they doing to-day, Mr. Herder?" said Elizabeth.

"It is the cause of my brother-in-law, Jean Lansing, against Mr. Ryle, -- he thinks that Mr. Ryle has got some of his money, and I think so too, and so Winthrop thinks; but nobody knows, except Mr. Ryle -- he knows all of it. Winthrop has been asking some questions about it, to Mr. Ryle and Mr. Brick" --

"When?"

"O a little while ago -- a few weeks; -- and they say no, -- they do not choose to make answer to his questions. Now Winthrop is going to see if the Chancellor will not make that they must tell what he wants to know; and Mr. Brick will fight so hard as he can not to tell. But Winthrop will get what he wants."

"How do you know, Mr. Herder?"

"He does, always."

"What does he want, Mr. Herder?" said Rose.

"It is my brother-in-law's business," said the naturalist. "He wants to know if Mr. Ryle have not got a good deal of his money someveres; and Mr. Ryle, he does not want to say nozing about it; and Winthrop and Mr. Brick, they fight; and the Chancellor he says, 'Mr. Landholm, you have the right; Mr Brick, you do what he tell you.'"

"Then why isn't the cause ended?" said Elizabeth.

"Because we have not found out all yet; we are pushing them, Mr. Ryle and Mr. Brick, leetle by leetle, into the corner; and when we get 'em into the corner, then they will have to pay us to get out."

"You seem very sure about it, Mr. Herder," said Rose.

"I do not know," said the naturalist. "I am not much afraid. My friend Winthrop -- he knows what he is doing."

And to that gentleman the party presently gave their attention; as also did the sturdy strong face of Mr. Justice the Chancellor, and the extremely different physiognomy of Mr. Dustus Brick.

Winthrop and Mr. Brick spoke alternately; and as this was the case on each point, or question, -- as Mr. Herder called them, -- and as one at least of the speakers was particularly clear and happy in setting forth his meaning, the listeners were kept from weariness and rewarded, those of them that had minds for it, with some intellectual pleasure. It was pretty much on this occasion as Mr. Herder had given the general course of the suit to be; after every opening of a matter on Winthrop's part, the Chancellor would say, very curtly,

"I allow that exception! Mr. Brick, what have you got to say?" --

Mr. Brick generally had a good deal to say. He seemed to multiply his defences in proportion to the little he had to defend; in strong contrast to his antagonist's short, nervous, home-thrust arguments. The Court generally seemed tired with Mr. Brick.

"Oh that man! -- I wish he would stop!" said Rose.

Elizabeth, who for the most part was as still as a mouse, glanced round at these words, one of her few and rare secondings of anything said by her cousin. She did not know that her glance shewed cheeks of fire, and eyes all the power of which seemed to be in full life.

"Can you understand that man?" said the naturalist.

"He don't understand himself," said Elizabeth.

"I don't understand anybody," said Rose. "But I like to hear the Chancellor speak -- he's so funny, -- only I'm getting tired. I wish he would stop that man. Oh that Mr. Brick! -- Now see the Chancellor! --"

"I've decided that point, Mr. Brick!"

Mr. Brick could not think it decided. At least it seemed so, for he went on.

"What a stupid man!" said Rose.

"He will have the last word," said Mr. Herder.

"Miss Haye, are you tired?" asked Mr. Satterthwaite, leaning past the white feather.

"I? -- No."

"I am," said Rose. "And so is the Chancellor. Now look at him --"

"Mr. Brick -- I have decided that point!" came from the lips of Mr. Justice, a little more curtly than before.

"Now he will stop, --" said Rose.

No -- Mr. Brick was unmoveable.

"Very well!" said the Chancellor, throwing himself half way round on his chair with a jerk -- "you may go on, and I'll read the newspaper! --"

Which he did, amid a general titter that went round the courtroom, till the discomfited Mr. Brick came to a stand. And Winthrop rose for his next point.

"Are you going to wait till it's all done, Mr. Herder?" said Rose. "I'm tired to death. Lizzie -- Lizzie!" -- she urged, pulling her cousin's shoulder.

"What!" said Elizabeth, giving her another sight of the same face that had flashed upon her half an hour before.

"My goodness!" said Rose. "What's the matter with you?"

"What do you want? --" said Elizabeth with a sort of fiery impatience, into which not a little disdain found its way.

"You are not interested, are you?" said Rose with a satirical smile.

"Of course I am!" --

"In that man, Lizzie?"

"What do you want!" said Elizabeth, answering the whisper in a plain voice.

"I want to go home."

"I'm not ready to go yet."

And her head went round to its former position.

"Lizzie -- Lizzie!" urged Rose in a whisper, -- "How can you listen to that man! -- you oughtn't to. -- Lizzie! --"

"Hush, Rose! be quiet! -- I will listen. Let me alone."

Nor could Rose move her again by words, whispers, or pulls of her shoulder. "I am not ready," --she would coolly reply. Mrs. Haye was in despair, but constrained to keep it to herself for fear she should be obliged to accept an escort home, and because of an undefined unwillingness to leave Elizabeth there alone. She had to wait, and play the agreeable to Mr. Satterthwaite, for both her other companions were busy listening; until Winthrop had finished his argument, and the Chancellor had nodded,

"I allow that exception, Mr. Landholm -- it is well taken -- Mr. Brick, what have you to say?" --

Mr. Brick rose to respond. Elizabeth rose too then, and faced about upon her companions, giving them this silent notice, for she deigned no word, that she was willing Rose's pleasure should take its course. Mr. Satterthwaite was quite ready, and they went home; Elizabeth changed to an automaton again.

But when she got into her own room she sat down, without taking off her bonnet, to think.

"This is that farmer's boy that father wouldn't help -- and that he has managed to separate from himself -- and from me! What did I go there for to-day? Not for my own happiness -- And now perhaps I shall never see him again. But I am glad I did go; -- if that is the last."

And spring months and summer months succeeded each other; and she did not see him again.

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