"I s'pose I'll have to, honey," answered Mr. Middleton; "but if I can see ahead an inch, you're bitin' your own nose off by sending Tempest to New Orleans without you."

Afterward Fanny remembered this speech, and understood it, too; but now she was prevented from giving it a thought by her father, who continued, "Doesn't that Cameron chap live some'us in New York?"

There was no reason for it, but Fanny blushed deeply as she replied, "Yes, sir; Mr. Cameron lives in New York City; but I am not going to see him."

"Mebby not," answered her father; "but my name ain't Josh if he won't be on the lookout for you. And 'twixt us, darling, now the doctor's sarved you such a scaly trick, I shouldn't pitch and drive much if I heard that you and Cameron were on good terms."

"That will never, never be," answered Fanny. "I shall always live at home with you and mother."

"You are a blessed daughter," said Mr. Middleton, "and I hope there's better fortin in store for you than to stay hived up with us two old crones; and I can't help thinkin' that you'll have Dr. Lacey yet, or somebody a heap better. Now go to bed, child, for your eyes are gettin' red like, and heavy."

Fanny obeyed and retired to her room, where she found Julia sitting up and waiting for her. As soon as Fanny appeared she began, "Fan, you are a real good girl. I was pleased to hear you talk. Nobody but you could have done anything with the old heathen."

"What are you talking about?" asked Fanny.

"Why," said Julia, "I had my head out of the window, listening all the time, and overheard what you said. Once I trembled for fear father would take it into his head not to let me go any way; but you fixed it all right, and I thank you for it." As Fanny made no answer, Julia continued, "I heard, too, all about Frank Cameron. Now, Fan, I know he admires you, and I really hope you'll not be silly enough to discourage him. I shall expect you to write that you have become Mrs. Cameron."

"Will you please, Julia, say no more on that subject," said Fanny. "I do not suppose Frank Cameron has any particular regard for me; if he has it will do no good."

Thus the conversation ended for that night. The next day Mr. William Middleton was informed that Julia would spend the summer in New Orleans, but that Fanny preferred going North. He was rather disappointed. His preference, if any he had, was for Fanny. She was so quiet, so gentle, he could not help loving her; but Julia puzzled him. There was a certain bold assurance in her manner which he disliked. Besides, he could not help fearing there was some good reason why her father censured her so much. "I will watch her closely," thought he, "and if possible, discover her faults and help her correct them."

It would seem that Julia suspected her uncle's intentions, for she intended to be very correct and amiable in her deportment, whenever he was present. Thought she, "I will thus retain his good opinion; and by so doing I shall more easily win Dr. Lacey's regard."

In the course of a few days Fanny and Julia returned to school; the one, elated with the prospect of going to New Orleans, and the other, quietly anticipating a pleasant but rather sad journey to New York. Two weeks after their return to Frankfort their uncle called upon them on his way South. He again repeated his invitation that Stanton and Ashton would spend a part of the summer with him. Ashton consented, but Stanton still pleaded his important business North, and his excuse was considered a sufficient one.

Mrs. Carrington, who had become rather weary of Raymond's attentions and was longing for a change of place and scene, now tried by every possible maneuver to induce Mr. Middleton to invite her also. Julia readily understood her; and as she feared Mrs. Carrington's presence would frustrate her plans, she resolutely determined that she should not be invited. Consequently, when that lady talked to Mr. Middleton of New Orleans, and the desire she had of again visiting that city, Julia would adroitly change the conversation to some other subject; and once when Mr. Middleton had actually opened his mouth and commenced giving the desired invitation, Julia, as if suddenly recollecting herself, started up, saying, "Excuse me, uncle, but I have a painting in my room which I wish you to see. Pray, come with me now, for I cannot bring it down, and as it is getting dark, there is no time to be lost."

Mr. Middleton arose and followed his niece, who congratulated herself on the success of her stratagem. After reaching her room, and exhibiting her painting, she said to her uncle, "I do hope you will not ask Mrs. Carrington to go to New Orleans this summer."

"Why not?" said Mr. Middleton. "She seems anxious that I should do so."

"I know it," answered Julia; "but I am afraid she is not a good woman. At least she had a bad influence over me, and I always feel wicked after being with her awhile."

As Julia had supposed, this had the desired effect. Mr. Middleton would not ask one to visit him whose influence over his niece was bad. Consequently, all Mrs. Carrington's hints were unnoticed or misunderstood. She, however, knew tolerably well to whom she was indebted for the slight; and when, after Mr. Middleton's departure, Julia said to her, "I wonder uncle did not invite you, too; I thought he was going to do so," she replied, rather sharply, "I fancy I should have been under no obligations to you, Miss Julia, if I had received an invitation." Then turning, she hastily entered her room, and throwing herself upon the sofa, she tried to devise some scheme by which she could undermine Julia, provided Dr. Lacey should show her any marked attention.

Mrs. Carrington was not in a very enviable mood. The night before Raymond had offered her his heart and hand, and of course had been rejected. He was in the parlor when Julia so abruptly took her uncle away. As there was no one present besides Mrs. Carrington, he seized upon that moment to declare his love. It is impossible to describe the loathing and contempt which she pretended to feel for him who sued so earnestly for her hand, even if her heart did not accompany it. Nothing daunted by her haughty refusal, Raymond arose, and standing proudly before the indignant lady said, "Ida Carrington, however much dislike you may pretend to feel for me I do not believe it. I know I am not wholly disagreeable to you, and were I possessed of thousands, you would gladly seize the golden bait. I do not ask you to love me, for it is not in your nature to love anything. You are ambitious, and even now are dreaming of one whom you will never win; for just as sure as yon sun shall set again, so sure you, proud lady, shall one day be my wife."

When Mrs. Carrington had recovered a little from the surprise into which Raymond's fiery speech had thrown her, he was gone and she was alone. "Impudent puppy!" said she; "and yet he was right in saying he was not disagreeable to me. But I'll never be his wife. I'd die first!" Still, do what she would, a feeling haunted her that Raymond's prediction would prove true. Perhaps it was this which made her so determined to supplant Julia in Dr. Lacey's good opinion, should he ever presume to think favorably of her. How she succeeded we shall see hereafter.



CHAPTER XVII

FANNY MIDDLETON ARRIVES IN NEW YORK

Three weeks after Mr. Middleton's departure for New Orleans, Mr. Miller's school closed. Uncle Joshua was present at the examination, and congratulated himself much because he did not feel at all "stuck up" at seeing both Julia and Fanny acquit themselves so creditably. After the exercises were concluded, he returned with Mr. Miller to Mrs. Crane's. Just before he started for home he drew from his sheepskin pocketbook five hundred dollars, which he divided equally between his daughters, saying, "Here, gals, I reckon this will be enough to pay for all the furbelows you've bought or will want to buy. I'll leave you here the rest of the week to see to fixin' up your rig, but Saturday I shall send for you."

Fanny was surprised at her father's unlooked-for generosity, and thanked him again and again. Julia was silent, but her face told how vexed and disappointed she was. As soon as her father was gone, her rage burst forth. "Stingy old thing," said she, "and yet he thinks he's done something wonderful. Why, my bill at C——'s already amounts to two hundred, and I want as much more. What I am to do, I don't know."

