"You are looking better," said the former, as gravely as ever, but with an eye of serious interest that made the words something.

"I am better," said Fleda, gratefully.

"So much better that she is in a hurry to make herself worse," said her cousin. "Mr. Carleton, you are a professor of medicine, I believe. I have an indistinct impression of your having once prescribed a ride on horseback for somebody; wouldn't you recommend some measure of prudence to her consideration?"

"In general," Mr. Carleton answered, gravely; "but in the present case I could not venture upon any special prescription, Captain Rossitur."

"As, for instance, that she should remain in New York till she is fit to leave it. By the way, what brought you here again in such a hurry, Fleda? I haven't heard that yet."

The question was rather sudden. Fleda was a little taken by surprise. Her face showed some pain and confusion both. Mr. Carleton prevented her answer, she could not tell whether with design.

"What imprudence do you charge your cousin with, Captain Rossitur?"

"Why, she is in a great hurry to get back to Queechy, before she is able to go anywhere begging me to find an escort for her. It is lucky I can't. I didn't know I ever should be glad to be 'posted up' in this fashion, but I am."

"You have not sought very far, Captain Rossitur," said the voice of Thorn behind him. "Here is one that will be very happy to attend Miss Fleda, whenever she pleases."

Fleda's shocked start and change of countenance was seen by more eyes than one pair. Thorn's fell, and a shade crossed his countenance, too, for an instant, that Fleda's vision was too dazzled to see. Mr. Carleton moved away.

"Why are you going to Queechy?" said Charlton, astonished.

His friend was silent a moment, perhaps for want of power to speak. Fleda dared not look at him.

"It is not impossible unless this lady forbid me. I am not a fixture."

"But what brought you here, man, to offer your services?" said Charlton; "most ungallantly leaving so many pairs of bright eyes to shine upon your absence."

"Mr. Thorn will not find himself in darkness here, Captain Rossitur," said Mrs. Decatur.

"It's my opinion he ought, Ma'am," said Charlton.

"It is my opinion every man ought, who makes his dependance on gleams of sunshine," said Mr. Thorn, rather cynically. "I cannot say I was thinking of brightness, before or behind me."

"I should think not," said Charlton; "you don't look as if you had seen any in a good while."

"A light goes out every now and then," said Thorn; "and it takes one's eyes some time to get accustomed to it. What a singular world we live in, Mrs. Decatur!"

"That is so new an idea," said the lady, laughing, "that I must request an explanation."

"What new experience of its singularity has your wisdom made?" said his friend. "I thought you and the world knew each other's faces pretty well before."

"Then you have not heard the news?"

"What news?"

"Hum I suppose it is not about, yet," said Thorn, composedly. "No you haven't heard it."

"But what, man?" said Charlton; "let's hear your news, for I must be off."

"Why but it is no more than rumour yet but it is said that strange things are coming to light about a name that used to be held in very high respect."

"In this city?"

"In this city? yes; it is said proceedings are afoot against one of our oldest citizens, on charge of a very grave offence."

"Who and what offence? what do you mean?"

"Is it a secret, Mr. Thorn?" said Mrs. Decatur.

"If you have not heard, perhaps it is as well not to mention names too soon; if it comes out, it will be all over directly; possibly the family may hush it up, and, in that case, the less said the better; but those have it in hand that will not let it slip through their fingers."

Mrs. Decatur turned away, saying, "How shocking such things were!" and Thorn, with a smile which did not, however, light up his face, said

"You may be off, Charlton, with no concern for the bright eyes you leave behind you; I will endeavour to atone for my negligence elsewhere, by my mindfulness of them."

"Don't excuse you," said Charlton; but his eye catching at the moment another attraction opposite in the form of man or woman, instead of quitting the room, he leisurely crossed it to speak to the new-comer; and Thorn, with an entire change of look and manner, pressed forward, and offered his arm to Fleda, who was looking perfectly white. If his words had needed any commentary, it was given by his eye as it met hers, in speaking the last sentence to Mrs. Decatur. No one was near whom she knew, and Mr. Thorn led her out to a little back room where the gentlemen had thrown off their cloaks, where the air was fresher, and placing her on a seat, stood waiting before her till she could speak to him.

"What do you mean, Mr. Thorn?" Fleda looked as much as said, when she could meet his face.

"I may rather ask you what you mean, Miss Fleda," he answered, gravely.

Fleda drew breath painfully.

"I mean nothing," she said, lowering her head again; "I have done nothing."

"Did you think I meant nothing when I agreed to do all you wished?"

"I thought you said you would do it freely," she said, with a tone of voice that might have touched anybody, there was such a sinking of heart in it.

"Didn't you understand me?"

"And is it all over now?" said Fleda, after a pause.

"Not yet; but it soon may be. A weak hand may stop it now it will soon be beyond the power of the strongest."

"And what becomes of your promise that it should no more be heard of?" said Fleda, looking up at him with a colourless face, but eyes that put the question forcibly, nevertheless.

"Is any promise bound to stand without its conditions?"

"I made no conditions," said Fleda, quickly.

"Forgive me! but did you not permit me to understand them?"

"No! or if I did, I could not help it."

"Did you say that you wished to help it?" said he, gently.

"I must say so now, then, Mr. Thorn," said Fleda, withdrawing the hand he had taken; "I did not mean or wish you to think so, but I was too ill to speak almost to know what I did. It was not my fault."

"You do not make it mine, that I chose such a time, selfishly, I grant, to draw from your lips the words that are more to me than life?"

"Cannot you be generous ?" for once, she was very near saying.

"Where you are concerned, I do not know how."

Fleda was silent a moment, and then bowed her face in her hands.

"May I not ask that question of you?" said he, bending down and endeavouring to remove them; "will you not say or look that word that will make others happy beside me?"

"I cannot, Sir."

"Not for their sakes?" he said, calmly.

"Can you ask me to do for theirs, what I would not for my own?"

"Yes for mine," he said, with a meaning deliberateness.

Fleda was silent, with a face of white determination.

"It will be beyond eluding, as beyond recal, the second time. I may seem selfish I am selfish but, dear Miss Ringgan, you do not see all you, who make me so, can make me anything else with a touch of your hand it is selfishness that would be bound to your happiness, if you did but entrust it to me."

Fleda neither spoke nor looked at him, and rose up from her chair.

"Is this your generosity?" he said, pointedly, though gently.

"That is not the question now, Sir," said Fleda, who was trembling painfully. "I cannot do evil that good may come."

"But evil?" said he, detaining her "what evil do I ask of you? to remove evil, I do."

Fleda clasped her hands, but answered calmly

"I cannot make any pretences, Sir; I cannot promise to give what is not in my power."

"In whose power, then?" said he, quickly.

A feeling of indignation came to Fleda's aid, and she turned away. But he stopped her still.

"Do you think I do not understand?" he said, with a covert sneer, that had the keenness, and hardness, and the brightness of steel.

"I do not, Sir," said Fleda.

"Do you think I do not know whom you came here to meet?"

Fleda's glance of reproach was a most innocent one, but it did not check him.

"Has that fellow renewed his old admiration of you?" he went on, in the same tone.

"Do not make me desire his old protection," said Fleda, her gentle face roused to a flush of displeasure.

"Protection!" said Charlton, coming in, "who wants protection? here it is protection from what? my old friend Lewis? what the deuce does this lady want of protection, Mr. Thorn?"

It was plain enough that Fleda wanted it, from the way she was drooping upon his arm.

"You may ask the lady herself," said Thorn, in the same tone he had before used; "I have not the honour to be her spokesman."

"She don't need one," said Charlton; "I addressed myself to you speak for yourself, man."

"I am not sure that it would be her pleasure I should," said Thorn. "Shall I tell this gentleman, Miss Ringgan, who needs protection, and from what?"

Fleda raised her head, and, putting her hand on his arm, looked a concentration of entreaty lips were sealed.

"Will you give me," said he, gently taking the hand in his own, "your sign-manual for Captain Rossitur's security? It is not too late. Ask it of her, Sir."

"What does this mean?" said Charlton, looking from his cousin to his friend.

"You shall have the pleasure of knowing, Sir, just so soon as I find it convenient."

"I will have a few words with you on this subject, my fine fellow," said Captain Rossitur, as the other was preparing to leave the room.

"You had better speak to somebody else," said Thorn. "But I am ready."

Charlton muttered an imprecation upon his absurdity, and turned his attention to Fleda, who needed it, and yet desired anything else. For a moment she had an excuse for not answering his questions in her inability; and then, opportunely, Mrs. Decatur came in to look after her; and she was followed by her daughter. Fleda roused all her powers to conceal and command her feelings; rallied herself; said she had been a little weak and faint; drank water, and declared herself able to go back into the drawing-room. To go home would have been her utmost desire, but at the instant her energies were all bent to the one point of putting back thought, and keeping off suspicion. And in the first hurry and bewilderment of distress, the dread of finding herself alone with Charlton, till she had had time to collect her thoughts, would of itself have been enough to prevent her accepting the proposal.

She entered the drawing-room again on Mrs. Decatur's arm, and had stood a few minutes talking or listening, with that same concentration of all her faculties upon the effort to bear up outwardly, when Charlton came up to ask if he should leave her. Fleda made no objection, and he was out of her sight, far enough to be beyond reach or recal, when it suddenly struck her that she ought not to have let him go without speaking to him without entreating him to see her in the morning before he saw Thorn. The sickness of this new apprehension was too much for poor Fleda's power of keeping up. She quietly drew her arm from Mrs. Decatur's, saying that she would sit down; and sought out a place for herself, apart from the rest, by an engraving-stand, where for a little while, not to seem unoccupied, she turned over print after print, that she did not see. Even that effort failed at last; and she sat gazing at one of Sir Thomas Lawrence's bright-faced children, and feeling as if in herself the tides of life were setting back upon their fountain preparatory to being still for ever. She became sensible that some one was standing beside the engravings, and looked up at Mr. Carleton.

"Are. you ill?" he said, very gently and tenderly.

The answer was a quick motion of Fleda's hand to her head, speaking sudden pain, and perhaps sudden difficulty of self- command. She did not speak.

"Will you have anything?"

A whispered "No."

