Chapter V

Chapter Vthe fatal letter[pg 044]Julia and Fanny had been gone from home about four weeks when Mr. Middleton suddenly determined "to go and see his gals" and bring them home. Accordingly he "fixed up right smart," as he thought, which meant that he took off his beard and put on "a bran new pair of jeens." He preferred driving his own carriage, so he set off alone for Frankfort.It was Friday morning, and as his daughters were in school, he stalked into Mrs. Crane's parlor to wait for them. Spying the piano, he sat down to it, and commenced producing a series of unearthly sounds, not altogether unlike the fashionable music of the present day. Mrs. Carrington chanced to be crossing the hall and, hearing the noise from the parlor, looked in. As her eye fell upon the strange-looking, giant form of Mr. Middleton, she uttered a very delicate scream, and as she just then saw Dr. Lacey entering the house, she staggered back a few paces, and tried to faint very gracefully. But the doctor caught her in his arms just in time to restore her to consciousness!Mr. Middleton now came toward them, exclaiming, "Lightning guns! What's to pay now? Skeered at me, are you, madam or miss, whichever you be? I won't hurt a har of your soft skull!""Ugh-u-u!" said Mrs. Carrington, shrinking from him in disgust, as he advanced toward her, and laid his large hand on her head, "just to see," as he said, "if she were made of anything besides jewelry, curls and paint."At this allusion to her brilliant color, Mrs. Carrington relieved Dr. Lacey from the delightful duty of supporting her, and disappeared up the stairs, saying in no very gentle tones, "What an old brute!""Fire away thar," called our Mr. Middleton. "I am an old brute, I suppose.""But your right name is Mr. Middleton, I conclude," said Dr. Lacey.[pg 045]Mr. Middleton started and answered, "How d'ye know that? Just as you'd know his satanic majesty, if he should appear to you?""Something upon that principle," said Dr. Lacey, laughing, "but," he continued, "I am glad to see you, Mr. Middleton. I suppose you have come to visit your daughters.""Yes, and to take them home and let their mother and the rest of the blacks see them," answered Mr. Middleton; then after a pause he added, "They'll be right glad to see me, I reckon, or at least Sunshine will.""Who is Sunshine?" asked Dr. Lacey."Well, now," said Mr. Middleton, "here you've lived with 'em four weeks and don't know that I call one Tempest and t'other Sunshine, and if you've any wit, you'll know which is Sunshine."Just then a voice was heard to exclaim, "There, I told you father was here. I hear him now talking about Sunshine," and Fanny rushed in, and throwing her arms around her father's neck, kissed again and again his rough cheek, while he suddenly felt the need of his red and yellow cotton handkerchief, and muttered something about the "roads" being so infernal dusty that they made a fellow's eyes smart!Then turning to Julia, who still stood in the door, he said, "Come, Tempest, none of your pranks! Come here and shake your old pap's paw. You needn't be afeared of this young spark, for he knows I'm your pap, and he hain't laughed at me neither." So Julia advanced and shook her father's hand with a tolerably good grace."I'm come for you to go home and see the folks," said Mr. Middleton; "so you pick up your duds—and mind not to take a cussed bandbox—and after dinner we'll start for home.""It wants an hour of dinner time," said Julia, "and as we are not hungry, we can start in a few moments, if you like.""Fury-ation," said Mr. Middleton, "I wonder if we can. Well, start on then afoot, if you're in such a hurry. I shan't budge an inch till I've had my dinner; besides, I want to see Mr. Wilmot."Julia saw that she must submit to the mortification of seeing her father at Mrs. Crane's dinner table, and with a beating heart she heard the bell summon them to the dining room. Mrs. Carrington did not appear—her nerves had received too great a shock—and for that Julia was thankful. Dr. Lacey sat by her father and paid him every possible attention."Will you take soup, Mr. Middleton?" asked Mrs. Crane."What kind of soup? Beef soup, or mud turkle?"[pg 046]"It is vermicelli," said Mrs. Crane, hardly able to keep her face straight."Vermifuge—vermifuge," repeated Mr. Middleton. "That's almighty queer stuff to make soup on. No. I'm 'bleeged to you; I ain't in need of that ar medicine."Julia reddened, while Fanny burst into a laugh and said, "Father isn't much used to French soups, I think.""Use your napkin, father," softly whispered Julia."What shall I use that for?" said he. "My trousers are all tobacco spit now, and grease won't hurt 'em any now. Halloo! Here waiter, bring me a decent fork, for Lord knows I can't eat with this here shovel and if I take my fingers Tempest'll raise a row de dow."The servant looked at his mistress, who said, "Samuel, bring Mr. Middleton a steel fork."When the dessert was brought in Mr. Middleton again exclaimed, as he took his plate of pudding, "Now what can this be?""It is tapioca pudding," said Mrs. Crane."Tap-an-oakky," returned Mr. Middleton. "Well, if you don't have the queerest things to eat! You ought to come to my house. We don't have any your chicken fixin's nor little three-cornered hankerchers laid out at each plate."At last, to Julia's great relief, dinner was over, and she got her father started for home. Suddenly Mr. Middleton exclaimed, "That ar doctor is a mighty fine chap. Why don't you set your cap for him, Sunshine?""It would be of no use, father," answered Fanny."Wall, if I'm not mistaken, he's laid his snare for a bird, and I don't care how soon you fall into it, darling," said Mr. Middleton."How ridiculous!" exclaimed Julia."Ho now, jealous, are you, Tempest?" said her father. "What in thunder do you think he'll want of you, who are engaged to Mr. Wilmot?"This was a truth which had troubled Julia, and she greatly regretted her engagement, for she well knew Dr. Lacey never would think of her as long as he thought she belonged to another. She had watched with a jealous eye the growing intimacy between him and Fanny, and resolved to leave no means untried to prevent a union between them, and to secure the doctor for herself. To do this she knew she must break her engagement with Mr. Wilmot, and also give Dr. Lacey a bad opinion of her sister. She felt sure of success, for when did she undertake anything and fail? Sinful girl![pg 047]She was freed from her engagement in a way she little dreamed of.Four weeks from the time of her first visit home, word came that Mr. Wilmot was sick and would not be able to teach that day. He had been unwell for several days, and next morning it was announced that he had the typhoid fever. Fanny's first impulse was to go and see him, but Julia prevented her by saying that he would send for her when he wanted her.That evening Dr. Lacey told Julia that Mr. Wilmot had expressed a wish to see her. She went rather unwillingly, and something in her manner must have betrayed it, for he seemed troubled, and regarded her with an anxious look. She however manifested no affection, and but very little interest for him, and inwardly resolved that when she came again her sister should accompany her. That night he grew worse, and as there was of course no school, Julia hired some one to take herself and sister home. Earnestly did Fanny entreat her to remain and watch over Mr. Wilmot."I shall do no such thing," said Julia. "It would not be proper, and I should be talked about.""Well, then," said Fanny, "I shall stay till mother sends for me. I do not care if I am talked about."This rather pleased Julia, who said, "Well, you can stay if you like. I dare say you care more for him than I do, and you can tell him so, if you please.""Oh, Julia," said Fanny, "what has changed you so toward Mr. Wilmot?""Nothing in particular," replied Julia. "I never liked him very much."So Julia started for home, while Fanny took her station by the bedside of her beloved teacher. When Julia reached home, she found that her father had left the day before for Missouri. He owned land there, and as he had gone to make some improvements on it, he would probably be absent two months. Julia carelessly told her mother of Mr. Wilmot's illness, and that Fanny had stayed to watch him. When Mrs. Middleton heard this, her maternal fears were roused lest her daughter should take the fever, and in a few days she went herself to Frankfort to bring Fanny home.She found Mr. Wilmot very ill, but not as yet dangerously so, and after staying a day, she announced her intention of taking Fanny home."Why not leave her?" said Dr. Lacey. "She seems peculiarly adapted to a sick room, and will do him more good than a dozen physicians."[pg 048]"Yes, let her stay," said Mr. Wilmot, and drawing Mrs. Middleton closely to him, he whispered, "Tell Julia to come to me, will you?"Mrs. Middleton promised that she would, but persisted in taking Fanny. When Mr. Wilmot's message was given to Julia, she said, "No, indeed, I'll not go. I could do him no good."Ike was sent to Frankfort every day to inquire after Mr. Wilmot, and see if anything was wanted, and each night Fanny waited anxiously for his return. As soon as she saw him enter the wood, she would run to him, and inquire for Mr. Wilmot. Julia, however, manifested no anxiety whatever. She would not have acknowledged that she hoped he would die, and yet each time that she heard he was better her spirits sank, for fear he would yet live. At last Ike brought to Fanny the joyful intelligence that the crisis was passed, and Mr. Wilmot was out of danger.That night, in the solitude of her chamber, Julia communed with herself as follows: "And so he'll live after all. Well, I may as well let him know at once that I will not marry him." So saying, she opened her portfolio, and wrote the following note:"Mr. Wilmot:"Sir—When I became engaged to you I was very young and am still so; consequently, you will hardly be surprised when you learn that I have changed my mind and wish to have our engagement dissolved."Yours truly, as a friend,"Julia Middleton."Ike did not go to Frankfort again for two or three days, but when he did, he was the bearer of this heartless note. Mr. Wilmot was indeed better and when he heard Ike was in the house he expressed a desire to see him, as he wished to send some word to Julia. When Ike was ushered into the sick room, he immediately handed his young mistress' letter to Mr. Wilmot, who eagerly took it, for he recognized the handwriting of his idol. Hastily breaking the seal, he read twice the cruel lines before he was convinced that he read aright; then the paleness on his cheek grew paler, and was succeeded by a deep flush.When Ike asked what he should tell the folks at home, Mr. Wilmot's voice was husky as he answered, "Nothing, Ike, tell them nothing." Ike was alarmed at the change which had come over his young master, and called for assistance.From that time Mr. Wilmot hourly grew worse. Mrs.[pg 049]Middleton was sent for, and a telegram was forwarded to his friends in New York, bidding them come soon if they would see him alive. Mr. Miller, who was teaching in a distant part of the country, dismissed his school to attend his dying friend. It was heartrending to hear Mr. Wilmot in his delirium, call for Julia to come to him—to let him look on her face once more before he died. Then he would fancy himself at home and would describe Julia to his sister in all the passionate fervor of a devoted lover; then he would think it was Julia who was sick, and would beg of those around him to save her, and not let his loved one die. At last Mrs. Middleton could bear his pleadings no longer. She resolved to go home and persuade her hard-hearted daughter, if possible, to go to the dying man.Just before she was ready to leave, consciousness returned to him for a few moments, and calling her to his bedside, he asked her where she was going. On being told he replied, "Mrs. Middleton, I am dying. When you return I shall not be in this world; but I know that my Redeemer liveth, and I am not afraid to die, for I feel assured of rest beyond the grave; but there is one thing I would have. Ere I go hence I would see Julia once more. I have loved her perhaps too well, and for this I must die. Tell, oh tell her, how I missed her when the fever scorched my brow, and bid her hasten to me ere it be too late! But if she will not come, give her my blessing, and tell her my last prayer was for her, and that in Heaven she will be mine."With many tears Mrs. Middleton promised him that every word of his message should be delivered to Julia, and that she should come to him. On reaching home her swollen eyelids attracted Fanny's attention, and excited her fear. Springing up, she exclaimed, "Mother, mother, how is Mr. Wilmot? Is he dead?""No," answered her mother, "he is not dead, but is dying."Then she repeated to Julia his request, and added, "You had better go immediately, if you wish to see him alive, for he cannot live until morning. Fanny will call Ike to go with you."Fanny arose to do her mother's bidding, but Julia stopped her by saying, "You needn't trouble yourself to call him, Fanny.""Why not?" said Fanny, looking wonderingly in Julia's face."Because I am not going," said Julia coolly."Not going!" exclaimed Fanny.[pg 050]"Not going!" echoed Mrs. Middleton. "Why do you say so? You are going, you must go!""There is no must about it," answered Julia; "I do not choose to go, and I shall not go!""Are you in earnest, Julia?" asked Mrs. Middleton."As much in earnest as I ever was in my life," replied Julia."Well, then," returned the mother in a decided tone, "you shall go; I command you to go, and I must be obeyed!""I'd like to see your commands enforced, Madam," said Julia, her beautiful face dark with rage. "Yes, I'd like to see anybody make me go if I did not wish to. Mr. Wilmot is nothing to me, and I would hardly go to save his life.""Oh, Julia, Julia!" said Mrs. Middleton bitterly, "has it come to this? I can see it all now!""What all can you see so distinctly?" asked Julia scornfully."I can understand what part you have had in causing Mr. Wilmot's death," answered Mrs. Middleton.Julia turned ashy pale, and her mother continued—"Often in his ravings he spoke of a letter, a cruel letter he called it, and I heard it hinted that it was the receipt of that letter which brought on a relapse. Now you will tell me whether you wrote that letter, and if so, what were its contents?""I wonder how I'm expected to know what letter you mean," said Julia. "However, I did write to him and ask to be released from my engagement, and I had my reasons for so doing."Mrs. Middleton sighed and said, "It is as I feared; on you, Julia, rests in a measure the cause of his death.""Better call me a murderer at once. But I'll not stay for more abuse," said Julia, as she left the room.When she was gone Mrs. Middleton buried her face in her hands, and sent forth sob after sob from her crushed heart—crushed by the sinfulness and mocking disobedience of her first born. While she was still weeping, Fanny stole softly from the apartment and went in quest of her sister. She found her, as she had expected, in her room, and going up to her threw her arms around her neck, and plead long and earnestly that she would go to Mr. Wilmot. But Julia's answer was ever the same, "No, I will not.""And why will you not?" asked Fanny."Because," replied Julia, "Mr. Wilmot is nothing to me, and there is no reason why I should go to him, more than to any other lovesick youth who takes a fancy to send for me. You would not feel obliged to run if Bill Jeffrey should have the measles and send for you."[pg 051]"Oh, stop, stop," said Fanny, "you shall not liken Bill Jeffrey to Mr. Wilmot, who is so good, so noble. You loved him once, and for the sake of that love go to him now; it can do you no harm.""It would seriously affect my plans for the future; and once for all, I tell you I will not go," replied Julia."Then I will," said Fanny, "and show him that I, at least, have not forgotten him."This idea pleased Julia, and she answered, "I wish you would, for your presence will do as much good as mine."Fanny hastily ran down stairs and, going to her mother, said, "Mother, Julia will not go, but I will. I should like to very much. Will you let me?"Mrs. Middleton was too much engrossed in her painful thoughts to give much heed to what Fanny said. She only knew that she wished her to consent to something, and she mechanically answered, "Yes, yes, go." It was then after sunset, and as the sky had all day been cloudy, darkness was fast gathering over the earth, but Fanny heeded it not. She bade Ike make haste, and in a few moments her favorite pony was saddled. Ike's horse was then got in readiness, and they were soon galloping off in the direction of Frankfort. 