Heaven has to all allotted, soon or late,Some lucky revolution of their fate;Whose motions, if we watch and guide with skill—For human good depends on human will—Our fortune rolls as from a smooth descent,And from a first impression takes its bent;But if unseized, she glides away like wind,And leaves repenting folly far behind,Now, now she meets you with a glorious prize,And spreads her locks before her as she flies.—Dryden.
Heaven has to all allotted, soon or late,Some lucky revolution of their fate;Whose motions, if we watch and guide with skill—For human good depends on human will—Our fortune rolls as from a smooth descent,And from a first impression takes its bent;But if unseized, she glides away like wind,And leaves repenting folly far behind,Now, now she meets you with a glorious prize,And spreads her locks before her as she flies.—Dryden.
Heaven has to all allotted, soon or late,Some lucky revolution of their fate;Whose motions, if we watch and guide with skill—For human good depends on human will—Our fortune rolls as from a smooth descent,And from a first impression takes its bent;But if unseized, she glides away like wind,And leaves repenting folly far behind,Now, now she meets you with a glorious prize,And spreads her locks before her as she flies.
—Dryden.
The next morning at the appointed hour the Rev. Mr. Lyle and Victor Hartman left their hotel together and went to Mrs. Wheatfield's, to escort the ladies to the University, where Dr. Jones and Alden Lytton were to meet them and introduce them to the president. The two gentlemen found the young ladies already dressed and waiting.
Miss Cavendish explained that her aunt did not care about seeing more of the University than she had already seen, and preferred to remain in the house with the bishop's widow and rest that day.
And so, under the circumstances, they—Miss Cavendish and her young friends—had decided not to have a carriage, but to take advantage of the fine morning and walk the short mile that lay between the village and its great seat of learning.
Nothing could have pleased their escorts better than this plan.
And soon they—the party of five—set out upon the pleasant country road that led out to the University.
Emma Cavendish and Laura Lytton led the way, and by Laura's side walked the Rev. Mr. Lyle. Electra dropped a little behind, and was attended by Victor Hartman.
They talked of the fine morning and of the beautiful country, of the grand Commencement of the preceding day and of the University they were going to see; but they talked in an absent-minded manner, as if, indeed, they were both thinking of something else.
This lasted until they were half-way to the place, when at length Electra turned suddenly upon Victor and said:
"Do you know, Mr. Brent, that your face seems a very familiar one to me?"
"Indeed!" said Victor, bending his head nearer to her.
"Yes, indeed! Your face struck me as being familiar the first moment I saw you, and this impression has grown deeper every moment we have been walking together; and now Iknowof whom you remind me," answered Electra; and then she paused and looked at him.
He made no remark.
"You do not care to know who that was, it seems," she said.
"Oh, yes, I do, I assure you, Miss Coroni, if you please to tell me!"
"Then you remind me of a poor lad whom I once knew and liked very much in New York, when I was as poor as himself," said Electra, meaningly.
"It is very kind of you to remember the poor lad after so many years and so many changes," replied Victor.
"I wonder if that poor lad ever thinks ofme, 'after so many years and so many changes?'" murmured Electra, musingly.
"I don't know. Tell me his name, and then perhaps I can answer your question. I have roamed around the world a good deal and seen a great many different sorts of people. Who knows but I may have met your poor lad? Let us have his name," said Victor, gravely.
They were both, to use a household phrase, "beating about the bush."
"Oh, he was too poor to own a name! But he was cook's boy on board a merchantman, and they called him 'Galley Vick.' I never knew him by any other name. Did you ever see him at all?"
"Oh, yes, I've seen him! A good-for-nothing little vagabond he was! No, I don't suppose he ever dares to think about such a fine young lady as you are. But he cherishes the memory of a poor little girl he once knew in Rat Alley, New York. And only the day before yesterday, when I happened to be with him, he was saying how much he would give to know what had become of that poor little girl."
"Yes, it was very nice of him to remember her," said Electra, musingly.
"You say that you knew the poor lad in New York. Perhaps, as they were so much together, you may have known the poor little girl also?" said Victor.
"I can not tell you unless you give me her name. Therewere so many poor little girls in New York," answered Electra, shaking her head.
"She, like the boy, was too poor then to own a name. They called her 'Sal's Kid.' I never knew her by any other name," answered Victor.
And then their eyes met, and both laughed and impulsively put out their hands, which were then clasped together.