"Would you like to return to Mrs. Evelyn's? I have a carriage here."

With a look of relief that seemed to welcome him as her good angel, Fleda instantly rose up, and took the arm he offered her. She would have hastened from the room then, but he gently checked her pace; and Fleda was immediately grateful for the quiet and perfect shielding from observation that his manner secured her. He went with her up the stairs, and to the very door of the dressing-room. There Fleda hurried on her shoes and mufflers in trembling fear that some one might come and find her, gained Mr. Carleton's arm again, and was placed in the carriage.

The drive was in perfect silence, and Fleda's agony deepened and strengthened with every minute. She had freedom to think, and thought did but carry a torch into chamber after chamber of misery. There seemed nothing to be done. She could not get hold of Charlton; and if she could? Nothing could be less amenable than his passions to her gentle restraints. Mr. Thorn was still less approachable or manageable, except in one way that she did not even think of. His insinuations about Mr. Carleton did not leave even a tinge of embarrassment upon her mind; they were cast from her as insulting absurdities, which she could not think of a second time without shame.

The carriage rolled on with them a long time without a word being said. Mr. Carleton knew that she was not weeping nor faint. But as the light of the lamps was now and then cast within the carriage, he saw that her face looked ghastly; and he saw too, that its expression was not of a quiet sinking under sorrow, nor of an endeavour to bear up against it, but a wild searching gaze into the darkness of possibilities. They had near reached Mrs. Evelyn's.

"I cannot see you so," he said, gently touching the hand which lay listlessly beside him. "You are ill!"

Again the same motion of the other hand to her face, the quick token of great pain suddenly stirred.

"For the sake of old times, let me ask," said he "can nothing be done?"

Those very gentle and delicate tones of sympathy and kindness were too much to bear. The hand was snatched away to be pressed to her face. O that those old times were back again, and she a child that could ask his protection! no one to give it now.

He was silent a moment. Fleda's head bowed beneath the mental pressure.

"Has Dr. Gregory returned?"

The negative answer was followed by a half-uttered exclamation of longing checked midway, but sufficiently expressive of her want.

"Do you trust me?" he said, after another second of pausing.

"Perfectly!" said Fleda, amidst her tears, too much excited to know what she was saying, and in her simplicity half forgetting that she was not a child still; "more than any one in the world!"

The few words he had spoken, and the manner of them, had curiously borne her back years in a minute; she seemed to be under his care more than for the drive home. He did not speak again for a minute; when he did, his tone was very quiet, and lower than before.

"Give me what a friend can have in charge to do for you, and it shall be done."

Fleda raised her head, and looked out of the window, in a silence of doubt. The carriage stopped at Mrs. Evelyn's.

"Not now," said Mr. Carleton, as the servant was about to open the door "drive round the square till I speak to you."

Fleda was motionless and almost breathless with uncertainty. If Charlton could be hindered from meeting Mr. Thorn but how could Mr. Carleton effect it? But there was that in him or in his manner, which invariably created confidence in his ability, or fear of it, even in strangers; and how much more in her who had a childish but very clear recollection of several points in his character which confirmed the feeling. And might not something be done, through his means, to facilitate her uncle's escape? of whom she seemed to herself now the betrayer. But to tell him the story! a person of his high nice notions of character what a distance it would put even between his friendship and her but that thought was banished instantly, with one glance at Mr. Thorn's imputation of ungenerousness. To sacrifice herself to him would not have been generosity to lower herself in the esteem of a different character, she felt, called for it. There was time even then, too, for one swift thought of the needlessness and bitter fruits of wrong-doing. But here they were should she make them known, and trouble Mr. Carleton, friend though he were, with these miserable matters in which he had no concern? She sat with a beating heart and a very troubled brow, but a brow as easy to read as a child's. It was the trouble of anxious questioning. Mr. Carleton watched it for a little while undecided as ever, and more pained.

"You said you trusted me," he said quietly, taking her hand again.

"But I don't know what you could do, Mr. Carleton," Fleda said, with a trembling voice.

"Will you let me be the judge of that?"

"I cannot bear to trouble you with these miserable things "

"You cannot," said he, with that same quiet tone, "but by thinking and saying so. I can have no greater pleasure than to take pains for you."

Fleda heard these words precisely, and with the same simplicity as a child would have heard them, and answered with a very frank burst of tears soon, as soon as possible, according to her custom, driven back, though even in the act of quieting herself, they broke forth again as uncontrollably as at first. But Mr. Carleton had not long to wait. She raised her head again after a short struggle, with the wonted look of patience sitting upon her brow, and wiping away her tears, paused merely for breath and voice. He was perfectly silent.

"Mr. Carleton, I will tell you," she began; "I hardly know whether I ought or ought not" and her hand went to her forehead for a moment "but I cannot think to-night and I have not a friend to apply to"

She hesitated; and then went on, with a voice that trembled and quavered sadly.

"Mr. Thorn has a secret of my uncle's in his power which he promised without conditions to keep faithfully; and now insists that he will not but upon conditions"

"And cannot the conditions be met?"

"No and, oh, I may as well tell you at once!" said Fleda in bitter sorrow; "it is a crime that he committed"

"Mr. Thorn?"

"No O no!" said Fleda, weeping bitterly, "not he"

Her agitation was excessive for a moment; then she threw it off, and spoke more collectedly, though with exceeding depression of manner.

"It was long ago when he was in trouble he put Mr. Thorn's name to a note, and never was able to take it up; and nothing was ever heard about it till lately; and last week he was going to leave the country, and Mr. Thorn promised that the proceedings should be entirely given up; and that was why I came to town, to find uncle Rolf, and bring him home; and I did, and he is gone; and now Mr. Thorn says, it is all going on again, and that he will not escape this time; and I have done it!"

Fleda writhed again in distress.

"Thorn promised without conditions?"

"Certainly he promised freely and now he insists upon them; and you see uncle Rolf would have been safe out of the country now, if it hadn't been for me"

"I think I can undo this snarl," said Mr. Carleton, calmly.

"But that is not all," said Fleda, a little quieted; "Charlton came in this evening when we were talking, and he was surprised to find me so, and Mr. Thorn was in a very ill humour, and some words passed between them, and Charlton threatened to see him again; and oh, if he does!" said poor Fleda "that will finish our difficulties! for Charlton is very hot, and I know how it will end how it must end"

"Where is your cousin to be found?"

"I don't know where he lodges when he is in town."

"You did not leave him at Mrs. Decatur's. Do you know where he is this evening?"

"Yes!" said Fleda, wondering that she should have heard and remembered; "he said he was going to meet a party of his brother officers at Mme. Fouch's a sister-in-law of his Colonel, I believe."

"I know her. This note was it the name of the young Mr. Thorn, or of his father that was used?"

"Of his father."

"Has he appeared at all in this business?"

"No," said Fleda, feeling for the first time that there was something notable about it.

"What sort of person do you take him to be?"

"Very kind very pleasant, always, he has been to me, and I should think to everybody very unlike the son."

Mr. Carleton had ordered the coachman back to Mrs. Evelyn's.

"Do you know the amount of the note? It may be desirable that I should not appear uninformed."

"It was for four thousand dollars," Fleda said, in the low voice of shame.

"And when given?"

"I don't know exactly but six years ago some time in the winter of '43, it must have been."

He said no more till the carriage stopped; and then, before handing her out of it, lifted her hand to his lips. That carried all the promise Fleda wanted, from him. How oddly how curiously, her hand kept the feeling of that kiss upon it all night!

CHAPTER XVIII.

"Heat not a furnace for your friend so hot That it may singe yourself." SHAKESPEARE.

Mr. Carleton went to Madame Fouch's, who received most graciously, as any lady would, his apology for introducing himself unlooked-for, and begged that he would commit the same fault often. As soon as practicable, he made his way to Charlton, and invited him to breakfast with him the next morning.

Mrs. Carleton always said it never was known that Guy was refused anything he had a mind to ask. Charlton, though taken by surprise, and certainly not too much prepossessed in his favour, was won by an influence that, where its owner chose to exert it, was generally found irresistible; and not only accepted the invitation, but was conscious to himself of doing it with a good deal of pleasure. Even when Mr. Carleton made the further request that Captain Rossitur would, in the meantime, see no one on business of any kind, intimating that the reason would then be given, Charlton, though startling a little at this restraint upon his freedom of motion, could do no other than give the desired promise, and with the utmost readiness. Guy then went to Mr. Thorn's. It was, by this time, not early.

"Mr. Lewis Thorn is he at home?"

"He is, Sir," said the servant, admitting him rather hesitatingly.

"I wish to see him a few moments on business."

"It is no hour for business," said the voice of Mr. Lewis from over the balusters "I can't see anybody to-night."

"I ask but a few minutes," said Mr. Carleton. "It is important."

"It may be anything!" said Thorn. "I wont do business after twelve o'clock."

Mr. Carleton desired the servant to carry his card, with the same request, to Mr. Thorn the elder.

"What's that?" said Thorn, as the man came up stairs "my father? Pshaw! he can't attend to it. Well, walk up, Sir, if you please! may as well have it over and done with it."

Mr. Carleton mounted the stairs and followed the young gentleman into an apartment, to which he rapidly led the way.

"You've no objection to this, I suppose?" Thorn remarked, as he locked the door behind them.

"Certainly not," said Mr. Carleton, coolly, taking out the key and putting it in his pocket "my business is private it needs no witnesses."

"Especially as it so nearly concerns yourself," said Thorn, sneeringly.

"Which part of it, Sir?" said Mr. Carleton, with admirable breeding. It vexed, at the same time that it constrained Thorn.

"I'll let you know, presently!" he said, hurriedly proceeding to the lower end of the room, where some cabinets stood, and unlocking door after door in mad haste.

The place had somewhat the air of a study perhaps Thorn's private room. A long table stood in the middle of the floor, with materials for writing, and a good many books were about the room, in cases and on the tables, with maps, and engravings, and portfolio's, and a nameless collection of articles the miscellaneous gathering of a man of leisure and some literary taste.

Their owner presently came back from the cabinets with tokens of a very different kind about him.

"There, Sir!" he said, offering to his guest a brace of most inhospitable-looking pistols "take one, and take your stand, as soon as you please nothing like coming to the point at once!"