'Twas a long ride of twelve miles and the darkness increased every moment, while a steady, drizzling rain commenced falling. Still Fanny kept perseveringly on, occasionally speaking an encouraging word to Ike, who pulled his old cap closely over his ears and muttered, "Lord bless young miss. Seems like 'twas her was done promised to young marster, a puttin' out this desput night to see him."But Fanny kept her thoughts to herself, and while she is making her way to Frankfort, we will precede her and see what is taking place in the sick room. The large drops of sweat which stood upon Mr. Wilmot's high, white forehead, showed that the hour of dissolution was at hand. His mind was wandering, but still the burden of his soul was, "Julia, Julia, oh, will she not come?" Mr. Miller stood by him and endeavored as far as possible to quiet him, and once, during a lucid interval, he asked, "If Julia does not come, what shall I tell her when I see her?"Mr. Wilmot's eyes opened wide and for a moment he looked wistfully at his friend, and then said mournfully, "I cannot see you, Joseph, my vision has departed forever, and if Julia comes, I cannot now look on her loved features, but if I die ere she arrives, ask her if she wrote that letter."[pg 052]Just then there was a noise without, and the sound of horses' feet was heard coming up the graveled walk. Some one in the room whispered, "It must be Miss Middleton." The sound caught the dying man's ear and he wildly exclaimed, "Has she come? Oh! Has she come?" Fanny was now heard speaking in the hall. We have said that her voice was strangely like her sister's, so it was no wonder that Mr. Wilmot, in his feverish delirium, mistook it. Clasping his hands together, he exclaimed, "Thank God she has come! She has come!"The excitement was too much for him and for a few moments he was unconscious. When at last animation was restored, Fanny was hanging over his pillow, and Fanny's tears were upon his cheek; but he thought it was Julia, and drawing her to him, he imprinted a burning kiss upon her fair brow, saying, "God bless you for coming, precious Julia, I knew you would come; and now tell me, do you not love me as well as you always have?"Fanny was bewildered, and looked imploringly at Mr. Miller, who said, "Richard, do you think it is Julia who is standing by you now?" The sick man gave a startled look and almost shrieked out, "Julia? Yes, is it not Julia? Speak quick and tell me, isn't Julia here?" Mr. Miller's eyes filled with tears as he answered sadly, "No, Richard, Julia is not here; it is Fanny who has come." A deathly paleness passed over Mr. Wilmot's face and a paroxysm of delirium ensued more violent than any which had preceded it. At last it partially passed off and he became comparatively calm, but still persisted in thinking it was Julia whose hand he held in his and whose breath was upon his cheek. "Heaven bless you for coming, beloved one," he would say, "I knew you would come, and still the dreadful thought has haunted me, that you might be false, for that was a cruel letter; but you did not write it, did you?"Fanny answered through her tears, "No, Mr. Wilmot, I did not write it. It is Fanny who is speaking to you." But Mr. Wilmot understood only the first part of what she said, and continued, "I knew you did not, I am satisfied now to die; and yet 'tis hard to die when I am so young and so far from home, but it is sweet to know that I have your love to the last. When I am dead, you will tell them at home how I loved and prayed for them. My mother will weep bitterly for her son, who died so far away, but she does not love me as well as you do, does she, dearest?"Just then Dr. Lacey entered the room. He seemed surprised[pg 053]to see Fanny there, and to hear the words of endearment addressed to her by Mr. Wilmot, but Mr. Miller softly told him of the mistake. This seemed to satisfy him, but he anxiously noted every change of Fanny's countenance. At last Mr. Wilmot said, "If you did not write that letter, who did? Was it, could it have been your sister?""Oh, no! No!" said Fanny, "I did not write it.""I know you did not, dearest," said he; "you would not do such a thing, but who did? I cannot think it was Fanny, who was always so gentle, so guileless."Poor Fanny! She felt that her beloved teacher was dying with a suspicion of her innocence, and she wept most bitterly. At last a change passed over Mr. Wilmot's face, a change which showed that the last trying moment had come. It frequently occurs with dying persons that at the last their faculties are for a moment fully restored. So it was with Mr. Wilmot. A bright smile broke over his face and looking up at Mr. Miller, he said, "I thank my Heavenly Father I can see again. Now, where is Julia? I would look on her face once more.""I told you," said Mr. Miller, "that you were mistaken; it is not Julia.""Not Julia!" said Mr. Wilmot, again becoming delirious. "Not Julia! It cannot be true." Then drawing Fanny toward him he looked earnestly in her face. Slowly the bitter truth broke over his mind, and he said, "Yes, I was mistaken! But I bless you for coming; but Julia, my too dearly loved Julia—she is not here. Oh, if I can never see her in this world, shall I see her in heaven?"They were the last words he ever uttered. Falling back on his pillow, he drew Fanny's face to his, and with his last breath kissed her quivering lips, and all was over. Sadly Mr. Miller closed the eyes of his departed friend, and smoothing the covering about him, left him to the care of the servants. A few hours later, Fanny entered the room with Dr. Lacey, again to look on the face of Mr. Wilmot. The sun was just rising, and its first red rays fell upon the marble features of the dead. There was on his face an expression so calm and heavenly that Fanny held her breath while looking at him, lest she should disturb his peaceful repose. At length she kissed his cold forehead, and silently left the room which contained the pale sleeper.In the course of a few hours she returned home, bearing the sad tidings, which was received by her mother with a burst of tears; but Julia preserved the same indifference which had[pg 054]been manifested throughout all Mr. Wilmot's illness. Hard-hearted as she was, there came a time in after years when that proud head was bowed with grief, and those dark eyes were bedimmed by tears of penitence, which could not atone for the past; for they were of no avail to bring back the dead from their silent resting place.Chapter VIsunshine has two graves upon which to plant flowers[pg 055]Mr. Wilmot's death occurred on Tuesday morning, and the following Thursday was appointed for his burial. It was the 1st of September, and a bright, beautiful day; but its sunlight fell on many aching hearts, for though he who lay in his low coffin, so cold and still, was a "stranger in a strange land," there were many whose tears fell like summer rain for one who had thus early passed away. He had during his lifetime been a member of the Episcopal church, and his funeral services were to take place at Ascension Church.The house was filled to overflowing. Mr. Middleton, Mr. Miller, Dr. Lacey and Fanny occupied the front seat, as principal mourners for the deceased. Many searching eyes were bent on the fair young girl, whose white forehead gleamed from under the folds of her veil, and whose eyelids, wet with tears, drooped heavily upon her pale cheek. Madam Rumor had been busy with her thousand tongues, and the scene at the deathbed had been told and retold in twenty different forms, until at last it had become settled that on Fanny's part there was some secret attachment, or she never would have evinced so much interest in Mr. Wilmot. She, however, was ignorant of all this, and sat there wholly unconscious of the interest she was exciting.Julia was not there. She had again defied her mother's commands, and resisted all Fanny's entreaties, that she would go to the funeral."You ought to see Mr. Wilmot," said Fanny. "He looks so calm, so peaceful and," she added in a low voice, "so forgiving.""So forgiving!" quickly repeated Julia. "I wonder what he has to forgive. If I had continued to love him, 'twould not have saved his life."Fanny sighed and turned away from the hard-hearted girl,[pg 056]who was left alone with her thoughts during all the long hours of that day. But to do her justice, we must say, that after her mother and sister were gone, a feeling of sadness stole over her; her stony heart somewhat softened, and in the solitude of her chamber she wept for a long time; but whether for Mr. Wilmot's death, her own conduct toward him, or the circumstances which surrounded her, none can tell.Let us now return to Frankfort, and go back for a few moments in our story. Just as the funeral procession had left the house and was proceeding toward the church, the steamboat Diana, which plies between Cincinnati and Frankfort, appeared round a bend in the river. She was loaded with passengers, who were all on the lookout as they neared the landing place. Just at that moment the tolling bell rang out on the air. Its tones fell sadly on the ear of a tall, beautiful girl, who was impatiently pacing the deck, and looking anxiously in the direction of the city. The knell was repeated, and she murmured, "Oh, what if that should be for Richard!" The thought overpowered her, and sitting down on a seat near her she burst into tears."Can I do anything for you?" said the captain, who at that moment passed her."Nothing, except to land me in Frankfort as soon as possible," said the young lady, whom the reader will readily suppose was Kate Wilmot."Are you in a great hurry?" asked the captain."Yes, sir," returned Kate. "My brother is dangerously sick and I am anxious to get to him.""Where does your brother live?" asked the captain."He boards with Mrs. Williams, on Elm street," answered Kate."Then," said the captain, "if you will show me your baggage, I will see that it is sent there, for you probably will not wish to waste time in looking after it when we land."Kate thanked him for his kindness; and when they reached the shore the kind-hearted man called one of his boatmen and ordered him to show Miss Wilmot the way to Mrs. Williams' residence. As Kate approached the house she noticed the air of desertion about it, and her heart sank for fear her brother might be dead. Running hastily up the steps, she rang the bell, which was answered by a female domestic, who was too old and too infirm to attend the funeral. Kate accosted her by saying, "Does Mr. Wilmot live here?"The old lady replied by lifting up her hand and exclaiming, while the tears coursed their way down her cheeks, "Lord[pg 057]bless me if it isn't young marster's sister.""Yes, yes," said Kate impatiently, "I am his sister. But tell me, is he dead? Am I too late?"The woman replied, "Not too late to see him, if you're right spry. They've carried him to the church.""Where? What church is it?" asked Kate wildly."Right yender; that ar brick house with the tall steeple."Kate waited for no more, but darted off in the direction of the church. Meanwhile the services were ended, and the friends of the deceased were taking their last leave of him. Mrs. Middleton and Mr. Miller stood on one side of the coffin, while Dr. Lacey and Fanny were on the other. Fanny gazed long and earnestly upon the face of her teacher, as if she would stamp his likeness with daguerrean accuracy upon her heart.She was turning sadly away, when a noise at the door caused all eyes to be directed that way. A pale, lovely face was seen looking anxiously in, and then a slight female figure advanced through the crowd, which gave way for her to pass. She passed up the aisle till she reached the coffin, then bursting into a flood of tears, she wrung her hands, exclaiming, "My brother, oh my brother—are you indeed dead?" She then imprinted kiss after kiss upon the cold lips of him who never before disregarded her caresses; and as the full force of her loss came over her, she uttered a piercing cry of anguish, and fell fainting into the arms of Mr. Miller, who recognized in her beautiful features the original of the picture which Mr. Wilmot had shown him a few months before.He bore her out into the open air, where he was instantly surrounded by half a dozen ladies, each insisting that the fair stranger should be taken to her house. First among these was Mrs. Crane, who saw by a glance at Kate that her presence would not be derogatory to any house, so she determined to have her taken to her own dwelling, and urged her claim so hard that Mr. Miller at last consented, thinking that Mrs. Williams must be wearied with the recent illness of Mr. Wilmot.Accordingly, when Kate was again restored to consciousness, she found herself in an elegantly furnished room, with a gaily dressed, handsome lady sitting by her. This was Mrs. Carrington, whose delicate nerves would not suffer her to attend a funeral. On seeing Kate move, she spoke to her and asked her if she felt better."Yes, much better," said Kate; "but where am I? What has happened?" And then as the recollection of what had[pg 058]occurred came over her, she burst into tears and said, "My brother—they have buried him, I suppose, and I cannot see him again."Mrs. Carrington answered, "I think they have not gone to the cemetery yet. I will dispatch a servant and ask them to delay the burial a few moments, if you desire it."Kate thanked her; but at that moment a messenger came from Mr. Miller. He had anticipated Kate's wishes, and sent word that a carriage was waiting to convey her to the church, where she would have another opportunity of seeing her brother. Mrs. Carrington felt constrained to offer to accompany her, and the two proceeded to the church and thence to the cemetery.Although Mrs. Carrington had not visited Mr. Wilmot during his illness, she was by no means ignorant of Fanny's attentions. She had taken great pains to comment upon them in Dr. Lacey's presence, saying, "that she had often suspected Fanny of possessing a more than ordinary affection for Mr. Wilmot, and she had sometimes thought her affection returned. For her part, she did not blame Julia for absenting herself from him, for she had probably discovered his preference for her sister." Her object in doing this was to make Dr. Lacey think less favorably of Fanny, for with her practised eye she had discovered that for no other female did he feel such an interest as for "Little Fanny Middleton," as she always termed her.At the grave she noticed Fanny's pale face and swollen eyes, and found occasion to say to her, loud enough for Dr. Lacey to hear, "I am astonished, Fanny, to see you show to the world how much you loved your sister's betrothed."This remark had no effect upon Fanny, except causing her to look at Mrs. Carrington in surprise and to wonder what she meant. With Dr. Lacey it was different. Imperceptibly, "Little Fanny Middleton" had won a place in his heart which no other one had ever possessed. At first he admired her for her frank, confiding nature, and afterward he learned to love her for the many lovely traits of her character. He had thought it perfectly natural that she should feel a great interest in Mr. Wilmot, who was for so long a time a member of her father's family; but the wrong construction which was put upon her motives annoyed him, and even made him fearful that her heart might be more interested in Mr. Wilmot than he was willing to believe. As he stood by the open grave into which the cold earth was heavily falling, there rested upon his brow a deeper shade of sadness than was occasioned by the[pg 059]mere death of his friend. Mrs. Carrington observed it, and resolved to follow up the train of thought which she saw was awakened in his mind.After the burial Kate returned to Mrs. Crane's, where she was treated with every possible attention which politeness or sympathy could