She would have said more, but Fanny quieted her by saying, "Don't talk so about father, Julia. It was very liberal, and really I do not know what to do with all mine."

But we will not continue this conversation. Suffice it to say that when Julia retired that night, her own money was safe in her purse, and by the side of it lay the hundred dollars she had coaxed from Fanny. As they were preparing to return home on Saturday, Julia said to her sister, "Fan, don't let father know that you gave me a hundred dollars, for I fear all your powers of persuasion would be of no avail to stay the storm he would consider it his bounden duty to raise."

There was no need of this caution, for Fanny was not one to do a generous act, and then boast of it, neither did her father ask her how she had disposed of her money. He was satisfied to know that the "four silk gowns" were purchased, as, in his estimation they constituted the essential part of a young lady's wardrobe.

Since Fanny had disclosed the heartless desertion of Dr. Lacey, she seemed to be doubly dear to her father; for pity now mingled with the intense love he always had for his youngest and best-loved daughter. Often during the last three days she passed at home prior to her departure for New York, he would sit and gaze fondly upon her until the tears would blind his vision, then springing up, he would pace the floor, impetuously muttering, "The scamp—the vagabond—but he'll get his pay fast enough—and I'd pay him, too, if I hadn't promised not to. But 'tain't worth a while, for I reckon 'twould only make her face grow whiter and thinner if I did anything."

At length the morning came on which Julia and Fanny were to leave for the first time their native state. Side by side near the landing at Frankfort lay the two boats, Blue Wing and Diana. The one was to bear Fanny on her Northern tour, and the other would convey Julia as far as Louisville on her way South. Mr. Woodburn, who had business in New Orleans, was to take Julia under his protection.

And now but a short time remained ere the Diana would loose her moorings and be under way. These few moments were moments of sorrow to Mr. and Mrs. Middleton, who had accompanied their daughters to Frankfort. Uncle Joshua particularly was much depressed, and scarce took his eyes from his treasure, who might be leaving him forever. In his estimation the far-off North was a barren, chilly region, and although he did not quite believe his Fanny would be frozen to death, he could not rid himself of the fear that something would befall her.

"You'll take good keer of her, won't you, Miller?" said he, "and bring her safely back to us?"

Mr. Miller gave the promise, and then observing that there was something else on Mr. Middleton's mind, he said, "What is it, Mr. Middleton? What more do you wish to say?"

Mr. Middleton struggled hard with his feelings, and his voice sank to a whisper as he answered, "I wanted to tell you that if—if she should die, bring her home—bring her back; don't leave her there all alone."

The old man could say no more, for the bell rang out its last warning. The parting between Fanny and her parents was a sad one, and even Julia wept as she kissed her sister, and thought it might be for the last time.

Soon after the Diana, with its precious freight disappeared from view, Mr. Middleton was called upon to bid another farewell to his eldest daughter. "Reckon the old fellow likes one girl better than the other," said a bystander, who had witnessed both partings. And yet Mr. Middleton did well, and his look and manner was very affectionate as he bade Julia good-bye, and charged her "not to be giddy and act like a fool, nor try to come it over Dr. Lacey." "Though," thought he, "it'll be sarvin the rascal right if he should have to live with Tempest all his life."

It is not our intention at present to follow Julia in her passage to New Orleans. In another chapter we will take up the subject, and narrate her adventures. Now we prefer going North with the other party, which consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Miller, Fanny and Raymond. The latter had, in a fit of desperation, determined to quit Frankfort, and go no one knew whither. He accompanied his friends as far as Cincinnati, and there bade them adieu, saying that they would hear of him again in a way they little dreamed of.

Mr. Miller was sorry to part with one who had proved so valuable an assistant in his school, but all his arguments had failed and he was obliged to give him up, saying, "I hope, Raymond, that all your laudable enterprises may be successful."

"I shall succeed," were Raymond's emphatic words; "and she, the haughty woman, who tried to smile so scornfully when I bade her farewell, will yet be proud to say she has had a smile from me, a poor school master."

"Well, Raymond," said Mr. Miller, "you have my good wishes, and if you ever run for President, I'll vote for you. So now good-by."

Raymond rung his friend's hand, and then stepped from the cars, which soon rolled heavily from the depot. Faster and faster sped the train on its pathway over streamlet and valley, meadow and woodland, until at last the Queen City, with its numerous spires, was left far behind. From the car windows Fanny watched the long blue line of hills, which marks the Kentucky shore, until they, too, disappeared from view.

For a time now we will leave her to the tender mercies of the Ohio railroad, and a Lake Erie steamer, and hurrying on in advance, we will introduce the reader to the home where once had sported Richard Wilmot and his sister Kate. It stood about a half a mile from the pleasant rural village of C——, in the eastern part of New York. The house was large and handsome, and had about it an air of thrift and neatness, which showed its owner to be a farmer, who not only understood his business, but also attended to it himself. Between the house and the road was a large grassy lawn, on which was growing many a tall, stately maple and elm, under whose wide-spreading branches Kate and her brother had often played during the gladsome days of their childhood. A long piazza ran around two sides of the building. Upon this piazza the family sitting room opened.

Could we have entered that sitting room the day on which our travelers arrived, we should have seen a fine-looking, middle-aged lady, whose form and features would instantly have convinced us that we looked upon the mother of Kate. Yes, what Kate Miller is now, her mother was once; but time and sorrow have made inroads upon her dazzling beauty, and here and there the once bright locks of auburn are now silvered over, and across the high white brow are drawn many deep-cut lines. Since Kate last saw her mother, these lines have increased, for the bursting heart has swelled with anguish, and the dark eye has wept bitter tears for the son who died far away from his childhood's home. Even now the remembrance of the noble youth, who scarce two years ago, left her full of life and health, makes the tear drop start as she says aloud, "How can I welcome back my darling Kate, and know that he will never come again!"

The sound of her voice aroused old Hector, the watchdog, who had been lying in the sun upon the piazza. Stretching his huge limbs and shaking his shaggy sides, he stalked into the sitting room, and going up to his mistress laid his head caressingly in her lap. The sight of Hector made Mrs. Wilmot's tears flow afresh, for during many years he had been the faithful companion of Richard, whose long absence he seemed seriously to mourn. For days and weeks he had watched by the gate, through which he had seen his young master pass, and when at last the darkness of night forbade a longer watch, he would lay his head on the ground and give vent to his evident disappointment in a low, mournful howl.

Mrs. Wilmot was not superstitious; but when, day after day, the same sad cry was repeated, it became to her an omen of coming evil; and thus the shock of her son's death, though none the less painful, was not quite as great as it would otherwise have been. For Kate, too, old Hector had wept, but not so long or so mournfully; still he remembered her, and always evinced his joy whenever her name was spoken.

On the morning of the day on which she was expected home, a boy who had lived in the family when she went away, called Hector to him, and endeavored, by showing him some garment which Kate had worn and by repeating her name, to make him understand that she was coming home. We will not say that Hector understood him, but we know that during the day he never for a moment left the house or yard, but lay upon the piazza, looking eagerly toward the road which led from the village. Whenever he saw a carriage coming, he would start up and gaze wistfully at it until it had passed, then he would again lie down and resume his watch. Mrs. Wilmot noticed this, and when Hector, as we have seen, walked up to her and looked so sympathizingly in her face, she patted his head, saying, "Poor Hector; you will see Kate at least today."