He was heated and excited even more than his manner indicated. Mr. Carleton glanced at him, and stood quietly examining the pistol he had taken. It was already loaded.

"This is a business that comes upon me by surprise," he said, calmly. "I don't know what I have to do with this, Mr. Thorn."

"Well, I do," said Thorn, "and that's enough. Take your place, Sir! You escaped me once, but " and he gave his words dreadful emphasis "you wont do it the second time!"

"You do not mean," said the other, "that your recollection of such an offence has lived out so many years?"

"No, Sir! No Sir!" said Thorn "it is not that. I despise it, as I do the offender. You have touched me more nearly."

"Let me know ill what," said Mr. Carleton, turning his pistol's mouth down upon the table, and leaning on it.

"You know already what do you ask me for?" said Thorn, who was foaming; "if you say you don't, you lie heartily. I'll tell you nothing but out of this."

"I have not knowingly injured you, Sir in a whit."

"Then a Carleton may be a liar," said Thorn, "and you are one I dare say not the first. Put yourself there, Sir, will you?"

"Well," said Guy, carelessly, "if it is decreed that I am to fight, of course there's no help for it; but as I have business on hand that might not be so well done afterwards, I must beg your attention to that in the first place."

"No, Sir," said Thorn, "I'll attend to nothing I'll hear nothing from you. I know you! I'll not hear a word. I'll see to the business! Take your stand."

"I will not have anything to do with pistols," said Mr. Carleton, coolly, laying his out of his hand; "they make too much noise."

"Who cares for the noise?" said Thorn. "It wont hurt you; and the door is locked."

"But people's ears are not," said Guy.

Neither tone, nor attitude, nor look, had changed in the least its calm gracefulness. It began to act upon Thorn.

"Well, in the devil's name, have your own way," said he, throwing down his pistol too, and going back to the cabinets at the lower end of the room "there are rapiers here, if you like them better I don't the shortest the best for me but here they are take your choice."

Guy examined them carefully for a few minutes, and then laid them both, with a firm hand upon them, on the table.

"I will choose neither, Mr. Thorn, till you have heard me. I came here to see you on the part of others I should be a recreant to my charge if I allowed you or myself to draw me into anything that might prevent my fulfilling it. That must be done first."

Thorn looked with a lowering brow on the indications of his opponent's eye and attitude; they left him plainly but one course to take.

"Well, speak and have done," he said, as in spite of himself; "but I know it already."

"I am here as a friend of Mr. Rossitur."

"Why don't you say a friend of somebody else, and come nearer the truth?" said Thorn.

There was an intensity of expression in his sneer, but pain was there as well as anger; and it was with even a feeling of pity that Mr. Carleton answered

"The truth will be best reached, Sir, if I am allowed to choose my own words."

There was no haughtiness in the steady gravity of this speech, whatever there was in the quiet silence he permitted to follow. Thorn did not break it.

"I am informed of the particulars concerning this prosecution of Mr. Rossitur I am come here to know if no terms can be obtained."

"No!" said Thorn "no terms I wont speak of terms. The matter will be followed up now till the fellow is lodged in jail, where he deserves to be."

"Are you aware, Sir, that this, if done, will be the cause of very great distress to a family who have not deserved it?"

"That can't be helped," said Thorn. "Of course, it must cause distress, but you can't act upon that. Of course, when a man turns rogue, he ruins his family that's part of his punishment and a just one."

"The law is just," said Mr. Carleton, "but a friend may be merciful."

"I don't pretend to be a friend," said Thorn, viciously, "and I have no cause to be merciful. I like to bring a man to public shame when he has forfeited his title to anything else; and I intend that Mr. Rossitur shall become intimately acquainted with the interior of the State's prison."

"Did it ever occur to you that public shame might fall upon other than Mr. Rossitur, and without the State prison?"

Thorn fixed a somewhat startled look upon the steady powerful eye of his opponent, and did not like its meaning.

"You must explain yourself, Sir," he said, haughtily.

"I am acquainted with all the particulars of this proceeding, Mr. Thorn. If it goes abroad, so surely will they."

"She told you, did she?" said Thorn, in a sudden flash of fury.

Mr. Carleton was silent, with his air of imperturbable reserve, telling and expressing nothing but a cool independence that put the world at a distance.

"Ha!" said Thorn, "it is easy to see why our brave Englishman comes here to solicit 'terms' for his honest friend Rossitur he would not like the scandal of franking letters to Sing Sing. Come, Sir!" he said, snatching up the pistol, "our business is ended come, I say, or I wont wait for you."

But the pistol was struck from his hand.

"Not yet," said Mr. Carleton, calmly, "you shall have your turn at these mind, I promise you; but my business must be done first till then, let them alone."

"Well, what is it?" said Thorn, impatiently. "Rossitur will be a convict, I tell you; so you'll have to give up all thoughts of his niece, or pocket her shame along with her. What more have you got to say? that's all your business, I take it."

"You are mistaken, Mr. Thorn," said Mr. Carleton, gravely.

"Am I? In what ?"

"In every position of your last speech."

"It don't affect your plans and views, I suppose, personally, whether this prosecution is continued or not?"

"It does not in the least."

"It is indifferent to you, I suppose, what sort of a queen consort you carry to your little throne of a provinciality down yonder?"

"I will reply to you, Sir, when you come back to the subject," said Mr. Carleton, coldly.

"You mean to say that your pretensions have not been in the way of mine?"

"I have made none, Sir."

"Doesn't she like you?"

"I have never asked her."

"Then, what possessed her to tell you all this to-night?"

"Simply because I was an old friend, and the only one at hand, I presume."

"And you do not look for any reward of your services, of course?"

"I wish for none, Sir, but her relief."

"Well, it don't signify," said Thorn, with a mixture of expressions in his face "if I believed you, which I don't it don't signify a hair what you do, when once this matter is known. I should never think of advancing my pretensions into a felon's family."

"You know that the lady in whose welfare you take so much interest will in that case suffer aggravated distress as having been the means of hindering Mr. Rossitur's escape."

"Can't help it," said Thorn, beating the table with a ruler; "so she has; she must suffer for it. It isn't my fault."

"You are willing, then, to abide the consequences of a full disclosure of all the circumstances? for part will not come out without the whole."

"There is happily nobody to tell them," said Thorn, with a sneer.

"Pardon me they will not only be told, but known thoroughly in all the circles in this country that know Mr. Thorn's name."

"The lady," said Thorn, in the same tone, "would hardly relish such a publication of her name her welfare would be scantily advantaged by it."

"I will take the risk of that upon myself," said Mr. Carleton, quietly; "and the charge of the other."

"You dare not !" said Thorn. "You shall not go alive out of this room to do it! Let me have it, Sir! You said you would."

His passion was at a fearful height, for the family pride which had been appealed to, felt a touch of fear, and his other thoughts were confirmed again, besides the dim vision of a possible thwarting of all his plans. Desire almost concentred itself upon revenge against the object that threatened them. He had thrown himself again towards the weapons which lay beyond his reach, but was met, and forcibly withheld from them.

"Stand back!" said Mr. Carleton. "I said I would, but I am not ready finish this business first."

"What is there to finish?" said Thorn, furiously "you will never live to do anything out of these doors again you are mocking yourself."

"My life is not in your hands, Sir, and I will settle this matter before I put it in peril. If not with you, with Mr. Thorn, your father, to whom it more properly belongs."

"You cannot leave the room to see him," said Thorn, sneeringly.

"That is at my pleasure," said the other, "unless hindered by means I do not think you will use."

Thorn was silent.

"Will you yield anything of justice, once more, in favour of this distressed family?"

"That is, yield the whole, and let the guilty go free?"

"When the punishment of the offender would involve that of so many unoffending, who, in this case, would feel it with peculiar severity."

"He deserves it, if it was only for the money he has kept me out of; he ought to be made to refund what he has stolen, if it took the skin off his back!"

"That part of his obligation," said Mr. Carleton, "I am authorised to discharge, on condition of having the note given up. I have a cheque with me which I am commissioned to fill up, from one of the best names here. I need only the date of the note, which the giver of the cheque did not know."

Thorn hesitated, again tapping the table with the ruler in a troubled manner. He knew, by the calm erect figure before him and the steady eye he did not care to meet, that the threat of disclosure would be kept. He was not prepared to brave it, in case his revenge should fail; and if it did not

"It is deuced folly," he said, at length, with a half laugh, "for I shall have it back again in five minutes, if my eye don't play me a trick; however, if you will have it so, I don't care. There are chances in all things."

He went again to the cabinets, and presently brought the endorsed note. Mr. Carleton gave it a cool and careful examination, to satisfy himself of its being the true one, and then delivered him the cheque the blank duly filled up.

"There are chances in nothing, Sir," he said, as he proceeded to burn the note effectually in the candle.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that there is a Supreme Disposer of all things, who, among the rest, has our lives in his hand. And now, Sir, I will give you that chance at my life for which you have been so eagerly wishing."

"Well, take your place," said Thorn, seizing his pistol, "and take your arms, put yourself at the end of the table, never mind the noise!"

"I shall stand here," said Mr. Carleton, quietly folding his arms; "you may take your place where you please."

"But you are not armed," said Thorn, impatiently: "why don't you get ready? what are you waiting for?"

"I have nothing to do with arms," said Mr. Carleton, smiling; "I have no wish to hurt you, Mr. Thorn; I bear you no ill- will. But you may do what you please with me."

"But you promised!" said Thorn, in desperation.

"I abide by my promise, Sir."

Thorn's pistol hand fell he looked dreadfully. There was a silence of several minutes.

"Well?" said Mr. Carleton, looking up and smiling.

"I can do nothing, unless you will," said Thorn, hoarsely, and looking hurriedly away.

"I am at your pleasure, Sir! But, on my own part, I have none to gratify."

There was silence again, during which Thorn's face was pitiable in its darkness. He did not stir.

"I did not come here in enmity, Mr. Thorn," said Guy, after a little, approaching him "I have none now. If you believe me, you will throw away the remains of yours, and take my hand in pledge of it."

