The Impress of a Gentlewoman

Chapter I. The First Step

" To hear, to heed, to wed, And with thy lord depart In tears that he, as soon as shed, Will let no longer smart." YES, really, for Mellicent, you know, we do feel it is to be quite a grand affair." -' Rather a waste of raw material, however, is it not?" laughed the elder woman of the two. " Mellicent never seemed to care for such things." " I know ; but papa would have it so. He has always been queer about her ; one would really think the rest of us wanted to — to snub her, or something." Helen Richardson laughed a little as she ab sently turned the sparkling gems about upon her slender fingers. " He says she's the first to marry, and it shall be the finest wedding ; by the way, doesn't it seem queer that Mellicent should be first?" suddenly raising her heavily fringed lids to look directly into her aunt's face.

The latter looked back with a cool scrutiny of the blonde hair and rose-bloom complexion, the wide, brown eyes with dark brows, the smiling red lips and dimpled chin opposite her, and gave her answer. " You are too hard to suit, Helen." The other bridled a little. " Possibly ; but there's Ethel." " Men seldom choose a wife for her talents, and Ethel, though a striking girl, is too lofty to be beautiful ; still, I am surprised, I admit." Just then a door opened near them, and a voice whose penetrating sweetness was of an unusual quality, said brightly : "To be sure, mamma; it shall be just as you say. What possible difference can it make, any how? I presume we'll be married just the same, which, I imagine, is the main thing," and a lauo-h that matched the voice trilled blithely out. The speaker entered, holding the door back for her mother, a portly, well-dressed woman, and doubtless fine-looking after a large type, when not worried, as now.

She, herself, who has been spoken of as Melli cent, is harder to describe. She was small, yet her walk and movements possessed something of the large nobility usually inseparable from height. Perhaps it was the way she carried her head — erect, with chin well drawn in. I cannot say ; but the effect was certainly there. As to the rest, there was nothing espe cially noticeable. The complexion was variable, the eyes full and of a clear, honest grey, the mouth a trifle severe in repose, yet when parted showing teeth it did one good to see. Not by any means a beauty — she had not a particle of Helen's ripe loveliness nor of her mother's stylish air — perhaps, indeed, no word so fitly describes her as wholesome. She was so thoroughly sweet, clean, and true that people seldom thought twice about her looks.

"I was saying, Marion," began Mrs. Richard son, turning to her sister, "that I think the pres ents ought to be displayed, don't you? I know it isn't considered quite the thing, nowadays, in the best circles, but circumstances alter cases, and as Mellicent is going so far away, I'm sure her friends' natural curiosity should be gratified. Then we can pack and send them at our leisure." " Well, Kate, under the circumstances, perhaps, yes ; but it must be thoroughly understood. You can easily explain to the Pierreponts and Flem mings, and for the rest, it don't so much matter. I was telling Helen how surprised I am that you should consider a reception necessary, as things are." "It was papa's wish," said Mellicent gently; "neither Phil nor I care for so much fuss." "So I supposed; and it seems really useless when you are going to such an out-of-the-way place to live.

Of course there'll be no chance to wear your reception dress again. Besides, I'm amazed at the quantity of invitations sent out ; I had not supposed the best society of Clydesdale numbered so many." " Oh, as to that," began Mellicent, with one of her sweet, low laughs — but Helen took the word from her lips. " Best society ! If you only knew, Aunt Marion — it's the most mixed affair you ever heard of! Of course our part is to be first-class in every respect ; — Craydocke for caterer, unlimited flowers, and all that — but such a crew! Old Auntie Jenkyns, if you'll believe me, and Miss Meecham, who made our dresses, and even some of the mill-hands ! Imagine them cheek by jowl with Mrs. Pierrepont's two-thousand-dollar point lace shawl, and Maude Flemming's new dia monds." Mellicent said nothing, but her face wore a look not usual there, in which you might note, for the first time, how square and firm were the chin and jaw, in spite of their dainty modeling, and how much deeper the eyes seemed than usual.

