CHAPTER LII.CONCLUSION.

The scene shifts now to New York, where, one week after that wedding in Silverton, Mark and Helen went, together with Morris and Katy. But not to Madison Square. That house had been sold, and Katy saw it but once, her tears falling fast as, driving slowly by with Morris, she gazed at the closed doors and windows of what was once her home, and around which lingered no pleasant memories save that it was the birthplace of baby Cameron. Lieutenant Reynolds had thought to buy it, but Bell said, “No, it would not be pleasant for Katy to visit me there, and I mean to have her with me as much as possible.” So the house went to strangers, and a less pretentious but quite as comfortable one was bought for Bell, so far up town that Juno wondered how her sister would manage to exist so far from everything, intimating that her visits would be far between, a threat which Lieutenant Bob took quite heroically; indeed, it rather enhanced the value of his pleasant home than otherwise, for Juno was not a favorite, and his equanimity was not likely to be disturbed if she never crossed his threshold. She was throwing bait toArthur Grey, the man who swore he was fifty to escape the draft, and who, now that the danger was over, would gladly take back his oath and be forty, as he really was.With the most freezing kiss imaginable Juno greeted Katy, calling her “Mrs. Grant,” and treating Morris as if he were an entire stranger, instead of the man whom to get she would once have moved both earth and heaven. Mrs. Cameron, too, though glad that Katy was married, and fully approving her choice, threw into her manner so much reserve that Katy’s intercourse with her was anything but agreeable, and she turned with alacrity to father Cameron, who received her with open arms, calling her his daughter, and welcoming Morris as hisson, taken in Wilford’s stead. “My boy,” he frequently called him, showing how willingly he accepted him as the husband of one whom he loved as his child. Greatly he wished that they should stay with him while they remained in New York, but Katy preferred going to Mrs. Banker’s, where she would be more quiet, and avoid the bustle and confusion attending the preparations for Bell’s wedding. It was to be a grand church affair, and to take place during Easter week, after which the bridal pair were going on to Washington, and if possible to Richmond, where Bob had been a prisoner. Everything seemed conspiring to make the occasion a joyful one, for all through the North, from Maine to California, the air was rife with the songs of victory and the notes of approaching peace. But alas! He who holds our country’s destiny in his hand changed that song of gladness into a wail of woe, which, echoing through the land, rose up to heaven in one mighty sob of anguish, as the whole nation bemoaned its loss. Our President was dead, and New York was in mourning, so black, so profound, that with a shudder Bell Cameron tossed aside the orange wreath and said to her lover, “We will be married at home. I cannot now go to the church, when everything seems like one great funeral.”

And so in Mrs. Cameron’s drawing-room there was a quiet wedding, one pleasant April morning, and Bell’s plain traveling dress was far more in keeping with the gloom which hung over the great city than her gala robes would have been, with a long array of carriages and merry wedding chimes. Westward they went instead of South, and when our late lamented President was borne back to the prairies of Illinois, they were there to greet the nobledead, and mingle their tears with those who knew and loved him long before the world appreciated his worth.

Softly the May rain falls on Linwood, where the fresh green grass is springing and the early spring flowers blooming, and where Katy stands for a moment in the bay window of the library, listening to the patter on the tin roof overhead, and gazing wistfully down the road, as if watching for some one; then turning, she enters the dining-room and inspects the supper table, for her mother. Aunt Hannah, and Aunt Betsy are visiting her this rainy afternoon, while Morris, on his return from North Silverton, is to call for Uncle Ephraim and bring him home to tea.

Linwood is a nice place to visit, and the old ladies enjoy it vastly, especially Aunt Betsy, who never tires of telling what they have “over to Katy’s,” and whose capeless shaker hangs often on the hall stand, just as it hangs now, while she, good soul, sits in the pleasant parlor, and darns the socks for Morris, taking as much pains as if it were a network of fine lace she was weaving, instead of a shocking rent in some luckless heel or toe. Up stairs there is a pleasant room which Katy calls Aunt Betsy’s, and in it is the “feather bed,” which never found its way to Madison Square. Morris himself did not think much of feathers, but he made no objections when Aunt Betsy insisted upon Katy’s having the bed kept for so many years, and only smiled a droll kind of smile when he one morning met it coming up the walk in the wheelbarrow which Uncle Ephraim trundled.

Morris and his young wife are very happy together and Katy finds the hours of his absence very long, especially when left alone. Even to-day the time drags heavily, and she looks more than once from the bay window, until at last Brownie’s head is seen over the hill, and a few moments after Morris’s arm is around her shoulders, and her lips are upturned for the kiss he gives as he leads her into the house, chiding her for exposing herself to the rain, and placing in her hand three letters, which she doesnot open until the cozy tea is over and her family friends have gone. Then, while her husband looks over his evening paper, she breaks the seals one by one reading first the letter from “Mrs. Bob Reynolds,” who has returned from the West, and who is in the full glory of her bridal calls.

“I was never so happy in my life as I am now,” she wrote. “Indeed, I did not know that a married woman could be so happy; but then every woman has not aBobfor her husband, which makes a vast difference. You ought to see Juno. I know she envies me, though she affects the utmost contempt for matrimony, and reminds me forcibly of the fox and the grapes. You see, Arthur Grey is a failure, so far as Juno is concerned, he having withdrawn from the field and laid himself at the feet of Sybil Grandon, who will be Mrs. Grey, and a bride at Saratoga the coming summer. Juno intends going too, as the bridesmaid of the party; but every year her chances lessen, and I have very little hope that father will ever call other than Bob his son, always exceptingMorris, of course, whom he has adopted in place of Wilford. You don’t know, Katy, how much father thinks of you, blessing the day which brought you to us, and saying that if he is ever saved, he shall in a great measure owe it to your influence and consistent life after the great trouble came upon you.”