dictate. A few days after the funeral she one evening casually asked, if that fair, delicate-looking girl at her brother's grave were not Miss Middleton?"Yes," replied Mrs. Carrington. "Did you not think from her manner that she was a sincere mourner?"Kate was about to reply, when Dr. Lacey prevented her by saying, "Pardon me, Mrs. Carrington; but I think you have given Miss Wilmot a wrong impression. She doubtless thinks it was Miss Julia Middleton.""Yes," said Kate, "I thought it was Miss Julia."Dr. Lacey replied that it was Fanny—Julia's younger sister; and then he told how faithfully she had watched over Mr. Wilmot during his illness. Of Julia he said nothing, and although Kate wished very much to know something concerning her, she determined not to question Dr. Lacey, but to wait and ask Mr. Miller, who, for some reason, seemed nearer to her than any other one of the strangers by whom she was surrounded. He had been solicited to take charge of the school, which was now destitute of a teacher, and as the situation pleased him, he readily accepted the offer and accepted Mrs. Crane's as his boarding place. Perhaps one inducement which led him to do this was the presence of the beautiful Kate, in whom he daily became more interested.Years before, when but a boy in the boarding school at Canandaigua, he had often fancied that the time would come when he should both see and know the sister whom Richard Wilmot used to describe in such glowing terms. Since then another image had filled his heart and he had dreamed of another face—not so fair, perhaps, but quite as innocent. But now the dream was sadly over, and he had never thought of the gentle Fanny for a wife since that night when, as he supposed, he saw the dark side of her character. He, however, could not conquer his old partiality, and always spoke of her in the highest terms. Consequently, from his description of her, Kate received a very favorable impression.He said little of Julia; but told Kate that he would take her to Mr. Middleton's the first fine day. He wished to go there in order to induce Mrs. Middleton to send her daughters back to school. The next Saturday was fixed upon for the visit,[pg 060]and at an early hour Mr. Miller and Kate were on their way to Mr. Middleton's.Kate Wilmot was not only handsome, but was also very intelligent and agreeable, and by the time their ride was half-completed, Mr. Miller was more than half in love and was building air castles just as he had done months before when Fanny was mistress of them all.About noon they reached Mr. Middleton's, where they were received very kindly by Mrs. Middleton, very joyfully by Fanny, and very coldly by Julia, whose face always wore a darker frown whenever Mr. Miller was present; but he apparently did not notice it, and went on conversing upon different subjects. At last he asked when Mr. Middleton was expected home."I am expecting him every day," said Mrs. Middleton, "and," she added in a lower tone, "I almost dread to have him come, for I do not know that he has ever heard a word of Richard's illness and death.""Why, have you never written to him?" asked Mr. Miller."Yes," replied she; "but it is so uncertain as to what place he is in, or how long he will remain there, that it is doubtful whether he ever received the letter. We heard from him a few days ago. He was then in Indiana, and as he said nothing about Mr. Wilmot, I presume he has not heard of his death."Just as she had finished speaking, the dogs set up a great barking, and the negroes uttered the joyful cry of "Marster's come! Marster's come!" The family ran to the door to meet him; but Fanny could not wait for him to enter the house, neither could she stop to unfasten the gate, but clearing it with one bound, she was soon in the arms of her father, who uttered his usual, "Ha, ha," and said, "Well done, darling; you'll do for a cirkis rider. Are you glad to see your old pap?"The blacks then gathered round, and he shook hands with all, saying, "How d'ye, boys? How d'ye? Have you worked right smart since I've been gone? If you have, you may have a play spell the rest of the arternoon."So saying, he entered the house, where after greeting his wife, Julia and Mr. Miller, he was introduced to "Miss Wilmot." He took her hand and looking at her for a moment, said, "Wilmot, Wilmot! Are you Dick's sister?"Kate's eyes filled with tears as she exclaimed, "Yes, sir, Richard was my brother.""Richard was your brother! Great Moses! What does[pg 061]this mean? And you in black and crying!" Then looking at his wife, who was also in tears, he added impatiently, "What in thun—" but instantly recollecting himself, he said more gently, "Can't anybody tell me what has happened?" And the old man's cheek paled, and his voice trembled, as the dread of what might have happened stole over him.Fanny at last went up to him and said softly, "Father, Mr. Wilmot is dead!"Mr. Middleton sank into the nearest chair, and covering his rough face with his hands, wept as freely as a little child. He had loved Mr. Wilmot with almost a father's love, and during his absence had not been unmindful of him. Safely stowed away in his carpet bag were several costly books, which he had purchased as a present for Richard. He had also hoped that as Julia's husband he would have a good influence over her, and improve her fractious disposition; and many were the plans which he had formed as to what he would do when Richard was really his son. But now he was gone forever. The blow was so sudden, so unexpected, that for several minutes he was stunned by its force and wept on in silence.At last, lifting up his head, he turned to Kate and said, "You must not think me a silly old fool, child, for Lord knows old Josh Middleton hain't shed such tears since he was a little shaver and cried when they buried up his dead mother."Kate could not reply, but from that time she felt for Mr. Middleton a respect and esteem which nothing could ever change.After Mr. Middleton had become calm, he proceeded to enumerate to Mr. Miller the many good qualities of Mr. Wilmot. Said he, "He was a capital feller; allus just so. Lively as a cricket; none of your stuck-up, fiddle-faddle notions. And then he was such a good boarder—not a bit particular what he eat; why, he was the greatest kind of a man—eat corn bread, turnip greens, or anything!"At this speech Kate smiled in spite of her tears, and Mr. Middleton went on: "But he warn't as handsome as his sister, and I'll be skinned if I ever seen anybody that was. Tempest can't hold a candle to her, for all she feels so crank. Why, Kit, or Kate, what's yer name? You're as handsome as a pictur!"Mr. Miller probably thought so too, if the admiring look which he gave her was any criterion. Mr. Middleton observed it, and forgetting for a moment the death of his friend, he slapped Mr. Miller on his shoulder, saying, "I tell you what, my boy; it's a mighty mean wind that blows nobody[pg 062]any good fortin. Miss Kate warn't sent to Kentuck for nothin', and unless you're a bigger logger-head than I think you be, you'll try to find out what she come for, and how long she's goin' to stay."Mr. Miller smiled and said, "I hope we shall be able to keep Miss Wilmot all winter, for the people of Frankfort are wanting a music teacher, and have solicited her to remain in that capacity.""By Jove," said Mr. Middleton, "that's just the thing! And you have taken Dick's place in school—poor, boy, to die so soon!" The tears were again moistening his immense beard, but this time he hastily brushed them away, and went on, "Yes, that's a capital idee, and you want me to patternize you by sending my two gals—hey? Well, I reckon I can't do better, if they want to go. Ho! Tempest—Sunshine—what d'ye say? D'ye want to go back to Frankfort and board at Miss Crane's, 'long of Mr. Miller, Dr. Lacey, Katy did, and that other infernal Katy didn't, what fainted spang away at the sight of old Josh! But though she was so dreadfully skeered, the pooty color didn't leave her cheeks an atom. Lightnin' spikes! Let me catch my gals paintin' and I'll—"But he was prevented from telling what he'd do by Fanny, who clapped her hands and said, "Oh, father, you are a dear good man; may we really go?""I thought Fanny would be pleased with the idea," said Mr. Miller, "and even if she had objected, I was going to send the doctor out, and I know he would bring her to terms."Fanny blushed and her father said, "Do you think so? Well, I'm glad on't. I'd as soon she'd have him as anybody, and she's worthy of him too, for if she can love such a hideous old clown as I am, she'll stick to such a nice man as Dr. Lacey through thick and thin. But what do you say to goin', Tempest?"Julia had at first thought that nothing could induce her to become a pupil of Mr. Miller, but his allusion to Dr. Lacey decided her otherwise. It was necessary that she should go, for she did not dare trust her sister alone with the doctor; so she swallowed her dislike to Mr. Miller, and said she should be delighted to return to school.It was settled that they should go during the next week.This arrangement gave great pleasure to Dr. Lacey, who found it very lonely in Frankfort without Fanny, and had several times spoken of returning to New Orleans. But when he learned that Fanny was coming back, he suddenly changed[pg 063]his mind and concluded that Frankfort would be a charming winter residence. This was laughingly told to Fanny by Kate, who had learned to love her very much. Julia she disliked, for she had at last drawn from Mr. Miller the whole history of her proceedings, and she could but look upon the false-hearted girl as accessory to her brother's death.Julia knew that by the fair Northern beauty she was secretly despised, but she did not care, for she had conceived a great friendship for Mrs. Carrington, whom she often amused with her remarks about New York people. Once she said, "I do wish New York would die, or stop taking emetics, and sending the contents of her bilious stomach to Kentucky in the shape of teachers!"Mrs. Carrington smiled and said, "I think you prefer Louisiana emetics, do you not?"Julia blushed as she answered, "Yes, but what can I do. There's Mr. Miller ready to back up whatever Fanny does, and put down whatever I do. I'd thank him to mind his own business, and stay at his own home!"Mrs. Carrington did not reply, for she, too, was greatly annoyed by the presence of Mr. Miller and Kate. The latter she looked upon as a rival, for she was said by every one to have the most beautiful face in Frankfort. This greatly displeased Mrs. Carrington, who, before Kate's arrival, had been considered the belle of the town, so far as beauty was concerned. She also felt great contempt for Kate's occupation as a teacher, and said, "She didn't see why folks should make such an ado over a poor music teacher."Once, in speaking on the subject to Dr. Lacey, she said, "I am glad I was not born in New York, for then I should have been obliged to pick up chips, split wood, dig potatoes, wash dishes and teach school!"Dr. Lacey's reply to this remark was, "I think, Mrs. Carrington, you will admit that the young ladies who come here from the North almost always possess superior education. Now if they spent much time in splitting wood and digging potatoes, I am sure they could not acquire so much knowledge."Mrs. Carrington answered, "Of course you feel interested in New Yorkers, for Fanny has taken a great fancy to them, and whatever she likes you must like, of course.""Yes, I know Fanny likes our New York friends very much," said Dr. Lacey. "And I think you will allow that she shows good taste in the choice of her associates.""Oh, yes, admirable," returned Mrs. Carrington, "almost as[pg 064]good taste as some of my acquaintance show in preferring her.""What do you mean?" asked Dr. Lacey."Why, I mean," said Mrs. Carrington, "that I am puzzled to know what attraction such a simple-minded girl as Fanny can have for a person of your intelligence."Dr. Lacey bit his lip, but forcing down his anger said, "She possesses the same attraction which every guileless, innocent person has.""Guileless and innocent," repeated Mrs. Carrington; "rather call her artful and designing. Depend upon it, doctor, you have only seen the bright side of her disposition. You should see her in her room, and know how much trouble her sister has with her!"She might have said more, but Dr. Lacey stopped her by saying rather warmly, "Mrs. Carrington, you shall not talk so about Fanny. I know you do not like her, and consequently, whatever you can say of her will have no effect upon me."So saying, he quitted the apartment, leaving Mrs. Carrington to her own reflections. They were not very pleasant, for Dr. Lacey's manner had said as plainly as words could say that she had better mind her own business, and she began to think so herself, for she muttered, "After all, what is it to me if he does like Fanny? I am bound fast, but oh, if I were free, I'd compass heaven and earth to secure him." Her wish to be free was soon realized.That afternoon, when the Sea Gull came up from Louisville, it brought home her husband, wearied, worn out and sick. He took his bed, and never left his room again until strong men carried him out and laid him down to sleep in the silent graveyard. The close of his life was calm and peaceful, for he had early chosen the better part, and he looked upon the grave as but a stepping stone from earth to heaven.His life was a dreary pilgrimage, for though he possessed for his young, giddy wife, a strong, ardent affection, he had long known that it was not returned, and he felt that she would be happier if he were dead. She, however, paid him as much attention during his illness as the gay life she led would allow; but she was often away, and night after night was he left alone with his Bible and his God, while she was in the midst of some fashionable amusement. Her neglect was, however, partly made up to him by the kind care of Fanny, who gave him all the time she could possibly spare from her school duties. Mrs. Carrington found it very convenient[pg 065]to call upon her, whenever she wished to be absent, and hour after hour the fair young girl sat by the sick man's bedside, employed either with her needle, her books or drawing. Mr. Carrington was a fine scholar and gave her much assistance in her studies.When he grew too weak to read, she would read to him from the Bible, stopping occasionally, while he explained some obscure passage, or endeavored to impress on her mind some solemn truth. Thus were the seeds of righteousness sown, which afterward sprang up and bore fruit unto everlasting life.At last the chilling dews came upon his head, his eye grew dim with the mists of death, and then he laid his cold, white hand on Fanny's head and prayed most earnestly that heaven's choicest blessings, both here and hereafter, might descend upon one who had so kindly smoothed his dark pathway down to the valley of death. A few words of affectionate farewell to his wife and he was gone. His crushed, aching heart had ceased to beat and in a few days the green sod was growing above his early grave.Fanny begged so earnestly to have him buried by the side of Mr. Wilmot that Mrs. Carrington finally consented, and the two, who had never seen each other on earth, now lay peacefully side by side. When the springtime came, the same fair hands planted flowers over the graves of her brothers, as she loved to call the two men, each of whom had blessed her with his dying breath. Thither would she often go with Dr. Lacey, who was each day learning to love her more and more.Mrs. Carrington contented herself with having a few hysterical fits, shedding a few tears, dressing herself in an expensive suit of mourning, and erecting to the memory of her husband a magnificent monument. When Mr. Middleton saw the latter, he said, "Why the plague can't Dick have as good a gravestun as that young lieutenant? He desarves it jest as much"; so out came his purse, and when Mrs. Carrington went next to visit the costly marble at her husband's grave, she was chagrined to see by its side a still more splendid one. But there was no help for it, so she had to endure it in silence, consoling herself with thinking how becomingly she would dress and how many conquests she would make, when the term of her mourning should have expired!

