"James crumpled the letter in his hand, and called out in so loud and agitated a voice that Mrs. Harrington absolutely started—

"'I will go back for Zillah, mother.'

"The General turned a little in his chair, glanced at me, then regarded James—his eyebrows slightly raised with an expression of surprise.

"'Upon my word,' said he, pleasantly as ever, 'I scarcely see the necessity for your playing preux chevalier in this case, James.'

"'Not the slightest,' said Mrs. Harrington. 'But James is always thoughtful for others.'

"'Always,' the General said.

"'I have nothing to detain me here—I have seen Seville thoroughly, and shall be glad to make this journey,' James said, without paying attention to what had passed.

"I felt my cheeks tingling with impatience and indignation. What did this eagerness and solicitude mean? Did he forget how unbecoming it was—did he not remember how this strange, passionate, ill-regulated creature, in spite of her beauty, her marvelous eyes, and her bewitching voice, belonged to a race separated from us by all natural laws! Did he forget that she was a menial—a slave?

"The General was smiling still, and smoothing a long curl of his wife's hair that had broken loose from the comb and fell over the cushion in a shining wave.

"'James is so full of his scheme of becoming a modern Don Quixote, that he did not even hear me say that I would bring Zillah on here,' he said.

"'It strikes me that you are inclined to do Don Quixote yourself, sir,' exclaimed James, and his voice was sharp and harsh.

"'Excuse me—you misunderstand,' replied the General, in a rather drawling, sarcastic tone; 'if I were inclined to emulate Cervantes, here I think my taste is sufficiently patrician for me to display it in some other quarter than toward my wife's domestic.'

"The tone was somewhat sneering, and the speech was a little affected and fatuous, but I knew he said it as a reproof to James, and he deserved it well.

"'I am sure the courier seems the proper person to send back,' Mrs. Harrington said, a little disturbed by this unusual tone between her husband and son. 'Why should'nt he go, General?'

"'You are right, my treasure, as you always are,' he replied. 'But as I began to tell you, I am obliged to return to Cadiz myself.'

"'If you have business there I can transact it for you,' persisted James.

"'Thanks! I have the utmost confidence in your judgment, but this is a matter that I feel inclined to take in my own hands.'

"'Business in Cadiz!' muttered James, ironically.

"His mother did not catch the words, but the General and I did. The General only smiled—he looked a little contemptuous now.

"'Why do you have to go back, dear?' his wife asked.

"'Simply because I got a letter this morning from that stupid banker, Henriquez. He has made a muddle of buying those three pictures we wanted, and that Englishman who was so crazy about them will get the lot after all, unless I go on myself.'

"'Oh, I wouldn't lose that Cano for the world,' cried Mrs. Harrington; 'I have set my heart on having it in my bed room at home.'

"'Precisely the reason I made up my mind to go, dear lady,' said the General, lifting her pretty hand to his lips with exquisite gallantry. 'I am a foolish man, and I cannot bear to have you disappointed in anything—be it of importance or the veriest trifle.'

"'Oh, how good you are,' said Mrs. Harrington, with the grateful tears swimming in her eyes. 'Far—far, far too good to me.'

"'I could not equal your deserts, my best one,' he answered. 'Besides, those three pictures are very valuable—worth double what I can get them for, and as a man who likes to further the cause of art in our new country, I should not feel justified in neglecting this opportunity. Am I not right?'

"'Perfectly,' she said.

"'Miss Crawford thinks so too, I hope!' he asked politely.

"I bowed—I was too much shaken by a world of strange, inexplicable emotions, to trust my voice just then.

"'I can attend to that business easily enough,' James added; 'and you profess to hate travelling.'

"'I shall be upheld by a consciousness that I am performing my duty,' replied the General, laughing. 'No, James, I am convinced that unless I go myself, we shall lose those pictures. I really have, what superstitious people call a premonition, in regard to the matter.'

"'It is useless to prolong the discussion,' exclaimed James, angrily, rising from his chair.

"'Oh quite,' replied the General, 'I am an indolent man, but a perfect Spartan in the cause of duty—pray give me some credit, ladies.'

"'I can only think how I shall miss you,' exclaimed his wife.

"'My dear friend, we shall both have one pleasant anticipation amid the pain of separation—that of meeting soon again.'

"James was walking up and down the room, moody and preoccupied.

"'When shall you go?' Mrs. Harrington asked.

"'This very day—I must lose no time.'

"'And when will you be back?'

"'Within the week; I shall make all haste, you may be sure.'

"'But you will stay in Cadiz long enough to rest,' she said anxiously; 'you must not make yourself ill.'

"'Always thoughtful—always kind!' he half whispered. Then he added aloud—'I shall send for Zillah to join me there, and will bring her on; so you see everything arranges itself admirably.'

"James paused suddenly in his impatient march up and down the room, and said more quietly than he had spoken during the whole conversation—'I will go with you, General—I shall be glad of a little change.'

"'My dear friend, few things could be pleasanter to me than to have your society, but you forget that it is quite out of the question here; you would leave your mother and Miss Crawford alone.'

"I could not keep silence a moment longer—if I had died for it, I must have spoken.

"'We have plenty of friends,' I said; 'we should do very well. Mr. Harrington could have a pleasant trip, and leave us quite satisfied that Zillah would not be carried off by bandits on the road.'

"I did not look at James as I spoke. I felt that I neither colored or showed any emotion—it seemed as if I was only surprised and slightly disgusted at so much discussion concerning a servant.

"'Oh, you must not go, James,' his mother said. 'I should die of fright in twenty-four hours.'

"'I see that it would be out of the question,' returned he, in a voice that wavered between vexation and trouble.

"The General cast another quick glance toward me—that strange fleeting look which I had detected several times before, and which proved to me that the suspicions in my own mind, to which I could scarcely have given a name, in fact but vaguely understood, had a place in his.

"James turned to leave the room; the General had risen and was standing at a little distance from me, bending over a vase of flowers and inhaling their perfume with that love of all beautiful things which was one of his most prominent characteristics.

"In leaving the room, Mr. Harrington had to pass near him, and I distinctly heard the General say—'You surprise me! Imprudent, most imprudent.'

"James passed on as if he had not heard the words, but I saw his face, and I knew by the pale wrath that locked his features and glittered in his eyes, that not a syllable of that quiet remonstrance upon the glaring impropriety of his behavior, had escaped him.

"The General had evidently forgotten that I sat near enough to have overheard his remark, but as he turned and looked at me, I suppose he saw by the expression of my countenance that I had done so. He seemed troubled. I knew that he divined the vague suspicions that disturbed me, and was annoyed to think that any words of his should so clearly have shown me that he shared my ideas in regard to James' singular conduct.

"I left Mrs. Harrington and the General together, for I knew that she would wish to be alone with him to receive his farewell; for it was so seldom that he left her, and her nerves were so fragile and excitable from long illness, that this brief separation and journey were matters of painful import to her.

"But whatever the General's decision in any case might be, it was seen to be right in her eyes; and it was not wonderful that she trusted him so implicitly, for his manner to her was always perfect, his care and attention to her unvarying; besides all, his judgment was seldom at fault.

"I went away to my room; as I passed through the corridor, I heard Lucy Eaton's voice on the landing above, and I hurried on, for I was in no mood to listen patiently to her girlish chatter.

"I was alone for a long hour, and it was a sad, dark watch that I kept there by myself in that gloomy chamber. The very fact that so many varying suspicions disturbed me, that they were all so vague and shifting, made my reflections full of unrest. But I could settle upon nothing—could form no conclusion.

"Only the other day I had believed that he loved Lucy Eaton—at least that he was captivated by her golden curls, blue eyes, and her pretty childish ways; the weak fascinations that seem to possess such strange power for the strongest men."



CHAPTER L.

MISS EATON MAKES MISS CRAWFORD A VISIT.

"The next morning there came a knock at the door; it was my maid. She came to inform me that the General was ready to start, and desired to bid me good-bye.

"I went down stairs and met him coming out of his wife's room.

"'Pray go and comfort her,' he said in a tremulous voice; 'I would not have undertaken this journey if I had thought that she would have felt it so much, though she insists on my going; she is very cheerful now, but I am afraid she will break down when I am gone.'

"'I will do all that I can to comfort her,' I said.

"'I am sure of that! I could not leave her if you were not here. James is fond of his mother—but—well, young men will be young men.'

"I did not attempt to return his smile—I was too indignant with young Mr. Harrington to aid in glossing over his conduct.

"'Believe me, my dear ward,' said the General suddenly, 'only a grave reason has made me start on this journey. Good bye—God bless you. Let me find you well and happy when I return.'

"He touched my forehead gently with his lips, and was gone.