"I knew you at the very first sight, Vick," said Electra, giving full way to her feelings of pleasure in meeting her old playmate again.
"And so did I you. Heaven bless you, child! I am so happy and thankful to find you here, so healthy and prosperous. You were a sickly, poor little thing when I knew you," said Victor, with much emotion.
"I was a famished poor little thing, you mean, food has made all the difference, Victor," laughed Electra.
"My name is Joseph Brent, my dear," said Hartman, who almost trembled to hear the old name spoken.
"Ah, but Sal's Kid knew you only as Galley Vick. I thought Vick was the short for Victor. But it seems you really had a name all the time as well as I had, though neither of us suspected we possessed such an appendage."
Hartman bowed in silence.
"And now I suppose you would like to know how it happens that you find poor little ragged, famished, sickly Sal's Kid, who used to live in Rat Alley among thieves and tramps, here—well lodged, well dressed and in good company?"
"Yes, I really would."
"Well, it was 'all along of' a grandfather."
"A grandfather!"
"Yes, a grandfather. I really had a grandfather! And I have him still. And you have seen him, and his name is Dr. Beresford Jones. And, moreover, I had a great-grandfather back ofhim; and also forefathers behindthem, and ancestors extending away back to antiquity. In fact, I think they ran away back to Adam!"
"I dare say they did," answered Victor, with a smile; "but tell me about that grandfather."
"Well, you must know that he was wealthy. He owned Beresford Manors. He had one child, 'sole daughter of the house.' She married a poor young Italian music-master against her father's will. Her father cast her off. Her husband took her to New York, where they fell by degrees into the deepest destitution. They both died of cholera, leaving me to the care of the miserable beings who were their fellow-lodgers in the old tenement house. I believe I was passed from the hands of one beggar to those of another, until my identity was lost and my real name forgotten. But I do not clearly remember any of my owners except Sal. And I was called 'Sal's Kid.'"
"It was then I knew you," said Victor.
"So it was. Well, you know all about that period. It was soon after you went to sea that Sal's husband, being mad with drink and jealousy, struck his wife a fatal blow and killed her."
"Horrible!"
"Yes, horrible! I have heard since that the man died ofmania-à-potuin the Tombs, before his trial came on."
"And you?"
"I was taken by the Commissioners of Charity and put into the Orphan Asylum at Randall's Island."
"And how did your grandfather ever find you there, where your very name was lost?"
"You may well ask that. My name was lost. I suppose, hearing me called Sal's Kid, they mistook that for Sal Kidd. Any way they registered my name on the books of the Island as Sarah Kidd."
Victor laughed at this piece of ingenuity on the part of the authorities, and again expressed wonder as to how her grandfather ever found her.
"If I were a heathen, I should say he found me by chance. It looked like it. You see, he had met with misfortunes. His wife—my grandmother—died. And he was growing old, and his home was lonely and his life was dreary. And so he relented toward his poor daughter, and even toward her husband."
"But too late!" put in Victor.
"Yes; too late. He relented too late," sighed Electra. "He went to New York, where they had been living when he had last heard of them, and after making the most diligent inquiries he only learned that they had been dead several years, and had left an orphan girl in great destitution. Well, he advertised for the child, offering large rewards for her discovery."
"But in vain, I suppose?" said Victor.
"Ah, yes, in vain, for I was at Randall's Island, registered under another name."
"The case seemed hopeless," said Victor.
"Entirely hopeless. And then, partly from his disappointment and partly from seeing so much of suffering amongchildren, he became a sort of city missionary. It was in his character of missionary that he went one day to an examination of the pupils of the girls' school on Randall's Island. There he saw me, and recognized me by my striking likeness to my mother. Indeed he has since told me that I am a counterpart of what my mother was at my age."
"And your face is such a very peculiar and, I may say, unique face, that the likeness could not have been accidental, I suppose," observed Victor.
"That is what he thought. Well, without saying a word to me then of his recognition, he commenced with the slight clew that he had in his hands and pursued investigations that in a few days proved me to be the child of Sebastian and Electra Coroni. Then he came to the Island and took me away, and put me to school at Mount Ascension. There I made the acquaintance of the young lady friend that I am now staying with. Miss Cavendish is my cousin. Last month I graduated from Mount Ascension. And on the first of next month I am going to Beresford Manors, to commence my new life there as my grandfather's housekeeper. And, Victor—I beg your pardon!—Mr. Brent, I hope that you will come and visit us there," concluded Electra, with a smile.