Chapter Vthe fatal letter[pg 044]Julia and Fanny had been gone from home about four weeks when Mr. Middleton suddenly determined "to go and see his gals" and bring them home. Accordingly he "fixed up right smart," as he thought, which meant that he took off his beard and put on "a bran new pair of jeens." He preferred driving his own carriage, so he set off alone for Frankfort.It was Friday morning, and as his daughters were in school, he stalked into Mrs. Crane's parlor to wait for them. Spying the piano, he sat down to it, and commenced producing a series of unearthly sounds, not altogether unlike the fashionable music of the present day. Mrs. Carrington chanced to be crossing the hall and, hearing the noise from the parlor, looked in. As her eye fell upon the strange-looking, giant form of Mr. Middleton, she uttered a very delicate scream, and as she just then saw Dr. Lacey entering the house, she staggered back a few paces, and tried to faint very gracefully. But the doctor caught her in his arms just in time to restore her to consciousness!Mr. Middleton now came toward them, exclaiming, "Lightning guns! What's to pay now? Skeered at me, are you, madam or miss, whichever you be? I won't hurt a har of your soft skull!""Ugh-u-u!" said Mrs. Carrington, shrinking from him in disgust, as he advanced toward her, and laid his large hand on her head, "just to see," as he said, "if she were made of anything besides jewelry, curls and paint."At this allusion to her brilliant color, Mrs. Carrington relieved Dr. Lacey from the delightful duty of supporting her, and disappeared up the stairs, saying in no very gentle tones, "What an old brute!""Fire away thar," called our Mr. Middleton. "I am an old brute, I suppose.""But your right name is Mr. Middleton, I conclude," said Dr. Lacey.[pg 045]Mr. Middleton started and answered, "How d'ye know that? Just as you'd know his satanic majesty, if he should appear to you?""Something upon that principle," said Dr. Lacey, laughing, "but," he continued, "I am glad to see you, Mr. Middleton. I suppose you have come to visit your daughters.""Yes, and to take them home and let their mother and the rest of the blacks see them," answered Mr. Middleton; then after a pause he added, "They'll be right glad to see me, I reckon, or at least Sunshine will.""Who is Sunshine?" asked Dr. Lacey."Well, now," said Mr. Middleton, "here you've lived with 'em four weeks and don't know that I call one Tempest and t'other Sunshine, and if you've any wit, you'll know which is Sunshine."Just then a voice was heard to exclaim, "There, I told you father was here. I hear him now talking about Sunshine," and Fanny rushed in, and throwing her arms around her father's neck, kissed again and again his rough cheek, while he suddenly felt the need of his red and yellow cotton handkerchief, and muttered something about the "roads" being so infernal dusty that they made a fellow's eyes smart!Then turning to Julia, who still stood in the door, he said, "Come, Tempest, none of your pranks! Come here and shake your old pap's paw. You needn't be afeared of this young spark, for he knows I'm your pap, and he hain't laughed at me neither." So Julia advanced and shook her father's hand with a tolerably good grace."I'm come for you to go home and see the folks," said Mr. Middleton; "so you pick up your duds—and mind not to take a cussed bandbox—and after dinner we'll start for home.""It wants an hour of dinner time," said Julia, "and as we are not hungry, we can start in a few moments, if you like.""Fury-ation," said Mr. Middleton, "I wonder if we can. Well, start on then afoot, if you're in such a hurry. I shan't budge an inch till I've had my dinner; besides, I want to see Mr. Wilmot."Julia saw that she must submit to the mortification of seeing her father at Mrs. Crane's dinner table, and with a beating heart she heard the bell summon them to the dining room. Mrs. Carrington did not appear—her nerves had received too great a shock—and for that Julia was thankful. Dr. Lacey sat by her father and paid him every possible attention."Will you take soup, Mr. Middleton?" asked Mrs. Crane."What kind of soup? Beef soup, or mud turkle?"[pg 046]"It is vermicelli," said Mrs. Crane, hardly able to keep her face straight."Vermifuge—vermifuge," repeated Mr. Middleton. "That's almighty queer stuff to make soup on. No. I'm 'bleeged to you; I ain't in need of that ar medicine."Julia reddened, while Fanny burst into a laugh and said, "Father isn't much used to French soups, I think.""Use your napkin, father," softly whispered Julia."What shall I use that for?" said he. "My trousers are all tobacco spit now, and grease won't hurt 'em any now. Halloo! Here waiter, bring me a decent fork, for Lord knows I can't eat with this here shovel and if I take my fingers Tempest'll raise a row de dow."The servant looked at his mistress, who said, "Samuel, bring Mr. Middleton a steel fork."When the dessert was brought in Mr. Middleton again exclaimed, as he took his plate of pudding, "Now what can this be?""It is tapioca pudding," said Mrs. Crane."Tap-an-oakky," returned Mr. Middleton. "Well, if you don't have the queerest things to eat! You ought to come to my house. We don't have any your chicken fixin's nor little three-cornered hankerchers laid out at each plate."At last, to Julia's great relief, dinner was over, and she got her father started for home. Suddenly Mr. Middleton exclaimed, "That ar doctor is a mighty fine chap. Why don't you set your cap for him, Sunshine?""It would be of no use, father," answered Fanny."Wall, if I'm not mistaken, he's laid his snare for a bird, and I don't care how soon you fall into it, darling," said Mr. Middleton."How ridiculous!" exclaimed Julia."Ho now, jealous, are you, Tempest?" said her father. "What in thunder do you think he'll want of you, who are engaged to Mr. Wilmot?"This was a truth which had troubled Julia, and she greatly regretted her engagement, for she well knew Dr. Lacey never would think of her as long as he thought she belonged to another. She had watched with a jealous eye the growing intimacy between him and Fanny, and resolved to leave no means untried to prevent a union between them, and to secure the doctor for herself. To do this she knew she must break her engagement with Mr. Wilmot, and also give Dr. Lacey a bad opinion of her sister. She felt sure of success, for when did she undertake anything and fail? Sinful girl![pg 047]She was freed from her engagement in a way she little dreamed of.Four weeks from the time of her first visit home, word came that Mr. Wilmot was sick and would not be able to teach that day. He had been unwell for several days, and next morning it was announced that he had the typhoid fever. Fanny's first impulse was to go and see him, but Julia prevented her by saying that he would send for her when he wanted her.That evening Dr. Lacey told Julia that Mr. Wilmot had expressed a wish to see her. She went rather unwillingly, and something in her manner must have betrayed it, for he seemed troubled, and regarded her with an anxious look. She however manifested no affection, and but very little interest for him, and inwardly resolved that when she came again her sister should accompany her. That night he grew worse, and as there was of course no school, Julia hired some one to take herself and sister home. Earnestly did Fanny entreat her to remain and watch over Mr. Wilmot."I shall do no such thing," said Julia. "It would not be proper, and I should be talked about.""Well, then," said Fanny, "I shall stay till mother sends for me. I do not care if I am talked about."This rather pleased Julia, who said, "Well, you can stay if you like. I dare say you care more for him than I do, and you can tell him so, if you please.""Oh, Julia," said Fanny, "what has changed you so toward Mr. Wilmot?""Nothing in particular," replied Julia. "I never liked him very much."So Julia started for home, while Fanny took her station by the bedside of her beloved teacher. When Julia reached home, she found that her father had left the day before for Missouri. He owned land there, and as he had gone to make some improvements on it, he would probably be absent two months. Julia carelessly told her mother of Mr. Wilmot's illness, and that Fanny had stayed to watch him. When Mrs. Middleton heard this, her maternal fears were roused lest her daughter should take the fever, and in a few days she went herself to Frankfort to bring Fanny home.She found Mr. Wilmot very ill, but not as yet dangerously so, and after staying a day, she announced her intention of taking Fanny home."Why not leave her?" said Dr. Lacey. "She seems peculiarly adapted to a sick room, and will do him more good than a dozen physicians."[pg 048]"Yes, let her stay," said Mr. Wilmot, and drawing Mrs. Middleton closely to him, he whispered, "Tell Julia to come to me, will you?"Mrs. Middleton promised that she would, but persisted in taking Fanny. When Mr. Wilmot's message was given to Julia, she said, "No, indeed, I'll not go. I could do him no good."Ike was sent to Frankfort every day to inquire after Mr. Wilmot, and see if anything was wanted, and each night Fanny waited anxiously for his return. As soon as she saw him enter the wood, she would run to him, and inquire for Mr. Wilmot. Julia, however, manifested no anxiety whatever. She would not have acknowledged that she hoped he would die, and yet each time that she heard he was better her spirits sank, for fear he would yet live. At last Ike brought to Fanny the joyful intelligence that the crisis was passed, and Mr. Wilmot was out of danger.That night, in the solitude of her chamber, Julia communed with herself as follows: "And so he'll live after all. Well, I may as well let him know at once that I will not marry him." So saying, she opened her portfolio, and wrote the following note:"Mr. Wilmot:"Sir—When I became engaged to you I was very young and am still so; consequently, you will hardly be surprised when you learn that I have changed my mind and wish to have our engagement dissolved."Yours truly, as a friend,"Julia Middleton."Ike did not go to Frankfort again for two or three days, but when he did, he was the bearer of this heartless note. Mr. Wilmot was indeed better and when he heard Ike was in the house he expressed a desire to see him, as he wished to send some word to Julia. When Ike was ushered into the sick room, he immediately handed his young mistress' letter to Mr. Wilmot, who eagerly took it, for he recognized the handwriting of his idol. Hastily breaking the seal, he read twice the cruel lines before he was convinced that he read aright; then the paleness on his cheek grew paler, and was succeeded by a deep flush.When Ike asked what he should tell the folks at home, Mr. Wilmot's voice was husky as he answered, "Nothing, Ike, tell them nothing." Ike was alarmed at the change which had come over his young master, and called for assistance.From that time Mr. Wilmot hourly grew worse. Mrs.[pg 049]Middleton was sent for, and a telegram was forwarded to his friends in New York, bidding them come soon if they would see him alive. Mr. Miller, who was teaching in a distant part of the country, dismissed his school to attend his dying friend. It was heartrending to hear Mr. Wilmot in his delirium, call for Julia to come to him—to let him look on her face once more before he died. Then he would fancy himself at home and would describe Julia to his sister in all the passionate fervor of a devoted lover; then he would think it was Julia who was sick, and would beg of those around him to save her, and not let his loved one die. At last Mrs. Middleton could bear his pleadings no longer. She resolved to go home and persuade her hard-hearted daughter, if possible, to go to the dying man.Just before she was ready to leave, consciousness returned to him for a few moments, and calling her to his bedside, he asked her where she was going. On being told he replied, "Mrs. Middleton, I am dying. When you return I shall not be in this world; but I know that my Redeemer liveth, and I am not afraid to die, for I feel assured of rest beyond the grave; but there is one thing I would have. Ere I go hence I would see Julia once more. I have loved her perhaps too well, and for this I must die. Tell, oh tell her, how I missed her when the fever scorched my brow, and bid her hasten to me ere it be too late! But if she will not come, give her my blessing, and tell her my last prayer was for her, and that in Heaven she will be mine."With many tears Mrs. Middleton promised him that every word of his message should be delivered to Julia, and that she should come to him. On reaching home her swollen eyelids attracted Fanny's attention, and excited her fear. Springing up, she exclaimed, "Mother, mother, how is Mr. Wilmot? Is he dead?""No," answered her mother, "he is not dead, but is dying."Then she repeated to Julia his request, and added, "You had better go immediately, if you wish to see him alive, for he cannot live until morning. Fanny will call Ike to go with you."Fanny arose to do her mother's bidding, but Julia stopped her by saying, "You needn't trouble yourself to call him, Fanny.""Why not?" said Fanny, looking wonderingly in Julia's face."Because I am not going," said Julia coolly."Not going!" exclaimed Fanny.[pg 050]"Not going!" echoed Mrs. Middleton. "Why do you say so? You are going, you must go!""There is no must about it," answered Julia; "I do not choose to go, and I shall not go!""Are you in earnest, Julia?" asked Mrs. Middleton."As much in earnest as I ever was in my life," replied Julia."Well, then," returned the mother in a decided tone, "you shall go; I command you to go, and I must be obeyed!""I'd like to see your commands enforced, Madam," said Julia, her beautiful face dark with rage. "Yes, I'd like to see anybody make me go if I did not wish to. Mr. Wilmot is nothing to me, and I would hardly go to save his life.""Oh, Julia, Julia!" said Mrs. Middleton bitterly, "has it come to this? I can see it all now!""What all can you see so distinctly?" asked Julia scornfully."I can understand what part you have had in causing Mr. Wilmot's death," answered Mrs. Middleton.Julia turned ashy pale, and her mother continued—"Often in his ravings he spoke of a letter, a cruel letter he called it, and I heard it hinted that it was the receipt of that letter which brought on a relapse. Now you will tell me whether you wrote that letter, and if so, what were its contents?""I wonder how I'm expected to know what letter you mean," said Julia. "However, I did write to him and ask to be released from my engagement, and I had my reasons for so doing."Mrs. Middleton sighed and said, "It is as I feared; on you, Julia, rests in a measure the cause of his death.""Better call me a murderer at once. But I'll not stay for more abuse," said Julia, as she left the room.When she was gone Mrs. Middleton buried her face in her hands, and sent forth sob after sob from her crushed heart—crushed by the sinfulness and mocking disobedience of her first born. While she was still weeping, Fanny stole softly from the apartment and went in quest of her sister. She found her, as she had expected, in her room, and going up to her threw her arms around her neck, and plead long and earnestly that she would go to Mr. Wilmot. But Julia's answer was ever the same, "No, I will not.""And why will you not?" asked Fanny."Because," replied Julia, "Mr. Wilmot is nothing to me, and there is no reason why I should go to him, more than to any other lovesick youth who takes a fancy to send for me. You would not feel obliged to run if Bill Jeffrey should have the measles and send for you."[pg 051]"Oh, stop, stop," said Fanny, "you shall not liken Bill Jeffrey to Mr. Wilmot, who is so good, so noble. You loved him once, and for the sake of that love go to him now; it can do you no harm.""It would seriously affect my plans for the future; and once for all, I tell you I will not go," replied Julia."Then I will," said Fanny, "and show him that I, at least, have not forgotten him."This idea pleased Julia, and she answered, "I wish you would, for your presence will do as much good as mine."Fanny hastily ran down stairs and, going to her mother, said, "Mother, Julia will not go, but I will. I should like to very much. Will you let me?"Mrs. Middleton was too much engrossed in her painful thoughts to give much heed to what Fanny said. She only knew that she wished her to consent to something, and she mechanically answered, "Yes, yes, go." It was then after sunset, and as the sky had all day been cloudy, darkness was fast gathering over the earth, but Fanny heeded it not. She bade Ike make haste, and in a few moments her favorite pony was saddled. Ike's horse was then got in readiness, and they were soon galloping off in the direction of Frankfort. 'Twas a long ride of twelve miles and the darkness increased every moment, while a steady, drizzling rain commenced falling. Still Fanny kept perseveringly on, occasionally speaking an encouraging word to Ike, who pulled his old cap closely over his ears and muttered, "Lord bless young miss. Seems like 'twas her was done promised to young marster, a puttin' out this desput night to see him."But Fanny kept her thoughts to herself, and while she is making her way to Frankfort, we will precede her and see what is taking place in the sick room. The large drops of sweat which stood upon Mr. Wilmot's high, white forehead, showed that the hour of dissolution was at hand. His mind was wandering, but still the burden of his soul was, "Julia, Julia, oh, will she not come?" Mr. Miller stood by him and endeavored as far as possible to quiet him, and once, during a lucid interval, he asked, "If Julia does not come, what shall I tell her when I see her?"Mr. Wilmot's eyes opened wide and for a moment he looked wistfully at his friend, and then said mournfully, "I cannot see you, Joseph, my vision has departed forever, and if Julia comes, I cannot now look on her loved features, but if I die ere she arrives, ask her if she wrote that letter."[pg 052]Just then there was a noise without, and the sound of horses' feet was heard coming up the graveled walk. Some one in the room whispered, "It must be Miss Middleton." The sound caught the dying man's ear and he wildly exclaimed, "Has she come? Oh! Has she come?" Fanny was now heard speaking in the hall. We have said that her voice was strangely like her sister's, so it was no wonder that Mr. Wilmot, in his feverish delirium, mistook it. Clasping his hands together, he exclaimed, "Thank God she has come! She has come!"The excitement was too much for him and for a few moments he was unconscious. When at last animation was restored, Fanny was hanging over his pillow, and Fanny's tears were upon his cheek; but he thought it was Julia, and drawing her to him, he imprinted a burning kiss upon her fair brow, saying, "God bless you for coming, precious Julia, I knew you would come; and now tell me, do you not love me as well as you always have?"Fanny was bewildered, and looked imploringly at Mr. Miller, who said, "Richard, do you think it is Julia who is standing by you now?" The sick man gave a startled look and almost shrieked out, "Julia? Yes, is it not Julia? Speak quick and tell me, isn't Julia here?" Mr. Miller's eyes filled with tears as he answered sadly, "No, Richard, Julia is not here; it is Fanny who has come." A deathly paleness passed over Mr. Wilmot's face and a paroxysm of delirium ensued more violent than any which had preceded it. At last it partially passed off and he became comparatively calm, but still persisted in thinking it was Julia whose hand he held in his and whose breath was upon his cheek. "Heaven bless you for coming, beloved one," he would say, "I knew you would come, and still the dreadful thought has haunted me, that you might be false, for that was a cruel letter; but you did not write it, did you?"Fanny answered through her tears, "No, Mr. Wilmot, I did not write it. It is Fanny who is speaking to you." But Mr. Wilmot understood only the first part of what she said, and continued, "I knew you did not, I am satisfied now to die; and yet 'tis hard to die when I am so young and so far from home, but it is sweet to know that I have your love to the last. When I am dead, you will tell them at home how I loved and prayed for them. My mother will weep bitterly for her son, who died so far away, but she does not love me as well as you do, does she, dearest?"Just then Dr. Lacey entered the room. He seemed surprised[pg 053]to see Fanny there, and to hear the words of endearment addressed to her by Mr. Wilmot, but Mr. Miller softly told him of the mistake. This seemed to satisfy him, but he anxiously noted every change of Fanny's countenance. At last Mr. Wilmot said, "If you did not write that letter, who did? Was it, could it have been your sister?""Oh, no! No!" said Fanny, "I did not write it.""I know you did not, dearest," said he; "you would not do such a thing, but who did? I cannot think it was Fanny, who was always so gentle, so guileless."Poor Fanny! She felt that her beloved teacher was dying with a suspicion of her innocence, and she wept most bitterly. At last a change passed over Mr. Wilmot's face, a change which showed that the last trying moment had come. It frequently occurs with dying persons that at the last their faculties are for a moment fully restored. So it was with Mr. Wilmot. A bright smile broke over his face and looking up at Mr. Miller, he said, "I thank my Heavenly Father I can see again. Now, where is Julia? I would look on her face once more.""I told you," said Mr. Miller, "that you were mistaken; it is not Julia.""Not Julia!" said Mr. Wilmot, again becoming delirious. "Not Julia! It cannot be true." Then drawing Fanny toward him he looked earnestly in her face. Slowly the bitter truth broke over his mind, and he said, "Yes, I was mistaken! But I bless you for coming; but Julia, my too dearly loved Julia—she is not here. Oh, if I can never see her in this world, shall I see her in heaven?"They were the last words he ever uttered. Falling back on his pillow, he drew Fanny's face to his, and with his last breath kissed her quivering lips, and all was over. Sadly Mr. Miller closed the eyes of his departed friend, and smoothing the covering about him, left him to the care of the servants. A few hours later, Fanny entered the room with Dr. Lacey, again to look on the face of Mr. Wilmot. The sun was just rising, and its first red rays fell upon the marble features of the dead. There was on his face an expression so calm and heavenly that Fanny held her breath while looking at him, lest she should disturb his peaceful repose. At length she kissed his cold forehead, and silently left the room which contained the pale sleeper.In the course of a few hours she returned home, bearing the sad tidings, which was received by her mother with a burst of tears; but Julia preserved the same indifference which had[pg 054]been manifested throughout all Mr. Wilmot's illness. Hard-hearted as she was, there came a time in after years when that proud head was bowed with grief, and those dark eyes were bedimmed by tears of penitence, which could not atone for the past; for they were of no avail to bring back the dead from their silent resting place.