"I was about to knock at Mrs. Harrington's door, when I saw James coming down the corridor, evidently going there, too. I turned away and went into the salon. I did not wish even to exchange a word with him then.

"It might have been half an hour after, when Lucy Eaton tapped at the door and opened it before I could speak.

"'I knew you were here alone,' she said, 'may I come in?'

"How pretty she looked, standing there in her dress of thin blue muslin, her golden hair falling about that lovely face which, probably, had never in her whole life been disturbed by a single thought or fancy that could cause pain to another.

"'So the General has gone to Cadiz,' she said, as she came into the room and flung herself in a graceful attitude on the sofa near me. 'How lost dear Mrs. Harrington will be;—we must all try to console her.'

"I was so unreasonable and bad tempered that I fear my first impulse was to ask her what possible right she could have to offer the lady consolation; but I managed to keep back that little ebullition of temper, and answered, instead—

"'He will only be gone a few days; Mrs. Harrington will not have a great deal of time to be lonely.'

"'And then she has you with her, and I can't fancy anybody feeling solitary, dear Miss Crawford, while they can have your society.'

"'Dear Miss Crawford,' was in no mood to accept compliments patiently—they would have had a false ring to my ear at that moment, coming even from those whom I knew well and loved, so they were not likely to be accepted with good grace from this comparative stranger. I suppose she would have thought me unkind for considering her so, but I never found it easy to get up the girlish enthusiasm necessary for cementing sudden and violent friendship.

"'That is a very pretty speech,' I said bluntly, 'but it doesn't mean anything at all.'

"Lucy dropped her tiny hands and went off into a peal of laughter that, I must confess, was sweet as a chime of silver bells.

"'You do say the oddest things!' she exclaimed. 'I never knew any one so original as you are, but dear Miss Crawford, though I like it exceedingly myself, do you think—'

"She hesitated, and as I saw she never would finish her sentence unless I asked the desired question, I inquired—

"'Do I think what, Miss Eaton?'

"'That—that gentlemen quite like it. Young girls have to be so particular, you know, or they displease them.'

"'Really,' I said, 'I have never taken the trouble to think about the matter; and to tell you the truth, I fear I should not much care, even if I had.'

"'Ah, to be sure, you are differently situated from so many girls—with your beauty and your great fortune, whatever you say or do will always be thought charming—Oh, dear Miss Crawford, I did not mean that—indeed I did not! Now you are vexed with me, I am sure.'

"'I am not quite bad tempered enough to take offence where none is meant, Miss Eaton.'

"'Bad tempered? Why, I think you have the sweetest disposition I ever knew! Mamma was saying only this morning, that you had a face like an angel.'

"I doubted that, for I was confident Mrs. Eaton had no great prepossession in my favor, but of course I let it pass.

"'I am so heedless,' moaned Lucy; 'I say everything that comes in my head—mamma says she wishes I could acquire a little of your dignity—but I never shall be like you—never.'

"The glance of self satisfaction which she cast in the mirror where her pretty figure was reflected gracefully curled up among the sofa cushions, was extremely amusing to me.

"'I think,' I said, 'that you may congratulate yourself on there being no resemblance between us.'

"'Oh, that was not what I meant,' she replied. 'You are very beautiful, and I am sure nobody would ever say that of poor little me.'

"I thought I had now talked all the nonsense that the most exaggerated idea of courtesy could require, so I said—

"'You must not think me unkind, but—'

"'Unkind?' she repeated. 'I never knew you to have an unkind thought. Whatever you do or say would always be considered charming.'

"'More pretty speeches,' said I, trying to laugh, for I had the grace to feel a little ashamed of my ill humor. 'You quite overwhelm me with them to-day—let me try my skill. Do you know that your dress is particularly becoming, and that you are looking your very loveliest to-day?'

"'Oh, my! no,' returned she, glancing at herself in the opposite mirror. 'I don't think the dress pretty at all—it's mamma's taste—and I am sure I am looking horribly. I told mamma I would not come in, only I was certain there was nobody here beside you.'

"'I have not seen Mrs. Harrington since the General left,' I said, by way of trying to bear my part in the conversation more than from any other reason; 'but her son is with her.'

"'Mr. Harrington is so devoted to his mother,' exclaimed Lucy. 'Mamma says that he is a model, and that so good a son could not fail to make—'

"She broke off with a little attempt at embarrassment, that was rather a failure.

"'Would make a good husband, you mean, I suppose,' returned I. 'That is the old proverb, I believe.'

"'Yes—but I hesitated—I'm so foolish. It always seems immodest to name such things outright.'

"'I am sorry that I am immodest,' said I, 'but straight-forward words are natural to me, and I utter them abruptly sometimes.'

"'I suppose I really ought to go and see if I can do anything for Mrs. Harrington. She is probably alone by this time.'

"At that moment the door opened, and James looked into the room. He did not see Lucy Eaton where he stood, and said coldly enough—

"'Miss Crawford, if you have leisure, my mother would like to see you.'

"'Certainly,' I said, rising.

"'And I must go back,' cried Lucy, springing up in a flutter. 'Mamma will positively think I am lost.'

"'Good morning, Miss Eaton,' James said; 'pray excuse me. I supposed Miss Crawford was alone. I beg pardon of both for having interrupted you.'

"'Oh, there was no interruption,' said Lucy, moving toward him with her thin dress sweeping out like a cloud. 'We were through talking, and what do you suppose it was all about?' she added coquettishly.

"'I really have no idea,' he answered, with a degree of indifference that I wondered she did not notice.

"'I am sure I shall not tell you,' she said, tossing her curls. 'We'll not tell, will we, Miss Crawford?' I was busy putting away some books that had been lying on a chair, and so had an excuse for being conveniently deaf.

"'Since you are so determined, it would be useless for me to attempt to persuade you,' James replied, and I knew that he was trying to be polite in order to hide how it bored him to stand there and talk nonsense.

"I think that a few days before it would have pleased me to have this proof that Mr. Harrington did not care so much for pretty Lucy Eaton, but it brought me no satisfaction now. Straightway, as if something had whispered it in my ear, came the reason for his indifference. His mind was so completely engrossed by thoughts of our conversation about the girl Zillah, that there was no room for other ideas to find a place.

"The bare idea turned me faint with indignation and disquiet. The worst thing of all—the hardest to bear—was to lose my respect for him; and he was forcing me rapidly to do that.

"If he had loved Lucy Eaton, it would have been an honorable affection, such as every man has a right to choose for himself; but in this entanglement, which I was more and more convinced fettered his feelings and movements, there could be nothing but secresy and dishonor.

"I wanted to go away—to get beyond the sight of his face—the sound of his voice. As I stood there listening to their idle conversation, I felt that I almost hated the man. With his wicked secret on his soul what right had he to bring himself into the presence of innocent women, and assume a position of equality with them. I knew how foolish it all was—I tried to think that the meanness was in my entertaining such suspicions, but I could no more change my feelings than I could banish my doubts.

"I walked to the door; as James stepped aside to allow us to pass, I caught one strange, troubled look from his eyes, which I could not understand. Did it mean that he believed I had divined his secret, and was appealing to my generosity for silence?

"There was no time to think about it. Lucy was holding me by the sleeve and saying—

"'I don't believe you have heard a syllable Mr. Harrington has said. His mother wants us to go out driving with her toward sunset.'

"'So Mrs. Harrington told me this morning.'

"'But you did not mention it.'

"'No, because she spoke before she knew of her husband's journey, and I thought she might not feel inclined to go out.'

"'I am sure I shall be delighted,' Lucy said. 'Do you mean to take the other seat, Mr. Harrington?'

"'If you permit.'

"'Oh, my! I'm sure it's not for me to say! But I know your mother never half enjoys herself unless you are present, and really, one feels so much safer driving when there's a gentleman along. One never knows what these dreadful Spanish coachmen may do.'

"'I believe ours is very trusty,' James replied. 'Please don't hint your fears to my mother, or she would not drive again while she is here.'

"'Oh, of course not! Any way, I did not mean anything—I always speak without thought! Mamma says my head is no better than a feather. Isn't that cruel of her, Mr. Harrington?'

"'You can console yourself by being certain that she does not mean it.'

"'Oh, I don't know! Mamma has a great admiration for dignified, stately creatures, like our dear Miss Crawford. She says I will be nothing but a spoiled little kitten all my days.'

"James looked so impatient of all this nonsense, that I was amused in spite of myself. I went away to his mother's room, and left him to free himself from Miss Eaton the best way he could."



CHAPTER LI.

CONTINUED MISUNDERSTANDING.

"Mrs. Harrington was lying on her sofa when I entered. She looked up and smiled cheerfully, but I could see that she had been crying.