Melli cent was one of those people who are called yield ing, because, as a general thing, she preferred to give up her own will in trifles rather than to assert it unpleasantly, but she sometimes surprised her friends by an amount of determined opposition which seemed little short of obstinacy, if the question under discussion involved a point of con science or of honor. This matter of inviting had been one of these times, and backed by her father she had carried her point, in spite of Helen's tears and petulance, Ethel's sneers, and her mother's alternate wailing and scolding. To be sure she had said little. "lam quite ready to give up the wedding-party entirely, but if I do have it, these good old friends must be invited," was all, but her tone meant volumes, and when Mr. Richardson added : "It is Melly's wedding, and she shall have her way ; if she says invite Jim Crow himself, we'll do it !

" The three females who generally man aged everything knew there was nothing more to say. The talk was now for a moment interrupted by the entrance of Ethel, a dark, stately girl, dressed with a severity which was almost ostentatious beside Helen's fashionable attire and Mellicent's dainty garb, which, though plain, was sufficiently modern, and of perfect fit. "More discussions?" she asked, in a voice almost too deep for a woman, laying a violin in its green case upon the music-rack near the up right piano. " Let's see, when is the happy day, Mell? Soon, I hope; for though we shall miss you, of course, all this fuss and flurry is very trying." "Why, Ethel, for shame! when Melly is to go to the very jumping-off place, among wild Indians and aborigines and everything ! " cried Helen. "Dear me! but I'm glad it isn't I!" springing up and walking gracefully down the room.

" Only one week more ! Don't you tremble, Melly dear?" Mellicent shook her head, and a far-away look came into her eyes. "Phil will be there," she said softly ; then, flushing, drooped her lids, and for the moment was quite beautiful. " You ! " said Aunt Marion, brushing a bit of dust from her velvet pelisse as she rose to depart, " you'll never go far from civilization, Helen, that's certain. I can't even imagine you in a border-town ; you would be as out of place as a canary in a barn-yard ! " Ethel, who had seated herself, still hatted and cloaked, glanced up from the magazine she had taken from the table, to laugh in the cynical way she affected. " That's rather hard on Mellicent," she ob served, in her harsh voice. " Not at all," returned that maiden calmly. " I have always known I was a barn-yard fowl ; but for use, at least, they are sometimes preferred even to canaries, I suppose."

" What's that about canaries?" came in a great, hearty voice, from the doorway, and Mellicent's face took on its sweetest look as she turned to greet her father. "Well, Daisy," — putting out a hand to meet hers — "Ah! Marion, glad to see you ! Aren't you going to take dinner with us?" " Not to-night, Ralph ; Mr. Judd will be expect ing me. " " He can wait, can't he?" " I won't make him. Well, good-by girls, good-evening Kate," and tall Mrs. Judd rustled out, her rich draperies seeming, as usual, to announce her exit. It was always "exits" and " entrances " ; she never "came" and "went" like other people. To her, the world was indeed a stage, and she the principal actor upon it — in her own estima tion. Nor was the idea strange under the circumstances. Mrs. Jamieson Judd was emphatically a leader (with all capitals, if you choose) !

Married young to a wealthy man many years her senior, she might have been a nonentity, but she was not. She had long since taken, and steadily held, a foremost position in the upper circle of Clydesdale's aristocratic eastern society, and as possession is nine points of the law, no one had ever yet been able to oust her. She was handsome, in a hard, metallic way, not unlike her expensive jet adornings ; and her pre maturely grey hair — her greatest beauty — gave her a maturity of aspect which well became her. You could not imagine her in a light print or muslin. Her clothes were rich and impressive, like herself; nor could one ever forget that Mrs. Judd was a woman of wealth and position. She was also a woman of affairs ; no church bazar was complete without her, no charitable in stitution but made haste to secure her upon its board of managers, no subscription-paper but bore her large, clear signature, conspicuous at the head of the list.