[pg 044]Julia and Fanny had been gone from home about four weeks when Mr. Middleton suddenly determined "to go and see his gals" and bring them home. Accordingly he "fixed up right smart," as he thought, which meant that he took off his beard and put on "a bran new pair of jeens." He preferred driving his own carriage, so he set off alone for Frankfort.

It was Friday morning, and as his daughters were in school, he stalked into Mrs. Crane's parlor to wait for them. Spying the piano, he sat down to it, and commenced producing a series of unearthly sounds, not altogether unlike the fashionable music of the present day. Mrs. Carrington chanced to be crossing the hall and, hearing the noise from the parlor, looked in. As her eye fell upon the strange-looking, giant form of Mr. Middleton, she uttered a very delicate scream, and as she just then saw Dr. Lacey entering the house, she staggered back a few paces, and tried to faint very gracefully. But the doctor caught her in his arms just in time to restore her to consciousness!

Mr. Middleton now came toward them, exclaiming, "Lightning guns! What's to pay now? Skeered at me, are you, madam or miss, whichever you be? I won't hurt a har of your soft skull!"

"Ugh-u-u!" said Mrs. Carrington, shrinking from him in disgust, as he advanced toward her, and laid his large hand on her head, "just to see," as he said, "if she were made of anything besides jewelry, curls and paint."

At this allusion to her brilliant color, Mrs. Carrington relieved Dr. Lacey from the delightful duty of supporting her, and disappeared up the stairs, saying in no very gentle tones, "What an old brute!"

"Fire away thar," called our Mr. Middleton. "I am an old brute, I suppose."

"But your right name is Mr. Middleton, I conclude," said Dr. Lacey.

[pg 045]Mr. Middleton started and answered, "How d'ye know that? Just as you'd know his satanic majesty, if he should appear to you?"

"Something upon that principle," said Dr. Lacey, laughing, "but," he continued, "I am glad to see you, Mr. Middleton. I suppose you have come to visit your daughters."

"Yes, and to take them home and let their mother and the rest of the blacks see them," answered Mr. Middleton; then after a pause he added, "They'll be right glad to see me, I reckon, or at least Sunshine will."

"Who is Sunshine?" asked Dr. Lacey.

"Well, now," said Mr. Middleton, "here you've lived with 'em four weeks and don't know that I call one Tempest and t'other Sunshine, and if you've any wit, you'll know which is Sunshine."

Just then a voice was heard to exclaim, "There, I told you father was here. I hear him now talking about Sunshine," and Fanny rushed in, and throwing her arms around her father's neck, kissed again and again his rough cheek, while he suddenly felt the need of his red and yellow cotton handkerchief, and muttered something about the "roads" being so infernal dusty that they made a fellow's eyes smart!

Then turning to Julia, who still stood in the door, he said, "Come, Tempest, none of your pranks! Come here and shake your old pap's paw. You needn't be afeared of this young spark, for he knows I'm your pap, and he hain't laughed at me neither." So Julia advanced and shook her father's hand with a tolerably good grace.

"I'm come for you to go home and see the folks," said Mr. Middleton; "so you pick up your duds—and mind not to take a cussed bandbox—and after dinner we'll start for home."

"It wants an hour of dinner time," said Julia, "and as we are not hungry, we can start in a few moments, if you like."

"Fury-ation," said Mr. Middleton, "I wonder if we can. Well, start on then afoot, if you're in such a hurry. I shan't budge an inch till I've had my dinner; besides, I want to see Mr. Wilmot."

Julia saw that she must submit to the mortification of seeing her father at Mrs. Crane's dinner table, and with a beating heart she heard the bell summon them to the dining room. Mrs. Carrington did not appear—her nerves had received too great a shock—and for that Julia was thankful. Dr. Lacey sat by her father and paid him every possible attention.

"Will you take soup, Mr. Middleton?" asked Mrs. Crane.

"What kind of soup? Beef soup, or mud turkle?"

[pg 046]"It is vermicelli," said Mrs. Crane, hardly able to keep her face straight.

"Vermifuge—vermifuge," repeated Mr. Middleton. "That's almighty queer stuff to make soup on. No. I'm 'bleeged to you; I ain't in need of that ar medicine."

Julia reddened, while Fanny burst into a laugh and said, "Father isn't much used to French soups, I think."

"Use your napkin, father," softly whispered Julia.

"What shall I use that for?" said he. "My trousers are all tobacco spit now, and grease won't hurt 'em any now. Halloo! Here waiter, bring me a decent fork, for Lord knows I can't eat with this here shovel and if I take my fingers Tempest'll raise a row de dow."

The servant looked at his mistress, who said, "Samuel, bring Mr. Middleton a steel fork."

When the dessert was brought in Mr. Middleton again exclaimed, as he took his plate of pudding, "Now what can this be?"

"It is tapioca pudding," said Mrs. Crane.

"Tap-an-oakky," returned Mr. Middleton. "Well, if you don't have the queerest things to eat! You ought to come to my house. We don't have any your chicken fixin's nor little three-cornered hankerchers laid out at each plate."

At last, to Julia's great relief, dinner was over, and she got her father started for home. Suddenly Mr. Middleton exclaimed, "That ar doctor is a mighty fine chap. Why don't you set your cap for him, Sunshine?"

"It would be of no use, father," answered Fanny.

"Wall, if I'm not mistaken, he's laid his snare for a bird, and I don't care how soon you fall into it, darling," said Mr. Middleton.

"How ridiculous!" exclaimed Julia.

"Ho now, jealous, are you, Tempest?" said her father. "What in thunder do you think he'll want of you, who are engaged to Mr. Wilmot?"

This was a truth which had troubled Julia, and she greatly regretted her engagement, for she well knew Dr. Lacey never would think of her as long as he thought she belonged to another. She had watched with a jealous eye the growing intimacy between him and Fanny, and resolved to leave no means untried to prevent a union between them, and to secure the doctor for herself. To do this she knew she must break her engagement with Mr. Wilmot, and also give Dr. Lacey a bad opinion of her sister. She felt sure of success, for when did she undertake anything and fail? Sinful girl![pg 047]She was freed from her engagement in a way she little dreamed of.

Four weeks from the time of her first visit home, word came that Mr. Wilmot was sick and would not be able to teach that day. He had been unwell for several days, and next morning it was announced that he had the typhoid fever. Fanny's first impulse was to go and see him, but Julia prevented her by saying that he would send for her when he wanted her.

That evening Dr. Lacey told Julia that Mr. Wilmot had expressed a wish to see her. She went rather unwillingly, and something in her manner must have betrayed it, for he seemed troubled, and regarded her with an anxious look. She however manifested no affection, and but very little interest for him, and inwardly resolved that when she came again her sister should accompany her. That night he grew worse, and as there was of course no school, Julia hired some one to take herself and sister home. Earnestly did Fanny entreat her to remain and watch over Mr. Wilmot.

"I shall do no such thing," said Julia. "It would not be proper, and I should be talked about."

"Well, then," said Fanny, "I shall stay till mother sends for me. I do not care if I am talked about."

This rather pleased Julia, who said, "Well, you can stay if you like. I dare say you care more for him than I do, and you can tell him so, if you please."

"Oh, Julia," said Fanny, "what has changed you so toward Mr. Wilmot?"

"Nothing in particular," replied Julia. "I never liked him very much."

So Julia started for home, while Fanny took her station by the bedside of her beloved teacher. When Julia reached home, she found that her father had left the day before for Missouri. He owned land there, and as he had gone to make some improvements on it, he would probably be absent two months. Julia carelessly told her mother of Mr. Wilmot's illness, and that Fanny had stayed to watch him. When Mrs. Middleton heard this, her maternal fears were roused lest her daughter should take the fever, and in a few days she went herself to Frankfort to bring Fanny home.

She found Mr. Wilmot very ill, but not as yet dangerously so, and after staying a day, she announced her intention of taking Fanny home.

"Why not leave her?" said Dr. Lacey. "She seems peculiarly adapted to a sick room, and will do him more good than a dozen physicians."

[pg 048]"Yes, let her stay," said Mr. Wilmot, and drawing Mrs. Middleton closely to him, he whispered, "Tell Julia to come to me, will you?"

Mrs. Middleton promised that she would, but persisted in taking Fanny. When Mr. Wilmot's message was given to Julia, she said, "No, indeed, I'll not go. I could do him no good."

Ike was sent to Frankfort every day to inquire after Mr. Wilmot, and see if anything was wanted, and each night Fanny waited anxiously for his return. As soon as she saw him enter the wood, she would run to him, and inquire for Mr. Wilmot. Julia, however, manifested no anxiety whatever. She would not have acknowledged that she hoped he would die, and yet each time that she heard he was better her spirits sank, for fear he would yet live. At last Ike brought to Fanny the joyful intelligence that the crisis was passed, and Mr. Wilmot was out of danger.

That night, in the solitude of her chamber, Julia communed with herself as follows: "And so he'll live after all. Well, I may as well let him know at once that I will not marry him." So saying, she opened her portfolio, and wrote the following note:

"Mr. Wilmot:

"Sir—When I became engaged to you I was very young and am still so; consequently, you will hardly be surprised when you learn that I have changed my mind and wish to have our engagement dissolved.

"Yours truly, as a friend,

"Julia Middleton."

Ike did not go to Frankfort again for two or three days, but when he did, he was the bearer of this heartless note. Mr. Wilmot was indeed better and when he heard Ike was in the house he expressed a desire to see him, as he wished to send some word to Julia. When Ike was ushered into the sick room, he immediately handed his young mistress' letter to Mr. Wilmot, who eagerly took it, for he recognized the handwriting of his idol. Hastily breaking the seal, he read twice the cruel lines before he was convinced that he read aright; then the paleness on his cheek grew paler, and was succeeded by a deep flush.

When Ike asked what he should tell the folks at home, Mr. Wilmot's voice was husky as he answered, "Nothing, Ike, tell them nothing." Ike was alarmed at the change which had come over his young master, and called for assistance.

From that time Mr. Wilmot hourly grew worse. Mrs.[pg 049]Middleton was sent for, and a telegram was forwarded to his friends in New York, bidding them come soon if they would see him alive. Mr. Miller, who was teaching in a distant part of the country, dismissed his school to attend his dying friend. It was heartrending to hear Mr. Wilmot in his delirium, call for Julia to come to him—to let him look on her face once more before he died. Then he would fancy himself at home and would describe Julia to his sister in all the passionate fervor of a devoted lover; then he would think it was Julia who was sick, and would beg of those around him to save her, and not let his loved one die. At last Mrs. Middleton could bear his pleadings no longer. She resolved to go home and persuade her hard-hearted daughter, if possible, to go to the dying man.

Just before she was ready to leave, consciousness returned to him for a few moments, and calling her to his bedside, he asked her where she was going. On being told he replied, "Mrs. Middleton, I am dying. When you return I shall not be in this world; but I know that my Redeemer liveth, and I am not afraid to die, for I feel assured of rest beyond the grave; but there is one thing I would have. Ere I go hence I would see Julia once more. I have loved her perhaps too well, and for this I must die. Tell, oh tell her, how I missed her when the fever scorched my brow, and bid her hasten to me ere it be too late! But if she will not come, give her my blessing, and tell her my last prayer was for her, and that in Heaven she will be mine."

With many tears Mrs. Middleton promised him that every word of his message should be delivered to Julia, and that she should come to him. On reaching home her swollen eyelids attracted Fanny's attention, and excited her fear. Springing up, she exclaimed, "Mother, mother, how is Mr. Wilmot? Is he dead?"

"No," answered her mother, "he is not dead, but is dying."

Then she repeated to Julia his request, and added, "You had better go immediately, if you wish to see him alive, for he cannot live until morning. Fanny will call Ike to go with you."

Fanny arose to do her mother's bidding, but Julia stopped her by saying, "You needn't trouble yourself to call him, Fanny."

"Why not?" said Fanny, looking wonderingly in Julia's face.

"Because I am not going," said Julia coolly.

"Not going!" exclaimed Fanny.

[pg 050]"Not going!" echoed Mrs. Middleton. "Why do you say so? You are going, you must go!"

"There is no must about it," answered Julia; "I do not choose to go, and I shall not go!"

"Are you in earnest, Julia?" asked Mrs. Middleton.

"As much in earnest as I ever was in my life," replied Julia.

"Well, then," returned the mother in a decided tone, "you shall go; I command you to go, and I must be obeyed!"

"I'd like to see your commands enforced, Madam," said Julia, her beautiful face dark with rage. "Yes, I'd like to see anybody make me go if I did not wish to. Mr. Wilmot is nothing to me, and I would hardly go to save his life."

"Oh, Julia, Julia!" said Mrs. Middleton bitterly, "has it come to this? I can see it all now!"

"What all can you see so distinctly?" asked Julia scornfully.

"I can understand what part you have had in causing Mr. Wilmot's death," answered Mrs. Middleton.

Julia turned ashy pale, and her mother continued—"Often in his ravings he spoke of a letter, a cruel letter he called it, and I heard it hinted that it was the receipt of that letter which brought on a relapse. Now you will tell me whether you wrote that letter, and if so, what were its contents?"

"I wonder how I'm expected to know what letter you mean," said Julia. "However, I did write to him and ask to be released from my engagement, and I had my reasons for so doing."

Mrs. Middleton sighed and said, "It is as I feared; on you, Julia, rests in a measure the cause of his death."

"Better call me a murderer at once. But I'll not stay for more abuse," said Julia, as she left the room.

When she was gone Mrs. Middleton buried her face in her hands, and sent forth sob after sob from her crushed heart—crushed by the sinfulness and mocking disobedience of her first born. While she was still weeping, Fanny stole softly from the apartment and went in quest of her sister. She found her, as she had expected, in her room, and going up to her threw her arms around her neck, and plead long and earnestly that she would go to Mr. Wilmot. But Julia's answer was ever the same, "No, I will not."

"And why will you not?" asked Fanny.

"Because," replied Julia, "Mr. Wilmot is nothing to me, and there is no reason why I should go to him, more than to any other lovesick youth who takes a fancy to send for me. You would not feel obliged to run if Bill Jeffrey should have the measles and send for you."

[pg 051]"Oh, stop, stop," said Fanny, "you shall not liken Bill Jeffrey to Mr. Wilmot, who is so good, so noble. You loved him once, and for the sake of that love go to him now; it can do you no harm."

"It would seriously affect my plans for the future; and once for all, I tell you I will not go," replied Julia.

"Then I will," said Fanny, "and show him that I, at least, have not forgotten him."

This idea pleased Julia, and she answered, "I wish you would, for your presence will do as much good as mine."

Fanny hastily ran down stairs and, going to her mother, said, "Mother, Julia will not go, but I will. I should like to very much. Will you let me?"

Mrs. Middleton was too much engrossed in her painful thoughts to give much heed to what Fanny said. She only knew that she wished her to consent to something, and she mechanically answered, "Yes, yes, go." It was then after sunset, and as the sky had all day been cloudy, darkness was fast gathering over the earth, but Fanny heeded it not. She bade Ike make haste, and in a few moments her favorite pony was saddled. Ike's horse was then got in readiness, and they were soon galloping off in the direction of Frankfort. 'Twas a long ride of twelve miles and the darkness increased every moment, while a steady, drizzling rain commenced falling. Still Fanny kept perseveringly on, occasionally speaking an encouraging word to Ike, who pulled his old cap closely over his ears and muttered, "Lord bless young miss. Seems like 'twas her was done promised to young marster, a puttin' out this desput night to see him."

But Fanny kept her thoughts to herself, and while she is making her way to Frankfort, we will precede her and see what is taking place in the sick room. The large drops of sweat which stood upon Mr. Wilmot's high, white forehead, showed that the hour of dissolution was at hand. His mind was wandering, but still the burden of his soul was, "Julia, Julia, oh, will she not come?" Mr. Miller stood by him and endeavored as far as possible to quiet him, and once, during a lucid interval, he asked, "If Julia does not come, what shall I tell her when I see her?"

Mr. Wilmot's eyes opened wide and for a moment he looked wistfully at his friend, and then said mournfully, "I cannot see you, Joseph, my vision has departed forever, and if Julia comes, I cannot now look on her loved features, but if I die ere she arrives, ask her if she wrote that letter."

[pg 052]Just then there was a noise without, and the sound of horses' feet was heard coming up the graveled walk. Some one in the room whispered, "It must be Miss Middleton." The sound caught the dying man's ear and he wildly exclaimed, "Has she come? Oh! Has she come?" Fanny was now heard speaking in the hall. We have said that her voice was strangely like her sister's, so it was no wonder that Mr. Wilmot, in his feverish delirium, mistook it. Clasping his hands together, he exclaimed, "Thank God she has come! She has come!"