"'I sent for you, dear, because James wanted to go out for a while,' she said. 'Some way I don't just like being left alone—you don't mind sitting with me?'

"'You know I like it, Mrs. Harrington.'

"'You're a dear, good girl, Mabel! I never can be grateful enough to you for all your kindness and patience with me.'

"I kissed her forehead but did not answer.

"'Toward evening we'll go out to drive,' she said, 'and take that little Lucy with us.'

"'Yes; Mr. Harrington gave her your invitation. Shall I go on with our book now?'

"'Oh yes, do; I am wonderfully interested in it.'

"I had left the novel in the salon, and went back to get it. As I opened the door, James was pacing up and down the room, and the face he turned toward me was pale and troubled.

"'I came for my book,' I said, and began searching for it among the volumes on the table.

"'Can I help you?'

"'Thanks—no—here it is.'

"How different it all was from the days—so far off and faded they seemed now—when we had conversed like friends, with neither restraints or concealment between us!

"Now he was reserved—distant, and I could feel that my manner was absolutely cold and haughty. I had reached the door when he came hurriedly toward me, saying—

"'Miss Crawford!'

"I stopped.

"'What is it, Mr. Harrington?'

"I knew my voice sounded icy—he looked at me, and the odd, troubled look came over his face again.

"'I only wished to ask if you were going to my mother,' he said in a hesitating, embarrassed way, very unusual with him.

"It was not true; he had meant to speak of something entirely different. I have wondered since if my frigid manner and lack of sympathy prevented him. Yet what could he have said—there was no possibility of his bringing even the slightest allusion to his trouble before me.

"'Certainly I am,' I said.

"'I have to go out,' he continued; 'I will be back by the time you wish to drive.'

"'Very well; but I assure you as far as I am concerned, I have no fear that the coachman cannot manage the horses without difficulty.'

"He colored slightly—offended, I suppose, by my tone and my indifference.

"'My mother desired me to accompany her,' he said, coldly, 'so I shall be obliged to force myself upon your society.'

"'Are you not too modest in your estimate of yourself?' I asked with a laugh, that even to my own ears, sounded so harsh and mocking, that I scarcely recognized it as my own.

"He gave me another of those quick, strange glances. It was too late to attempt to soften my judgments or opinions now, by looks or words. While hating myself for the thoughts that tormented me, I could neither return to my old faith or believe in the evil that disturbed it.

"'I fear I hardly appreciate satire,' he said, gravely.

"'No!' returned I, laughingly. 'You must cultivate a taste for it—read the old English humorists.'

"'Certainly Miss Crawford seems to have been studying the art lately with great diligence, if one may judge from the results.'

"'That is a somewhat doubtful compliment, still I must take it for granted that you meant it to be one,' said I. 'But I cannot wait to listen—Mrs. Harrington is wondering what I am about, I dare say.'

"'And we are not friends any longer? 'he asked with a sudden change of manner, extending his hand as he spoke.

"'The best of friends, certainly,' I answered, 'only I have not time just now to talk about the matter.'

"I pretended not to notice his offered hand, and ran away down the corridor. I glanced back as I reached his mother's door. He was still standing where I had left him—he was looking after me. All this seemed needless duplicity, and only made me feel more harshly toward him. I would not have touched his hand then for the world. Why did he wish to keep up the farce of trying to make me believe that my opinion was of consequence to him? Perhaps from that absorbing vanity which so many men are said to possess, which makes them unwilling to suppose that any woman in the world is absolutely indifferent to them.

"I went back to Mrs. Harrington, and sat reading to her for a long time. Then my maid came to help her dress—we had both forgotten how late it was. The carriage was already at the door.

"Lucy Eaton was ready when we sent for her, and in the salon. Mr. Harrington joined us, so we went out for our drive. It was almost sunset, one of those glorious days that it seems to me only Spain can show in their full perfection. Italy even falls short. There is a softness, a witchery, an absolute intoxication about them, which must be felt in order to be understood; but any one who has enjoyed them would say with me, that no words could be found to express their wonderful charm.

"A rather dull, silent drive, though Lucy Eaton talked a great deal; and James, who was sitting beside her, of course, made an effort to talk and to appear interested. But it was evident that it was an effort—so evident that I wondered how she could help seeing it.

"Mrs. Harrington was in one of her most quiet moods, and as for me, I leaned back in the carriage and kept my mouth resolutely shut. I am sure I must have looked both obstinate and disagreeable, but I could not help it—in fact, I am afraid that I did not much care.

"I was mortally tired; I could not tell why. Certainly a few hours of reading aloud could not have reduced me to a state of such extreme weariness, and I had made no other exertion; but body and mind I felt utterly prostrated, as if I should never be rested or strong again.

"I was glad enough when the drive was over. I must have shown in my face something of the lassitude, for even Lucy, who was the most thoughtless and unobservant of human beings said, as we got out of the carriage—

"'You look so pale, Miss Crawford; I am sure you cannot be well.'

"'Only dreadfully tired,' I said; 'I shall have a cup of tea and go straight to my room.'

"Mrs. Harrington was inclined to be anxious about me, but I succeeded in convincing her that there was no occasion.

"'I only want a long sleep; I was wakened very early this morning, and there is so much of the dormouse about me, that if I am cheated out of a single half hour of my usual allowance, I am fit for nothing all day.'

"I knew James was to stay with his mother; and as Lucy Eaton seemed inclined to spend the evening too, I drank a cup of tea and went away to my room.

"I undressed myself and lay down on my bed, too thoroughly worn out to sit up longer, but I could not sleep. I felt as if I would give the world to have fallen into a slumber so heavy that it could not have been disturbed even by a dream, till the new day came in.

"But not even a sensation of drowsiness would come. There I lay and watched the full moon soaring up the purple heavens—thinking—thinking, and yet so longing to be free from thought—and oh, so tired, so tired.

"Many a time I have passed a week that did not seem so long as that night! I had a horrible feeling that it would never come to an end. I felt as if time had ceased suddenly, and I had been flung into the pulseless hush of eternity, and was to be left alone there forever, with my dreary meditations for company and punishment."



CHAPTER LII.

GENERAL HARRINGTON RETURNS WITH ZILLAH.

"Of the remainder of that week, while we were waiting for the General's return, there are no events to record. The time passed quietly enough; Mrs. Harrington, in spite of her pining somewhat over her husband's unexpectedly prolonged absence, improved in health every day. It was a great pleasure to notice how each morning she seemed stronger and brighter, taking a new interest in everything that went on about her, and so cheerful and kind that I grew to love her very dearly.

"I suppose I may as well own the truth; Lucy Eaton was a great trial to me. I have no doubt that I was cross and irritable. I used to reproach myself twenty times each day, for being so captious and unreasonable; but really, that pretty, childish creature fretted me almost beyond all powers of endurance.

"I got so weary of hearing about dress, that I felt that I should never care again whether I had anything pretty or not. As for young men, and marriage, and the pleasures of society, I heard them discussed until I wished that neither of them had ever had an existence.

"But I have no doubt it was all greatly owing to the state of feeling into which I had fallen, and I knew it was wrong, but at that time I could not exercise the least control over myself.

"At last the General returned, bringing Zillah with him. I was out of the room when he arrived, so that I did not witness the meeting between him and his wife; but when I joined them soon after, one glance at Mrs. Harrington's face was sufficient to show how happy his return had made her.

"The General greeted me in his usual cordial, gallant manner. I was very glad to have him with us once more.

"'James cannot know you have come,' Mrs. Harrington said, 'or he would be here.'

"'He is quite well, I hope,' the General said.

"'Quite. Oh dear, how glad I am to have you back.'

"'You may know by your own pleasure, how glad I am to return,' he answered. 'Nothing would have induced me to go but that I felt it right. I did not approve—I may speak before my dear ward,—I thought James quite too young to be entrusted with the business of bringing back so pretty a girl as Zillah, even if she was only a servant.'

"'I must send for her,' Mrs. Harrington said. 'Poor thing, she will take it dreadfully to heart if she thinks I am not glad to see her.'

"She rang the little bell that sat on the table, and asked the man to send Zillah in. Just as he went, James entered. I looked with a little curiosity to see the meeting between him and his step-father.

"The General's manner was the same as ever—that exquisite blending of courtesy and kindly feeling which always characterized his communications with his wife's son. But young Mr. Harrington was constrained, almost cold. I knew that he had not forgiven the General for the course he had taken regarding that journey.

"When I saw that, I fairly hated him. He exchanged a little conversation with the General, talked for a moment with his mother, and after a frigid salutation to me passed on to a window, and stood there looking out into the court.