"But how would your grandfather, Dr. Beresford Jones of Beresford Manors, take a visit from a poor adventurer like me?" inquired Victor.
"He will take it very kindly; for he also will ask you to come," said Electra.
Victor bowed and walked on in silence.
Electra spoke again:
"I have told you without reserve how it was that I was so suddenly raised from extreme poverty to wealth, and now—"
She paused and looked at her companion.
"And now you want to know how I came by my fortune?" smilingly inquired Victor.
"Yes, of course I do," answered Electra.
"The explanation is short and simple enough. I became suddenly rich, as some few other poor vagabonds have, by a fortunate stroke of the pick—by a California gold mine," quietly answered Victor.
"Oh!" exclaimed Electra.
And she stopped and put him away from her a step, and stood and stared at him.
Victor laughed. And then they went on, for their companions were at the gates of the University, waiting for them to come along.
They entered the beautiful grounds occupied by the extensive buildings of the University, and where several of the professors, as well as a few of the students who had not yet left for the vacation, were taking their morning walks.
The visitors were soon met by Dr. Jones and Alden Lytton, who came up together to welcome them.
After the usual greetings, Alden introduced his party to several of the professors, who received them with great courtesy, and attended them through the various buildings, pointing out to them the most notable objects of interest, and entertaining them with the history, statistics and anecdotes of the institution.
They were taken into the various libraries, where they saw collected vast numbers of the most valuable books, among which were a few very unique black letter and illuminated volumes of great antiquity.
They were then led into the several halls, where were collected costly astronomical and chemical apparatus.
And finally they visited the museum, filled with cabinets of minerals, shells, woods, fossils, and so forth.
And after an interesting but very fatiguing tour of inspection, that occupied four hours, they were invited to rest in the house of one of the professors, where they were refreshed with a dainty lunch, after which they returned to the village.
And the evening was spent socially in Mrs. Wheatfield's drawing-room.
In the course of that evening they were surprised by a visit. It was from Mr. Craven Kyte, who came to call on Miss Cavendish.
He was invited into the drawing-room and introduced to the whole party.
Mr. Kyte was in the deepest state of despondency.
He told Miss Emma that a few days previous he had received a letter from Mrs. Grey, saying that she was about to leave Charlottesville for a little while, in order to give up her rooms to Miss Cavendish and her party, and that she did not know exactly where she should go, but that she would write and tell him as soon as she should get settled.
"And since that, Miss Emma, I have not heard one word from her, nor do I know where she is, or how she is, orhow to find out," concluded Mr. Kyte, in the most dejected tone.
"How long has it been, Mr. Kyte?" inquired Miss Cavendish.
"Five days," answered the young man, as solemnly as if he had said five years.
"That is but a short time. I do not think you have cause to be anxious yet awhile," said Emma, with a smile.
"But you haven't heard from her yourself even, have you, Miss Emma?" he anxiously inquired.
"Certainly not, else I should have told you at once," replied Miss Cavendish.
"For mercy's sake, you never came all the way from Wendover to Charlottesville to ask that question, did you, Mr. Kyte?" inquired irrepressible Electra, elevating her eye-brows.
The lover, who had so unconsciously betrayed himself, blushed violently and stammered forth:
"No—not entirely. The fact is, for more than a year past I have been watching and waiting for an opportunity to change my business from Wendover to Charlottesville. And I came up partly about that also. But as a—a friend of Mrs. Grey, I do feel anxious about her mysterious absence and silence."
"I assure you, Mr. Kyte, that Mrs. Grey is quite capable of taking excellent care of herself," added plain-spoken Laura Lytton.
"Come, Mr. Kyte, cheer up! We are going on a pilgrimage to Monticello to-morrow and you must join our party," said Miss Cavendish, kindly.
But Mr. Kyte excused himself, saying that he could not leave his business long, and must start for Wendover the next morning.
And soon after this he took leave.
The next day was devoted by our party to a pious pilgrimage to the shrine of classic Monticello, once the seat, now the monument of Thomas Jefferson.
The whole party, young and old, gentlemen and ladies, went.
The bishop's widow forgot her housekeeping cares and took a holiday for that day.
And even Mrs. Fanning, who did not care to see the great University, could not miss the opportunity of a pilgrimage to that mecca.
The party was a large one, consisting of five ladies and four gentlemen.