The excitement was too much for him and for a few moments he was unconscious. When at last animation was restored, Fanny was hanging over his pillow, and Fanny's tears were upon his cheek; but he thought it was Julia, and drawing her to him, he imprinted a burning kiss upon her fair brow, saying, "God bless you for coming, precious Julia, I knew you would come; and now tell me, do you not love me as well as you always have?"

Fanny was bewildered, and looked imploringly at Mr. Miller, who said, "Richard, do you think it is Julia who is standing by you now?" The sick man gave a startled look and almost shrieked out, "Julia? Yes, is it not Julia? Speak quick and tell me, isn't Julia here?" Mr. Miller's eyes filled with tears as he answered sadly, "No, Richard, Julia is not here; it is Fanny who has come." A deathly paleness passed over Mr. Wilmot's face and a paroxysm of delirium ensued more violent than any which had preceded it. At last it partially passed off and he became comparatively calm, but still persisted in thinking it was Julia whose hand he held in his and whose breath was upon his cheek. "Heaven bless you for coming, beloved one," he would say, "I knew you would come, and still the dreadful thought has haunted me, that you might be false, for that was a cruel letter; but you did not write it, did you?"

Fanny answered through her tears, "No, Mr. Wilmot, I did not write it. It is Fanny who is speaking to you." But Mr. Wilmot understood only the first part of what she said, and continued, "I knew you did not, I am satisfied now to die; and yet 'tis hard to die when I am so young and so far from home, but it is sweet to know that I have your love to the last. When I am dead, you will tell them at home how I loved and prayed for them. My mother will weep bitterly for her son, who died so far away, but she does not love me as well as you do, does she, dearest?"

Just then Dr. Lacey entered the room. He seemed surprised[pg 053]to see Fanny there, and to hear the words of endearment addressed to her by Mr. Wilmot, but Mr. Miller softly told him of the mistake. This seemed to satisfy him, but he anxiously noted every change of Fanny's countenance. At last Mr. Wilmot said, "If you did not write that letter, who did? Was it, could it have been your sister?"

"Oh, no! No!" said Fanny, "I did not write it."

"I know you did not, dearest," said he; "you would not do such a thing, but who did? I cannot think it was Fanny, who was always so gentle, so guileless."

Poor Fanny! She felt that her beloved teacher was dying with a suspicion of her innocence, and she wept most bitterly. At last a change passed over Mr. Wilmot's face, a change which showed that the last trying moment had come. It frequently occurs with dying persons that at the last their faculties are for a moment fully restored. So it was with Mr. Wilmot. A bright smile broke over his face and looking up at Mr. Miller, he said, "I thank my Heavenly Father I can see again. Now, where is Julia? I would look on her face once more."

"I told you," said Mr. Miller, "that you were mistaken; it is not Julia."

"Not Julia!" said Mr. Wilmot, again becoming delirious. "Not Julia! It cannot be true." Then drawing Fanny toward him he looked earnestly in her face. Slowly the bitter truth broke over his mind, and he said, "Yes, I was mistaken! But I bless you for coming; but Julia, my too dearly loved Julia—she is not here. Oh, if I can never see her in this world, shall I see her in heaven?"

They were the last words he ever uttered. Falling back on his pillow, he drew Fanny's face to his, and with his last breath kissed her quivering lips, and all was over. Sadly Mr. Miller closed the eyes of his departed friend, and smoothing the covering about him, left him to the care of the servants. A few hours later, Fanny entered the room with Dr. Lacey, again to look on the face of Mr. Wilmot. The sun was just rising, and its first red rays fell upon the marble features of the dead. There was on his face an expression so calm and heavenly that Fanny held her breath while looking at him, lest she should disturb his peaceful repose. At length she kissed his cold forehead, and silently left the room which contained the pale sleeper.

In the course of a few hours she returned home, bearing the sad tidings, which was received by her mother with a burst of tears; but Julia preserved the same indifference which had[pg 054]been manifested throughout all Mr. Wilmot's illness. Hard-hearted as she was, there came a time in after years when that proud head was bowed with grief, and those dark eyes were bedimmed by tears of penitence, which could not atone for the past; for they were of no avail to bring back the dead from their silent resting place.

Chapter VIsunshine has two graves upon which to plant flowers[pg 055]Mr. Wilmot's death occurred on Tuesday morning, and the following Thursday was appointed for his burial. It was the 1st of September, and a bright, beautiful day; but its sunlight fell on many aching hearts, for though he who lay in his low coffin, so cold and still, was a "stranger in a strange land," there were many whose tears fell like summer rain for one who had thus early passed away. He had during his lifetime been a member of the Episcopal church, and his funeral services were to take place at Ascension Church.The house was filled to overflowing. Mr. Middleton, Mr. Miller, Dr. Lacey and Fanny occupied the front seat, as principal mourners for the deceased. Many searching eyes were bent on the fair young girl, whose white forehead gleamed from under the folds of her veil, and whose eyelids, wet with tears, drooped heavily upon her pale cheek. Madam Rumor had been busy with her thousand tongues, and the scene at the deathbed had been told and retold in twenty different forms, until at last it had become settled that on Fanny's part there was some secret attachment, or she never would have evinced so much interest in Mr. Wilmot. She, however, was ignorant of all this, and sat there wholly unconscious of the interest she was exciting.Julia was not there. She had again defied her mother's commands, and resisted all Fanny's entreaties, that she would go to the funeral."You ought to see Mr. Wilmot," said Fanny. "He looks so calm, so peaceful and," she added in a low voice, "so forgiving.""So forgiving!" quickly repeated Julia. "I wonder what he has to forgive. If I had continued to love him, 'twould not have saved his life."Fanny sighed and turned away from the hard-hearted girl,[pg 056]who was left alone with her thoughts during all the long hours of that day. But to do her justice, we must say, that after her mother and sister were gone, a feeling of sadness stole over her; her stony heart somewhat softened, and in the solitude of her chamber she wept for a long time; but whether for Mr. Wilmot's death, her own conduct toward him, or the circumstances which surrounded her, none can tell.Let us now return to Frankfort, and go back for a few moments in our story. Just as the funeral procession had left the house and was proceeding toward the church, the steamboat Diana, which plies between Cincinnati and Frankfort, appeared round a bend in the river. She was loaded with passengers, who were all on the lookout as they neared the landing place. Just at that moment the tolling bell rang out on the air. Its tones fell sadly on the ear of a tall, beautiful girl, who was impatiently pacing the deck, and looking anxiously in the direction of the city. The knell was repeated, and she murmured, "Oh, what if that should be for Richard!" The thought overpowered her, and sitting down on a seat near her she burst into tears."Can I do anything for you?" said the captain, who at that moment passed her."Nothing, except to land me in Frankfort as soon as possible," said the young lady, whom the reader will readily suppose was Kate Wilmot."Are you in a great hurry?" asked the captain."Yes, sir," returned Kate. "My brother is dangerously sick and I am anxious to get to him.""Where does your brother live?" asked the captain."He boards with Mrs. Williams, on Elm street," answered Kate."Then," said the captain, "if you will show me your baggage, I will see that it is sent there, for you probably will not wish to waste time in looking after it when we land."Kate thanked him for his kindness; and when they reached the shore the kind-hearted man called one of his boatmen and ordered him to show Miss Wilmot the way to Mrs. Williams' residence. As Kate approached the house she noticed the air of desertion about it, and her heart sank for fear her brother might be dead. Running hastily up the steps, she rang the bell, which was answered by a female domestic, who was too old and too infirm to attend the funeral. Kate accosted her by saying, "Does Mr. Wilmot live here?"The old lady replied by lifting up her hand and exclaiming, while the tears coursed their way down her cheeks, "Lord[pg 057]bless me if it isn't young marster's sister.""Yes, yes," said Kate impatiently, "I am his sister. But tell me, is he dead? Am I too late?"The woman replied, "Not too late to see him, if you're right spry. They've carried him to the church.""Where? What church is it?" asked Kate wildly."Right yender; that ar brick house with the tall steeple."Kate waited for no more, but darted off in the direction of the church. Meanwhile the services were ended, and the friends of the deceased were taking their last leave of him. Mrs. Middleton and Mr. Miller stood on one side of the coffin, while Dr. Lacey and Fanny were on the other. Fanny gazed long and earnestly upon the face of her teacher, as if she would stamp his likeness with daguerrean accuracy upon her heart.She was turning sadly away, when a noise at the door caused all eyes to be directed that way. A pale, lovely face was seen looking anxiously in, and then a slight female figure advanced through the crowd, which gave way for her to pass. She passed up the aisle till she reached the coffin, then bursting into a flood of tears, she wrung her hands, exclaiming, "My brother, oh my brother—are you indeed dead?" She then imprinted kiss after kiss upon the cold lips of him who never before disregarded her caresses; and as the full force of her loss came over her, she uttered a piercing cry of anguish, and fell fainting into the arms of Mr. Miller, who recognized in her beautiful features the original of the picture which Mr. Wilmot had shown him a few months before.He bore her out into the open air, where he was instantly surrounded by half a dozen ladies, each insisting that the fair stranger should be taken to her house. First among these was Mrs. Crane, who saw by a glance at Kate that her presence would not be derogatory to any house, so she determined to have her taken to her own dwelling, and urged her claim so hard that Mr. Miller at last consented, thinking that Mrs. Williams must be wearied with the recent illness of Mr. Wilmot.Accordingly, when Kate was again restored to consciousness, she found herself in an elegantly furnished room, with a gaily dressed, handsome lady sitting by her. This was Mrs. Carrington, whose delicate nerves would not suffer her to attend a funeral. On seeing Kate move, she spoke to her and asked her if she felt better."Yes, much better," said Kate; "but where am I? What has happened?" And then as the recollection of what had[pg 058]occurred came over her, she burst into tears and said, "My brother—they have buried him, I suppose, and I cannot see him again."Mrs. Carrington answered, "I think they have not gone to the cemetery yet. I will dispatch a servant and ask them to delay the burial a few moments, if you desire it."Kate thanked her; but at that moment a messenger came from Mr. Miller. He had anticipated Kate's wishes, and sent word that a carriage was waiting to convey her to the church, where she would have another opportunity of seeing her brother. Mrs. Carrington felt constrained to offer to accompany her, and the two proceeded to the church and thence to the cemetery.Although Mrs. Carrington had not visited Mr. Wilmot during his illness, she was by no means ignorant of Fanny's attentions. She had taken great pains to comment upon them in Dr. Lacey's presence, saying, "that she had often suspected Fanny of possessing a more than ordinary affection for Mr. Wilmot, and she had sometimes thought her affection returned. For her part, she did not blame Julia for absenting herself from him, for she had probably discovered his preference for her sister." Her object in doing this was to make Dr. Lacey think less favorably of Fanny, for with her practised eye she had discovered that for no other female did he feel such an interest as for "Little Fanny Middleton," as she always termed her.At the grave she noticed Fanny's pale face and swollen eyes, and found occasion to say to her, loud enough for Dr. Lacey to hear, "I am astonished, Fanny, to see you show to the world how much you loved your sister's betrothed."This remark had no effect upon Fanny, except causing her to look at Mrs. Carrington in surprise and to wonder what she meant. With Dr. Lacey it was different. Imperceptibly, "Little Fanny Middleton" had won a place in his heart which no other one had ever possessed. At first he admired her for her frank, confiding nature, and afterward he learned to love her for the many lovely traits of her character. He had thought it perfectly natural that she should feel a great interest in Mr. Wilmot, who was for so long a time a member of her father's family; but the wrong construction which was put upon her motives annoyed him, and even made him fearful that her heart might be more interested in Mr. Wilmot than he was willing to believe. As he stood by the open grave into which the cold earth was heavily falling, there rested upon his brow a deeper shade of sadness than was occasioned by the[pg 059]mere death of his friend. Mrs. Carrington observed it, and resolved to follow up the train of thought which she saw was awakened in his mind.After the burial Kate returned to Mrs. Crane's, where she was treated with every possible attention which politeness or sympathy could dictate. A few days after the funeral she one evening casually asked, if that fair, delicate-looking girl at her brother's grave were not Miss Middleton?"Yes," replied Mrs. Carrington. "Did you not think from her manner that she was a sincere mourner?"Kate was about to reply, when Dr. Lacey prevented her by saying, "Pardon me, Mrs. Carrington; but I think you have given Miss Wilmot a wrong impression. She doubtless thinks it was Miss Julia Middleton.""Yes," said Kate, "I thought it was Miss Julia."Dr. Lacey replied that it was Fanny—Julia's younger sister; and then he told how faithfully she had watched over Mr. Wilmot during his illness. Of Julia he said nothing, and although Kate wished very much to know something concerning her, she determined not to question Dr. Lacey, but to wait and ask Mr. Miller, who, for some reason, seemed nearer to her than any other one of the strangers by whom she was surrounded. He had been solicited to take charge of the school, which was now destitute of a teacher, and as the situation pleased him, he readily accepted the offer and accepted Mrs. Crane's as his boarding place. Perhaps one inducement which led him to do this was the presence of the beautiful Kate, in whom he daily became more interested.Years before, when but a boy in the boarding school at Canandaigua, he had often fancied that the time would come when he should both see and know the sister whom Richard Wilmot used to describe in such glowing terms. Since then another image had filled his heart and he had dreamed of another face—not so fair, perhaps, but quite as innocent. But now the dream was sadly over, and he had never thought of the gentle Fanny for a wife since that night when, as he supposed, he saw the dark side of her character. He, however, could not conquer his old partiality, and always spoke of her in the highest terms. Consequently, from his description of her, Kate received a very favorable impression.He said little of Julia; but told Kate that he would take her to Mr. Middleton's the first fine day. He wished to go there in order to induce Mrs. Middleton to send her daughters back to school. The next Saturday was fixed upon for the visit,[pg 060]and at an early hour Mr. Miller and Kate were on their way to Mr. Middleton's.Kate Wilmot was not only handsome, but was also very intelligent and agreeable, and by the time their ride was half-completed, Mr. Miller was more than half in love and was building air castles just as he had done months before when Fanny was mistress of them all.About noon they reached Mr. Middleton's, where they were received very kindly by Mrs. Middleton, very joyfully by Fanny, and very coldly by Julia, whose face always wore a darker frown whenever Mr. Miller was present; but he apparently did not notice it, and went on conversing upon different subjects. At last he asked when Mr. Middleton was expected home."I am expecting him every day," said Mrs. Middleton, "and," she added in a lower tone, "I almost dread to have him come, for I do not know that he has ever heard a word of Richard's illness and death.""Why, have you never written to him?" asked Mr. Miller."Yes," replied she; "but it is so uncertain as to what place he is in, or how long he will remain there, that it is doubtful whether he ever received the letter. We heard from him a few days ago. He was then in Indiana, and as he said nothing about Mr. Wilmot, I presume he has not heard of his death."Just as she had finished speaking, the dogs set up a great barking, and the negroes uttered the joyful cry of "Marster's come! Marster's come!" The family ran to the door to meet him; but Fanny could not wait for him to enter the house, neither could she stop to unfasten the gate, but clearing it with one bound, she was soon in the arms of her father, who uttered his usual, "Ha, ha," and said, "Well done, darling; you'll do for a cirkis rider. Are you glad to see your old pap?"The blacks then gathered round, and he shook hands with all, saying, "How d'ye, boys? How d'ye? Have you worked right smart since I've been gone? If you have, you may have a play spell the rest of the arternoon."So saying, he entered the house, where after greeting his wife, Julia and Mr. Miller, he was introduced to "Miss Wilmot." He took her hand and looking at her for a moment, said, "Wilmot, Wilmot! Are you Dick's sister?"Kate's eyes filled with tears as she exclaimed, "Yes, sir, Richard was my brother.""Richard was your brother! Great Moses! What does[pg 061]this mean? And you in black and crying!" Then looking at his wife, who was also in tears, he added impatiently, "What in thun—" but instantly recollecting himself, he said more gently, "Can't anybody tell me what has happened?" And the old man's cheek paled, and his voice trembled, as the dread of what might have happened stole over him.Fanny at last went up to him and said softly, "Father, Mr. Wilmot is dead!"Mr. Middleton sank into the nearest chair, and covering his rough face with his hands, wept as freely as a little child. He had loved Mr. Wilmot with almost a father's love, and during his absence had not been unmindful of him. Safely stowed away in his carpet bag were several costly books, which he had purchased as a present for Richard. He had also hoped that as Julia's husband he would have a good influence over her, and improve her fractious disposition; and many were the plans which he had formed as to what he would do when Richard was really his son. But now he was gone forever. The blow was so sudden, so unexpected, that for several minutes he was stunned by its force and wept on in silence.At last, lifting up his head, he turned to Kate and said, "You must not think me a silly old fool, child, for Lord knows old Josh Middleton hain't shed such tears since he was a little shaver and cried when they buried up his dead mother."Kate could not reply, but from that time she felt for Mr. Middleton a respect and esteem which nothing could ever change.After Mr. Middleton had become calm, he proceeded to enumerate to Mr. Miller the many good qualities of Mr. Wilmot. Said he, "He was a capital feller; allus just so. Lively as a cricket; none of your stuck-up, fiddle-faddle notions. And then he was such a good boarder—not a bit particular what he eat; why, he was the greatest kind of a man—eat corn bread, turnip greens, or anything!"At this speech Kate smiled in spite of her tears, and Mr. Middleton went on: "But he warn't as handsome as his sister, and I'll be skinned if I ever seen anybody that was. Tempest can't hold a candle to her, for all she feels so crank. Why, Kit, or Kate, what's yer name? You're as handsome as a pictur!"Mr. Miller probably thought so too, if the admiring look which he gave her was any criterion. Mr. Middleton observed it, and forgetting for a moment the death of his friend, he slapped Mr. Miller on his shoulder, saying, "I tell you what, my boy; it's a mighty mean wind that blows nobody[pg 062]any good fortin. Miss Kate warn't sent to Kentuck for nothin', and unless you're a bigger logger-head than I think you be, you'll try to find out what she come for, and how long she's goin' to stay."Mr. Miller smiled and said, "I hope we shall be able to keep Miss Wilmot all winter, for the people of Frankfort are wanting a music teacher, and have solicited her to remain in that capacity.""By Jove," said Mr. Middleton, "that's just the thing! And you have taken Dick's place in school—poor, boy, to die so soon!" The tears were again moistening his immense beard, but this time he hastily brushed them away, and went on, "Yes, that's a capital idee, and you want me to patternize you by sending my two gals—hey? Well, I reckon I can't do better, if they want to go. Ho! Tempest—Sunshine—what d'ye say? D'ye want to go back to Frankfort and board at Miss Crane's, 'long of Mr. Miller, Dr. Lacey, Katy did, and that other infernal Katy didn't, what fainted spang away at the sight of old Josh! But though she was so dreadfully skeered, the pooty color didn't leave her cheeks an atom. Lightnin' spikes! Let me catch my gals paintin' and I'll—"But he was prevented from telling what he'd do by Fanny, who clapped her hands and said, "Oh, father, you are a dear good man; may we really go?""I thought Fanny would be pleased with the idea," said Mr. Miller, "and even if she had objected, I was going to send the doctor out, and I know he would bring her to terms."Fanny blushed and her father said, "Do you think so? Well, I'm glad on't. I'd as soon she'd have him as anybody, and she's worthy of him too, for if she can love such a hideous old clown as I am, she'll stick to such a nice man as Dr. Lacey through thick and thin. But what do you say to goin', Tempest?"Julia had at first thought that nothing could induce her to become a pupil of Mr. Miller, but his allusion to Dr. Lacey decided her otherwise. It was necessary that she should go, for she did not dare trust her sister alone with the doctor; so she swallowed her dislike to Mr. Miller, and said she should be delighted to return to school.It was settled that they should go during the next week.This arrangement gave great pleasure to Dr. Lacey, who found it very lonely in Frankfort without Fanny, and had several times spoken of returning to New Orleans. But when he learned that Fanny was coming back, he suddenly changed[pg 063]his mind and concluded that Frankfort would be a charming winter residence. This was laughingly told to Fanny by Kate, who had learned to love her very much. Julia she disliked, for she had at last drawn from Mr. Miller the whole history of her proceedings, and she could but look upon the false-hearted girl as accessory to her brother's death.Julia knew that by the fair Northern beauty she was secretly despised, but she did not care, for she had conceived a great friendship for Mrs. Carrington, whom she often amused with her remarks about New York people. Once she said, "I do wish New York would die, or stop taking emetics, and sending the contents of her bilious stomach to Kentucky in the shape of teachers!"Mrs. Carrington smiled and said, "I think you prefer Louisiana emetics, do you not?"Julia blushed as she answered, "Yes, but what can I do. There's Mr. Miller ready to back up whatever Fanny does, and put down whatever I do. I'd thank him to mind his own business, and stay at his own home!"Mrs. Carrington did not reply, for she, too, was greatly annoyed by the presence of Mr. Miller and Kate. The latter she looked upon as a rival, for she was said by every one to have the most beautiful face in Frankfort. This greatly displeased Mrs. Carrington, who, before Kate's arrival, had been considered the belle of the town, so far as beauty was concerned. She also felt great contempt for Kate's occupation as a teacher, and said, "She didn't see why folks should make such an ado over a poor music teacher."Once, in speaking on the subject to Dr. Lacey, she said, "I am glad I was not born in New York, for then I should have been obliged to pick up chips, split wood, dig potatoes, wash dishes and teach school!"Dr. Lacey's reply to this remark was, "I think, Mrs. Carrington, you will admit that the young ladies who come here from the North almost always possess superior education. Now if they spent much time in splitting wood and digging potatoes, I am sure they could not acquire so much knowledge."Mrs. Carrington answered, "Of course you feel interested in New Yorkers, for Fanny has taken a great fancy to them, and whatever she likes you must like, of course.""Yes, I know Fanny likes our New York friends very much," said Dr. Lacey. "And I think you will allow that she shows good taste in the choice of her associates.""Oh, yes, admirable," returned Mrs. Carrington, "almost as[pg 064]good taste as some of my acquaintance show in preferring her.""What do you mean?" asked Dr. Lacey."Why, I mean," said Mrs. Carrington, "that I am puzzled to know what attraction such a simple-minded girl as Fanny can have for a person of your intelligence."Dr. Lacey bit his lip, but forcing down his anger said, "She possesses the same attraction which every guileless, innocent person has.""Guileless and innocent," repeated Mrs. Carrington; "rather call her artful and designing. Depend upon it, doctor, you have only seen the bright side of her disposition. You should see her in her room, and know how much trouble her sister has with her!"She might have said more, but Dr. Lacey stopped her by saying rather warmly, "Mrs. Carrington, you shall not talk so about Fanny. I know you do not like her, and consequently, whatever you can say of her will have no effect upon me."So saying, he quitted the apartment, leaving Mrs. Carrington to her own reflections. They were not very pleasant, for Dr. Lacey's manner had said as plainly as words could say that she had better mind her own business, and she began to think so herself, for she muttered, "After all, what is it to me if he does like Fanny? I am bound fast, but oh, if I were free, I'd compass heaven and earth to secure him." Her wish to be free was soon realized.That afternoon, when the Sea Gull came up from Louisville, it brought home her husband, wearied, worn out and sick. He took his bed, and never left his room again until strong men carried him out and laid him down to sleep in the silent graveyard. The close of his life was calm and peaceful, for he had early chosen the better part, and he looked upon the grave as but a stepping stone from earth to heaven.His life was a dreary pilgrimage, for though he possessed for his young, giddy wife, a strong, ardent affection, he had long known that it was not returned, and he felt that she would be happier if he were dead. She, however, paid him as much attention during his illness as the gay life she led would allow; but she was often away, and night after night was he left alone with his Bible and his God, while she was in the midst of some fashionable amusement. Her neglect was, however, partly made up to him by the kind care of Fanny, who gave him all the time she could possibly spare from her school duties. Mrs. Carrington found it very convenient[pg 065]to call upon her, whenever she wished to be absent, and hour after hour the fair young girl sat by the sick man's bedside, employed either with her needle, her books or drawing. Mr. Carrington was a fine scholar and gave her much assistance in her studies.When he grew too weak to read, she would read to him from the Bible, stopping occasionally, while he explained some obscure passage, or endeavored to impress on her mind some solemn truth. Thus were the seeds of righteousness sown, which afterward sprang up and bore fruit unto everlasting life.At last the chilling dews came upon his head, his eye grew dim with the mists of death, and then he laid his cold, white hand on Fanny's head and prayed most earnestly that heaven's choicest blessings, both here and hereafter, might descend upon one who had so kindly smoothed his dark pathway down to the valley of death. A few words of affectionate farewell to his wife and he was gone. His crushed, aching heart had ceased to beat and in a few days the green sod was growing above his early grave.Fanny begged so earnestly to have him buried by the side of Mr. Wilmot that Mrs. Carrington finally consented, and the two, who had never seen each other on earth, now lay peacefully side by side. When the springtime came, the same fair hands planted flowers over the graves of her brothers, as she loved to call the two men, each of whom had blessed her with his dying breath. Thither would she often go with Dr. Lacey, who was each day learning to love her more and more.Mrs. Carrington contented herself with having a few hysterical fits, shedding a few tears, dressing herself in an expensive suit of mourning, and erecting to the memory of her husband a magnificent monument. When Mr. Middleton saw the latter, he said, "Why the plague can't Dick have as good a gravestun as that young lieutenant? He desarves it jest as much"; so out came his purse, and when Mrs. Carrington went next to visit the costly marble at her husband's grave, she was chagrined to see by its side a still more splendid one. But there was no help for it, so she had to endure it in silence, consoling herself with thinking how becomingly she would dress and how many conquests she would make, when the term of her mourning should have expired!