"In a short time the door opened again, and Zillah entered. The creature fairly bounded toward Mrs. Harrington like some beautiful wild animal, and fell at her feet, kissing her hands, and pouring out a torrent of delighted exclamations.

"The slave was more gorgeously lovely than ever; somewhat paler and thinner, and her great eyes beamed with more eager light.

"Mrs. Harrington was touched almost to tears by the girl's manner, but to me it was fairly repulsive. Her gladness was so exaggerated that I could not help thinking it all acting from beginning to end.

"'I am so glad, so glad!' she kept repeating. 'Dear mistress, I thought I should die and never see you again! It broke my heart! Oh, I am so happy.'

"'And I am very glad to have you back, my pretty Zillah,' Mrs. Harrington said. 'I have missed you very much.'

"Zillah kissed the fair hands again, but it seemed to me—oh, how suspicious I had grown—that the evil light I had so often noticed in her eyes deepened till, in defiance of her beauty, she looked absolutely fiendish.

"'See,' said Mrs. Harrington, 'you have not spoken to Miss Mabel.'

"The girl rose from her knees and came toward me, dropping a graceful curtsey that seemed to me fairly insulting, instead of a mark of respect.

"'I am glad you are quite well again, Zillah,' was all I could bring myself to say.

"She murmured something—I do not know exactly what—at the same moment she caught sight of James standing in the window. The color rushed in a torrent to her face, then as suddenly receded, leaving her pale and trembling with excitement.

"She went timidly toward him. He did not stir—did not even look round. Was it because he was afraid to let us see his face?

"Zillah stopped in the recess, and I heard her say in a faltering voice—

"'Mr. James, Mr. James! Everybody else is glad to see poor Zillah back, but you will not even speak to me.'

"He turned then. He was very pale, and his features were set and hard. I was certain this arose from a violent effort to conceal his feelings.

"'I am very glad you are well again,' he said; 'my mother has missed you.'

"The girl made a quick, angry gesture, and I saw—yes, I could swear that it was not fancy—I saw James Harrington make a little sign with his hand, as if to caution her.

"She checked herself at once, and with a few broken words about her love of her mistress, she turned away and went hastily out of the room.

"'Poor Zillah,' said Mrs. Harrington, 'she could not bear it any longer; she has gone away to have a good cry all by herself. She is the most sensitive, affectionate creature I ever saw in my life. I must go after her or she will be getting into one of her desperate fits, thinking nobody is pleased to have her back.'

"'Better leave her to herself,' the General said, carelessly; 'I think the girl is a good deal spoiled already—better not add to it.'

"James darted a perfectly furious glance at him as he spoke, then turned and looked out of the window again.

"'Perhaps you are right, dear,' Mrs. Harrington said; 'I do spoil the child, but she is so pretty, I really cannot help it.'

"'A reason that answers with women,' said the General, smiling, 'and young men,' he added to himself, but I caught the words, low as they were spoken.

"I suppose my face betrayed that I had heard him, for he gave me a little deprecatory bow and smile, half playful, half apologetic.

"James moved suddenly from the window and was leaving the room.

"'Are you going out, dear?' his mother asked.

"'Not yet,' he answered, 'Have you any commands, madre mia?'

"'None, I believe,' she replied with her happiest smile. 'Perhaps Mabel has, though.'

"'Miss Crawford has only to express them,' he replied, half turning toward me, his voice changing so quickly, growing so cold and indifferent, that I wondered even his mother, unobservant as she was, did not notice it.

"'You are too kind,' I answered, and if his tone was cold, mine certainly, was haughty enough. 'I have none with which I need trouble you.'

"The General, whom nothing escaped, looked curiously from one to the other, but did not speak.

"'You will not be gone long, James?' Mrs. Harrington asked, with the unconscious spirit of exaction which is apt to grow upon those who have been ill and suffered a good deal.

"'Not long enough for you to miss me, dear,' he replied, and his voice was kind and gentle as ever.

"I must do him that justice at least—his manner to his mother never varied. Whatever the secret was that disturbed him, however much preoccupied he might be—and sometimes he looked worn and troubled, as a man might who was struggling with evil spirits—he had always cheerful words and smiles at his command for her.

"He went up to her now, kissed her and said something in a low voice—some pleasant, affectionate words, I knew by the light that came over her face.

"'Good morning, James,' said the General kindly.

"'Good morning, General Harrington,' returned he in a hard, steely voice, bowed to me, and quitted the room abruptly.

"The General shrugged his shoulders, looked somewhat impatient, and a little amused.

"I had withdrawn to the window, and the General, walking up and down the room, passed me, and stopped a moment.

"'I gave up being astonished a good many years ago,' said he, 'but I confess the conduct of that eccentric young gentleman almost surprises me.'

"I am afraid my smile expressed something like contempt.

"'Wasn't it Rochefoucault who said, a woman is happiest when most deceived?' he asked, with a glance towards his wife. 'Either he or some other misanthropic old Frenchman; but whoever it was, master James has evidently read and remembered the maxim.'

"'What conspiracy are you and Mabel hatching?' laughed Mrs. Harrington from her chair.

"'Just at this instant,' returned the General, 'I am telling Miss Mabel that she looks a little pale and out of spirits.'

"'She has been kept in the house too much since you went away,' his wife said. 'Mabel, dear, James must take you and Miss Eaton to drive.'

"'I dare say he has engagements,' I answered carelessly. 'The courier can go with us perfectly well, and with him we can take the liberty of changing our minds as often as we please, about what we shall do.'

"'And that, I suppose, is a great happiness to young ladies,' said the General, playfully.

"'At all events, it is the charge made against us from time immemorial,' I replied, trying to speak in the same tone.

"'I am sure Mabel is not given to changing her mind,' said Mrs. Harrington.

"'No,' said the General, 'there are many subjects upon which her opinion, once formed, she would never change, I fancy,' and he smiled with a significance which I thoroughly understood.

"I murmured some unintelligible excuse, and left the room. I heard Mrs. Harrington say—

"'See Miss Eaton, dear, and settle about going to ride.' But I did not promise to do so."



CHAPTER LIII.

ZILLAH IS ANXIOUS ABOUT THE HEALTH OF HER MISTRESS.

"As I passed the salon, the door was open, and I saw the girl, Zillah, standing before James, talking eagerly, and evidently in a fierce state of excitement. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes blazing—she raised her hands with a quick, Southern gesture of entreaty. I thought she was about to lay them on his arm.

"That moment he caught sight of me, and made a little sign—she checked herself at once. He looked disconcerted, but the girl's assurance was not so easily shaken. She followed me at once, and as she overtook me, said—

"'Oh, Miss Crawford, I am so near crazy with joy at finding myself with the mistress and all of you, again, that I don't know what I do or say. I was just telling Mr. James how happy it made me to see my dear mistress looking so much better. She is better, Miss Mabel, you are certain sure of that.'

"Her look was eager; her eyes searched mine with keen scrutiny.

"'She is greatly improved,' I replied, coldly.

"'I was very sick, too, Miss Mabel,' she went on; 'at one time I thought I should die, and never see her again, or the master; master James, I mean, or any one. Oh, it seemed as if heaven was cruel to me, as if everything I saw was cruel.'

"'That is absolutely wicked, Zillah,' I answered, almost harshly.

"'I know it. I am sorry now—but I could not help it. We cannot always put down wicked feelings. But you are sure that the mistress is better—getting well?'

"I was a little conscience-stricken by the thought that there had been slight Christian feeling in the admonition I had given her, and so found nothing to say, except that I was sure Mrs. Harrington was almost quite well.

"'Are we going to stay here long, Miss Mabel?' she asked, following me, 'now that she is so much better—quite well—did you say quite well, young mistress.'

"'I don't know—perhaps, since Mrs. Harrington seems so much benefited by the air. The doctor considers her almost cured—there is only the weakness to overcome now. You can see how the color has come back to her face, yourself, Zillah.'

"Zillah gave a little groan, and staggered back against the wall, pressing her hand on her heart. She was deathly white, and her face was convulsed with pain.

"'Are you sick?' I demanded, really frightened, 'What is the matter, Zillah?'

"'Nothing—nothing,' she gasped. 'Let me sit down a minute—only a pain. I'm not very strong yet, young mistress.'

"She sank on a lounge that stood in the corridor, and covered her face with her hand. We were near my room, so I ran in there and got a glass of water and carried it to her.

"'Drink a little,' I said.

"The creature's hand shook so that she could scarcely hold the goblet, but the tremor passed quickly.

"'Thank you, young mistress,' she said, with a humility that displeased me, because it looked like acting. 'It is not the thing for you to wait on me.'

"'Are you better?' I asked.