Clydesdale was proud of Mrs. Jamieson Judd, and always showed herself and her fine house, with the other public structures, to all visitors. B Such women fill a large place in this small world, and it is no wonder that Mrs. Richardson, with her three daughters, made haste to consult her hus band's sister in every possible emergency, and had only been prevented from sooner doing so on the present momentous occasion by her temporary ab sence from town. In fact, Mrs. Judd would certainly have ruled the Richardson household but for this brother, whose will in its way was as strong as her own, and whose ideas were utterly at variance with hers. He also quietly supported Mellicent whenever she dared to show opposition, which fortunately was not often, for the girl had a way of rounding the sharp corners of life which saved her many a hard knock.

She had had need of this elusive force many times of late, for the first wedding was an event which aroused all her mother's fussiness and the girls' peculiar traits, while her father, for once, opposed even her, in an obstinate determination to surround the event with a splendor Mellicent would never have thought of desiring. But she understood the loving impulse back of it all, and bore what was really a weariness as if she had wished it, for the sake of the dear man who had understood her better than anybody else — till Phil came. She had been thinking thus one morning while absently separating a mass of ivy and smi lax, when Philip, who had watched her full five minutes from the doorway, suddenly announced himself by the words : "I hope that sweet look was for me, Mellis? I should be jealous of any one else who could call it up."

She glanced around, and the smile broadened into a laugh. Mellicent's laughter always flowed as easily as a mountain brook, though it was worlds removed from a giggle. "No, Phil, it was for another man this time," looking into his eyes with her loyal ones. " Ha ! a rival? Let me clutch him ! " "Yes, a rival, — your only one: my blessed old father ! Phil, I do hate to leave him, even for you ! " and that beautiful, shadowed look, which means suppressed tears, came into her face. The young lover took her in his arms. " Mellis, my darling, I know you do ! I never understand your love as I do when I think what you are giving up. And for a hard life, too, dearest ; I won't deceive you ! " His manly face was very grave. " It will be a hard, rough life, entirely unsuited to one so daintily bred as your self.

If you think — if you don't feel — there is still time — " His voice choked, and he turned away. "Philip ! " Her soft hands encircled his cheeks, and her grey eyes looked down into his. " I have chosen you out of all the world," she said, in a voice whose sweetness thrilled him, " and I should be happy with you in Siberia, even ; but I shall love my father while I have life in me." His answer was not audible, but I think both were satisfied, and the little conference ended, as lovers' conferences are apt to, in a silence more full of speech than words. The next three days passed in a whirl which left little time for reflection, and Mellicent literally found herself — for she had seemed lost for a time — in the train with her new-made husband, speed ing rapidly westward, the bewildering rush from one thing to another over, the solemn, life-long vows exchanged, the heart-breaking farewells ended, and the new, strange, untried life begun.

There were no tears in her eyes — Mellicent seldom wept — but the look on her face made Philip bend over her with an air of concern. " How tired you are, love. It was a long strain ; I am glad it is over," and she smiled bravely, as she answered : " Yes. I shall soon be strong again. Tell me now, Philip, just what I may expect ; I don't like surprises." " I've told you before, dearest." " A little, but tell me again, it will help me." Her voice showed so tense a strain Philip hastened to obey. " Acton's is a small place, dear, only a few hundred people, and not a family you would care to know. We must be all in all to each other, Mellicent." " How do you know whom I care to know, Mr. Raymond?" archly. " I think among several hundreds there must be a few worthy souls." " Well, I hope so, but they're rough — fearfully rough.