Nor was she mistaken, for about three that afternoon, an omnibus drew up before the gate. Kate immediately sprang out, and was followed by Mr. Miller and Fanny. Their arrival was first made known to Mrs. Wilmot by the cry of joy which Hector sent forth at sight of Kate. With lightning speed he bounded over the lawn to meet the travelers. Fanny, who was accustomed to the savage watchdogs of Kentucky, sprang back in terror and clung to Mr. Miller for protection; but Kate cried out, "Do not fear; it is only Hector, and he wouldn't harm you for the world." Then she ran forward to meet him, and embraced him as fondly as though he had really been a human being, and understood and appreciated it all. And he did seem to, for after caressing Kate, he looked about as if in quest of the missing one. Gradually he seemed to become convinced that Richard was not there; again was heard the old wailing howl; but this time it was more prolonged, more despairing. Faithful creature! Know you not that summer's gentle gale and winter's howling storm have swept over the grave of him whom you so piteously bemoan.

Fanny stopped her ears to shut out the bitter cry, but if Kate heard it, she heeded it not, and bounded on over the graveled walk toward her mother, who was eagerly waiting for her. In an instant parent and child were weeping in each other's arms.

"My Kate, my darling Kate, are you indeed here?" said Mrs. Wilmot.

Kate's only answer was a still more passionate embrace. Then recollecting herself, she took her husband's hand and presented him to her mother, saying, "Mother, I could not bring you Richard, but I have brought you another son. Will you not give him room in your heart?"

Mrs. Wilmot had never seen Mr. Miller before, but she was prepared to like him, not only because he was her daughter's choice, but because he had been the devoted friend of her son; consequently she greeted him with a most kind and affectionate welcome.

During all this time Fanny was leaning against one of the pillars of the piazza, but her thoughts were far away. She was thinking of her distant Kentucky home, and a half feeling of homesickness crept over her, as she thought how joyfully she would be greeted there, should she ever return. Her reverie was of short duration, for Kate approached, and leading her to her mother, simply said, "Mother, this is Fanny."

'Twas enough. The word Fanny had a power to open the fountains of that mother's heart. She had heard the story of the young girl, who had watched so unweariedly by the bedside of Richard—she had heard, too, of the generous old man, whose noble heart had cared for and cherished the stranger, and she knew that she, who advanced toward her so timidly, was the same young girl, the same old man's daughter; and could Mr. Middleton have witnessed her reception of his Sunshine, he would have been satisfied.

A messenger was dispatched for Mr. Wilmot, who was superintending some workmen in a field not far from the house. Mr. Wilmot was a tall, noble-looking man, whose fine figure was slightly bowed by the frosts of sixty winters. As he advanced with breathless haste toward the house, Kate ran to meet him, and the tears which the strong man wept, told how dear to him was this, his beautiful daughter, and how forcibly her presence reminded him of his first-born, only son, who went away to die among strangers.

When he was presented to Mr. Miller and Fanny, a scene similar to the one we have already described took place. As he blessed Fanny for Richard's sake, she felt that though in a strange land, she was not alone or unloved. Her homesickness soon vanished; for how could she be lonely and sad, where all were so kind, and where each seemed to vie with the other in trying to make everything agreeable to her. It was strange how soon even Hector learned to love the fair Kentuckian. He would follow her footsteps wherever she went, and affectionately kiss her hands. But then, as Kate said, "Hector had more common sense than half the people in the world," and he seemed to know by instinct that she whom he so fondly caressed had once watched over his young master, who was now sleeping in his silent grave, unmindful that in his home he was still sincerely mourned even by old Hector.

Not many days after Fanny's arrival at Mr. Wilmot's she was told that a gentleman wished to see her in the parlor. On entering the room how surprised she was at beholding Frank Cameron. He had learned by letter from Kate that Fanny was in C——, and he immediately started for his uncle's.

Since his return from Kentucky he had thoughts of little else save Fanny Middleton. Waking or sleeping, she was constantly in his mind, and still with a happy thought of her there ever came a sadder feeling, a fear that his love for her would be in vain. But since the morning when he bade her adieu, her name had never once passed his lips.

When his sister Gertrude questioned him concerning the Kentucky girls, he had described to her in glowing terms the extreme beauty of Julia, and the handsome eyes of "the widder," as he called Mrs. Carrington, but of Fanny he had never spoken. He could not bear that even his own sister should mention Fanny in connection with any one else. How ever, when Kate's letter arrived, he passed it over to Gertrude, whose curiosity was instantly roused, and she poured forth a torrent of questions as to who that Fanny Middleton was.

"I suppose she must be old Mr. Middleton's daughter," was Frank's teasing reply.

"Of course I know that," said Gertrude, "but what of her? who is she?"

"Why, I've told you once, she is Fanny Middleton," said Frank.

These and similar answers were all Gertrude could draw from him, and she fell into a fit of pouting; but Frank was accustomed to that, and consequently did not mind it. Next he announced his intention to visit his Uncle Wilmot. Gertrude instantly exclaimed, "Now, Frank, you are too bad. Just as soon as you hear Fanny Middleton is in New York, you start off to see her, without even telling me who she is, or what she is. In my opinion you are in love with her, and do not wish us to know it."

This started up Mrs. Cameron's ideas, and she said, "Frank, I am inclined to believe Gertrude is right; but you surely will be respectful enough to me to answer my questions civilly."

"Certainly," said Frank. "Ask anything you please; only be quick, for it is almost car time."

"Well then, do you intend to make this Miss Middleton your wife?"

"I do, if she will have me," said Frank.

The distressed lady groaned audibly, but continued, "One more question, Frank. Is she rich and well connected?"

Frank passed his hand through the thick curls of his brown hair, and seemed to be trying hard to think of something. Finally he answered, "Why, really, mother, I never once thought to ask that question."

"But," persisted Mrs. Cameron, "you can judge by her appearance, and that of her parents. Did you not see them?"

Frank laughed loudly as the image of Uncle Joshua as he first saw him in the door, buttoning his suspender, presented itself to his remembrance; but he answered, "Yes, mother, I did see her father, and 'twas the richest sight I ever saw."

He then proceeded to give a description of Mr. Middleton to his astonished sister and mother, the latter of whom exhibited such distress that Frank very compassionately asked, "if she had the toothache."

Before she had time to answer, Frank was gone, leaving his mother to lament over the strange infatuation which always led Frank in pursuit of somebody beneath him.

"I know," said she to Gertrude, "that this Fanny Middleton is from a horrid low family, and is as poor as a church mouse."

So while Frank was hurrying toward the village of C——, his mother and sister were brooding over the disgrace which they feared threatened them. They could have spared all their painful feelings, for she of the "low family" was destined to be another's.

During Frank's ride to C—— he determined, ere his return, to know the worst. "She can but refuse me," thought he, "and even if she does, I shall feel better than I do now." When he met Fanny his manner was so calm and collected that she never dreamed how deep was the affection she had kindled in his heart. She received him with real pleasure, for he seemed like a friend from Kentucky. He staid with her but three days, and when he left he bore a sadder heart than he had ever felt before. Fanny had refused him; not exultingly, as if a fresh laurel had been won only to be boasted of, but so kindly, so delicately, that Frank felt almost willing to act it all over again for the sake of once more hearing Fanny's voice, as she told him how utterly impossible it was for her ever again to love as a husband should be loved.