"'Yes—yes—well now! I think it was only joy—my dear, dear mistress! I have this queer pain lately when I am taken of a sudden. It will go away by and by; I'm going to lie down—mayn't I, Miss Mabel?'

"It was absurd to ask the question—the girl had always done just as she pleased.

"'You know that you can,' I said.

"'If my mistress wants me, I'll come at once—I want to do everything for her now. I'm quite well—quite strong.'

"She got up from the lounge and walked down the corridor, but her step was unsteady and faltering. I was sorry for her, but my repugnance, my absolute repulsion toward the beautiful creature was only increased, though I could not have told why.

"Even her affection for her mistress seemed so exaggerated, that I could not believe it. Oh, I was growing very hard and wicked. I reproached myself bitterly, but the strange distrust would not be overcome.

"There is a fair in Seville, where many curious and beautiful things are offered for sale. This morning the Eatons were urgent that we should go. Some of the Rommany gipsies, from Grenada, had camped on the ground, and Lucy was dying to have her fortune told. Did the silly wish affect me? Was I weak enough to cover a latent desire to consult these strange people under the pretence of obliging Lucy Eaton? I fear so. In the restless state of mind which disturbed me, I was willing to fly even to absurdities for relief. Mrs. Harrington, greatly to my astonishment, consented to go with us. James protested a little against this, for she had not been so well for a day or two, and he feared the fatigue; but she, too, had a curiosity to see the gipsies, and protested that she could do well enough. If they had any fears, Zillah should go with us; and if she got weary, the carriage could take them back to the hotel, and return.

"No one objected to this arrangement, which delighted Zillah inexpressibly. The girl had been out a good deal since her arrival, especially after the fair commenced. Once or twice I had seen her come in with traces of strange excitement in her face and manner. She gave no account of herself, when questioned, more than to say she had been out to see the town; but I, who watched her closely in spite of myself, saw that she was pale, silent and preoccupied, for hours after these excursions.

"This morning she came to me in a quiet, mysterious manner, which seemed to spring out of suppressed excitement, and hesitating like a bashful child, asked me to give her a little money. She wanted to buy some ribbons for her hair, she said, but hated to ask the master or mistress for money. The Spanish servants had a way of braiding the hair down the back, and knotting it with bows of ribbon. She wanted to surprise the mistress by the length of her own hair, that was why she came to me for money.

"I gave her a napoleon, and in doing so my hand touched hers. It was cold as snow, and shook nervously as I laid the gold in her palm. This agitation surprised me, and I looked suddenly in her face to read the cause there; but her eyes were cast down, and, but for a cold whiteness about the mouth, I should have seen but little difference from her usual manner.

"'Zillah,' I said, 'what is the matter that you look so white?'

"She started and cast a frightened look upon me, while a rush of crimson swept her face like a stormy sunset.

"'So white?' she stammered. 'Do I look white?' Then she added quickly, with a faded smile, so evidently forced that it was unpleasant to me, 'Miss Mabel forgets how ill I have been; I am not strong yet, and it doesn't take much to tire me—I suppose I ran down stairs too quick.'

"She slipped the gold I had given her into her bosom, and thanking me again for it, started away down the corridor. I had risen and was moving to the door, intending to go to Mrs. Harrington's room to speak to her for a moment, when Zillah came back.

"'Miss Mabel,' she said, speaking like a person who had been running, 'I want to say something to you—don't be anxious, may be it is only my foolishness—but I'm afraid the dear mistress isn't so well as you have all thought.'

"'What makes you think that, Zillah?'

"'This morning, when I was dressing her, she had one of her old faint attacks, but she made me promise not to tell. Oh! Miss Mabel, I was so frightened—that was what made me look so strange when I came up. I can't bear to think of it! My mistress, my dear mistress!'

"She was wringing her hands in a wild agitation that was not feigned, and I did all that I could to comfort her, though this sad news unnerved me almost as much as herself."



CHAPTER LIV.

BEHIND THE GIPSIES' TENT.

"Soon after Zillah left me, a servant came to announce that the carriage was ready. I found the whole party assembled in the salon, Zillah waiting outside the door. I never remember to have seen Mrs. Harrington in such spirits as she was that morning; she looked so young and pretty, too, that it seemed impossible that she could be the mother of that handsome, proud-looking man. We drove through the streets, away out of the town, to the place where the fair was held. It was an odd, picturesque sight, with the gaily decorated booths, the crowds of quaintly dressed men and women, the noise and laughter.

"There was a throng gathered about a puppet-show, somewhat like the English Punch and Judy, shrieking with laughter like so many children; a group of girls consulting an old fortune-teller; pretty peasant girls from the hills slily listening to compliments from the town gallants, evidently to the great indignation of their country swains; in short, every way we turned, some picture that would have been a treasure to any great artist, met the eye, and all so strange and picturesque, that I became more interested than I had thought possible.

"The Gipsies were grouped in a green lane just on the outskirts of the fair. I had seen persons in my own country who claimed to be these people, but they were as unlike the pure Rommany gipsies as races of men could be. These people were thin, wiry and keen; their features, in most instances, finely cut, and the expression of their countenances full of sharp intelligence. They had pitched a double line of tents, where the elder women were busy selling drinks, and frying cakes, which they sold hot from an iron cauldron full of simmering fat, out of which the smoking cakes were lifted with a skimmer, as customers wanted them. The young girls of the tribe hovered around the doors of the tents, or were grouped in a larger tent, dancing for money, at the behest of any stranger who cared to amuse himself by their wild and eccentric movements.

"We were told that these dances were not always such as ladies would care to witness, and so avoided the great tent, and gave ourselves up to the swarms of women who were eager to tell our fortunes, or steal our purses, as the case might be. In the midst of this confusion, Mrs. Harrington took hold of my arms in a wild, agitated way, whispering that she was tired, and would like to go home.

"I looked around for Zillah, but she had disappeared, and the gentlemen, just at the moment, were out of sight.

"'Sit here,' I said, leading Mrs. Harrington into one of the tents, 'while I go in search of some one who can tell me where the carriage is.'

"Mrs. Harrington sat down, white and faint, both Mrs. Eaton and her daughter came to her and offered help. I left Lucy fanning the gentle lady, and went into the lane in search of Zillah, though her mistress, made a faint effort to prevent it. As I turned a corner of the lane, two women who stood a little apart from the road, near the back of one of the tents, struck me as familiar. They stood upon the turf, and were talking earnestly. One held something in her hand, which she looked down upon, now and then, as she talked. After a moment, I became sure that one of these persons was Zillah, and went toward her. The turf on which I walked gave forth no sound, and I moved close to the girl before she could be aware of my presence. That moment a small phial passed from the hand of that old gipsy woman to that of Zillah, who held the little flask up to the light, and examined it curiously, speaking in a quick, abrupt way, in Spanish.

"I could not distinguish the meaning, she spoke so rapidly. When the gipsy answered, I caught the word Droa, uttered under the breath two or three times. The woman seemed to be giving some directions; she spoke almost in a whisper, and I saw the long bony hand clutch Zillah's arm, as if to impress what she was saying more forcibly upon the girl's attention. Then I saw Zillah hand the piece of gold I had given her that morning, to the woman, while she asked other questions in a whisper.

"'Zillah!'

"The girl fairly leaped from the ground, and uttered a sharp scream, as if I had struck her to the heart.

"'Zillah, what is this? Why are you so terrified?' She had drawn back towards the tent, grasping the phial close in her hands; then with her wild eyes on my face, and her features locked in gray whiteness, she stood a full minute staring at me in dumb terror. At last, she faltered out, 'Miss, Miss Crawford, how—how you frightened me. I—I am so nervous.'

"'But there is nothing to make you nervous, Zillah. I only came to say that your mistress wishes to go home.'

"'Oh! I am ready—I am ready, but—but when did you get here? We—we were talking—'

"'About something you had in your hand. What is it, Zillah?'

"I saw the girl's slender fingers close spasmodically on the phial, and the dead whiteness returned to her face.

"'Oh! it is—'

"Then the gipsy broke in. 'It is a love philter—something that will make her sweetheart tender and faithful—would the senorita like to buy one?'

"I turned my eyes on Zillah; she was still pale, and trembled visibly. With her magnificent eyes cast down, and her whole figure bowed as if by some invisible power, she seemed to deprecate my scorn or anger. I was angry. What did she want with the philter in her hand—to whom was it applicable?

"'Foolish, ignorant girl,' I said. 'So it was for this poor fraud you wanted money. Zillah, I thought you had more sense?'

"The girl stood up more firmly. It seemed as if a load had dropped from her shoulders. She gave a sharp laugh, and said 'I know it, young mistress. It is a folly—but I could not help it—the gipsies have such power—and I may never see them again. Don't tell of me, they will laugh so?'"