Thorn was ashamed and confounded, in the midst of passions that made him at the moment a mere wreck of himself. He inwardly drew back exceedingly from the proposal. But the grace with which the words were said wrought upon all the gentlemanly character that belonged to him, and made it impossible not to comply. The pistol was exchanged for Mr. Carleton's hand.

"I need not assure you," said the latter, "that nothing of what we have talked of to-night shall ever be known or suspected, in any quarter, unless by your means."

Thorn's answer was merely a bow, and Mr. Carleton withdrew, his quondam antagonist lighting him ceremoniously to the door.

It was easy for Mr. Carleton the next morning to deal with his guest at the breakfast-table.

The appointments of the service were such as of themselves to put Charlton in a good humour, if he had not come already provided with that happy qualification; and the powers of manner and conversation which his entertainer brought into play, not only put them into the back-ground of Captain Rossitur's perceptions, but even made him merge certain other things in fascination, and lose all thought of what probably had called him there. Once before, he had known Mr. Carleton come out in a like manner, but this time he forgot to be surprised.

The meal was two-thirds over before the business that had drawn them together was alluded to.

"I made an odd request of you last night, Captain Rossitur," said his host; "you haven't asked for an explanation."

"I had forgotten all about it," said Rossitur, candidly. "I am inconsquent enough myself not to think everything odd that requires an explanation."

"Then I hope you will pardon me if mine seem to touch upon what is not my concern. You had some cause to be displeased with Mr. Thorn's behaviour last night?"

Who told you as much? was in Rossitur's open eyes, and upon his tongue; but few ever asked naughty questions of Mr. Carleton. Charlton's eyes came back, not indeed to their former dimensions, but to his plate, in silence.

"He was incomprehensible," he said, after a minute: "and didn't act like himself; I don't know what was the matter. I shall call him to account for it."

"Captain Rossitur, I am going to ask you a favour."

"I will grant it with the greatest pleasure," said Charlton "if it lie within my power."

"A wise man's addition," said Mr. Carleton; "but I trust you will not think me extravagant. I will hold myself much obliged to you, if you will let Mr. Thorn's folly, or impertinence, go this time without notice."

Charlton absolutely laid down his knife in astonishment; while at the same moment this slight let to the assertion of his dignity roused it to uncommon pugnaciousness.

"Sir Mr. Carleton" he stammered "I would be very happy to grant anything in my power but this, Sir really goes beyond it."

"Permit me to say," said Mr. Carleton, "that I have myself seen Thorn upon the business that occasioned his discomposure, and that it has been satisfactorily arranged; so that nothing more is to be gained or desired from a second interview."

Who gave you authority to do any such thing? was again in Charlton's eyes, and an odd twinge crossed his mind; but, as before, his thoughts were silent.

"My part of the business cannot have been arranged," he said, "for it lies in a question or two that I must put to the gentleman myself."

"What will that question or two probably end in?" said Mr. Carleton, significantly.

"I can't tell!" said Rossitur; "depends on himself, it will end according to his answers."

"Is his offence so great that it cannot be forgiven upon my entreaty?"

"Mr. Carleton!" said Rossitur "I would gladly pleasure you, Sir; but, you see, this is a thing a man owes to himself."

"What thing, Sir?"

"Why, not to suffer impertinence to be offered him with impunity."

"Even though the punishment extend to hearts at home that must feel it far more heavily than the offender?"

"Would you suffer yourself to be insulted, Mr. Carleton?" said Rossitur, by way of a mouth-stopper.

"Not if I could help it," said Mr. Carleton, smiling; "but, if such a misfortune happened, I don't know how it would be repaired by being made a matter of life and death."

"But honour might," said Rossitur.

"Honour is not reached, Captain Rossitur. Honour dwells in a strong citadel, and a squib against the walls does in no wise affect their security."

"But, also, it is not consistent with honour to sit still and suffer it."

"Question. The firing of a cracker, I think, hardly warrants a sally."

"It calls for chastisement, though," said Rossitur, a little shortly.

"I don't know that," said Mr. Carleton, gravely. "We have it on the highest authority that it is the glory of man to pass by a transgression."

"But you can't go by that," said Charlton, a little fidgeted; "the world wouldn't get along so; men must take care of themselves."

"Certainly. But what part of themselves is cared for in this resenting of injuries?"

"Why, their good name!"

"As how affected? pardon me."

"By the world's opinion," said Rossitur; "which stamps every man with something worse than infamy who cannot protect his own standing."

"That is to say," said Mr. Carleton, seriously, "that Captain Rossitur will punish a fool's words with death, or visit the last extremity of distress upon those who are dearest to him, rather than leave the world in any doubt of his prowess."

"Mr. Carleton!" said Rossitur, colouring "what do you mean by speaking so, Sir?"

"Not to displease you, Captain Rossitur."

"Then you count the world's opinion for nothing?"

"For less than nothing compared with the regards I have named."

"You would brave it without scruple?"

"I do not call him a brave man who would not, Sir."

"I remember," said Charlton, half laughing "you did it yourself once; and I must confess I believe nobody thought you lost anything by it."

"But forgive me for asking," said Mr. Carleton "is this terrible world a party to this matter? In the request which I made and which I have not given up, Sir do I presume upon any more than the sacrifice of a little private feeling?"

"Why, yes," said Charlton, looking somewhat puzzled, "for I promised the fellow I would see to it, and I must keep my word."

"And you know how that will of necessity issue."

"I can't consider that, Sir; that is a secondary matter. I must do what I told him I would."

"At all hazards?" said Mr. Carleton.

"What hazards?"

"Not hazard, but certainty of incurring a reckoning far less easy to deal with."

"What, do you mean with yourself?" said Rossitur.

"No, Sir, said Mr. Carleton, a shade of even sorrowful expression crossing his face; "I mean with one whose displeasure is a more weighty matter; one who has declared very distinctly, 'Thou shalt not kill.' "

"I am sorry for it," said Rossitur, after a disturbed pause of some minutes "I wish you had asked me anything else; but we can't take this thing in the light you do, Sir. I wish Thorn had been in any spot of the world but at Mrs. Decatur's, last night, or that Fleda hadn't taken me there; but since he was, there is no help for it I must make him account for his behaviour, to her as well as to me. I really don't know how to help it, Sir."

"Let me beg you to reconsider that," Mr. Carleton said, with a smile which disarmed offence "for, if you will not help it, I must."

Charlton looked in doubt for a moment, and then asked how he would help it.

"In that case, I shall think it my duty to have you bound over to keep the peace."

He spoke gravely now, and with that quiet tone which always carries conviction. Charlton stared unmistakably, and in silence.

"You are not in earnest?" he then said.

"I trust you will permit me to leave you for ever in doubt on that point," said Mr. Carleton, with again a slight giving way of the muscles of his face.

"I cannot, indeed," said Rossitur. "Do you mean what you said just now?"

"Entirely."

"But, Mr. Carleton," said Rossitur, flushing, and not knowing exactly how to take him up "is this the manner of one gentleman towards another?"

He had not chosen right, for he received no answer but an absolute quietness which needed no interpretation. Charlton was vexed and confused, but, somehow, it did not come into his head to pick a quarrel with his host, in spite of his irritation. That was, perhaps, because he felt it to be impossible.

"I beg your pardon," he said, most unconsciously verifying Fleda's words in his own person "but, Mr. Carleton, do me the favour to say that I have misunderstood your words. They are incomprehensible to me, Sir."

"I must abide by them nevertheless, Captain Rossitur," Mr. Carleton answered, with a smile. "I will not permit this thing to be done, while, as I believe, I have the power to prevent it. You see," he said, smiling again, "I put in practice my own theory."

Charlton looked exceedingly disturbed, and maintained a vexed and irresolute silence for several minutes, realizing the extreme disagreeableness of having more than his match to deal with.

"Come, Captain Rossitur," said the other, turning suddenly round upon him "say that you forgive me what you know was meant in no disrespect to you."

"I certainly should not," said Rossitur, yielding, however, with a half laugh, "if it were not for the truth of the proverb, that it takes two to make a quarrel."

"Give me your hand upon that. And now that the question of honour is taken out of your hands, grant, not to me, but to those for whom I ask it, your promise to forgive this man."

Charlton hesitated, but it was difficult to resist the request, backed as it was with weight of character and grace of manner, along with its intrinsic reasonableness; and he saw no other way so expedient of getting out of his dilemma.

"I ought to be angry with somebody," he said, half laughing, and a little ashamed; "if you will point out any substitute for Thorn, I will let him go, since I cannot help myself, with pleasure."

"I will bear it," said Mr. Carleton, lightly. "Give me your promise for Thorn, and hold me your debtor in what amount you please."

"Very well I forgive him," said Rossitur; "and now, Mr. Carleton I shall have a reckoning with you some day for this."

"I will meet it. When you are next in England, you shall come down to shire, and I will give you any satisfaction you please."

They parted in high good-humour; but Charlton looked grave as he went down the staircase; and, very oddly, all the way down to Whitehall his head was running upon the various excellencies and perfections of his cousin Fleda.

CHAPTER XIX.

"There is a fortune coming Towards you, dainty, that will take thee thus, And set thee aloft." BEN JONSON.

That day was spent by Fleda in the never-failing headache which was sure to visit her after any extraordinary nervous agitation, or too great mental or bodily trial. It was severe this time, not only from the anxiety of the preceding night, but from the uncertainty that weighed upon her all day long. The person who could have removed the uncertainty came, indeed, to the house, but she was too ill to see anybody.

The extremity of pain wore itself off with the day, and at evening she was able to leave her room and come down stairs. But she was ill yet, and could do nothing but sit in the corner of the sofa, with her hair unbound, and Florence gently bathing her head with cologne. Anxiety as well as pain had, in some measure, given place to exhaustion, and she looked a white embodiment of endurance, which gave a shock to her friends' sympathy. Visitors were denied, and Constance and Edith devoted their eyes and tongues at least to her service, if they could do no more.

It happened that Joe Manton was out of the way, holding an important conference with a brother usher next door, a conference that he had no notion would be so important when he began it, when a ring on his own premises summoned one of the maid-servants to the door. She knew nothing about "not at home," and unceremoniously desired the gentleman to "walk up," "the ladies were in the drawing-room."