However, the scenery will partly make up. Imagine a country in green waves, like the sea, with a sudden upheaval into two peaks which rise above the clouds and are clothed with ver dure just as high as vegetation can grow." "The Twin Mountains?" murmured Mellicent. " Yes, the Twins. Well, in the valley between lies Acton's, and to tell the truth, Mellis, it is a blot on the earth's fair face ! " " We'll be parts of the blot, Philip," laughing sweetly. " I know it. Sit over here, darling, and I'll have the porter bring you a pillow ; I don't like your paleness. There, that's better. There's a general furnishing store, a tavern (one can't call such a thing a hotel), a grocery or two — yes two, and one contains the post-office — a blacksmith's shop, three assayers' offices, and twelve saloons."

" Oh ! " with a little scream. " Of which Jake's place is chief. Horrid, isn't it? But the pity of it is, 'tis true." "And only one church, I suppose? " He hesitated. "Well, no; not exactly that, even. I believe there is a barn-meeting occasion ally, but— " " And schools, Phil — how about those? " He cleared his throat. " We did have one, but they ran the teacher out, I believe." " But what do the children do?" " Run wild, mostly. I told you they were all savages. " Mellis, I'm a brute to take you there, and I know it ! The thought has clouded our whole courtship. If I could only do half as well somewhere else, or if I had a little money in reserve. I can give you an awful lot of love, darling, but that's all." He looked so despairing Mellicent laughed aloud. " See here, my husband, I won't have forebod ings at the very outset of my wedding journey !

" Then with sudden gravity, " Phil, do you ever thank God for something inside of you that makes you independent of others, to a degree, for re sources, for thoughts, that no outward circum stances can add to or take away, and that quite preclude utter loneliness, even in a desert?" " Yes," he said quickly, " yes, I understand. I've felt it all out there under that clear sky, gazing up at those grand mountains with their green-fringed canons ; it is such a satisfying feel ing, Mellicent, isn't it?" " Wonderfully so. Now don't worry any more, Phil, for we can never be alone while God is with us ; and humanity is much the same the world over, after all. What it gains in polish it is apt to lose in honesty, and clean personal habits are too often but the whited outside of a filthy soul sepulchre.

I'm not afraid of roughness." Phil suddenly squeezed her hand under cover of tucking a wrap about her. " You're always so comfortable, darling," he said happily, and for a time the talk languished. Five days of constant journeying by rail, even with all the alleviations palace-cars can give, leaves one exhausted in body and spirit, and when to this must be added a twenty-mile ride over rough mountain roads often little more than trails, you will not wonder that Philip Raymond found it necessary to carry his bride into the house when they reached home. For the last three miles she had been almost unconscious, and the young hus band felt all his old misgivings revive in full force as he supported her drooping head and dosed her with cordials, begging her every moment to speak to him, which she always tried to do, no matter how far gone she seemed.

" I ought to have known better," he thought bitterly ; "she will die on my hands in this wilderness. God be merciful ! " After he had deposited her on the bed he turned to a swarthy, silent woman who stood by, and said quickly : " Anita, have you any tea ready?" She nodded. " Bring a strong cup at once." The woman obeyed, while Philip loosened the travel-stained dress and unbound the heavy brown hair ; then supporting his wife's head on his arm he fed her, spoonful by spoonful, from the cup the woman held in statuesque quiet, with her great black eyes fixed on the white face and drooping lids opposite. "Darling, do you feel better now?" asked Philip, with the last spoonful. " Yes " — faintly — "if I can get — a good sleep. I'm so tired." Thus helplessly the young wife entered her western home — hardly a promising omen for the future, if one is to believe in omens.

Several times during the evening Philip crept in to look at her, and was soon rejoiced to find she had fallen into a deep, quiet slumber, with the former alarming symptoms much modified. " I think she will do very well now, Nita," he said more cheerfully, to the silent half-breed. " It is late, and you had better go to bed ; I'll call you if anything is needed in the night." The woman, speechless as ever, departed, and with a long sigh, partly mental discouragement, partly physical weariness, Phil threw himself into the easiest chair the room contained, and looked about him, as one will do after an absence, trying to weigh its charms and defects with a stranger's eye. The result was to render him still more de pressed. It was a large, square room, its mud-plastered walls adorned with wood-cuts from illustrated magazines, soap-chromos, and travelling-show lith ographs.