CHAPTER LV.

BURDENED WITH A SECRET.

"I turned away without answering, only ordering Zillah to have done with such nonsense, and go to her mistress. She walked on a little behind me, with more meekness than was natural to her; but I was troubled with a sort of dread, which nothing in the circumstances could explain.

"It was all natural enough. In the name of heaven, what had I suspected? I did not know—I do not now! but I felt faint and sick with some horrible dread, to which I could give neither name or reason.

"'Miss Mabel,' said Zillah, coming to my side. 'I suppose you think I told you a story this morning.'

"'Yes,' I said, 'I saw you give that money to the old woman.'

"'I was ashamed to tell you what I really wanted, for fear you would laugh at me,' she replied, 'I never do tell the least bit of a fib that I'm not found out.'

"'That ought to teach you not to tell any,' I said, rather severely.

"'Indeed I don't, Miss Mabel—unless it's about some foolishness like this. I'm not a big story teller—don't think I am.'

"'I shall not unless you force me to,' I answered. 'Come, we must find your mistress now.'

"I walked quickly on, and she followed me in silence. Once I glanced back at her—there was an expression on her face which puzzled me, yes, almost made me afraid. I could imagine Clytemnestra holding her midnight watch, with a face like that—Lady Macbeth waiting for her husband's return, with eyes like those—oh, I had grown so fanciful and silly during those past days.

"We found Mr. James Harrington with his mother, who was just driving away in the carriage.

"When it came back, I saw him return to the Eatons, who seemed to occupy him entirely. Feeling myself completely unregarded, I wandered off by myself, interested in the strange people that surrounded me.

"I looked about and found that I had lost sight of the whole party. I was not frightened, because the fair grounds were in full view, and I could find my way back easily enough, but I was a little amazed to think that my presence had been of so little consequence to the gentlemen of the party, that I had been permitted to steal away unnoticed.

"I walked on among the tents—nobody looked at me unpleasantly or spoke rudely to me, and when my first feeling of pique had subsided, I was not sorry to have an opportunity of examining more closely these strange and incomprehensible people who, during so many ages, have kept up their distinctive manners and customs, as much a mystery now as when they first made their appearance among the inhabitants of Europe.

"Such picturesque looking men, lazily basking in the noon-tide sun—such groups of lovely children, that would have sent Murillo into ecstacies—such beautiful girls, whose every movement had a willowy, sensuous grace that the women of no other people ever possessed—weird, witch-like old crones, with such depths of wickedness in their fiery eyes, that in looking at them one could easily have believed in the old-time evidence of those who made bargains for their souls with the Evil One. On I wandered, sometimes stopping to admire the children, or speak a few words to the young girls.

"While I was thus occupied, James Harrington joined me, and began speaking of his mother.

"'She is getting worse,' he said, 'and I can do nothing for her. It seems as if the presence of this slave girl has a baleful influence on every one she approaches!'

"I looked at him wonderingly. Why had he opened that subject with me. I had no wish to discuss it, even in reference to his mother. Before I could answer him, General Harrington and the Eatons joined us, and we all walked back to the hotel together.

"I went at once to Mrs. Harrington's room. She was lying on a couch near the window, with her hands clasped, and her eyes closed; but I saw the lids quivering, and discovered heavy tears dropping one by one, on the cushion beneath her head.

"'Are you so ill,' I said, sitting down on the edge of the couch and kissing her troubled forehead.

"'Ill!' she sobbed, lifting both arms toward my neck, like an unhappy child, 'Oh Mabel, my heart is broken. I shall never, never be well again!'

"She trembled all over, and seemed ready to go into convulsions in my arms.

"'What is it,' I said. 'What could have happened to distress you so?'

"She looked into my face so helplessly, that my soul yearned toward her.

"'Tell me, oh tell me of the trouble, for it is trouble, and nothing else,' I said, holding her close in my arms, for I felt that we were fellow-sufferers, and that my heart must ache with something more painful than sympathy.

"She began to tremble again, and clung closer to me.

"'It was foolish. I did wrong, but who would have thought what would follow. I—I saw him going toward that large tent, where the music was. Zillah had gone in just before, while I was buying some embroidery of a woman. You had all walked on—I wanted to speak with Zillah, and followed him.'

"'Go on,' I said, as well as the pain at my heart would permit of speech—for she stopped suddenly, and made a faint effort to leave the clasp of my arms. 'Go on, you cannot feel this more than I do.'

"'Ah, you love me so, thank God for that.'

"'And you can trust me, I would not speak of this, dear friend, to a living soul, not to save my own life.'

"'It is not that, Mabel, but I have loved him so,—been so proud of him. Never, till this day, have I known what it was to suspect any one dear to me. Now it is not suspicion, but certainty. He loves her, Mabel! My own servant! I saw her clinging to his arm, while those wild girls were dancing before them. I heard him tell her how much more beautiful she was than any woman he had ever seen. Don't look at me so wildly, Mabel! I cannot repeat the words, but they are buried in here.'

"'And you heard this, there is no mistake.'

"'Mistake, oh if there could be!'

"'Still this man is—'

"'I know it—the shame and disgrace must be buried here. I dare not speak of it, dare not reproach him—for there is one who loves me so dearly that he would take revenge, and there might be bloodshed as well as perfidy. Oh Mabel, I am glad you did not make yourself a slave by loving as I wished. All this is terrible.'

"'Yes,' I said hoarsely, 'It is terrible, but it does not take me by surprise.'

"'Then you have suspected something—oh Mabel, keep that girl away from me. I will be silent, I will do anything a good woman ought, but the sight of her will be too great a torment.'

"I promised to keep Zillah away if that were possible, without giving a reason, and again pledged my word to hold all that she had said, secret as the grave. But I went to my own room, fell upon the bed, and passed into an agony of jealous shame.

"During the last two weeks Mrs. Harrington is much worse. All her old complaints have come back, and she lies upon her sofa all day long, weary and languid. Nothing can equal the devotion of her husband; as for the son, his attentions are unremitting; does he guess why she is so much worse, and is he striving by kindness to silence her unspoken reproaches? She gives no sign of the trouble that is sapping away her life, not a word has passed between us since that day. The Eatons have left us. The atmosphere of a sick room disturbs them. Worse and worse—alas! I greatly fear this gentle lady will never leave Seville alive. The last remnant of strength seems to be dying out of that fragile form.

"Zillah is most attentive—always by her door—always ready to be of service, yet I loathe and fear the girl. There are times when her eyes have a look that makes me shudder, and I long to remove that pale, gentle creature from her care. But, strange enough, General Harrington has taken a singular liking to the girl, and insists upon it that no one can prepare his wife's medicines, or soothe her, so well. Poor lady, she must submit, or destroy all her husband's respect for the son who has wounded her so.

"Weaker and weaker—alas! poor lady, she seems to have no real illness, but fades away calmly and softly, like a flower that the frost had kissed to death.

"Harrington watches the gentle decline with silent anguish, that I can feel, while I bitterly condemn him. How cold and distant this trouble renders me! He speaks sometimes of his fears as she grows worse and worse, but it is with mournful restraint, and when I lift my look to his, or attempt those broken words of comfort that spring naturally to the lips, he turns away without reply, as if my attempt at consolation had only deepened his remorse. Was that wild confession on the raft all a dream? Had terror and privation rendered me delirious? Could these words, so deeply written in my memory, have been only a wild hallucination? Is this man the same being I almost worshiped then?

"She is dead—oh, heavens! She died last night, with no one near but the slave, and, as the girl Zillah said, without a struggle or a sigh.

"The slave came to my room just at daylight, weeping and wringing her hands in such distress, that she fairly terrified me, when I saw her standing in the open door.

"'Oh,' she said, tossing her arms on high, 'she is gone, she is gone.' I watched her, young mistress, just like a mother hangs over her sick child. She made a motion with her hand,—I thought she wanted more drink, but she turned her face on the pillow, and looked at me so wild, I couldn't turn my eyes away, but sat watching, watching, watching till her face turned gray under my eyes, and I could see the white edges of the teeth, between her lips, as they fell more and more apart. I reached out my hand to touch hers. It was cold as snow, but her eyes were wide open, looking straight into mine, dull and heavy, as if they had been filling with frost.

"In the gray light of that morning, I went down to the death chamber. General Harrington and James received me in mournful silence. I had no heart even for unspoken reproaches, there. If ever forgiveness was glorified, I saw it on that sweet, dear face.

"We passed a gloomy day. The shock has been terrible to James, terrible to us all—for the General is greatly disturbed, and, as for the slave-girl, her grief is fearful; she raves rather than weeps, and trembles like an aspen at the mention of her dead lady's name.