"Then," said Frank, somewhat bitterly, "you acknowledge that you have loved another."

"Yes," answered Fanny, "but no other circumstances could have wrung the confession from me. I have loved and been deceived. I will not say my faith in man's honor is wholly gone, for I believe you, Mr. Cameron, to be perfectly sincere and honorable in your professions of regard. Had we met earlier all might have been different, but now it is too late. If my friendship is worth having, it is yours. I have never had a brother, but will look upon and love you as one; with that, you must be satisfied."

And he did try to be satisfied, but only because there was no other alternative. Still he felt a pleasure in being near her, in breathing the same atmosphere and gazing on the same scenes. Before he returned home he had decided upon accompanying her, together, with Mr. and Mrs. Miller, on their contemplated trip to Saratoga; thence they would go on to New York City, and visit at his father's.

"I am sorry," said he, "that it is not the season for parties, as I should love dearly to show off Fanny in opposition to our practised city belles, and now I think of it," continued he, "isn't Mr. Stanton coming North this summer after a certain Miss Ashton?"

"I believe he is," answered Kate.

"Now then," said Frank. "I have it exactly. Judge Fulton, who is Miss Ashton's guardian, has recently removed to the city. I know him well, and have been introduced to Miss Helen. Stanton has already invited us all to his wedding, and as Miss Ashton will of course repeat the invitation, Fanny will thus have an opportunity of seeing a little of the gay world in New York."

"You seem to think any praise bestowed upon Fanny as so much credit for yourself," said Kate, mischievously.

Frank made no reply, and soon bidding good-by to his friends, he was on his way to the city. On reaching home he found his mother and sister in a state of great anxiety concerning "the odious old scarecrow's corncake daughter," as Gertrude styled Fanny. Her first question, after asking about Kate, was, "Well, Frank, tell me, did you propose to Miss Middleton?"

"Most certainly I did. That was one object in going," was Frank's quiet reply.

The horrified Mrs. Cameron, throwing up both hands in a most theatrical manner, exclaimed, "Mon Dieu!" It was the only French phrase she knew, and she used it upon all occasions. This time, however, it was accompanied by a loud call for her vineagrette and for air, at the same time declaring it was of no use trying to restore her, for her heart was broken and she was going to faint.

"Let me wash these red spots off from your cheek. You can't faint gracefully with so much color," said Frank gravely, at the same time literally deluging his mother's face with cologne, much against the blooming lady's inclination. This little scene determined Frank not to tell that he was rejected. At first he had intended to disclose all, but now he decided otherwise. "They may as well fret about that as anything else," thought he, "and when they see Fanny, I shall have a glorious triumph." So he kept his own secret, and commenced teasing Gertrude about going to Saratoga with himself, their cousin Kate and Fanny.

"I shall do no such thing, Master Frank," said Gertrude. "I am willing enough to see Kate, and invite her here too, for she is fine looking and appears well, even if she is a music teacher; but this Fanny Middleton—Ugh! I'll never associate with her on terms of equality, or own her as my sister either."

"I do not think you will," said Frank; but Gertrude knew not what cause he had for so saying.

After he had quitted the apartment, Mrs. Cameron and Gertrude tried to think of some way to let Fanny know that she was not wanted in their family. "Dear me," said Gertrude, "I will not go to Saratoga, and be obliged to see Frank make a dolt of himself with this plebian Kentuckian. If she were only rich and accomplished, why, it would be different, and the fact of her being from Kentucky would increase her attractions. But now it is too bad!" And Gertrude actually cried with vexation and mortified pride. Poor creature! How mistaken she was with regard to Fanny Middleton, and so she one day learned.

But as the reader is doubtless anxious to hear of Fanny's introduction to Mrs. Cameron and Gertrude, we will give a description of it in the next chapter.



CHAPTER XVIII

FANNY WELCOMED BY MRS. CAMERON

Contrary to his first intention, Stanton concluded to come North in July. He had of course learned from Nellie that her mysterious guardian had proved to be Judge Fulton, his sister's husband. And more recently she had written to him of Judge Fulton's removal to New York City. Mr. Miller was apprised of Stanton's return by a letter, in which he was also informed that the wedding would take place in Grace Church on the morning of the 22d.

Not long after there came invitations for himself, wife and Fanny to attend the bridal party, at the residence of Judge Fulton, on the evening of July 25. Frank, who was also invited, had his own reason for not wishing his mother or sister to see Fanny until they met her at Judge Fulton's. Consequently he was not sorry when both ladies graciously informed him that Miss Middleton would not be invited by them to visit at their house. "Of course," said Mrs. Cameron, "we shall invite Kate and her husband, and shall be glad to see them. If you choose, you can in your own name invite Fanny, but if she knows anything she will not come."

Frank knew there was no possible danger of Fanny's accepting an invitation, which came simply from himself, but he did not say so, and next day he started again for his Uncle Wilmot's. To his cousin Kate he imparted a knowledge of his mother's and Gertrude's feelings and also told of his own plans. Kate readily fell in with them and when Frank returned to the city he was accompanied by Mr. Miller, Kate and Fanny, who took rooms at the Astor House. As soon as Mrs. Cameron and Gertrude learned that Kate was in the city, they called upon her. Fanny they of course did not see, neither did they mention her name. Kate expected as much, but nevertheless felt vexed, and when they urged her to spend the remainder of her time with them, she replied, "I have a young friend from Kentucky with me, and unless you invite her too, I do not feel at liberty to accept your polite invitation."

In answer to this, Gertrude muttered something about "not wishing to enlarge the circle of her acquaintance," while Mrs. Cameron said nothing, and the two ladies soon swept haughtily out of the room.

"Never mind," said Frank, to whom Kate related her adventure, "they will both sing another tune ere long," and he was right too.

The 25th of July at last arrived. Frank had informed Gertrude that she must look to her father for a beau that evening, as he should be otherwise engaged; so she was not surprised when her brother, long before sunset, left the house all equipped for the party. She well knew where he was going and for whose society she was deserted. One hour later found her seated in a large armchair before the mirror in her dressing room.

Gertrude was a tall, fine-looking girl, but in the expression of her handsome features there was something wanting. She lacked soul, and no one ever looked on the cold, proud face of Gertrude Cameron, without being convinced that she was altogether heartless and selfish.

On this occasion, as she sat in the large armchair, she said to her waiting maid, "I say, Jane, you must do your best tonight to have me splendidly dressed."

"Yes, ma'am, I understand," said Jane, and she proceeded to bedeck her young mistress with all sorts of finery. Her dress consisted of a rich, white satin, over which was thrown a skirt of handsomely embroidered lace. All the ornaments of gold and diamonds for which a place could possibly be found were heaped upon her, and when her toilet was completed, she seemed one gorgeous mass of jewelry.

"There, that will do," said she, as Jane clasped the last diamond bracelet on her arm. "I presume this Fanny Middleton has never dreamed of so costly a dress as I shall appear in tonight."