And so it required two capacious carriages and two saddle horses to convey them.
They formed quite a little procession in leaving the village.
In the first carriage rode Mrs. Fanning, Emma Cavendish, Electra and Dr. Jones.
In the second carriage rode Mrs. Wheatfield, Laura Lytton and Mr. Lyle.
Alden Lytton and Victor Hartman rode on horseback, and brought up the rear.
Their way lay through the most sublime and beautiful mountain and valley scenery.
Monticello is built upon a mountain, some three miles south of the village.
Perhaps there is no private dwelling in the whole country occupying a more elevated site, or commanding a more magnificent panorama of landscape, than Monticello.
It is a fine country house of great architectural beauty and strength, built upon a lofty and slightly inclined plain, formed by grading the top of the mountain.
It commands a stupendous prospect, bounded only by the spherical form of the earth. And standing there, with the earth beneath and the heavens all around, one fully realizes that we live upon a great planet rolling in its orbit through immense space.
Our party spent a long summer's day up there in the sunshine, and then, after eating the luncheon they had brought with them, they set out on their return to the village, where they arrived in time for one of Mrs. Wheatfield's delicious early teas.
The remaining days of the week were passed in walking, riding or driving to the most interesting points of the neighborhood.
On Saturday morning they took leave of the bishop's widow and set out for Richmond,en routefor Wendover and Blue Cliffs.
They reached the city late on the same night, and took up their old quarters at the Henrico House.
They staid over the Sabbath, and went to hear Mr. Lyle preach, morning and evening, to his old congregation.
On Monday morning the whole party resumed their journey, and arrived at Wendover early in the afternoon of the same day.
There the party were destined to divide.
There were carriages from Blue Cliffs waiting by appointment at the railway station to meet Miss Cavendish and herfriends; and there was the hack from the Reindeer Hotel for the accommodation of any other travelers who might require it.
Mrs. Fanning, Emma Cavendish, Laura Lytton and Electra, attended by Dr. Jones and Alden Lytton, entered their carriages to go to Blue Cliff Hall.
Mr. Lyle and Victor Hartman took leave of them at their carriage doors, saw the horses start, and then set out to walk together to the bachelor home of Mr. Lyle, where Hartman was to be a guest.
Mr. Lyle lived in a pretty white cottage, covered nearly to the roof with fragrant creeping vines, and standing in the midst of a beautiful flower-garden.
Here he lived his bachelor life quite alone but for the occasional sight of the old negro couple that were waiting on him—Aunt Nancy, who did all his housework, and Uncle Ned, who worked in the garden.
He found the faithful old couple prepared to receive him and his guest.
A tempting repast, combining the attractions of dinner and tea, was ready to be placed upon the table just as soon as the gentlemen should have made their toilets after their long journey.
Mr. Lyle led his guest into a fresh, pretty room, with white muslin curtains at the vine-clad windows and a white dimity spread on the bed, and white flower enameled cottage furniture completing the appointments.
"This is a room for a pretty girl rather than for a grim miner," said Victor Hartman, looking admiringly around the little apartment.
"I call it the 'Chamber of Peace,' and that is why I put you in it," said Mr. Lyle.
After they had washed and dressed they went down together to the cozy little dining-room, where they did such justice to the tea-dinner as made Aunt Nancy's heart crow for joy.
And when that was over they went into the snug little parlor and sat down to talk over their plans.
It was then that Mr. Lyle informed Victor Hartman that he was doing all the work of the parish during Dr. Goodwin'shopeless indisposition, and that he had been doing it for the last twelve months.
"You will succeed him here as rector, I presume?" said Victor.
"I presume so; but I do not like to speak of that," gravely replied Mr. Lyle.
"No, of course you do not. And I really beg your pardon. I should not have spoken myself, only in my girl's interests. You see, I felt a little curious and anxious to know where her future life would be likely to be passed, and I thought it would be a much happier life if passed here, near her dear friend Miss Cavendish, that's all," explained Victor.
"You seem to consider that quite a settled matter," replied Mr. Lyle, a little incoherently, and blushing like a maiden.
"Yes, of course I consider it all quite settled! You, in your earnestness, can not conceal your liking for my girl, and she, in her innocent frankness, does not even try to conceal hers from you. And I heartily approve the match and am ready to dower the bride," said Victor.
"But I have not ventured to speak to her yet," stammered Mr. Lyle.
"Then you may do so just as soon as you please," answered Victor.