"With the solemn burial services of the Catholic Church, we have consigned the remains of this lovely woman to her grave, and now my loneliness is complete. My own poor heart seems to have partaken of the chill that has quenched her life. I am weary of this beautiful land—weary of everything—alone and unloved; for now I am almost sure my own wild brain coined the words that seemed to come from his lips in the storm—alone, unloved—what remains for me but——

"A great disappointment has fallen upon General Harrington. A will is found, and every dollar of his wife's property is left to her son. All this seems incomprehensible. I pity the proud old man.

——"It is all over now! Oh, Heaven, that I should have so deceived myself! Harrington loves another—Lucy whom he has known almost since childhood, and from whom a series of untoward circumstances separated him. There is, there can be no doubt—no room for a single hope—the General himself informed me of it to-day.

"I cannot write—I cannot even think! There is a strange confusion in my brain—a fever in my heart which give me no rest. I long for some one to advise me—some one to whom I can look for sympathy—but I have no counsellor. Kindred—mine are in the grave! Friends—the last one sleeps in the cemetery yonder—in the wide world I am utterly alone. The General grows kinder to me daily, but to him how could I speak of all these things? No! I must bury the secret deep, deep in my own heart—must endure this suffering in silence and alone.

"I have but one wish now—could I but be the means of uniting James Harrington with the woman he loves. The only consolation left to me, would be to know that he was happy, and that it was to me he owed that happiness. But I can do nothing; the General only hinted at some mysterious history, and he requested me to consider all that he had revealed as sacred. Is this the secret? Does Lucy Eaton suspect the unworthiness which it kills me to know?

"Six months in a convent. It is too late to look back, or to retract anything I have promised. I have consented to become General Harrington's wife—to fill the place of one who took me to her heart as if I had been her own child, bestowing upon me the fondness which I could have no right to claim, except from a mother.

"The change I had remarked in the General's manner was not fancy, as I strove to think. He desires to make me his wife. He alluded to it yesterday for the first time, and to-night I gave him my answer. I can but confess that the arguments he employed were just; a young girl could not remain in the house with a man no older than he without being connected to him by a nearer tie than that which binds us. He spoke to me very kindly, more gently and tenderly than I had thought he could do. He believes that I have formed no other attachment, or, if not entirely heart free, it was but a girlish fancy, which had no real basis. He assures me that I shall be happy as his wife, but my heart answers how impossible that is! I do not ask happiness—let me but find quiet and contentment—I seek no more.

"A year has gone by. We are in America again. General Harrington will join me to-morrow. Ay, it is better thus—I would have it over. Perhaps, in the peaceful home I shall find in my native land, I may learn to still this poor heart to rest. I long to return.

"He is not here. He left us when we reached Madrid, for the purpose of entering France through the Basque countries; but this month the General received another letter from him—he is staying in Italy. The General, it seems, had written that he had obtained my consent to become his wife, and the answer is—'Whatever will conduce to your happiness, and that of the lady, must be acceptable to me.'

"Nothing more—not even an expression of astonishment! Yes, it is better thus! I will marry General Harrington—he is the only being on earth who cares for me—the only one who would seek to render me happy. In a few years he will be an old man, and the trust and friendship I now feel, will be sufficient to his contentment. This firm and trusting friendship I shall always be willing to give. If I do not accept him, where am I to turn for a protector—of what avail is my great wealth, since it cannot win for me a home in any human heart?

"I marvel at my own calmness—pray Heaven that when too late, I do not find that it has been only the apathy of despair. I will be calm—my hushed and trembling heart shall at least be silent—by-and-by it will, perhaps, be numbed into insensibility. I can expect nothing more; for I know that the uprooted flowers of a love like mine can have no second-blossom, the sweet fountain of affection once wasted, its waters may never flow again.

"I will write no more in my journal for a season—why should I make this record of my weary life—this plaint of my troubled soul?

"I have suffered the one terrible grief of a lifetime; of what avail to inscribe upon these pages a memento of a lasting wretchedness!"



CHAPTER LVI.

TOO LATE, TOO LATE.

"A year to-day since I became a wife, a year into which has been crowded an eternity of sorrow and regret; can I never learn to endure in silence! Did my husband mean to deceive me when he told me that James Harrington was plighted to another. I spoke of it to-day trembling as the words left my mouth. My husband laughed pleasantly, and answered 'oh, child, that was a love ruse. I had a vague fancy that the young fellow might be in my way, and so disposed of him poetically. There was nothing in it. The fellow has not spirit enough to win a beautiful woman.'

"Great Heaven! did he know how faint and cold those words left me—how I almost loathed him for this awful fraud. God help me—God help me to forgive him! It seems now as if I never could. How this portion of my life has passed I hardly know; seldom have I made a record of its secrets. Much of the time has been spent in the gay world, for my husband—how strangely the word husband sounds even now—seems to grow every day fonder of its pleasures. The months thus spent have been most wearisome to me; I like better the calm retreat where I have spent my summers, with only a few servants to disturb the quiet of the house, and faithful Ben Benson, who has never left us, to gratify, as if by magic, every wish of his capricious mistress. But there is to be a change—henceforth we are to reside wholly at the North, and he is coming home to live with us.

"A new blessing has been granted to me! Forgive me my God, that I have dared thus to repine and forget that Thy protecting care was over me! I am a mother! My baby sleeps in his cradle by my side, and one glance at his face makes me forget all the misery I have endured. James returned during my illness. My heart was too full of its new bliss for any other feeling. With my child folded over my heart, I could meet him without one of its pulses being stirred—there is a sacredness in the duties God has now given me, which I should not have dared profane by one human regret.

"He looks ill and careworn—would that I might speak of his affairs, but I can do nothing, though it is fearful to see him thus; to know that he suffers and feel that I have no power to relieve him. He seems to love my baby. Heaven bless him for that! The General's indifference has pained me, but the nurse says men never like children—when he grows older and his father sees him all that is noble and good he will love him; how could he do otherwise?—my precious, precious child.

"This little girl, poor, forsaken, young, innocent, she seems to have been sent to be the companion of my boy. How he loves her already; bending over the cradle where she lies to touch her little face with his dimpled hands, his great eyes lit up, and his whole countenance aglow with feeling, such as one seldom witnesses in a child. This is only another kind act for which I have to bless Ben Benson. He found the infant wandering away from some unknown home in a fearful storm, almost perished, and unable to tell even her name.

"It is a beautiful child, and the nurse pronounces her a very healthy one. The General seems quite willing that I should adopt her; so I have now a daughter—the word sounds sweet, very sweet to me. James looks at me strangely as I sit with Lina in my lap, and little Ralph by my side, there is a mournfulness in his face which wrings my very heart; doubtless he reflects upon the happiness denied him—ah! he need not envy me a few blessings which have been bestowed upon me.

"Am I happier now! My children are growing all that I could wish. I have wealth, kind friends—say, am I happy? I would not repine nor be ungrateful, but, oh! were it not for the little ones Heaven has confided to my care, how gladly would I seek a quiet resting place in the grave!

"I know now that time cannot alleviate suffering, that nothing can teach the heart to forget or still it into quietude, save for a little season. Yet my existence is not wholly vain, and while those youthful creatures need my care I am willing to live, but there are times when the burden forced upon my soul seems harder than I can endure. When I fling myself down in utter despair, feeling unable to tread longer the weary path which lies before me.

"It seems to me that I should suffer less could I but see James happy, but his sad silence increases my own pain. He is always gentle and kind, devoted to the children; full of respect and quiet attentions for me; but how changed from the bright youth of former years. How distant that season—through what a fearful gloom I look back upon the brightness of those summer years! How often I ask myself if I am indeed the dreaming girl who, in her chamber at Neathcote watching the stars out in a vigil which was like a charmed vision, believing that life was to be one long fairy dream of delight.

"I have been thinking of that sail upon the lake. I could not help it! Ralph brought me some water lilies that he and Lina had gathered; as if the odor of those flowers had possessed a spell to conjure up the past, the fleeting happiness of that summer day came back to me.

"Ralph left me alone, and for a long hour I gave myself up to the feelings which his simple offering had aroused. I had not thought there could be so much of passion in my suffering now—the tears I shed burned my cheek like flame; and, when the storm gust had spent its might, I lay back on my couch, weak and faint.

"I was roused from those haunting memories by voices beneath my window—it was his voice; he was conversing with Ralph. I leaned forward, and looked down upon them—then I realized how fearful was the change which had passed over him. I had been dreaming of him, as he appeared upon that blessed day, and the being I beheld beneath my casement looked like the ghost of the happy-eyed boy of my vision.