Meanwhile in another part of the city, another toilet was being made, but of a different nature. Kate and Frank both were anxious that for once Fanny should deviate from her usually simple style of dress, and adopt something more in keeping with her father's wealth. At first Fanny hesitated, but was finally persuaded, and gave Kate permission to select for her anything she chose.

As, on the evening of the party, she glanced at the image which her mirror reflected, she was pardonable for feeling a slight thrill of pleasure. Frank was in raptures, declaring nothing had ever been seen in New York so perfectly lovely. And truly, Fanny was beautiful as she stood there arrayed for the party.

She was dressed in a French robe of white tarlatan, embroidered in boquets of lilies of the valley in silver. A single japonica rested among the curls of her bright hair, while her neck was encircled by a necklace of pearls, and costly bracelets of the same clasped her white, slender wrists.

"Why, Fanny," said Mr. Miller, "how beautiful you look. What would your father say could he see you now?"

At the mention of her father's name the teardrops glistened for a moment in Fanny's eye, and she felt how gladly she would have foregone all the expected pleasure of that night for the pleasure of again seeing her distant father. She, however, dashed the tears away, and replied, "I fear he would think his Sunshine wholly covered up and spoiled by trumpery, as he calls fashionable dress."

Frank noticed her emotion when speaking of her father, and he thought how priceless must be the love of one who thus so truly honored her parents. A feeling of sadness was blended with his admiration of Fanny, for constantly in his heart was the knowledge that she never would be his. And here Frank showed how truly noble he was, for he could still love and cling to Fanny, although he knew that for him there was no hope.

Let us now transport our readers to the elegant residence of Judge Fulton, which was situated upon Fifth Avenue. Stanton, with his fair bride, had returned from visiting his parents near Geneva, and now in the large parlors of Judge Fulton, they were receiving the congratulations of their friends, whose numbers each moment increased, until the rooms were filled to overflowing. Frank and his party had not yet arrived. He designed to be late, for he well knew his mother and sister would not be early, and he wished to give them the full benefit of Fanny's introduction into the drawing room.

But a part of his scheme was frustrated, for his mother, who was suffering with a violent headache, was obliged to remain above stairs for a time, and Gertrude alone witnessed her brother's triumph. She was standing near Mr. and Mrs. Stanton, carelessly twirling a costly boquet, which one of her obsequious beaux had given her, when she overheard Nellie say to her husband, "I do hope she will come, for I am all impatience to see one whom you have praised until I am half jealous."

Gertrude wondered much whom Mrs. Stanton could mean, but her wonder soon ceased, for there was a stir at the door. The crowd around it fell back as Frank Cameron walked proudly into the room, bearing upon his arm Fanny Middleton. Her fame had preceded her, for many of those present had learned that a Kentucky belle and heiress was stopping at the Astor, and would be present at the party. As she advanced into the room, Gertrude felt, rather than heard the murmur of admiration which ran round the room, and her quick ear caught the words, "Yes, that's she; that's the heiress; that's Miss Middleton from Frankfort."

Gladly would Gertrude have escaped her brother's eye, which instantly sought her out; but she felt unable to move, and stood watching the animated face and graceful manners of Fanny, who, in being presented to Mrs. Fulton and Stanton, passed near her. Every article of Fanny's dress was noted, and an estimate made as to its probable cost. "She must be wealthy," thought she, "or she could not dress so expensively." Suddenly one of Gertrude's acquaintances touched her elbow, and said, "Come, Miss Gertrude, do gratify our curiosity and tell us about this Kentucky belle. Of course you know her, as she is attended by your brother."

Deeply mortified Gertrude was obliged to confess that she had no acquaintance with her. "That's strange," said the lady. "We all supposed she stopped at your father's with your cousin."

A new idea entered Gertrude's mind, and instead of replying to this last remark, she said, "I shall know her well, though, for Frank has proposed to her."

"Did she accept him?" asked the lady eagerly.

"Of course," was Gertrude's haughty answer. "Do you think he would offer himself unless sure of success?"

Ten minutes more and dozens of persons were gossiping about the engagement between Frank Cameron and the beautiful Kentuckian. Scores of questions were poured in upon Gertrude relative to her future sister-in-law, but none of them could she answer. Vexed at her own ignorance, she ran upstairs to her mother, whom she told to "come down immediately and see what fools they had made of themselves."

"Why, what is the matter, child?" said Mrs. Cameron, much alarmed at Gertrude's excited looks and manners.

"All the city is ready to fall down and worship this Fanny Middleton, whom we have treated with such neglect," said Gertrude, and then she added what was of more consequence than all the rest, "Why, mother, she's the most elegantly dressed lady in the room!"

In a moment Mrs. Cameron was descending the broad staircase. There was the sound of the piano and someone singing. Gertrude pressed forward until she caught sight of the singer, then pulling her mother's sleeve, she whispered, "This way, mother; that is Miss Middleton playing."

Mrs. Cameron's first emotion, on beholding Fanny and the flattering attentions she everywhere received, was one of intense mortification, to think she had not been first to notice and chaperone her. "I will, however, make all possible amends now," thought she, and finding Frank she desired for herself and Gertrude an introduction to Miss Middleton; but Frank did not feel disposed to grant his mother's request immediately, and he said, "Pardon me, mother, but you see Miss Middleton is very much engaged at present with some of her friends, so you must wait awhile."

Mrs. Cameron was too proud to ask any one else to introduce her, and it seemed that she and Gertrude were not likely to make Fanny's acquaintance at all. Toward the close of the party, however, Frank thought proper to introduce them. Mrs. Cameron determined to do her best, and she overwhelmed Fanny with so much flattery, that the poor girl longed for some way of escape, thinking to herself, "Is it possible that Frank Cameron's mother is such a silly woman?" Once Mrs. Cameron went so far as to hint the probability that Miss Middleton would one day be her daughter.

"What can she possibly mean?" thought Fanny; at the same time gracefully excusing herself she ran upstairs after her shawl and veil, as Kate had signified her intention of returning home. But Mrs. Cameron was not to be thus foiled. She started in pursuit, and reaching the bonnet room as soon as Fanny, insisted that she and Kate should stop with her during the remainder of her stay in the city. As Frank soon appeared and joined his entreaties with those of his mother, Fanny said she would do just as Mrs. Miller thought proper. Kate, who had expected a similar denouement, expressed her perfect willingness to visit at her uncle's.

Accordingly, the next morning they left their rooms at the Astor House and repaired to Mrs. Cameron's, where they were most affectionately received by Mrs. Cameron and Gertrude. And now commenced a series of toadyism which was vastly amusing to their acquaintances, many of whom had witnessed Mrs. Cameron's manner at the party and had since learned a part of the story. It was strange how soon Mrs. Cameron and Gertrude discovered how many fine qualities Fanny possessed. Even the "odious scarecrow of a father" was transformed into an "odd old gentleman," and in speaking of him to one of her acquaintances, Mrs. Cameron said "he was a very generous, wealthy, but eccentric old man, and was one of the first citizens in Frankfort." The good lady forgot that Uncle Joshua did not reside in Frankfort, but twelve miles from that city! Her word, however, was not questioned, for of course she would know all about the family of her son's intended wife.