The door had been set wide open for the heat, and Fleda was close in the corner behind it, gratefully permitting Florence's efforts with the cologne, which yet she knew could avail nothing but the kind feelings of the operator; for herself patiently waiting her enemy's time. Constance was sitting on the floor looking at her.

"I can't conceive how you can bear so much," she said, at length.

Fleda thought how little she knew what was borne!

"Why, you could bear it, I suppose, if you had to," said Edith, philosophically.

"She knows she looks most beautiful," said Florence, softly passing her cologned hands down over the smooth hair "she knows

' Il faut souffrir pour tre belle.' "

"La migraine ne se gurit avec les douceurs," said Mr. Carleton, entering "try something sharp, Miss Evelyn."

"Where are we to get it?" said Constance, springing up, and adding, in a most lack-a-daisical aside to her mother "Mamma! the fowling-piece! Our last vinegar hardly comes under the appellation; and you don't expect to find anything volatile in this house, Mr. Carleton?"

He smiled.

"Have you none for grave occasions, Miss Constance?"

"I wont retort the question about 'something sharp,' " said Constance, arching her eyebrows, "because it is against my principles to make people uncomfortable; but you have certainly brought in some medicine with you, for Miss Ringgan's cheeks, a little while ago, were as pure as her mind from a tinge of any sort and now, you see "

"My dear Constance," said her mother, "Miss Ringgan's cheeks will stand a much better chance if you come away and leave her in peace. How can she get well with such a chatter in her ears?"

"Mr. Carleton and I, Mamma, are conferring upon measures of relief, and Miss Ringgan gives token of improvement already."

"For which I am very little to be thanked," said Mr. Carleton. "But I am not a bringer of bad news, that she should look pale at the sight of me."

"Are you a bringer of any news?" said Constance, "Oh, do let us have them, Mr. Carleton! I am dying for news I haven't heard a bit to-day."

"What is the news, Mr. Carleton?" said her mother's voice, from the more distant region of the fire.

"I believe there are no general news, Mrs. Evelyn."

"Are there any particular news?" said Constance. "I like particular news infinitely the best."

"I am sorry, Miss Constance, I have none for you. But, will this headache yield to nothing?"

"Fleda prophesied that it would to time," said Florence; "she would not let us try much beside."

"And I must confess there has been no volatile agency employed at all," said Constance; "I never knew time have less of it, and Fleda seemed to prefer him for her physician."

"He hasn't been a good one to-day," said Edith, nestling affectionately to her side. "Isn't it better, Fleda?" for she had covered her eyes with her hand.

"Not just now," said Fleda, softly.

"It is fair to change physicians if the first fails," said Mr. Carleton. "I have had a slight experience in headache-curing; if you will permit me, Miss Constance, I will supersede time and try a different prescription."

He went out to seek it, and Fleda leaned her head in her hand, and tried to quiet the throbbing heart, every pulsation of which was felt so keenly at the seat of pain. She knew, from Mr. Carleton's voice and manner she thought she knew that he had exceeding good tidings for her; once assured of that, she would soon be better; but she was worse now.

"Where is Mr. Carleton gone?" said Mrs. Evelyn.

"I haven't the least idea, Mamma he has ventured upon an extraordinary undertaking, and has gone off to qualify himself, I suppose. I can't conceive why he didn't ask Miss Ringgan's permission to change her physician instead of mine."

"I suppose he knew there was no doubt about that," said Edith, hitting the precise answer of Fleda's thoughts.

"And what should make him think there was any doubt about mine?" said Constance, tartly.

"Oh, you know," said her sister, "you are so odd, nobody can tell what you will take a fancy to."

"You are extremely liberal in your expressions, at least, Miss Evelyn, I must say," said Constance, with a glance of no doubtful meaning. "Joe did you let Mr. Carleton in?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Well, let him in next time, and don't let in anybody else."

Whereafter the party relapsed into silent expectation.

It was not many minutes before Mr. Carleton returned.

"Tell your friend, Miss Constance," he said, putting an exquisite little vinaigrette into her hand, "that I have nothing worse for her than that."

"Worse than this!" said Constance, examining it. "Mr. Carleton, I doubt exceedingly whether smelling this will afford Miss Ringgan any benefit."

"Why, Miss Constance?"

"Because it has made me sick only to look at it!"

"There will be no danger for her," he said, smiling.

"Wont there? Well, Fleda, my dear, here, take it," said the young lady; "I hope you are differently constituted from me, for I feel a sudden pain since I saw it; but as you keep your eyes shut, and so escape the sight of this lovely gold chasing, perhaps it will do you no mischief."

"It will do her all the more good for that," said Mrs. Evelyn.

The only ears that took the benefit of this speech were Edith's and Mr. Carleton's; Fleda's were deafened by the rush of feeling. She very little knew what she was holding. Mr. Carleton stood with rather significant gravity, watching the effect of his prescription, while Edith beset her mother to know why the outside of the vinaigrette, being of gold, should make it do Fleda any more good; the disposing of which question effectually occupied Mrs. Evelyn's attention for some time.

"And, pray, how long is it since you took up the trade of a physician, Mr. Carleton?" said Constance.

"It is just about nine years, Miss Constance," he answered, gravely.

But that little reminder, slight as it was, overcame the small remnant of Fleda's self-command the vinaigrette fell from her hands, and her face was hid in them; whatever became of pain, tears must flow.

"Forgive me," said Mr. Carleton, gently, bending down towards her, "for speaking when I should have been silent Miss Evelyn, and Miss Constance, will you permit me to order that my patient be left in quiet."

And he took them away to Mrs. Evelyn's quarter, and kept them all three engaged in conversation, too busily to trouble Fleda with any attention, till she had had ample time to try the effect of the quiet and of the vinegar both. Then he went himself to look after her.

"Are you better?" said he, bending down, and speaking low.

Fleda opened her eyes and gave him, what a look! of grateful feeling. She did not know the half that was in it; but he did. That she was better, was a very small item.

"Ready for the coffee?" said he, smiling.

"Oh, no," whispered Fleda "It don't matter about that never mind the coffee!"

But he went back with his usual calmness to Mrs. Evelyn, and begged that she would have the goodness to order a cup of rather strong coffee to be made.

"But, Mr. Carleton, Sir," said that lady, "I am not at all sure that it would be the best thing for Miss Ringgan if she is better I think it would do her far more good to go to rest, and let sleep finish her cure, before taking something that will make sleep impossible."

"Did you ever hear of a physician, Mrs. Evelyn," he said, smiling, "'that allowed his prescriptions to be interfered with? I must beg you will do me this favour."

"I doubt very much whether it will be a favour to Miss Ringgan," said Mrs. Evelyn "however "

And she rang the bell, and gave the desired order, with a somewhat disconcerted face. But Mr. Carleton again left Fleda to herself, and devoted his attention to the other ladies, with so much success, though with his usual absence of effort that good humour was served long before the coffee.

Then, indeed, he played the physician's part again made the coffee himself, and saw it taken, according to his own pleasure skilfully, however, seeming all the while, except to Fleda, to be occupied with everything else. The group gathered round her anew; she was well enough to bear their talk by this time by the time the coffee was drunk, quite well.

"Is it quite gone?" asked Edith.

"The headache? yes."

"You will owe your physician a great many thanks, my dear Fleda," said Mrs. Evelyn.

Fleda's only answer to this, however, was by a very slight smile; and she presently left the room, to go up stairs and arrange her yet disarranged hair.

"That is a very fine girl," remarked Mrs. Evelyn, preparing half a cup of coffee for herself in a kind of amused abstraction. "My friend Mr. Thorn will have an excellent wife of her."

"Provided she marries him," said Constance, somewhat shortly.

"I am sure I hope she wont," said Edith; "and I don't believe she will."

"What do you think of his chances of success, Mr. Carleton?"

"Your manner of speech would seem to imply that they are very good, Mrs. Evelyn," he answered, coolly.

"Well, don't you think so?" said Mrs. Evelyn, coming back to her seat with her coffee-cup, and apparently dividing her attention between it and her subject. "It's a great chance for her most girls in her circumstances would not refuse it I think he's pretty sure of his ground."

"So I think," said Florence.

"It don't prove anything, if he is," said Constance, drily. "I hate people who are always sure of their ground."

"What do you think, Mr. Carleton?" said Mrs. Evelyn, taking little satisfied sips of her coffee.

"May I ask, first, what is meant by the 'chance,' and what by the 'circumstances.' "

"Why, Mr. Thorn has a fine fortune, you know, and he is of an excellent family there is not a better family in the city and very few young men of such pretensions would think of a girl that has no name nor standing."

"Unless she had qualities that would command them," said Mr. Carleton.

"But, Mr. Carleton, Sir," said the lady, "Do you think that can be? do you think a woman can fill, gracefully, a high place in society, if she has had disadvantages in early life to contend with, that were calculated to unfit her for it?"

"But, mamma," said Constance, "Fleda don't show any such thing."

"No, she don't show it," said Mrs. Evelyn, "but I am not talking of Fleda I am talking of the effect of early disadvantages. What do you think, Mr. Carleton?"

"Disadvantages of what kind, Mrs. Evelyn?"

"Why, for instance the strange habits of intercourse, on familiar terms, with rough and uncultivated people such intercourse, for years in all sorts of ways in the field and in the house mingling with them as one of them it seems to me, it must leave its traces on the mind, and on the habits of acting and thinking."

"There is no doubt it does," he answered, with an extremely unconcerned face.

"And then, there's the actual want of cultivation," said Mrs. Evelyn, warming "time taken up with other things, you know usefully and properly, but still taken up so as to make much intellectual acquirement and accomplishments impossible; it can't be otherwise, you know neither opportunity nor instructors; and I don't think anything can supply the want in after life. It isn't the mere things themselves which may be acquired the mind should grow up in the atmosphere of them don't you think so, Mr. Carleton?"

He bowed.

"Music, for instance, and languages, and converse with society, and a great many things, are put completely beyond reach Edith, my dear, you are not to touch the coffee nor Constance either no, I will not let you And there could not be even much reading, for want of books, if for nothing else. Perhaps I am wrong, but I confess I don't see how it is possible in such a case"

She checked herself suddenly, for Fleda, with the slow, noiseless step that weakness imposed, had come in again, and stood by the centre-table.