Upon its bare floor were spread small islands of carpeting with swift-fringing edges, and at its two small windows were paper shades rolled from the lower edges upwards and pinned in place, each former pin-mark leaving a long rent which did not add to their attractiveness. In one corner were some rude shelves holding crockery, in an other a like set of shelves pretty well filled with books, while across the end wall between, at a table's height, stretched a broad, undraped shelf which was one litter of papers, magazines, fishing tackle, gun-waddings and shells, bits of quartz and other mineral substances, tin cups, bottles, etc., in an untidy heap from end to end. One of the two windows was above it. The furniture consisted of a rude couch-frame stuffed with straw and covered with a bear's skin, two "common-sense" rockers without cushions, and the old leather-covered sleepy-hollow in which Philip sat, besides a large table as badly littered as the shelf and bare of drapery, beneath whose edge stood a great Indian water-jar, or olla, which seemed to be used as a scrap-basket.

The only cheerful thing in the room was the fire place, a mere hole in the mud chimney, but upon its red-clay hearth a few pine branches blazed and crackled, giving out a delightful balsamic odor, so soporific that Philip was soon as sound asleep as his wife. We will, however, continue to explore the house, which, let me remind you, was the palace of Acton's, where mud houses, dug-outs, shanties, and tents, formed the ruling style of architecture s At one side of this large apartment, which was parlor, library, and dining-room combined, were two small bedrooms fitted with fairly good bed steads ; but the dressers were simply rude sets of drawers surmounted by foot-square looking glasses, while the washstands were shelves screwed into the corners, undraped, — indeed, only partly planed. For closets, a calico curtain was stretched across another corner above the rows of nails and wooden pegs.

There was no attempt at carpeting. Back of the large room, and a step or two re moved, was the cook-shanty, a shelter of rough boards, with a few rude conveniences inside, and — what seemed to Acton's inhabitants an unheard of luxury — a board floor ; but at the best a place to make a well-bred housewife weep for chagrin. And this was Mellicent's home. Mellicent Richardson, whose life had been cushioned with luxury, whose only labors and hardships had been self-sought for sweet charity's sake, who had never known want or anxiety, nor even dreamed of anything rougher than a comfortable farm house. No wonder Philip Raymond felt it was a haz ardous experiment, yet the thought was one which had only grown upon him of late and by degrees, or, being the man he was, he would have gone away and left his tale of love untold.

When he first met Mellicent at work in a mis sion-school in her plain dress, he had never thought of luxuries in connection with her ; and when, after the acquaintance had ripened into friendship he met her in her own home, his strongest feeling was a certain resentful sympathy — Mellicent was not appreciated as she deserved. Helen, with her beauty and vivacity, had a way of putting her one side with a good-naturedly con temptuous air, as one hushes a child, while Ethel loftily soared above her head, and talked science or art in an over-riding way which left the more modest girl's opinions halting in the rear. He had discovered that Mellicent's voice was as sweet in singing as in conversation, yet no one except her father seemed to care to hear it, though Helen's less musical notes were often audible, while Ethel sawed her violin by the hour.

Both girls recited for admiring guests, yet none of their over-trained elocution had ever impressed him as had a few lines repeated by the youngest sister while they were riding, one summer asternoon. He could not forget the magnetic thrill in that low, unconscious voice, and after that her sisters' modulations and expressions seemed un natural and forced. From thus being her unspoken champion he soon grew to be her lover, and his one desire had been to show her what love and appreciation meant ; to take her away from this cool, critical atmosphere, and wrap her about with all the warmth and tenderness of his manly nature. More practical thoughts came later. As a mining engineer he must remain in the far west, for he had no fortune except in brain and brawn, and all his business talents lay in this direction.