"O, had he but confided in me—would he but have trusted me as his sister—hush! am I not a wife? Whither have my mad thoughts led me! My God, have mercy upon me, stay the terrible tempest which has desolated my whole being, and now breathes its deadly simoon through the sepulchre which was once a heart. I will neither write, nor think more—there must be an end of this weakness—how unlike the fortitude I had promised myself to acquire.

"Yet it seems strange that I have no right to indulge in these memories of an era in my existence gone forever! How few and fleeting were those moments of unshadowed sunlight; the brightest twin memories which my soul can recall, were given to me under such different auspices. Of the first sweet hour, I have just promised my soul never again to think—upon the gloomy waters of my existence, no lilies are blossoming now—the last withered flowers have been torn from their roots, and swept idly down the current to perish, leaving only a faint perfume in my heart, which is but an added pain.

"Now I know that its very bliss was a delusion of my fancy, like the words, I believed to have heard, wrung from Harrington's breast during that fearful tempest, when we stood upon the deck of the ill-fated vessel, and death seemed so near us. Could I have died then, died with his arms enfolding me, his manly heart against my own, the measure of my existence had been complete—it began beneath the sunlight of his smile, it would have ended with the last life-pulse within his noble bosom.

"Now I will lay this book aside nor shall my hand again turn its pages, until I have taught myself something of the quiet I have so long striven to attain. If in the sight of Heaven I have sinned, cannot my sufferings atone for it?—the evil, if evil there has been, was involuntary; the penitence has been deep and earnest; surely the angels watching over me will not let it be without avail.

* * * * *

"Great heavens! will this heart never have rest—will years do nothing for me? Ralph is now a man; Lina, one of the most lovely creatures I ever saw. These two children, whose infant kisses seem, even now, upon my lips, have sprung up into sudden youth, and seem ready to escape my love. Yesterday, Lina came to me with a world of innocent blushes, and hung about my chair, as if longing to whisper some secret into my ear, yet without the courage to speak. I wondered what the child wanted, but would not force her confidence.

"I thank God, oh! I thank my God that I am alive. The terrible shock of that night is still through my frame. I have been so close to death, that the vitality at my heart seems unreal. Last night I was hurled into the depths of the river, that is even now rushing onward to the ocean so near to my window, that the eternal sweep of its waters haunt me like a threat of death.

"He saved me—or rather they—for Ben Benson was in the midst of the storm, resolute, like the other. I must have been dead for a time, for, when my memory came back, it seemed as if I had forgotten all these miserable years of married life, and was upon that heaving raft again, with his arms around me, and whispering those low, passionate words in my ear. Why did that dream come back then? Was it to lay my heart open, and reveal to me how little prayer and time have done to wrest this first and last love from my heart?"



CHAPTER LVII.

ZILLAH.

As General Harrington hurried through his wife's journal, his eyes grew bright and cold, like steel when the sun strikes it; his lips, always so soft and sensual in their expression, became rigid with passion, and clung together hardened by the silent rage that burned in the depths of his heart. Had Mabel proved herself vicious or unprincipled in the book so cruelly purloined, he might have forgiven it; but here the struggle to love him had been so great, that it wounded his self-love in every fibre. The struggle to love him—General Harrington, the invincible, the adored of so many hearts! "He would soon be an old man, and then the friendship, which was all her heart could ever give, would content him. He an old man—he who had solemnly determined never to know what age or infirmity was." The insult was too much. His outraged vanity hardened into absolute malice. For the first time he positively hated the man who could be loved better than himself. He forgot the self-sacrifice, the wealth given up to his use—the sublime devotion which had made James Harrington a guardian angel to Mabel's son. He forgot everything save that the noble girl he had married for her wealth—wealth even on her wedding-day half squandered at the gaming table, by an unfaithful guardian, had give the preference of her taste—he cared little for a deeper feeling—to one younger than himself, and that one the man to whom his first wife's wealth had descended in one vast property.

Was it not enough that the young man had stepped into his place on the death of his mother—that when he fancied himself in the untrammelled possession of her fortune, a will, undreamed of during her life, should have been found, transmitting every dollar of her property into the uncontrolled possession of a son—was not this disappointment enough? Must his self-love and pride be swept into the same vortex? Had both wives proved their treason against him where he was most sensitive?

The old man would not remember that James Harrington had not only allowed him to remain the ostensible possessor of this large fortune, undoubtedly his own just inheritance, but that more than two thirds of the annual income had for nearly twenty years been surrendered to his unquestioned disposal. He forgot that Mabel's fortune had melted away at the gaming-table without inquiry or protest on her part, and that, in fact, his own luxurious life was fostered only by their magnanimous bounty. All these things were ignored in his rage at the secrets revealed in that unhappy journal, and he really believed himself the most wronged and outraged of human beings—wronged because the woman whom he had first married for her wealth alone, had divined the truth, and left all that she possessed to her son, which seemed a new offense to him then—and outraged that any woman honored by his preference, should ever have given another place in her thoughts. His grounds for anger went no deeper than this at the moment, for even his stony heart would not give birth to a thought of wrong against Mabel, beyond the erring love so feelingly regretted in every line of that book; but there was a tempter at hand, ready to infuse venom into even his selfish nature.

General Harrington sat with the book open before him. One hand, on which was a costly seal-ring, had, in unconscious warmth, grasped a dozen of the leaves, and half-torn them from the cover, while his eye read on, fascinated, and yet repulsed by the secret thoughts thus torn with unmanly violence from poor Mabel's life. All the craft and coolness of his nature had disappeared for the moment. His whole being was fired with disgust and bitter rage. Still, in his soul, he felt that these two persons had in reality suffered a deadly wrong from himself; that, after encouraging the attachment which he had hoped might spring up between them before his wife's death had swept her great wealth out of his hands, he had ruthlessly, and without questioning the state of these two souls, severed them for the accomplishment of his own interests. It had not once occurred to him that any lasting attachment for another could exist, while he condescended to solicit a woman's preference; and that which had for a time made itself manifest between the two young people, only gave a fresher zest to his conquest. To win a woman from one so much younger than himself, was even then, a triumph almost as agreeable as the possession of Mabel's fortune.

But now, when he was beginning to feel the approach of age, and to wither under the preference given to younger men—a preference rendered each day more decided in a country where statesmen are jostled aside by beardless boys, and the senseless giggle of pert school girls might drive Sappho into a second watery grave, sickened with disgust. His personal vanity became almost a monomania, and he sat there, clutching Mabel's book, pale as death, and with flecks of foam gathering upon his lips, longing to appease his mortified vanity by tearing fiercely at something, as a baffled hound digs his claws into the earth when his prey is beyond reach.

As he sat there shaking with silent rage, a door, not used for years, opened in his bed-chamber, and a woman came through, leaving the dark and dusty room which had for a short time been occupied by the first Mrs. Harrington, before her fatal voyage to Europe, in total darkness again. She stood for a moment, concealed by the crimson curtains, and keenly watched the old man, as he sat trembling before her in the first rage of his humiliation. Then, having satisfied herself that her hour was propitious, she stole softly into the library, and dropping one arm softly over General Harrington's shoulder, stooped down and kissed his forehead. The old man started, looked up, and a faint laugh, almost childish in the sudden reaction from which it sprung, broke from his lips.

"Zillah, my beautiful, my true-hearted, is it you?"

The woman dropped on one knee, trembling from head to foot. Some endearing epithet, uttered in French, which converted the laugh on his lips into a smile, broke as it were, unconsciously from her; and he felt the arm upon his shoulder shiver like the wing of a bird just as it settles after flight.

He answered her in French, and his eyes, full of gratitude for the balm her emotion brought to his vanity, sought hers.

"Zillah, you loved me. I am at least sure of that!"

"Loved!" said the woman, lifting her black eyes, to his face. "Loved my master. You speak as if such feelings were not eternal; to say that your poor slave loved once, is nothing; turn over every leaf of her heart, and you will find the same record upon them all. Thank Heaven, I am not entirely white! There is enough of tropical fire in my blood, to save me from burying my soul under the ashes of a dead love."

"How beautiful you are still," muttered the old man, passing his palm over the black waves of her hair, with a light caress. "Your presence kindles the very atmosphere. This is to be worshipped worthily. You loved me, and I sold you for her sake. I bartered you off for so much money to another; it was a cruel act, Zillah; but your love surmounted even that, while hers"——

"She never loved you; never—never!" cried the woman, passionately. "I, I alone of all the women on earth, really loved you. As for her"——

"Hush, Zillah, hush! I know all. I have read that book. I know all her treachery; and he, ever a serpent in my path, ever a restraint upon my actions, he has in this point also assailed me."