"And now about Alden," said Mr. Lyle, by way of changing the conversation.
"Yes, now about Alden. He does not suspect that I am his banker, I hope?"
"No, indeed! I paid him over the munificent sum you intrusted to me for him. He feels—well, I may say painfully grateful, and is confident that he must some time repay you, with interest and compound interest."
"Yes, my boy will certainly repay me, but not in the way he thinks," observed Victor, gravely.
"After a week's visiting with his sister at Blue Cliffs, he will go up to Richmond and select a site for his office and purchase his law library, though I think he will have to go to Philadelphia to do that."
"Yes, I suppose he will," admitted Hartman.
"What are your own plans about yourself, Victor, if I may be allowed to ask?" inquired the minister.
"Well, I haven't any. I came on here to see my boy and girl, and settle them in life as well as I can. I shall stay till I do that anyway. After that I don't know what I shall do. I do not care about going back to California. My business there is in the hands of a capable and trustworthy agent.And somehow I like the old mother State; and now that you lead me to think about it, perhaps I shall spend the rest of my life here; but, as I said before, I don't know."
"By the way, dear Victor, you spoke to me with much simple frankness of my most private personal affairs. May I take the same liberty with you?" inquired Mr. Lyle, very seriously.
"Why, of course you may, if you call it a liberty, which I don't, you know!" answered Victor, with a smile.
"Then, my dear Hartman, how about Miss Electra? I was not so absorbed in my own interests as not to have an eye to yours."
"Ah, Miss Electra! Well, parson, shewasmy little old acquaintance of Rat Alley, when I flourished in that fragrant neighborhood as Galley Vick."
"No!" exclaimed Mr. Lyle, opening his eyes wide with astonishment.
"Yes," quietly answered Victor Hartman. "And it is a wonder that you, who know the family so well, do not know this episode in its history."
"How was I to know, my friend, when no one ever told me? I suppose that few or none but the family know anything about it."
"I suppose you are right," said Victor. "Well, you see, she recognized me, as surely as I did her, at first sight. We had an explanation as we walked out to the University that day."
"But how came the granddaughter of Dr. Beresford Jones ever to have had such a miserable childhood?"
"Well, you see, there was a disobedient daughter, a runaway marriage, a profligate husband, and the consequences—poverty, destitution, early death, and an orphan child left among beggars and thieves! Her grandfather found her at last and took her under his guardianship. That is the whole story in brief."
"Well, well, well!" mused Mr. Lyle, with his head on his breast; then, raising it, he went back to the previous question: "But what about Miss Electra?"
"I have just told you about her," replied Victor.
"Oh, yes, I know! You have told me something about her, but you haven't told me all. Take me into your confidence, Victor."
"What do you mean?" inquired Hartman, in some embarrassment.
"Why, that you and your little old acquaintance seem to be very fond of each other."
Victor laughed in an embarrassed manner, and then said: "Do you know that when we were in Rat Alley, and she was a tiny child and I was a lad, there was a promise of marriage between us?"
"That was funny too! Well, what about it?"
"Nothing. Only, if I dared, I would, some day, remind her of it."
"Do, Victor! Believe me, she will not affect to have forgotten it," said Mr. Lyle, earnestly.
"Ah, but when I think of all I have passed through I dare not ask a beautiful and happy girl to unite her bright life with my blackened one! I dare not," said Hartman, very sadly.
"Nonsense, Victor! You are morbid on that subject. Yours is a nobly redeemed life," said Mr. Lyle, solemnly.
"But—my past!" sighed Victor.
"She had a dark past too poor child! But no more of that. In both your cases
"'Let the dead past bury its dead!Live—live in the living present,Heart within and God o'erhead!'
"'Let the dead past bury its dead!Live—live in the living present,Heart within and God o'erhead!'
And now it is time to retire, dear Victor. We keep early hours here," said Mr. Lyle, as he reached down the Bible from its shelf, preparatory to commencing evening service.
Then they read the Word together, and offered up their prayers and thanksgivings together, and retired, strengthened.
This week, to which Alden Lytton's holiday visit to Blue Cliffs was limited, was passed by the young people in a succession of innocent entertainments.
First there was a garden-party and dance at Blue Cliff Hall, at which all the young friends and acquaintances of Miss Cavendish assisted, which the Rev. Dr. Jones and the Rev. Mr. Lyle endorsed by their presence, and in which even Victor Hartman forgot, for the time being, his own dark antecedents.