Meanwhile the report of Frank's engagement was circulated freely, and the whole matter would undoubtedly have been arranged, marriage ceremony and all, had not Frank put an end to the matter by utterly denying the story. Some young gentlemen were one morning congratulating him on his future prospects, and declaring their intention of going to Kentucky, if there were any more Fannys there, when Frank asked upon whose authority they were repeating a story for which there was no foundation.

"Why," answered one of them, "my sister heard it from your sister Gertrude."

"From Gertrude!" said Frank in amazement, "from Gertrude! Well, I cannot answer for what Gertrude says, but I assure you I am not engaged to Miss Middleton, and have never been."

This was in the morning, and that evening when Frank entered the sitting room where his mother and sister were, they beset him to know why he had denied his engagement with Fanny.

"Because," said he, rather indignantly, "there is no engagement between us."

"Oh, Frank," said Gertrude, "you told us so."

"I never told you so," answered he, rather warmly. "I told you I had proposed, and I did propose, and was refused."

"But why didn't you tell us?" continued Gertrude.

"Because you didn't ask me," replied Frank. "You supposed, of course, none could refuse me, so jumped at conclusions and have got yourself into a fine spot."

There was no need of telling this, for Mrs. Cameron readily saw it and went off into a fit of hysterics, while Gertrude burst into tears.

"What a strange girl you are!" said Frank. "Once you cried because you thought I was engaged to Fanny, and now you cry because I am not." So saying he gave a low mocking whistle and left his mother and sister to console themselves as best they could.

We will not weary the reader by repeating the conversation between Gertrude and her mother. We will only say that Mrs. Cameron decided to go as soon as possible to Saratoga, "and when once there," said she, "I will use all my influence with Miss Middleton; nay, if necessary, I will even beg her to marry Frank, for I know she likes him."

Gertrude was delighted with this idea. She had forgotten how determined she once was not to visit Saratoga with Fanny Middleton. Next morning Mrs. Cameron proposed to her guests that as the weather was getting warm, they should start directly for the Springs. The visitors of course could make no objections, and as Mr. and Mrs. Stanton, who were to accompany them, also acquiesced in the plan, two days more found our friends at Saratoga, together with crowds more of the fashionable from the north, south, east and west.

On the first day of their arrival, Fanny noticed seated opposite her at the dinner table, a dark-eyed, sprightly looking girl, whose eyes so constantly met hers, that at last both blushed and the stranger girl half smiled. By her side sat a gentleman, whom Fanny concluded was the young lady's brother. Something in their appearance interested Fanny, and she could not help thinking that they were from the South. That evening as she was walking alone upon the piazza, she was suddenly joined by the unknown lady, who accosted her with, "Pardon me, ma'am, but am I not speaking to Miss Middleton from Kentucky?"

Fanny was too much surprised to answer immediately, but soon recovering her self-possession, she answered, "You are, but I have not the pleasure of knowing you."

"I presume not," said the lady. "We have never met before, and yet I knew you instantly."

"Knew me! How?" asked Fanny.

"From description," replied the lady. "You have been so accurately described to me by our mutual friend Miss Woodburn, of New Orleans, that I could not mistake you."

"Florence Woodburn! New Orleans!" exclaimed Fanny. "And are you from New Orleans, and do you know Florence, and have you seen Julia?"

To all these questions the stranger answered "Yes," continuing, "and now let me introduce myself. I am Lida Gibson, but I might as well be John Smith for any idea my name will convey. However, I am from New Orleans, and know Florence and your Uncle William well. Just before I left the city, I made your sister's acquaintance. When she learned I was coming this way, she said I might possibly see you, and made me the bearer of many messages of love."

Fanny had never heard of Lida Gibson, but it was sufficient that she knew her uncle and Julia, so her hand was immediately offered, and the remainder of the evening the two young girls promenaded the piazza arm in arm, talking of their distant homes and absent friends.

"Where did you see Julia?" asked Fanny.

"Your uncle's house was not quite ready, consequently he and Julia were spending a few days at the residence of Dr. Lacey," answered Lida.

"Dr. Lacey!" said Fanny, in some surprise. "Julia at Dr. Lacey's?"

"Yes, why not?" said Lida, laughing merrily at Fanny's manner. "There is nothing improper about that, for Dr. Lacey's father was then absent, and his mother, for the time, stayed with her son. I fancied it was not at all unpleasant either to Dr. Lacey or Julia, that they were thus thrown together, and I should not wonder if the doctor should one day call you sister!"

Lida Gibson, whom our readers will recollect as having met at Mabel Mortimer's party in New Orleans, was a thoughtless, but kind-hearted girl, and never felt happier than when employed in canvassing matches. On the morning when the Cameron party arrived at the Springs, she had sent her brother to learn the names of the newcomers. On his return he mentioned Fanny Middleton as being one of the new arrivals, so 'twas not surprising that Lida should so readily recognize her.

As days passed on Lida too heard of the supposed engagement between Fanny and Frank Cameron, and for once kept silent upon the subject, at least in Fanny's presence. Dearly as she loved to discuss such matters, she felt there was something in the character of her new friend which forbade an approach to anything like jesting about so personal an affair as one's own engagement. She, however, fully believed the report, for everything she saw tended to confirm it, and she was anxious to return home that she might carry the important news to Julia and Dr. Lacey. Poor Fanny! The clouds were gathering darkly about her, but she, all unconscious of the consequence, talked, laughed, rode and sang with Frank, never thinking that she was thus confirming Lida in a belief which would tend to remove Dr. Lacey farther and farther from her. Could Lida have heard a conversation which one evening took place between Mrs. Cameron and Fanny, different, very different would have been the report which she carried back.

One evening as Fanny, Lida and Gertrude were walking upon the piazza, a servant came, saying that Mrs. Cameron desired to see Miss Middleton in her room. Fanny immediately obeyed the summons, and as soon as she was gone, Lida laughingly congratulated Gertrude upon the project of having so pleasant a sister. Gertrude smilingly received Miss Gibson's congratulations. "For," thought she, "even if Fanny does not marry Frank, Miss Gibson will probably never know it, as she is to leave in a few days."

Let us now with Fanny repair to Mrs. Cameron's room, but not like her wondering why she was sent for. We well know why, and consequently are prepared for the look of mingled indignation and astonishment which appeared on Fanny's face when she learned that Mrs. Cameron was pleading the cause of her son! Fanny answered, "Madam, I have always entertained the highest respect for your son, but I must confess it is lessened if it is with his knowledge you are speaking to me."

Mrs. Cameron, who had at first intimated that it was Frank's request that she should thus intercede for him, now saw her mistake, and veering about, declared what was indeed true, that Frank was wholly ignorant of the whole. Then followed a long, eloquent speech, in which Mrs. Cameron by turns tried to coax, flatter, importune, or frighten Fanny into a compliance with her wishes, but Fanny could only repeat her first answer. "I cannot, Mrs. Cameron, I cannot marry Frank. I acknowledge that I like him, but only as I would love a brother. Further remonstrance is useless, for I shall never marry him."

"And why not?" asked Mrs. Cameron. "Do you love another? Are you engaged to another?"

"I cannot answer these questions," said Fanny. "Frank knows my reason and has my permission to give it to you." Then rising, she added, "I suppose our conference is now ended, and with your leave I will retire."