[pg 055]Mr. Wilmot's death occurred on Tuesday morning, and the following Thursday was appointed for his burial. It was the 1st of September, and a bright, beautiful day; but its sunlight fell on many aching hearts, for though he who lay in his low coffin, so cold and still, was a "stranger in a strange land," there were many whose tears fell like summer rain for one who had thus early passed away. He had during his lifetime been a member of the Episcopal church, and his funeral services were to take place at Ascension Church.

The house was filled to overflowing. Mr. Middleton, Mr. Miller, Dr. Lacey and Fanny occupied the front seat, as principal mourners for the deceased. Many searching eyes were bent on the fair young girl, whose white forehead gleamed from under the folds of her veil, and whose eyelids, wet with tears, drooped heavily upon her pale cheek. Madam Rumor had been busy with her thousand tongues, and the scene at the deathbed had been told and retold in twenty different forms, until at last it had become settled that on Fanny's part there was some secret attachment, or she never would have evinced so much interest in Mr. Wilmot. She, however, was ignorant of all this, and sat there wholly unconscious of the interest she was exciting.

Julia was not there. She had again defied her mother's commands, and resisted all Fanny's entreaties, that she would go to the funeral.

"You ought to see Mr. Wilmot," said Fanny. "He looks so calm, so peaceful and," she added in a low voice, "so forgiving."

"So forgiving!" quickly repeated Julia. "I wonder what he has to forgive. If I had continued to love him, 'twould not have saved his life."

Fanny sighed and turned away from the hard-hearted girl,[pg 056]who was left alone with her thoughts during all the long hours of that day. But to do her justice, we must say, that after her mother and sister were gone, a feeling of sadness stole over her; her stony heart somewhat softened, and in the solitude of her chamber she wept for a long time; but whether for Mr. Wilmot's death, her own conduct toward him, or the circumstances which surrounded her, none can tell.

Let us now return to Frankfort, and go back for a few moments in our story. Just as the funeral procession had left the house and was proceeding toward the church, the steamboat Diana, which plies between Cincinnati and Frankfort, appeared round a bend in the river. She was loaded with passengers, who were all on the lookout as they neared the landing place. Just at that moment the tolling bell rang out on the air. Its tones fell sadly on the ear of a tall, beautiful girl, who was impatiently pacing the deck, and looking anxiously in the direction of the city. The knell was repeated, and she murmured, "Oh, what if that should be for Richard!" The thought overpowered her, and sitting down on a seat near her she burst into tears.

"Can I do anything for you?" said the captain, who at that moment passed her.

"Nothing, except to land me in Frankfort as soon as possible," said the young lady, whom the reader will readily suppose was Kate Wilmot.

"Are you in a great hurry?" asked the captain.

"Yes, sir," returned Kate. "My brother is dangerously sick and I am anxious to get to him."

"Where does your brother live?" asked the captain.

"He boards with Mrs. Williams, on Elm street," answered Kate.

"Then," said the captain, "if you will show me your baggage, I will see that it is sent there, for you probably will not wish to waste time in looking after it when we land."

Kate thanked him for his kindness; and when they reached the shore the kind-hearted man called one of his boatmen and ordered him to show Miss Wilmot the way to Mrs. Williams' residence. As Kate approached the house she noticed the air of desertion about it, and her heart sank for fear her brother might be dead. Running hastily up the steps, she rang the bell, which was answered by a female domestic, who was too old and too infirm to attend the funeral. Kate accosted her by saying, "Does Mr. Wilmot live here?"

The old lady replied by lifting up her hand and exclaiming, while the tears coursed their way down her cheeks, "Lord[pg 057]bless me if it isn't young marster's sister."

"Yes, yes," said Kate impatiently, "I am his sister. But tell me, is he dead? Am I too late?"

The woman replied, "Not too late to see him, if you're right spry. They've carried him to the church."

"Where? What church is it?" asked Kate wildly.

"Right yender; that ar brick house with the tall steeple."

Kate waited for no more, but darted off in the direction of the church. Meanwhile the services were ended, and the friends of the deceased were taking their last leave of him. Mrs. Middleton and Mr. Miller stood on one side of the coffin, while Dr. Lacey and Fanny were on the other. Fanny gazed long and earnestly upon the face of her teacher, as if she would stamp his likeness with daguerrean accuracy upon her heart.

She was turning sadly away, when a noise at the door caused all eyes to be directed that way. A pale, lovely face was seen looking anxiously in, and then a slight female figure advanced through the crowd, which gave way for her to pass. She passed up the aisle till she reached the coffin, then bursting into a flood of tears, she wrung her hands, exclaiming, "My brother, oh my brother—are you indeed dead?" She then imprinted kiss after kiss upon the cold lips of him who never before disregarded her caresses; and as the full force of her loss came over her, she uttered a piercing cry of anguish, and fell fainting into the arms of Mr. Miller, who recognized in her beautiful features the original of the picture which Mr. Wilmot had shown him a few months before.

He bore her out into the open air, where he was instantly surrounded by half a dozen ladies, each insisting that the fair stranger should be taken to her house. First among these was Mrs. Crane, who saw by a glance at Kate that her presence would not be derogatory to any house, so she determined to have her taken to her own dwelling, and urged her claim so hard that Mr. Miller at last consented, thinking that Mrs. Williams must be wearied with the recent illness of Mr. Wilmot.

Accordingly, when Kate was again restored to consciousness, she found herself in an elegantly furnished room, with a gaily dressed, handsome lady sitting by her. This was Mrs. Carrington, whose delicate nerves would not suffer her to attend a funeral. On seeing Kate move, she spoke to her and asked her if she felt better.

"Yes, much better," said Kate; "but where am I? What has happened?" And then as the recollection of what had[pg 058]occurred came over her, she burst into tears and said, "My brother—they have buried him, I suppose, and I cannot see him again."

Mrs. Carrington answered, "I think they have not gone to the cemetery yet. I will dispatch a servant and ask them to delay the burial a few moments, if you desire it."

Kate thanked her; but at that moment a messenger came from Mr. Miller. He had anticipated Kate's wishes, and sent word that a carriage was waiting to convey her to the church, where she would have another opportunity of seeing her brother. Mrs. Carrington felt constrained to offer to accompany her, and the two proceeded to the church and thence to the cemetery.