Next Mr. Lyle himself opened his bachelor heart and bachelor home to the young folks by giving them a tea-party, which delighted the hearts of Aunt Nancy and Uncle Ned, who both declared that this looked somethinglikelife.
But the third and greatest event of the week took place on Friday evening, when Dr. Beresford Jones gave a great house-warming party, on the occasion of his carrying home his granddaughter and sole heiress, Electra Coroni.
Not only all our own young friends, including the reverend clergy and the California miner, but all the neighborhood and all the county were there.
And they kept up the festivities all day and well into the night.
Emma Cavendish and Laura Lytton remained with Electra for a few days only, for Alden Lytton was to leave the neighborhood for Richmond on the Monday morning following the party at Beresford Manors.
And during all this time no word was heard of Mary Grey.
That baleful woman had heard all that had passed at Charlottesville and at Wendover, and her vain and jealous spirit was filled with such mortification and rage that she was now hiding herself and deeply plotting the ruin of those who had been her best friends and benefactors.
She, under fair pretense of saintly ends,And well-placed words of sweetest courtesyBaited with reason, not unplausible,Glides into the easy hearts of men,And draws them into snares.—Milton'sComus.
She, under fair pretense of saintly ends,And well-placed words of sweetest courtesyBaited with reason, not unplausible,Glides into the easy hearts of men,And draws them into snares.—Milton'sComus.
She, under fair pretense of saintly ends,And well-placed words of sweetest courtesyBaited with reason, not unplausible,Glides into the easy hearts of men,And draws them into snares.
—Milton'sComus.
When Mary Grey reached Richmond she went first to a quiet family hotel, where she engaged a room for a few days.
Then she took a carriage and drove to the rectory of old St. John's Church and presented her letter to the rector.
The reverend gentleman received her very kindly and cordially, and glanced over her letter, saying, as he returned it to her:
"But this was not at all necessary, my dear madam. I remember you perfectly, as a regular attendant and communicant of this church, while you were on a visit to the family of the late lamented Governor of this State."
"Yes, sir; but then I was only a visitor at the church, just as I was a guest at the Government House. Now I wish to be a member of the church, as I intend to become a permanent resident of the city," Mary Grey explained, with her charming smile.
The pastor expressed himself highly gratified, andadded:
"Your large circle of friends, that you won during yourlong visit here two or three years ago, will be delighted to hear of this."
Mary Grey bowed gracefully and said:
"The pleasure, she believed, would, like the advantage, be mostly on her own side."
Then she inquired of the rector—with an apology for troubling him with her own humble affairs—whether he could recommend her to any private boarding-house among the members of his own church, where the family were really earnest Christians.
The rector could not think of any suitable place just then, but he begged to have the pleasure of introducing Mrs. Grey to his wife, who, he said, would most likely be able to advise her.
And he rang the bell and sent a message to Mrs. ——, who presently entered the study.
The introduction took place, and the rector's wife received the visitor as cordially as the rector had.
She knew of no boarding-house of the description required by Mrs. Grey, but she promised to inquire among her friends and let that lady know the result.
Soon after this Mrs. Grey took leave.
Many of her former friends were, at this season of the year, out of town, as she felt sure; but some among them would probably be at home.
So, before she returned to her hotel, she made a round of calls, and left her cards at about a dozen different houses.
She then went back to her room at the hotel and spent the remainder of the day in unpacking and reviewing her elegant wardrobe.
There was no sort of necessity for doing this, especially as she intended to remain but a few days at the house; and the operation would only give her the trouble of repacking again to move.
But Mary Grey never read or wrote or sewed or embroidered if she could avoid it, and had nothing on earth else to occupy or amuse her; so her passion for dress had to be gratified with the sight of jewels, shawls and mantles, laces, silks and satins, even though she durst not wear them.
Next day the rector's wife called on her and recommended a very superior boarding-house to her consideration.
It was a private boarding-house, in a fashionable part of the town, kept by two maiden ladies of the most aristocratic family connections and of the highest church principles.
This was exactly the home for Mrs. Grey.
And the rector's wife kindly offered to take her, then and there, in the rectory carriage, to visit "the Misses Crane," the maiden ladies in question.
"The Misses Crane," as they were called, dwelt in a handsomely-furnished, old-fashioned double house, standing in its own grounds, not very far from the Government House.