"We are discussing a knotty question, Miss Ringgan," said Mr. Carleton, with a smile, as he brought a bergre for her; "I should like to have your voice on it."

There was no seconding of his motion. He waited till she had seated herself, and then went on.

"What, in your opinion, is the best preparation for wearing prosperity well?"

A glance at Mrs. Evelyn's face, which was opposite her, and at one or two others, which had, undeniably, the air of being arrested, was enough for Fleda's quick apprehension. She knew they had been talking of her. Her eye stopped short of Mr. Carleton's, and she coloured, and hesitated. No one spoke.

"By prosperity, you mean "

"Rank and fortune," said Florence, without looking up.

"Marrying a rich man, for instance," said Edith, "and having one's hands full."

This peculiar statement of the case occasioned a laugh all round, but the silence which followed seemed still to wait upon Fleda's reply.

"Am I expected to give a serious answer to that question?" she said, a little doubtfully.

"Expectations are not stringent things," said her first questioner, smiling. "That waits upon your choice."

"They are horridly stringent, I think," said Constance.

"We shall all be disappointed, if you don't, Fleda, my dear."

"By wearing it 'well,' you mean making a good use of it?"

"And gracefully," said Mrs. Evelyn.

"I think I should say, then," said Fleda, after some little. Hesitation, and speaking with evident difficulty "such an a experience as might teach one both the worth and the worthlessness of money."

Mr. Carleton's smile was a sufficiently satisfied one; but Mrs. Evelyn retorted

"The worth and the worthlessness! Fleda, my dear, I don't understand "

"And what experience teaches one the worth, and what the worthlessness of money?" said Constance; "mamma is morbidly persuaded that I do not understand the first of the second I have an indefinite idea, from never being able to do more than half that I want with it."

Fleda smiled and hesitated again, in a way that showed she would willingly be excused, but the silence left her no choice but to speak.

"I think,'' she said, modestly, "that a person can hardly understand the true worth of money the ends it can best subserve that has not been taught it by his own experience of the want; and"

"What follows?" said Mr. Carleton.

"I was going to say, Sir, that there is danger, especially when people have not been accustomed to it, that they will greatly overvalue and misplace the real worth of prosperity; unless the mind has been steadied by another kind of experience, and has learnt to measure things by a higher scale."

"And how when they have been accustomed to it?" said Florence.

"The same danger, without the 'especially,' " said Fleda, with a look that disclaimed any assuming.

"One thing is certain," said Constance, "you hardly ever see les nouveaux riches make a graceful use of anything. Fleda, my dear, I am seconding all of your last speech that I understand. Mamma, I perceive, is at work upon the rest."

"I think we ought all to be at work upon it," said Mrs. Evelyn, "for Miss Ringgan has made it out that there is hardly anybody here that is qualified to wear prosperity well."

"I was just thinking so," said Florence.

Fleda said nothing, and perhaps her colour rose a little.

"I will take lessons of her," said Constance, with eyebrows just raised enough to neutralize the composed gravity of the other features, "as soon as I have an amount of prosperity that will make it worth while."

"But I don't think," said Florence, "that a graceful use of things is consistent with such a careful valuation and considering of the exact worth of everything it's not my idea of grace."

"Yet propriety is an essential element of gracefulness, Miss Evelyn."

"Well," said Florence, "certainly; but what then?"

"Is it attainable, in the use of means, without a nice knowledge of their true value?"

"But, Mr. Carleton, I am sure I have seen improper things things improper in a way gracefully done?"

"No doubt; but, Miss Evelyn," said he, smiling, "the impropriety did not in those cases, I presume, attach itself to the other quality. The graceful manner was strictly proper to its ends, was it not, however the ends might be false?"

"I don't know," said Florence, "you have gone too deep for me. But do you think that close calculation, and all that sort of thing, is likely to make people use money, or anything else, gracefully? I never thought it did."

"Not close calculation alone," said Mr. Carleton.

"But do you think it is consistent with gracefulness?"

"The largest and grandest views of material things that man has ever taken, Miss Evelyn, stand upon a basis of the closest calculation."

Florence worked at her worsted, and looked very dissatisfied.

"Oh, Mr. Carleton," said Constance, as he was going, "don't leave your vinaigrette there it is on the table."

He made no motion to take it up.

"Don't you know, Miss Constance, that physicians seldom like to have anything to do with their own prescriptions."

"It's very suspicious of them," said Constance; "but you must take it Mr. Carleton, if you please, for I shouldn't like the responsibility of its being left here; and I am afraid it would be dangerous to our peace of mind, besides."

"I shall risk that," he said, laughing. "Its work is not done."

"And then, Mr. Carleton," said Mrs. Evelyn, and Fleda knew with what a look, "you know physicians are accustomed to be paid when their prescriptions are taken."

But the answer to this was only a bow, so expressive in its air of haughty coldness, that any further efforts of Mrs. Evelyn's wit were chilled for some minutes after he had gone.

Fleda had not seen this. She had taken up the vinaigrette, and was thinking with acute pleasure that Mr. Carleton's manner last night and to-night had returned to all the familiar kindness of old times. Not as it had been during the rest of her stay in the city. She could be quite contented now to have him go back to England, with this pleasant remembrance left her. She sat turning over the vinaigrette, which to her fancy was covered with hieroglyphics that no one else could read; of her uncle's affair, of Charlton's danger, of her own distress, and the kindness which had wrought its relief, more penetrating and pleasant than even the fine aromatic scent which fairly typified it. Constance's voice broke in upon her musings.

"Isn't it awkward?" she said, as she saw Fleda handling and looking at the pretty toy "Isn't it awkward? I sha'n't have a bit of rest now for fear something will happen to that. I hate to have people do such things."

"Fleda, my dear," said Mrs. Evelyn, "I wouldn't handle it, my love; you may depend there is some charm in it some mischievous, hidden influence and if you have much to do with it, I am afraid you will find a gradual coldness stealing over you, and a strange forgetfulness of Queechy, and you will perhaps lose your desire ever to go back there any more."

The vinaigrette dropped from Fleda's fingers, but beyond a heightened colour and a little tremulous gravity about the lip, she gave no other sign of emotion.

"Mamma," said Florence, laughing, "you are too bad !"

"Mamma," said Constance, "I wonder how any tender sentiment for you can continue to exist in Fleda's breast! By the way, Fleda, my dear, do you know that we have heard of two escorts for you? but I only tell you because I know you'll not be fit to travel this age."

"I should not be able to travel to-morrow," said Fleda.

"They are not going to-morrow," said Mrs. Evelyn, quietly.

"Who are they ?"

"Excellent ones," said Mrs. Evelyn. "One of them is your old friend, Mr. Olmney."

"Mr. Olmney!" said Fleda. "What has brought him to New York?"

"Really," said Mrs. Evelyn, laughing, "I do not know. What should keep him away? I was very glad to see him, for my part. Maybe he has come to take you home."

"Who is the other?" said Fleda.

"That's another old friend of yours Mrs. Renney."

"Mrs. Renney? who is she?" said Fleda.

"Why, don't you know? Mrs. Renney she used to live with your aunt Lucy, in some capacity years ago, when she was in New York housekeeper, I think; don't you remember her?"

"Perfectly now," said Fleda. "Mrs. Renney!"

"She has been housekeeper for Mrs. Schenck these several years, and she is going somewhere out West to some relation, her brother, I believe, to take care of his family; and her road leads her your way."

"When do they go, Mrs. Evelyn?"

"Both the same day, and both the day after to-morrow. Mr. Olmney takes the morning train, he says, unless you would prefer some other. I told him you were very anxious to go; and Mrs. Renney goes in the afternoon. So there's a choice for you."

"Mamma," said Constance, "Fleda is not fit to go at all, either time."

"I don't think she is," said Mrs. Evelyn. "But she knows best what she likes to do."

Thoughts and resolutions come swiftly one after another into Fleda's mind, and were decided upon in as quick succession. First, that she must go the day after to-morrow at all events; second, that it should not be with Mr. Olmney; third, that to prevent that, she must not see him in the meantime and, therefore yes, no help for it must refuse to see any one that called the next day; there was to be a party in the evening, so then she would be safe. No doubt Mr. Carleton would come, to give her a more particular account of what he had done, and she wished unspeakably to hear it; but it was not possible that she should make an exception in his favour and admit him alone. That could not be. If friends would only be simple, and straightforward, and kind, one could afford to be straightforward too; but as it was, she must not do what she longed to do, and they would be sure to misunderstand. There was, indeed, the morning of the day following left her, if Mr. Olmney did not take it into his head to stay. And it might issue in her not seeing Mr. Carleton at all, to bid good-bye and thank him? He would not think her ungrateful, he knew better than that, but still Well! so much for kindness!

"What are you looking so grave about? said Constance.

"Considering ways and means," Fleda said, with a slight smile.

"Ways and means of what?"

"Going."

"You don't mean to go the day after to-morrow?"

"Yes."

"It's too absurd for anything! You sha'n't do it."

"I must, indeed."

"Mamma," said Constance, "if you permit such a thing, I shall hope that memory will be a fingerboard of remorse to you," pointing to Miss Ringgan's pale cheeks.

"I shall charge it entirely upon Miss Ringgan's own fingerboard," said Mrs. Evelyn, with her complacently amused face. "Fleda, my dear, shall I request Mr. Olmney to delay his journey for a day or two, my love, till you are stronger?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Evelyn! I shall go then; if I am not ready in the morning, I will take Mrs. Renney in the afternoon I would quite as lief go with her."

"Then I will make Mr. Olmney keep to his first purpose," said Mrs. Evelyn.

Poor Fleda, though with a very sorrowful heart, kept her resolutions, and for very forlornness and weariness, slept away a great part of the next day. Neither would she appear in the evening, for fear of more people than one. It was impossible to tell whether Mrs. Evelyn's love of mischief would not bring Mr. Olmney there, and the Thorns, she knew, were invited. Mr. Lewis would probably absent himself, but Fleda could not endure even the chance of seeing his mother. She wanted to know, but dared not ask, whether Mr. Carleton had been to see her. What if to-morrow morning should pass without her seeing him? Fleda pondered this uncertainty a little, and then jumped out of bed, and wrote him the heartiest little note of thanks and remembrance that tears would let her write; sealed it, and carried it herself to the nearest branch of the despatch post the first thing next morning.