Although Mrs. Carrington had not visited Mr. Wilmot during his illness, she was by no means ignorant of Fanny's attentions. She had taken great pains to comment upon them in Dr. Lacey's presence, saying, "that she had often suspected Fanny of possessing a more than ordinary affection for Mr. Wilmot, and she had sometimes thought her affection returned. For her part, she did not blame Julia for absenting herself from him, for she had probably discovered his preference for her sister." Her object in doing this was to make Dr. Lacey think less favorably of Fanny, for with her practised eye she had discovered that for no other female did he feel such an interest as for "Little Fanny Middleton," as she always termed her.

At the grave she noticed Fanny's pale face and swollen eyes, and found occasion to say to her, loud enough for Dr. Lacey to hear, "I am astonished, Fanny, to see you show to the world how much you loved your sister's betrothed."

This remark had no effect upon Fanny, except causing her to look at Mrs. Carrington in surprise and to wonder what she meant. With Dr. Lacey it was different. Imperceptibly, "Little Fanny Middleton" had won a place in his heart which no other one had ever possessed. At first he admired her for her frank, confiding nature, and afterward he learned to love her for the many lovely traits of her character. He had thought it perfectly natural that she should feel a great interest in Mr. Wilmot, who was for so long a time a member of her father's family; but the wrong construction which was put upon her motives annoyed him, and even made him fearful that her heart might be more interested in Mr. Wilmot than he was willing to believe. As he stood by the open grave into which the cold earth was heavily falling, there rested upon his brow a deeper shade of sadness than was occasioned by the[pg 059]mere death of his friend. Mrs. Carrington observed it, and resolved to follow up the train of thought which she saw was awakened in his mind.

After the burial Kate returned to Mrs. Crane's, where she was treated with every possible attention which politeness or sympathy could dictate. A few days after the funeral she one evening casually asked, if that fair, delicate-looking girl at her brother's grave were not Miss Middleton?

"Yes," replied Mrs. Carrington. "Did you not think from her manner that she was a sincere mourner?"

Kate was about to reply, when Dr. Lacey prevented her by saying, "Pardon me, Mrs. Carrington; but I think you have given Miss Wilmot a wrong impression. She doubtless thinks it was Miss Julia Middleton."

"Yes," said Kate, "I thought it was Miss Julia."

Dr. Lacey replied that it was Fanny—Julia's younger sister; and then he told how faithfully she had watched over Mr. Wilmot during his illness. Of Julia he said nothing, and although Kate wished very much to know something concerning her, she determined not to question Dr. Lacey, but to wait and ask Mr. Miller, who, for some reason, seemed nearer to her than any other one of the strangers by whom she was surrounded. He had been solicited to take charge of the school, which was now destitute of a teacher, and as the situation pleased him, he readily accepted the offer and accepted Mrs. Crane's as his boarding place. Perhaps one inducement which led him to do this was the presence of the beautiful Kate, in whom he daily became more interested.

Years before, when but a boy in the boarding school at Canandaigua, he had often fancied that the time would come when he should both see and know the sister whom Richard Wilmot used to describe in such glowing terms. Since then another image had filled his heart and he had dreamed of another face—not so fair, perhaps, but quite as innocent. But now the dream was sadly over, and he had never thought of the gentle Fanny for a wife since that night when, as he supposed, he saw the dark side of her character. He, however, could not conquer his old partiality, and always spoke of her in the highest terms. Consequently, from his description of her, Kate received a very favorable impression.

He said little of Julia; but told Kate that he would take her to Mr. Middleton's the first fine day. He wished to go there in order to induce Mrs. Middleton to send her daughters back to school. The next Saturday was fixed upon for the visit,[pg 060]and at an early hour Mr. Miller and Kate were on their way to Mr. Middleton's.

Kate Wilmot was not only handsome, but was also very intelligent and agreeable, and by the time their ride was half-completed, Mr. Miller was more than half in love and was building air castles just as he had done months before when Fanny was mistress of them all.

About noon they reached Mr. Middleton's, where they were received very kindly by Mrs. Middleton, very joyfully by Fanny, and very coldly by Julia, whose face always wore a darker frown whenever Mr. Miller was present; but he apparently did not notice it, and went on conversing upon different subjects. At last he asked when Mr. Middleton was expected home.

"I am expecting him every day," said Mrs. Middleton, "and," she added in a lower tone, "I almost dread to have him come, for I do not know that he has ever heard a word of Richard's illness and death."

"Why, have you never written to him?" asked Mr. Miller.

"Yes," replied she; "but it is so uncertain as to what place he is in, or how long he will remain there, that it is doubtful whether he ever received the letter. We heard from him a few days ago. He was then in Indiana, and as he said nothing about Mr. Wilmot, I presume he has not heard of his death."

Just as she had finished speaking, the dogs set up a great barking, and the negroes uttered the joyful cry of "Marster's come! Marster's come!" The family ran to the door to meet him; but Fanny could not wait for him to enter the house, neither could she stop to unfasten the gate, but clearing it with one bound, she was soon in the arms of her father, who uttered his usual, "Ha, ha," and said, "Well done, darling; you'll do for a cirkis rider. Are you glad to see your old pap?"

The blacks then gathered round, and he shook hands with all, saying, "How d'ye, boys? How d'ye? Have you worked right smart since I've been gone? If you have, you may have a play spell the rest of the arternoon."

So saying, he entered the house, where after greeting his wife, Julia and Mr. Miller, he was introduced to "Miss Wilmot." He took her hand and looking at her for a moment, said, "Wilmot, Wilmot! Are you Dick's sister?"

Kate's eyes filled with tears as she exclaimed, "Yes, sir, Richard was my brother."

"Richard was your brother! Great Moses! What does[pg 061]this mean? And you in black and crying!" Then looking at his wife, who was also in tears, he added impatiently, "What in thun—" but instantly recollecting himself, he said more gently, "Can't anybody tell me what has happened?" And the old man's cheek paled, and his voice trembled, as the dread of what might have happened stole over him.

Fanny at last went up to him and said softly, "Father, Mr. Wilmot is dead!"

Mr. Middleton sank into the nearest chair, and covering his rough face with his hands, wept as freely as a little child. He had loved Mr. Wilmot with almost a father's love, and during his absence had not been unmindful of him. Safely stowed away in his carpet bag were several costly books, which he had purchased as a present for Richard. He had also hoped that as Julia's husband he would have a good influence over her, and improve her fractious disposition; and many were the plans which he had formed as to what he would do when Richard was really his son. But now he was gone forever. The blow was so sudden, so unexpected, that for several minutes he was stunned by its force and wept on in silence.

At last, lifting up his head, he turned to Kate and said, "You must not think me a silly old fool, child, for Lord knows old Josh Middleton hain't shed such tears since he was a little shaver and cried when they buried up his dead mother."

Kate could not reply, but from that time she felt for Mr. Middleton a respect and esteem which nothing could ever change.

After Mr. Middleton had become calm, he proceeded to enumerate to Mr. Miller the many good qualities of Mr. Wilmot. Said he, "He was a capital feller; allus just so. Lively as a cricket; none of your stuck-up, fiddle-faddle notions. And then he was such a good boarder—not a bit particular what he eat; why, he was the greatest kind of a man—eat corn bread, turnip greens, or anything!"

At this speech Kate smiled in spite of her tears, and Mr. Middleton went on: "But he warn't as handsome as his sister, and I'll be skinned if I ever seen anybody that was. Tempest can't hold a candle to her, for all she feels so crank. Why, Kit, or Kate, what's yer name? You're as handsome as a pictur!"

Mr. Miller probably thought so too, if the admiring look which he gave her was any criterion. Mr. Middleton observed it, and forgetting for a moment the death of his friend, he slapped Mr. Miller on his shoulder, saying, "I tell you what, my boy; it's a mighty mean wind that blows nobody[pg 062]any good fortin. Miss Kate warn't sent to Kentuck for nothin', and unless you're a bigger logger-head than I think you be, you'll try to find out what she come for, and how long she's goin' to stay."

Mr. Miller smiled and said, "I hope we shall be able to keep Miss Wilmot all winter, for the people of Frankfort are wanting a music teacher, and have solicited her to remain in that capacity."

"By Jove," said Mr. Middleton, "that's just the thing! And you have taken Dick's place in school—poor, boy, to die so soon!" The tears were again moistening his immense beard, but this time he hastily brushed them away, and went on, "Yes, that's a capital idee, and you want me to patternize you by sending my two gals—hey? Well, I reckon I can't do better, if they want to go. Ho! Tempest—Sunshine—what d'ye say? D'ye want to go back to Frankfort and board at Miss Crane's, 'long of Mr. Miller, Dr. Lacey, Katy did, and that other infernal Katy didn't, what fainted spang away at the sight of old Josh! But though she was so dreadfully skeered, the pooty color didn't leave her cheeks an atom. Lightnin' spikes! Let me catch my gals paintin' and I'll—"

But he was prevented from telling what he'd do by Fanny, who clapped her hands and said, "Oh, father, you are a dear good man; may we really go?"

"I thought Fanny would be pleased with the idea," said Mr. Miller, "and even if she had objected, I was going to send the doctor out, and I know he would bring her to terms."

Fanny blushed and her father said, "Do you think so? Well, I'm glad on't. I'd as soon she'd have him as anybody, and she's worthy of him too, for if she can love such a hideous old clown as I am, she'll stick to such a nice man as Dr. Lacey through thick and thin. But what do you say to goin', Tempest?"

Julia had at first thought that nothing could induce her to become a pupil of Mr. Miller, but his allusion to Dr. Lacey decided her otherwise. It was necessary that she should go, for she did not dare trust her sister alone with the doctor; so she swallowed her dislike to Mr. Miller, and said she should be delighted to return to school.

It was settled that they should go during the next week.

This arrangement gave great pleasure to Dr. Lacey, who found it very lonely in Frankfort without Fanny, and had several times spoken of returning to New Orleans. But when he learned that Fanny was coming back, he suddenly changed[pg 063]his mind and concluded that Frankfort would be a charming winter residence. This was laughingly told to Fanny by Kate, who had learned to love her very much. Julia she disliked, for she had at last drawn from Mr. Miller the whole history of her proceedings, and she could but look upon the false-hearted girl as accessory to her brother's death.

Julia knew that by the fair Northern beauty she was secretly despised, but she did not care, for she had conceived a great friendship for Mrs. Carrington, whom she often amused with her remarks about New York people. Once she said, "I do wish New York would die, or stop taking emetics, and sending the contents of her bilious stomach to Kentucky in the shape of teachers!"

Mrs. Carrington smiled and said, "I think you prefer Louisiana emetics, do you not?"

Julia blushed as she answered, "Yes, but what can I do. There's Mr. Miller ready to back up whatever Fanny does, and put down whatever I do. I'd thank him to mind his own business, and stay at his own home!"

Mrs. Carrington did not reply, for she, too, was greatly annoyed by the presence of Mr. Miller and Kate. The latter she looked upon as a rival, for she was said by every one to have the most beautiful face in Frankfort. This greatly displeased Mrs. Carrington, who, before Kate's arrival, had been considered the belle of the town, so far as beauty was concerned. She also felt great contempt for Kate's occupation as a teacher, and said, "She didn't see why folks should make such an ado over a poor music teacher."

Once, in speaking on the subject to Dr. Lacey, she said, "I am glad I was not born in New York, for then I should have been obliged to pick up chips, split wood, dig potatoes, wash dishes and teach school!"

Dr. Lacey's reply to this remark was, "I think, Mrs. Carrington, you will admit that the young ladies who come here from the North almost always possess superior education. Now if they spent much time in splitting wood and digging potatoes, I am sure they could not acquire so much knowledge."

Mrs. Carrington answered, "Of course you feel interested in New Yorkers, for Fanny has taken a great fancy to them, and whatever she likes you must like, of course."

"Yes, I know Fanny likes our New York friends very much," said Dr. Lacey. "And I think you will allow that she shows good taste in the choice of her associates."

"Oh, yes, admirable," returned Mrs. Carrington, "almost as[pg 064]good taste as some of my acquaintance show in preferring her."

"What do you mean?" asked Dr. Lacey.

"Why, I mean," said Mrs. Carrington, "that I am puzzled to know what attraction such a simple-minded girl as Fanny can have for a person of your intelligence."

Dr. Lacey bit his lip, but forcing down his anger said, "She possesses the same attraction which every guileless, innocent person has."

"Guileless and innocent," repeated Mrs. Carrington; "rather call her artful and designing. Depend upon it, doctor, you have only seen the bright side of her disposition. You should see her in her room, and know how much trouble her sister has with her!"

She might have said more, but Dr. Lacey stopped her by saying rather warmly, "Mrs. Carrington, you shall not talk so about Fanny. I know you do not like her, and consequently, whatever you can say of her will have no effect upon me."

So saying, he quitted the apartment, leaving Mrs. Carrington to her own reflections. They were not very pleasant, for Dr. Lacey's manner had said as plainly as words could say that she had better mind her own business, and she began to think so herself, for she muttered, "After all, what is it to me if he does like Fanny? I am bound fast, but oh, if I were free, I'd compass heaven and earth to secure him." Her wish to be free was soon realized.

That afternoon, when the Sea Gull came up from Louisville, it brought home her husband, wearied, worn out and sick. He took his bed, and never left his room again until strong men carried him out and laid him down to sleep in the silent graveyard. The close of his life was calm and peaceful, for he had early chosen the better part, and he looked upon the grave as but a stepping stone from earth to heaven.

His life was a dreary pilgrimage, for though he possessed for his young, giddy wife, a strong, ardent affection, he had long known that it was not returned, and he felt that she would be happier if he were dead. She, however, paid him as much attention during his illness as the gay life she led would allow; but she was often away, and night after night was he left alone with his Bible and his God, while she was in the midst of some fashionable amusement. Her neglect was, however, partly made up to him by the kind care of Fanny, who gave him all the time she could possibly spare from her school duties. Mrs. Carrington found it very convenient[pg 065]to call upon her, whenever she wished to be absent, and hour after hour the fair young girl sat by the sick man's bedside, employed either with her needle, her books or drawing. Mr. Carrington was a fine scholar and gave her much assistance in her studies.

When he grew too weak to read, she would read to him from the Bible, stopping occasionally, while he explained some obscure passage, or endeavored to impress on her mind some solemn truth. Thus were the seeds of righteousness sown, which afterward sprang up and bore fruit unto everlasting life.

At last the chilling dews came upon his head, his eye grew dim with the mists of death, and then he laid his cold, white hand on Fanny's head and prayed most earnestly that heaven's choicest blessings, both here and hereafter, might descend upon one who had so kindly smoothed his dark pathway down to the valley of death. A few words of affectionate farewell to his wife and he was gone. His crushed, aching heart had ceased to beat and in a few days the green sod was growing above his early grave.

Fanny begged so earnestly to have him buried by the side of Mr. Wilmot that Mrs. Carrington finally consented, and the two, who had never seen each other on earth, now lay peacefully side by side. When the springtime came, the same fair hands planted flowers over the graves of her brothers, as she loved to call the two men, each of whom had blessed her with his dying breath. Thither would she often go with Dr. Lacey, who was each day learning to love her more and more.

Mrs. Carrington contented herself with having a few hysterical fits, shedding a few tears, dressing herself in an expensive suit of mourning, and erecting to the memory of her husband a magnificent monument. When Mr. Middleton saw the latter, he said, "Why the plague can't Dick have as good a gravestun as that young lieutenant? He desarves it jest as much"; so out came his purse, and when Mrs. Carrington went next to visit the costly marble at her husband's grave, she was chagrined to see by its side a still more splendid one. But there was no help for it, so she had to endure it in silence, consoling herself with thinking how becomingly she would dress and how many conquests she would make, when the term of her mourning should have expired!

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