The Misses Crane were two very tall, very thin and very fair ladies, with pale blue eyes and long, yellow, corkscrew curls each side of their wasted cheeks.
They were dressed very finely in light checked summer silks, and flowing sleeves and surplice waists, with chemisettes and undersleeves of linen cambric and thread lace.
They were very poor for ladies of their birth. They had nothing in the world but their handsome house, furniture and wardrobe.
They depended entirely upon their boarders for their bread; yet their manners were a mixture of loftiness and condescension that had the effect of making their guests believe that they—the guests—were highly honored in being permitted to board at the Misses Cranes'.
But if not highly honored they were certainly much favored, for the Misses Crane kept neat and even elegant rooms, dainty beds and an excellent table.
Presented by the rector's lady, Mrs. Grey was received by the Misses Crane with a lofty politeness which overawed even her false pretensions.
Presently the rector's lady, leaving Mrs. Grey to be entertained by Miss Romania Crane, took the elder Miss Crane aside and explained to her the nature of their business call.
"I think she is just the kind of boarder that will suit you, as your house is just the kind of home needed by her," added the lady.
Miss Crane bowed stiffly and in silence.
"She is, like yourself, of an old aristocratic family, and of very high-church principles; and she has, besides, an ample income, much of which she spends for benevolent purposes," continued Mrs. ——.
Miss Crane bowed and smiled a ghastly smile, revealing her full set of false teeth.
"She is, I should tell you, also entitled to all our sympathy. She has suffered a great disappointment in her affections. She was engaged to be married to the late lamented Governor of the State, when, as you know, he was suddenly struck down with apoplexy, and died a few days before the day appointed for the wedding."
"Oh, indeed!" breathed Miss Crane, in a low, eager voice, losing all her stiffness and turning to glance at the interesting widowed bride elect.
"Yes. And you will find her a most interesting young person—devoted to good works, one of the excellent of the earth. When she was here, two or three years ago—in the same season that she was engaged to our honored and lamented Governor—she was quite famous for her charities."
"Oh, indeed!" again aspirated Miss Crane, glancing at Mrs. Grey.
"I am sure that you will be mutually pleased with each other, and, as she has declared her intention to make Richmond her permanent residence, I should not wonder if she also should make your pleasant house her permanent home," added the lady.
"Much honored, I'm sure," said Miss Crane, with a mixture of hauteur and complacency that was as perplexing as it was amusing.
"And now, if you please, we will rejoin your sister and Mrs. Grey," said the rector's lady, rising and leading the way to the front windows, near which the other two ladies were sitting.
The end of all this was that the Misses Crane engaged to take Mrs. Grey as a permanent boarder, only asking a few days to prepare the first floor front for her occupation.
No arrangement could have pleased Mary Grey better than this, for she wished to remain at the hotel a few days longer to receive the calls of her old friends, who would naturally expect to find her there, as she had given that address on the cards that she had left for them.
So it was finally arranged that Mrs. Grey should remove from the hotel to the Misses Cranes' on the Monday of the next week.
Then the two took leave, and the rector's lady drove the widow back to her hotel and left her there.
The next day Mrs. Grey had the gratification of hearing from the cards she had left at the different houses of her old acquaintances. Several ladies called on her and welcomed her to the city with much warmth.
And on the Saturday of that week she had a surprise.
The Rector of St. John's paid her a morning visit, bringing a letter with the Charlottesville postmark.
"It came this morning, my dear madam. It was inclosed in a letter to me from Mrs. Wheatfield, the esteemed widow ofmy late lamented friend, Bishop Wheatfield," said the rector, as he placed the letter in her hand.
She thanked the reverend gentleman, and held the letter unopened, wondering how Mrs. Wheatfield could have found out that she was in Richmond.