Mrs. Cameron nodded her head in assent, and Fanny immediately left the room. A moment after she quitted the apartment, Gertrude entered, all impatient to know her mother's success.

"Baffled, baffled," was Mrs. Cameron's reply to her interrogatories. "I can do nothing with her. She is as stubborn as a mule, and we shall either have to conjure up for some reason why the engagement was broken off, or else run the risk of being well laughed at among our circle in New York."

A few days after this, Lida Gibson started for the South, promising Fanny that she would see Julia as soon as possible after her return home. Ere long Mrs. Cameron too was seized with a desire to return to the city. The remainder of the party made no objections, and accordingly Mr. and Mrs. Stanton, Mrs. Cameron, Frank and Gertrude were soon in New York.

Soon after their return, Mrs. Cameron said, in speaking of Fanny, "that 'twas quite doubtful whether Frank would marry her or not. She was so young, and had, too, so many suitors in Kentucky that she probably would soon forget him, and for her part she was pleased to have it so!"



CHAPTER XIX

JULIA ANNOUNCES HER ENGAGEMENT TO DR. LACEY

Summer was gone and the bright, sunny days of autumn had come.

Again in Kate Wilmot's home were tears wept and blessings breathed, as Mr. and Mrs. Wilmot bade farewell to their "children," as they affectionately called all three of the individuals who were that morning to start for their home in Kentucky.

"God bless you, Kate, my darling Kate," said Mrs. Wilmot as she fondly kissed her only child. Then turning to Fanny, she said, "And you, too, my other daughter, you have my love and earnest prayers for your happiness."

Mr. Wilmot could not speak, but his feelings were not less deep, as he embraced his child and shook the hands of Mr. Miller and Fanny. Old Hector, too, shared in the general sorrow, but for some undefinable reason he seemed to cling more closely to Fanny. He would look up in her face and howl, as if he knew she was leaving him forever. "Noble Hector!" said Fanny, "and do you indeed love me so well?" Then kneeling down by him, she drew from her neck a tiny locket, in which was a daguerreotype of herself. To this she attached a blue ribbon, which she fastened around Hector's neck, saying, "I cannot stay with you, Hector, but you shall have my likeness." Afterward when strangers visited the house and marvelled at Hector's unusual neck gear, they were shown the fair, sweet face, which looked forth from the golden casing, and were told the story of the young girl, whose presence had been like Sunshine in Richard Wilmot's darkened home.

Mr. Miller was not willing that Fanny should leave New York without first visiting Niagara Falls. Accordingly, they stopped at the Falls, and were there joined by Mr. and Mrs. Stanton and Frank, the latter of whom was desirous of seeing Fanny as long as possible. He accompanied them to Buffalo, and stayed upon the boat which was to bear them away until the last bell rang out its warning. As he was leaving them Kate playfully asked if they were taking anything of his with them. "Yes, everything, everything," he answered.

Soon the steamer was moving proudly over the blue waters of Lake Erie. On the upper deck our Kentucky friends were waving their handkerchiefs to Frank, who stood upon the wharf as long as one bright-haired girl could be distinguished by the light of the harvest moon, whose rays fell calmly upon the placid waters.

In a few days Mr. Middleton again folded to his bosom his Sunshine, now more precious than ever, because, as he said, "He'd lain awake a heap o' nights, worryin' about her. The dogs had howled, the death watches had ticked on the wall, and everything had carried on, t'other side up, ever since she'd been gone. But look, Nancy," he continued to his wife, "she's fattin' up right smart. Her journey has done her a heap of good, and I'm glad I let her go."

The blacks now crowded round, delighted to welcome home their young mistress, who had a kind word and some little gift for each. Particularly were Aunt Katy and Aunt Judy pleased with the present of a tasty lace cap, whose value was greatly increased from the fact that they were bought in New York City. In these simple creatures' estimation, New York and Frankfort were the largest places in the world. "I s'pose," said Aunt Katy, "that this New York is mighty nigh three times as large as Frankfort."

"Three times as large!" repeated Fanny. "Why, yes, Katy, forty times as large."

From that time Aunt Katy looked upon Fanny as one not long for this world. "'Tain't in natur," said she, "that she should stay long. Allus was peart like and forrud, and now has been ridin' in the railroad all over the airth, and hain't got lost nuther, besides a-sailin' along in the steam engine over the salt water."

It was indeed marvelous how much Fanny had seen, and when she came to tell the wonder-stricken negroes of the cataract of Niagara, their amazement knew no bounds. Our friend Bobaway did not fail to ease himself by a round of somersaults, his usual manner of expressing surprise or pleasure. At the same time he whispered to Lucy that "He's mistaken if Miss Fanny wan't tellin' 'em a stretcher this time," for which declaration Lucy rewarded him with a smart box on the ear, saying, "Is you no better manners than to 'cuse white folks of lyin'? Miss Fanny never'd got as well as she is if she's picked up a mess of lies to tell us."

Fanny's health was indeed much improved, and for a day or two after her return home, she bounded about the house and grounds as lightly and merrily as she had done in childhood. Mr. Middleton noticed the change and was delighted. "I b'lieve she's forgettin' that paltry doctor," said he, but he was wrong.

The third day after her return she was sitting with her parents, relating to them an account of her journey, when Ike entered the room. He had been sent to the post office and now came up to Fanny, saying, "Here, I done got this air," at the same time handing her a letter, which she instantly saw was from her sister. Eagerly taking it, she said, "A letter from Julia. I am delighted. It is a long time since I have heard from her." Then quickly breaking the seal, she commenced reading it.

Gradually as she read there stole over her face a strange expression. It was a look of despair—of hope utterly crushed, but she finished the letter and then mechanically passing it to her father, she said, "Read it; it concerns us all," and then rising she went to her room, leaving her father to read and swear over Julia's letter at his leisure. That he did so no one will doubt when they learn its contents.

The first page contained assurances of love; the second congratulated Fanny upon her engagement with Frank, but chided her for suffering Lida Gibson to be the bearer of the news. "Why did you not write to me yourself?" she said—"that is the way I shall do, and now to prove my words, you will see how confiding I am." Then followed the intelligence that Dr. Lacey had the night before offered his heart and hand and of course had been accepted. "You will not wonder at it," she wrote, "for you know how much I have always loved him. I was, however, greatly surprised when he told me he always preferred me to you, but was prevented from telling me so by my silly engagement with Mr. Wilmot and my supposed affection for him." The letter ended by saying that Dr. Lacey would accompany her home some time during the latter part of October, when their marriage would take place. There was also a "P.S.," in which Julia wrote, "Do, Fan, use your influence with the old man and make him fix up the infernal old air castle. I'd as soon be married in the horse barn as there."

This, then, was the letter which affected Fanny so, and called all of Uncle Joshua's biggest oaths into use. Mrs. Middleton tried to calm her husband and remind him of his promise not to swear. "I know it," said he, "I know I promised not to swear, and for better than two months I hain't swore, but I can't help it now. And yet I expected it. I know'd 'twould be so when I let Tempest go to New Orleans. But he'll run himself into a hornet's nest, and I ain't sure but it's just the punishment for him."

"Why, then, do you rave so?" asked Mrs. Middleton.