She took a long look that same morning at the little vinaigrette, which still lay on the centre-table, wishing very much to take it up stairs and pack it away among her things. It was meant for her, she knew, and she wanted it as a very pleasant relic from the kind hands that had given it; and besides, he might think it odd, if she should slight his intention. But how odd it would seem to him if he knew that the Evelyns had half appropriated it. And appropriate it anew, in another direction, she could not. She could not, without their knowledge, and they would put their own absurd construction on what was a simple matter of kindness; she could not brave it.

The morning a long one it was had passed away; Fleda had just finished packing her trunk, and was sitting with a faint- hearted feeling of body and mind, trying to rest before being called to her early dinner, when Florence came to tell her it was ready.

"Mr. Carleton was here a while ago," she said, "and he asked for you; but mamma said you were busy; she knew you had enough to tire you without coming down stairs to see him. He asked when you thought of going."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him, 'Oh, you were not gone yet!' it's such a plague to be bidding people good-bye I always want to get rid of it. Was I right?"

Fleda said nothing, but in her heart she wondered what possible concern it could be of her friends if Mr. Carleton wanted to see her before she went away. She felt it was unkind they did not know how unkind, for they did not understand that he was a very particular friend, and an old friend they could not tell what reason there was for her wishing to bid him good-bye. She thought she should have liked to do it, very much.

CHAPTER XX.

"Methought I was there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, and methought I had But man is but a patched fool, if he will offer to say what methought I had." MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

Mrs. Evelyn drove down to the boat with Fleda, and did not leave her till she was safely put in charge of Mrs. Renney. Fleda immediately retreated to the. innermost depths of the ladies' cabin, hoping to find some rest for the body at least, if not forgetfulness for the mind.

The latter was not to be. Mrs. Renney was exceeding glad to see her, and bent upon knowing what had become of her since those days when they used to know each other.

"You're just the same, Miss Fleda, that you used to be you're very little altered I can see that though you're looking a good-deal more thin and pale; you had very pretty roses in your cheeks in those times. Yes, I know, I understood Mrs. Evelyn to say you had not been well; but, allowing for that, I can see you are just yourself still I'm glad of it. Do you recollect, Miss Fleda, what a little thing you was then?"

"I recollect, very well," said Fleda.

"I'm sure of another thing you're just as good as you used to be," said the housekeeper, looking at her complacently. "Do you remember how you used to come into my room to see me make jelly? I see it as well as if it was yesterday; and you used to beg me to let you squeeze the lemons; and I never could refuse you, because you never did anything I didn't want you to. And do you mind how I used to tie you up in a big towel, for fear you would stain your dress with the acid, and I'd stand and watch to see you putting all your strength to squeeze 'em clean, and be afraid that Mrs. Rossitur would be angry with me for letting you spoil your hands; but you used to look up and smile at me so, I couldn't help myself, but let you do just whatever you had a mind? You don't look quite so light and bright as you did in those times; but, to be sure, you aint feeling well! See here just let me pull some of these things onto this settee, and you put yourself down there and rest pillows let's have another pillow there, how's that?"

Oh, if Fleda might have silenced her! She thought it was rather hard that she should have two talkative companions on this journey of all others. The housekeeper paused no longer than to arrange her couch and see her comfortably laid down.

"And then Mr. Hugh would come in to find you and carry you away he never could bear to be long from you. How is Mr. Hugh, Miss Fleda? he used to be always a very delicate-looking child. I remember you and him used to be always together he was a very sweet boy! I have often said I never saw such another pair of children. How does Mr. Hugh have his health, Miss Fleda?"

"Not very well, just now," said Fleda, gently, and shutting her eyes that they might reveal less.

There was need; for the housekeeper went on to ask particularly after every member of the family, and where they had been living, and as much as she conveniently could about how they had been living. She was very kind through it all, or she tried to be; but Fleda felt there was a difference since the time when her aunt kept house in State Street, and Mrs. Renney made jellies for her. When her neighbours' affairs were exhausted, Mrs. Renney fell back upon her own, and gave Fleda a very circumstantial account of the occurrences that were drawing her westward; how so many years ago her brother had married and removed thither; how lately his wife had died; what, in general, was the character of his wife, and what, in particular, the story of her decease; how many children were left without care, and the state of her brother's business, which demanded a great deal; and how, finally, she, Mrs. Renney, had received and accepted an invitation to go on to Belle Rivire, and be housekeeper de son chef. And as Fleda's pale worn face had for some time given her no sign of attention, the housekeeper then hoped she was asleep, an placed herself so as to screen her, and have herself a good view of everything that was going on in the cabin.

But poor Fleda was not asleep, much as she rejoiced in being thought so. Mind and body could get no repose, sadly as the condition of both called for it. Too worn to sleep, perhaps; too down-hearted to rest. She blamed herself for it, and told over to herself the causes, the recent causes, she had of joy and gratitude; but it would not do. Grateful she could be and was; but tears that were not the distillation of joy came with her gratitude; came from under the closed eyelid in spite of her; the pillow was wet with them. She excused herself, or tried to, with thinking that she was weak and not very well, and that her nerves had gone through so much for a few days past, it was no wonder if a reaction left her without her usual strength of mind. And she could not help thinking, there had been a want of kindness in the Evelyns to let her come away to-day to make such a journey, at such a season, under such guardianship. But it was not all that; she knew it was not. The journey was a small matter; only a little piece of disagreeableness that was well in keeping with her other meditations. She was going home, and home had lost all its fair-seeming; its honours were withered. It would be pleasant indeed to be there again to nurse Hugh; but nurse him for what? life or death? she did not like to think; and beyond that she could fix upon nothing at all that looked bright in the prospect; she almost thought herself wicked, but she could not. If she might hope that her uncle would take hold of his farm like a man, and redeem his character and his family's happiness on the old place that would have been something; but he had declared a different purpose, and Fleda knew him too well to hope that he would be better than his word. Then they must leave the old homestead, where at least the associations of happiness clung, and go to a strange land. It looked desolate to Fleda, wherever it might be. Leave Queechy! that she loved unspeakably beyond any other place in the world; where the very hills had been the friends of her childhood, and where she had seen the maples grow green and grow red, through as many coloured changes of her own fortunes; the woods where the shade of her grandfather walked with her, and where the presence even of her father could be brought back by memory; where the air was sweeter and the sunlight brighter; by far, than in any other place for both had some strange kindred with the sunny days of long ago. Poor Fleda turned her face from Mrs. Renney, and leaving doubtful prospects and withering comforts for a while, as it were, out of sight, she wept the fair outlines and the red maples of Queechy, as if they had been all she had to regret. They had never disappointed her. Their countenance had comforted her many a time, under many a sorrow. After all, it was only fancy choosing at which shrine the whole offering of sorrow should be made. She knew that many of the tears that fell were due to some other. It was in vain to tell herself they were selfish; mind and body were in no condition to struggle with anything.

It had fallen dark some time, and she had wept and sorrowed herself into a half-dozing state, when a few words spoken near aroused her.

"It is snowing," was said by several voices.

"Going very slow, aint we?" said Fleda's friend, in a suppressed voice.

"Yes, 'cause it's so dark, you see; the Captain durstn't let her run."

Some poor witticism followed from a third party about the "Butterfly's" having run herself off her legs the first time she ever ran at all; and then Mrs. Renney went on.

"Is the storm so bad, Hannah?"

"Pretty thick can't see far ahead I hope we'll make out to find our way in that's all I care for."

"How far are we?"

"Not half way yet I don't know depends on what headway we make, you know; there aint much wind yet, that's a good thing."

"There aint any danger, is there?"

This, of course, the chambermaid denied, and a whispered colloquy followed, which Fleda did not try to catch. A new feeling came upon her weary heart a feeling of fear. There was a sad twinge of a wish that she were out of the boat, and safe back again with the Evelyns; and a fresh sense of the unkindness of letting her come away that afternoon so attended. And then, with that sickness of heart, the forlorn feeling of being alone, of wanting some one at hand to depend upon, to look to. It is true, that, in case of real danger, none such could be a real protection; and yet lot so neither, for strength and decision can live and make live, where a moment's faltering will kill; and weakness must often falter of necessity. "All the ways of the Lord are mercy and truth" to his people; she thought of that, and yet she feared for his ways are often what we do not like. A few moments of sick- heartedness and trembling and then Fleda mentally folded her arms about a few other words of the Bible, and laid her head down in quiet again. "The Lord is my refuge and my fortress: my God: in him will I trust."

And then what comes after

"He shall cover thee with his feathers; and under his wings shalt thou trust; his truth shall be thy shield and buckler."

Fleda lay quiet till she was called to tea.

"Bless me, how pale you are?" said the housekeeper, as Fleda raised herself up at this summons; "do you feel very bad, Miss Fleda?"

Fleda said "No."

"Are you frighted?" said the housekeeper "there's no need of that Hannah says there's no need we'll be in by and by."

"No, Mrs. Renney," said Fleda, smiling. "I believe I am not very strong yet."

The housekeeper and Hannah both looked at her with strangely touched faces, and again begged her to try the refreshment of tea. But Fleda would not go down, so they served her up there, with great zeal and tenderness. And then she waited patiently and watched the people in the cabin, as they sat gossiping in groups, or stupefying in solitude; and thought how miserable a thing is existence where religion and refinement have not taught the mind to live in somewhat beyond and above its every-day concerns.

Late at night the boat arrived safe at Bridgeport. Mrs. Renney and Fleda had resolved to stay on board till morning, when the former promised to take her to the house of a sister she had living in the town; as the cars would not leave the place till near eleven o'clock. Rest was not to be hoped for meantime in the boat, on the miserable couch which was the best the cabin could furnish; but Fleda was so thankful to have finished the voyage in safety, that she took thankfully everything else, even lying awake. It was a wild night. The wind rose soon after they reached Bridgeport, and swept furiously over the boat, rattling the tiller chains, and making Fleda so nervously alive to possibilities that she got up two or three times to see if the boat were fast to her moorings. It was very dark, and only by a fortunately-placed lantern, she could see a bit of the dark wharf and one of the posts belonging to it, from which the lantern never budged; so, at last quieted, or tired-out, nature had her rights, and she slept.