When the rector had taken his leave, she opened her letter and read:
"Charlottesville, July 15, 18—."My dearest Mary:—We have not heard a word from you since you left us."All your friends here suffer the deepest anxiety on your account, fearing that you may be ill among strangers."Only on Sunday last, when I happened to speak to our minister, after the morning service, I got a slight clew to you; for he told me that you had asked him for a church letter to the Rector of St. John's Parish in Richmond."That information gives me the opportunity of writing to you, with some prospect of having my letter reach you, for I can inclose it to the Rector of St. John's, who will probably by this time know your address."And now, having explained how it is that I am enabled to write to you, I must tell you the news."The great nuisance of the Commencement is abated. It is all over; the students, the visitors and the vagrants have nearly all gone, and the town is empty and—peaceful."One set of visitors I lamented to lose. They went on Saturday."I mean, of course, your friends from Blue Cliffs. They were all charming."I was very much interested in Miss Cavendish."And now, my dear child, although I am no gossip and no meddler, as you are well aware, I really must tell you what I would not tell to any other living being, and which I tell you only because I know you to be perfectly discreet, and also deeply interested in the parties of whom I shall take the liberty of writing."There are three marriages in prospect, my dear. I see it quite plainly. Our young people are the frankest and most innocent of human beings. They have no disguises."Who are to be married? you ask me."I will tell you who, Ithink, will be married."First, Mr. Alden Lytton and Miss Emma Cavendish."Not a prudent marriage for her, because she is a minor, with an immense fortune. And he is a young lawyer, with not a dollar of his own and his way yet to make in the world."But what can we do about it?"With one guardian in her dotage and the other at the antipodes Miss Cavendish is practically, if not legally, her own mistress."The only comfort is that the young man in question is rich ineverything else, if not in money."Well, the second prospective marriage pleases me better. The Rev. Mr. Lyle, a worthy young clergyman, is devoted to Miss Laura Lytton."The third approaching nuptials interest me least of all, in any manner. A dark, brigandish-looking Californian, of almost fabulous wealth, who is the friend and guest of Mr. Lyle, has evidently fallen in love at first sight with pretty little sparkling Electra Coroni."They have all gone down to Wendover together, and the Lyttons are to make a long visit at Blue Cliffs."I must not forget to tell you that worthy young man, Mr. Kyte, has been here inquiring after you with much anxiety. He went back to Wendover a day or two before our young people left."Now, my dearest Mary, let me hear that you are well, and believe me ever your devoted friend,"Maria Wheatfield."
"Charlottesville, July 15, 18—.
"My dearest Mary:—We have not heard a word from you since you left us.
"All your friends here suffer the deepest anxiety on your account, fearing that you may be ill among strangers.
"Only on Sunday last, when I happened to speak to our minister, after the morning service, I got a slight clew to you; for he told me that you had asked him for a church letter to the Rector of St. John's Parish in Richmond.
"That information gives me the opportunity of writing to you, with some prospect of having my letter reach you, for I can inclose it to the Rector of St. John's, who will probably by this time know your address.
"And now, having explained how it is that I am enabled to write to you, I must tell you the news.
"The great nuisance of the Commencement is abated. It is all over; the students, the visitors and the vagrants have nearly all gone, and the town is empty and—peaceful.
"One set of visitors I lamented to lose. They went on Saturday.
"I mean, of course, your friends from Blue Cliffs. They were all charming.
"I was very much interested in Miss Cavendish.
"And now, my dear child, although I am no gossip and no meddler, as you are well aware, I really must tell you what I would not tell to any other living being, and which I tell you only because I know you to be perfectly discreet, and also deeply interested in the parties of whom I shall take the liberty of writing.
"There are three marriages in prospect, my dear. I see it quite plainly. Our young people are the frankest and most innocent of human beings. They have no disguises.
"Who are to be married? you ask me.
"I will tell you who, Ithink, will be married.
"First, Mr. Alden Lytton and Miss Emma Cavendish.
"Not a prudent marriage for her, because she is a minor, with an immense fortune. And he is a young lawyer, with not a dollar of his own and his way yet to make in the world.
"But what can we do about it?
"With one guardian in her dotage and the other at the antipodes Miss Cavendish is practically, if not legally, her own mistress.
"The only comfort is that the young man in question is rich ineverything else, if not in money.
"Well, the second prospective marriage pleases me better. The Rev. Mr. Lyle, a worthy young clergyman, is devoted to Miss Laura Lytton.
"The third approaching nuptials interest me least of all, in any manner. A dark, brigandish-looking Californian, of almost fabulous wealth, who is the friend and guest of Mr. Lyle, has evidently fallen in love at first sight with pretty little sparkling Electra Coroni.
"They have all gone down to Wendover together, and the Lyttons are to make a long visit at Blue Cliffs.
"I must not forget to tell you that worthy young man, Mr. Kyte, has been here inquiring after you with much anxiety. He went back to Wendover a day or two before our young people left.
"Now, my dearest Mary, let me hear that you are well, and believe me ever your devoted friend,
"Maria Wheatfield."