There were tears in Katy’s eyes as she read this letter from Bell, and with a mental prayer of thanksgiving that she had been of any use in guiding even one to the Shepherd’s Fold, she took next the letter whose superscription brought back so vividly to her mind the daisy-covered grave in Alnwick. Marian, who was now at Annapolis, caring for the returned prisoners, did not write often, and her letters were prized the more by Katy, who read with a beating heart the kind congratulations upon her recent marriage, sent by Marian Hazelton.

“I knew how it would end, when you were in Georgetown,” she wrote, “and I am glad that it is so, praying daily that you may be happy with Dr. Grant and remember the sad past only as some dream from which you haveawakened. I thank you for your invitation to visit Linwood, and when my work is over I may come for a few weeks and rest in your bird’s nest of a home. Thank God the war is ended; butmy boysneed me yet, and until the last crutch has left the hospital, I shall stay where duty lies. What my life will henceforth be I do not know; but I have sometimes thought that with the funds you so generously bestowed upon me, I shall open a school for orphan children, taking charge myself, and so doing some good. Will you be the Lady Patroness, and occasionally enliven us with the light of your countenance? I have left the hospital but once since you were here, and then I went to Wilford’s grave. I prayed for you while there, remembering only thatyouhad been his wife. In a little box where no eyes but mine ever look, there is a bunch of flowers plucked from Wilford’s grave. They are faded and withered, but something of their sweet perfume lingers still; and I prize them as my greatest treasure; for, except the lock of hair severed from his head, they are all that is remaining to me of the past, which now seems so far away. It is time to make my nightly round of visits, so I must bid you good-bye. The Lord lift up the light of his countenance upon you, and be with you forever.

Marian Hazelton.”

For a long time Katy held this letter in her hand, wondering if the sorrowful woman whose life was once so strangely blended with that of Marian Hazelton, could be the Katy Grant who sat by the evening fire at Linwood, with the sunshine of perfect happiness resting on her heart. “Truly He doeth all things well to those who wait upon Him,” she thought, as she laid down Marian’s letter and took up the third and last, Helen’s letter, dated at Fortress Monroe, whither, with Mark Ray, she had gone just after Bell Cameron’s bridal.

“You cannot imagine,” Helen wrote, “the feelings of awe and even terror which steal over me the nearer I get to the seat of war, and the more I realize the bloody strife we have been engaged in, and which, thank God, has now nearly ceased. You have heard of John Jennings, the noble man who saved my dear husband’s life, and of AuntBab, who helped in the good work? Both are here, and I never saw Mark more pleased than when seized around the neck by two long brawny arms, while a cheery voice called out: ‘Hallow, old chap, has you done forgot John Jennins?’ I verily believe Mark cried, and I know I did, especially when old Bab came up and shook ‘young misses’ hand.’ I kissed her, Katy—all black, and rough, and uncouth as she was. I wish you could see how grateful the old creature is for every act of kindness. When we come home again, both John and Bab will come with us, though what we shall do with John, is more than I can tell. Mark says he shall employ him about the office, and this I know will delight Tom Tubbs, who has again made friends with Chitty, and who will almost worship John as having saved Mark’s life. Aunt Bab shall have an honored seat by the kitchen fire, and a pleasant room all to herself, working only when she likes, and doing as she pleases.

“Did I tell you that Mattie Tubbs was to be my seamstress? I am getting together a curious household, you will say; but I like to have those about me to whom I can do the greatest amount of good, and as I happen to know how much Mattie admires ‘the Lennox girls,’ I did not hesitate to take her.

“We stopped at Annapolis on our way here, and I shall never forget the pale, worn faces, nor the great sunken eyes which looked at me so wistfully as I went from cot to cot, speaking words of cheer to the sufferers, some of whom were Mark’s companions in prison, and whose eyes lighted up with joy as they recognized him and heard of his escape. There are several nurses here, but no words of mine can tell whatoneof them is to the poor fellows, or how eagerly they watch for her coming. Following her with greedy glances as she moves about the room, and holding her hand with a firm clasp, as if they would keep her with them always. Indeed, more than one heart, as I am told, has confessed its allegiance to her; but she answers all the same, ‘I have no love to give. It died out long ago, and cannot be recalled.’ You can guess who she is, Katy. The soldiers call her an angel, but we know her as Marian.”

There were great tear blots upon that letter as Katy put it aside, and nestling close to Morris, laid her head upon his knee, where his hand could smooth her golden curls, while she pondered Helen’s closing words, thinking how much they expressed, and how just a tribute they were to the noble woman whose life had been one constant sacrifice of self for another’s good—“The soldiers call her an angel, but we know her as Marian.”

THE END.

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The Works of Mary J. Holmes

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Leighton Homestead,

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Marian Grey,

Mildred,

Millbank,

Miss McDonald,

Rector of St. Marks,

Rose Mather,

Tempest and Sunshine.

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HURST & CO.,Publishers,395–399 Broadway, New York.

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTESSilently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling.Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

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