It was not refreshing rest after all, and Fleda was very glad that Mrs. Renney's impatience for something comfortable made her willing to be astir as early as there was any chance of finding people up in the town. Few were abroad when they left the boat, they two. Not a foot had printed the deep layer of snow that covered the wharf. It had fallen thick during the night. Just then it was not snowing; the clouds seemed to have taken a recess, for they hung threatening yet; one uniform leaden canopy was over the whole horizon.

"The snow aint done yet," said Mrs. Renney.

"No, but the worst of our journey is over," said Fleda. "I am glad to be on the land."

"I hope we'll get something to eat here," said Mrs. Renney, as they stepped along over the wharf. "They ought to be ashamed to give people such a mess, when it's just as easy to have things decent. My! how it has snowed! I declare, if I'd ha' known, I'd ha' waited till somebody had tracked a path for us. But I guess it's just as well we didn't; you look as like a ghost as you can, Miss Fleda. You'll be better when you get some breakfast. You'd better catch on to my arm I'll waken up the seven sleepers but what I'll have something to put life into you directly."

Fleda thanked her, but declined the proffered accommodation, and followed her companion in the narrow beaten path a few travellers had made in the street, feeling enough like a ghost, if want of flesh and blood reality were enough. It seemed a dream that she was walking through the grey light, and the empty streets of the little town; everything looked and felt so wild and strange.

If it was a dream, she was soon waked out of it. In the house, where they were presently received and established in sufficient comfort, there was such a little specimen of masculine humanity as never showed his face in dream-land yet a little bit of reality, enough to bring any dreamer to his senses. He seemed to have been brought up on stove heat, for he was all glowing yet from a very warm bed he had just tumbled out of somewhere, and he looked at the pale thin stranger by his mother's fire-place, as if she were an anomaly in the comfortable world. If he could have contented himself with looking! but he planted himself firmly on the rug, just two feet from Fleda, and, with a laudable and most persistent desire to examine into the causes of what he could not understand, he commenced inquiring

"Are you cold? say! Are you cold? say!" in a tone most provokingly made up of wonder and dulness. In vain Fleda answered him, that she was not very cold, and would soon not be cold at all by that good fire the question came again, apparently in all its freshness, from the interrogator's mind

"Are you cold? say !"

And silence and words, looking grave and laughing, were alike thrown away. Fleda shut her eyes at length, and used the small remnant of her patience to keep herself quiet till she was called to breakfast. After breakfast she accepted the offer of her hostess to go up stairs and lie down till the cars were ready; and there got some real and much needed refreshment of sleep and rest.

It lasted longer than she had counted upon. For the cars were not ready at eleven o'clock the snow last night had occasioned some perplexing delays. It was not till near three o'clock, that the often-despatched messenger to the dept brought back word that they might go as soon as they pleased. It pleased Mrs. Renney to be in a great hurry, for her baggage was in the cars, she said, and it would be dreadful if she and it went different ways; so Fleda and her companion hastened down to the station-house and chose their places some time before anybody else thought of coming. They had a long, very tiresome waiting to go through, and room for some uneasy speculations about being belated and a night-journey. But Fleda was stronger now, and bore it all with her usual patient submission At length, by degrees, the people dropped in and filled the cars, and they set off.

"How early do you suppose we shall reach Greenfield?" said Fleda.

"Why, we ought to get there between nine and ten o'clock, I should think," said her companion. "I hope the snow will hold up till we get there."

Fleda thought it a hope very unlikely to be fulfilled. There were as yet no snow-flakes to be seen near by, but, at a little distance, the low clouds seemed already to enshroud every clump of trees, and put a mist about every hill. They surely would descend more palpably soon.

It was pleasant to be moving swiftly on again towards the end of their journey, if Fleda could have rid herself of some qualms about the possible storm and the certain darkness; they might not reach Greenfield by ten o'clock; and she disliked travelling in the night at any time. But she could do nothing, and she resigned herself anew to the comfort and trust she had built upon last night. She had the seat next the window, and with a very sober kind of pleasure watched the pretty landscape they were flitting by misty as her own prospects darkening as they? no, she would not allow that thought. " 'Surely I know that it shall be well with them that fear God;' and I can trust Him." And she found a strange sweetness in that naked trust and clinging of faith, that faith never tried never knows. But the breath of daylight was already gone, though the universal spread of snow gave the eye a fair range yet, white, white, as far as the view could reach, with that light misty drapery round everything in the distance, and merging into the soft grey sky; and every now and then, as the wind served, a thick wreath of white vapour came by from the engine and hid all, eddying past the windows, and then skimming off away over the snowy ground from which it would not lift; a more palpable veil for a moment of the distant things and then broken, scattered, fragmentary, lovely in its frailty, and evanishing. It was a pretty afternoon, but a sober; and the bare, black, solitary trees near hand which the cars flew by, looked to Fleda constantly like finger-posts of the past; and back, at their bidding, her thoughts and her spirits went, back and forward, comparing, in her own mental view what had once been so gay and genial with its present bleak and chill condition. And from this, in sudden contrast, came a strangely fair and bright image of heaven its exchange of peace for all this turmoil of rest for all this weary bearing up of mind and body against the ills that beset both of its quiet home for this unstable strange world, where nothing is at a standstill of perfect and pure society for the unsatisfactory and wearying friendships that the most are here. The thought came to Fleda like one of those unearthly clear north-western skies from which a storm-cloud has rolled away, that seem almost to mock earth with their distance from its defilement and agitations. "Truly I know that it shall be well with them that fear God!" She could remember Hugh she could not think of the words without him and yet say them with the full bounding assurance. And in that weary and uneasy afternoon, her mind rested and delighted itself with two lines of George Herbert, that only a Christian can well understand

"Thy power and love, my love and trust, Make one place everywhere."

But the night fell, and Fleda at last could see nothing but the dim rail-fences they were flying by, and the reflection from some stationary lantern on the engine, or one of the forward cars, that always threw a bright spot of light on the snow. Still she kept her eyes fastened out of the window; anything but the view inboard. They were going slowly now, and frequently stopping; for they were out of time, and some other trains were to be looked-out for. Nervous work; and whenever they stopped, the voices which at other times were happily drowned in the rolling of the car-wheels, rose and jarred in discords far less endurable. Fleda shut her ears to the words, but it was easy enough without words to understand the indications of coarse and disagreeable natures in whose neighbourhood she disliked to find herself of whose neighbourhood she exceedingly disliked to be reminded. The muttered oath, the more than muttered jest, the various laughs that tell so much of head or heart emptiness the shadowy but sure tokens of that in human nature which one would not realize, and which one strives to forget; Fleda shrank within herself, and would gladly have stopped her ears; did sometimes covertly. Oh, if home could be but reached, and she out of this atmosphere! how well she resolved that never another time, by any motive of delicacy, or otherwise, she would be tempted to trust herself in the like again without more than womanly protection. The hours rolled wearily on; they heard nothing of Greenfield yet.

They came at length to a more obstinate stop than usual. Fleda took her hands from her ears to ask what was the matter.

"I don't know," said Mrs. Renney. "I hope they won't keep us a great while waiting here."

The door swung open, and the red comforter and tarpaulin hat of one of the breakmen showed itself a moment. Presently after, "Can't get on," was repeated by several voices in the various tones of assertion, interrogation, and impatience. The women folks, having nobody to ask questions of, had nothing for it but to be quiet and use their ears.

"Can't get on!" said another man, coming in "there's nothing but snow out o' doors track's all foul."

A number of people instantly rushed out to see.

"Can't get on any further to-night?" asked a quiet old gentleman of the news-bringer.

"Not another inch, Sir; worse off than old Dobbs was in the mill-pond we've got half way, but we can't turn and go back."

"And what are we going to do?" said an unhappy wight, not quick in drawing conclusions.

"I s'pose we'll all be stiff by the morning," answered the other, gravely "unless the wood holds out, which aint likely."

How much there is in even a cheery tone of voice. Fleda was sorry when this man took his away with him. There was a most uncheering confusion of tongues for a few minutes among the people he had left, and then the car was near deserted; everybody went out to bring his own wits to bear upon the obstacles in the way of their progress. Mrs. Renney observed that she might as well warm her feet while she could, and went to the stove for the purpose.

Poor Fleda felt as if she had no heart left. She sat still in her place, and leaned her head upon the back of the deserted chair before her, in utter inability to keep it up. The night journey was bad enough, but this was more than she had counted upon. Danger, to be sure, there might be none in standing still there all night, unless, perhaps, the danger of death from the cold. She had heard of such things; but to sit there till morning among all those people, and obliged to hear their unloosed tongues, Fleda felt almost that she could not bear it a most forlorn feeling, with which came anew a keen reflection upon the Evelyns, for having permitted her to run even the hazard of such trouble. And in the morning, if well it came, who would take care of them in all the subsequent annoyance and difficulty of getting out of the snow?

It must have taken very little time for these thoughts to run through her head, for half a minute had not flown, when the vacant seat beside her was occupied, and a band softly touched one of hers which lay in her lap. Fleda started up in terror, to have the hand taken and her eye met by Mr. Carleton.

"Mr. Carleton! O Sir, how glad I am to see you!" was said by eye and cheek, as unmistakably as by word.

"Have you come from the clouds?"

"I might rather ask that question of you," said he, smiling. "You have been invisible ever since the night when I had the honour of playing the part of your physician."

"I could not help it, Sir I was sure you would believe it. I wanted exceedingly to see you, and to thank you as well as I could, but I was obliged to leave it."

She could hardly say so much. Her swimming eye gave him more thanks than he wanted. But she scolded herself vigorously, and after a few minutes, was able to look and speak again.

"I hoped you would not think me ungrateful, Sir, but in case you might, I wrote to let you know that you were mistaken."

"You wrote to me?" said he.

"Yes, Sir, yesterday morning at least it put in the post yesterday morning."

"It was more unnecessary than you are aware of," he said, with a smile, and turning one of his deep looks away from her.