He felt sure failure would follow any effort to change his business. There had been hours of despondency and gloom, always chased away by Mellicent's steady courage, and Love had finally conquered Pru dence, as he generally does. But now, this home-coming seemed to crystal lize all his doubts into certainties. Mellicent was too delicate to stand this rough life, even physi cally, and what would be its mental and moral effect upon her? Would she not grow heartsick, moody, and sour as years went by? Would she not long for the old home luxuries, till she turned from her mountain cabin with loathing? Would not — and here he had shuddered visibly — would not this loathing be in time transferred to himself, the cause of her miserable existence, until their wedded life became a, curse? Even in his dreams these thoughts beset him ; and the room, grown dark and chill with the dying fire, was a fit setting for the sombre phantoms which pursued him into dreamland.

Chapter II. The New Home

" Hills draw like heaven, And stronger sometimes, holding out their hands To pull vou from the vile flats up to them." EARLY the next morning Mellicent opened her eyes. The weariness of last night was gone, but the dazed feeling remained. Where was she? What had happened? But as her glance wandered about, it all came back to her. Her wedding, the long, long journey, and that last two or three hours of almost death like fatigue. Well, this was home, then ; and sitting up in bed she gazed curiously around, and as she gazed a perplexed frown contracted her forehead. Could this bare, paintless, dreary room be in Philip's house, and hers? She slipped out of bed, and stepping to the door of the "big room" — as she was soon to learn it 3was always called — looked it all over in a slow, comprehensive way that took in every detail, from the rude attempts at decoration to the cold and cheerless ashes on the rough clay hearth.

Then she caught sight of Philip in an uncomfortable attitude, and with a drawn, pained look on his face she had never seen there before. " Poor boy," she whispered softly ; "he sat up all night to leave me undisturbed. How sad he looks." She dropped a kiss light as a fairy's on his forehead, and returned to her bedroom, where she knelt for many minutes beside the bed. What passed between herself and Maker is no concern of ours, perhaps, but when she rose the little frown was replaced by a steadfast look which meant more than submission. Her trunk had been deposited last night just outside her bedroom door, and now, finding its key in her travelling-bag, she unlocked it and proceeded to array herself in a favorite morning dress. Then stepping lightly across the big room she opened the outside door (quite startled to find it unfastened), and going out upon the veranda looked about her with a quick gasp of delight. r Philip's house stood on high ground at the head of the one long street of the town, and her gaze sweeping past this took in the grand mountains which rose to right and left before her.

Their lofty peaks, covered with dazzling snow, seemed to swim in the crystal atmosphere, and the wreath of clouds just below was no softer than their out lines. Then the tints ! Deepest, richest green where that upper belt of pines grew, merging into the daintier shades of birch and hemlock lower down, until, as they sloped broadly into the valley, she saw parterres of flowers almost too gorgeous for reality. Something in the air she breathed seemed to give her new life, too, while she thus feasted her eyes. All fatigue dropped from her like a gar ment, and she felt as if then and there she could " rise on wings of love to heaven." She had no idea of the light on her face as she stood with it thus uplifted, but a pair of dark eyes were taking it all in. Anita had risen as silently as her new mistress, and passed to the cook-shanty to prepare the breakfast, from which she now came around the house on her noiseless, moccasined feet with a pail to be filled at the trough outside.

She gazed a long minute, then went on with an ominous shake of her black head — such loveliness seemed hardly canny to her mind — and just then Philip, too, stepped forth. Mellicent turned with the " light that never was on sea or land" still in her eyes. "O Philip, how glorious! I have been drink ing it all in, and it is like wine from heaven. I am not tired a particle. I don't think I ever shall be again. You didn't tell me the half!" He glanced about, still stupid with his unrestful sleep. "Yes, the atmosphere — but it's all so rough! I'm glad you've rested, dear." "Rough?" She glanced around now at the wide veranda, its roof (a continuation of that of the house) supported by rough, hewn timbers, but with a good smooth floor. It extended across the front and one side, and held two netted hammocks and some splint-bottomed rockers, but not a vine nor flower.