"Because," answered her husband, "when I let Tempest go, I'd no idee Sunshine cared so much for him. If I had, I'd have slung a halter round Tempest's neck and tied her up in the hoss barn she likes so well!"

The old man was evidently piqued at Julia's thrust at the old house. "Fix up! A heap I'll fix up for her to be married," continued he.

"Then you'll give your consent?" said Mrs. Middleton.

"Consent! Who's asked any consent?" replied he, "and 'tain't likely they will nuther; and if I should refuse, Tempest wouldn't mind clamberin' out of the chimbly to run away, and the doctor has showed himself jest as mean. No; he may have her and go to the old boy for all of Josh. But what's this about Cameron? I hope 'tis so, but I'm mighty feared it ain't. Sunshine can't love two at a time."

While Mr. Middleton was thus expending his fury, Fanny was alone in her room, struggling hard to subdue the bitter feelings which were rising in her heart. Until now she had not been aware how much she loved Dr. Lacey. True, she had said it was impossible she could ever marry him; and she had believed she was trying to forget him; but ever in her heart she had, perhaps unconsciously, cherished a half formed belief that all would yet be well, and when she refused the noble, generous heart which Frank Cameron laid at her feet, it was with a vague hope that Dr. Lacey would yet be hers. But now every hope was gone. "There is nothing left for me," said Fanny, "but woe, woe!" 'Twas fearful—the tide of sorrow which swept over the young girl, but amid the wild storm of passion came the echo of a still, small voice, whispering of one who loves with more than an earthly love, who never proves faithless—never fails. Fanny listened to the Spirit's pleadings and resolved that henceforth she would seek to place her affections where "there is no variableness, neither shadow of turning."

The whirlwind of excitement passed over, leaving no trace to mark its passage, save a fixed calm expression, which a more violent demonstration of feeling would not have done.

The week following the receipt of Julia's letter Mr. Middleton had business which took him to Frankfort. Fanny accompanied him and remained several days. The morning after her arrival she and Mr. Stanton were walking upon the upper balcony at Mrs. Crane's, when they were joined by Ashton, who had returned from New Orleans a few days before. He had always been a frequent visitor there, but since his return, his visits had been more frequent and of longer duration. There was to him something very fascinating about Stanton's fair bride, and yet he always felt uneasy when with her, for her manners and appearance reminded him of the past.

This morning, however, the mystery was explained, but in what way he could not tell.

Soon after he appeared on the balcony, Nellie pointed to a gentleman who was crossing the street and inquired his name. On being told she replied: "He looks very much like a Mr. Barnard I used to know years ago in ——," mentioning the town where she was born.

"Used to know where?" asked Ashton quickly.

Nellie repeated the name and Ashton said, "Why, that's my native town, and I knew Mr. Barnard well." Then as if the light of a sudden revelation fell upon him, he added, "And your name, too, was Nellie Ashton? I once had a sister Nellie, on whose rosy cheeks I dropped a tear the night I ran away to sea. Can it be that you are that Nellie?"

A few moments more sufficed them to discover what we have long surmized, viz., that Henry Ashton and Nellie Stanton were brother and sister. The surprise and pleasure of their recognition is better imagined than described. We will only say that when Stanton, on his return from the office, stepped out upon the balcony in quest of his wife, he was greatly shocked at beholding her in Ashton's arms, and his amazement was increased when he saw that she not only suffered his caresses, but also returned them in a manner highly displeasing to the young husband. Fanny, however, soon explained all, and Stanton gladly received Ashton as a newly found brother.

It is unnecessary for us to repeat what Nellie and her brother had to relate concerning themselves since the night when Ashton so unceremoniously took leave of his home. With the important points in their history the reader is already acquainted, so for the present we leave them, while we take a brief glance at Mrs. Carrington. The reader will doubtless think that for once in her life that estimable lady has done a good deed, although her motive was not the best in the world. Before Julia went to New Orleans, Mrs. Carrington so far overcame her dislike as to ask her to write. Julia did not promise to do so, but probably concluded she would, for soon after her arrival in New Orleans she wrote to her a letter, in which she hinted at the probable result of her visit. She was then a guest of Dr. Lacey, and she spoke of his attention and politeness in the most extravagant terms. This so provoked Mrs. Carrington that she determined at once to write to Dr. Lacey, and give him an insight into Julia's real character.

The letter was accordingly written. We must do Mrs. Carrington the justice to say that though her object in writing was purely selfish, she asserted nothing in her letter but what she knew to be strictly true. She was ignorant of Julia's conduct concerning Fanny, consequently she said nothing upon that head, but she spoke of her generally deceitful character, and mentioned several instances in which she had not hesitated to stoop to the basest falsehood for the accomplishment of her purpose.

As she was folding the letter it occurred to her that by some accident Julia might possibly get hold of it. "And then," thought she, "she will recognize my handwriting, and curiosity will impel her to open the letter, after which she wouldn't hesitate a moment to destroy it."

The next moment Mrs. Carrington was rapping at the door of Mrs. Miller's room. Kate opened it and was greatly surprised at beholding her visitor, who seldom came there. Mrs. Carrington, however, smilingly presented her letter to Mr. Miller, saying that she had business with Dr. Lacey, which rendered it necessary for her to write to him, and as she did not care to have the post office clerks gossip about her writing to a gentleman, she wished him to direct it for her. Mr. Miller complied with her request and the next morning the important document was on its way to New Orleans.

As our readers have twice made the voyage of the Mississippi, they will not refuse, again, to run the risk of its floating snags, sandbars and boat races; so stepping on board the same steamer which bears Mrs. Carrington's letter, we will once more, visit Louisiana, and stopping with Dr. Lacey, will see how much of Julia's letter to her sister was true.



CHAPTER XX

RONDEAU DIGS UP THE MISSING LETTER

The first three weeks of Julia's stay in New Orleans were, as we have learned, spent at the house of Dr. Lacey. His mother was present, and although she readily acknowledged the uncommon beauty of her fair visitor, yet from the first she disliked her.

The servants, too, as if adopting the opinion of their mistress, felt and expressed among themselves an aversion to the "evil-eyed lady," as they termed Julia. Aunt Dilsey, in particular, soon had her own reason for disliking her. The second day after Julia's arrival, as she was strolling through the yard, she encountered Jackson, a bright little fellow, three years of age, and Aunt Dilsey's only son. Jack, as he was usually called, was amusing himself by seeing how far he could spit! Unfortunately he spit too far, and hit Miss Julia's pink muslin. In an instant her white, slender fingers were buried in his wool. His screams soon brought Aunt Dilsey to the rescue. Upon learning the dreadful crime of which Jack had been guilty, she snatched him from Julia's grasp, and hurried him into the house without a word. From that time Dilsey was Julia's sworn enemy, and Jack was taught to make up faces at her, whenever he could do so without being discovered.

The servants, however, were too well trained to manifest any open disrespect, for they knew she was "marster's guest," and as such was entitled to every possible attention.

When first she arrived Dr. Lacey felt exceedingly uncomfortable, for her presence constantly reminded him of the past, and his reminiscences of Julia were not particularly pleasant. Gradually this feeling wore away, for she appeared greatly changed. There was a softness, a gentleness, in her manner, which seemed to Dr. Lacey like Fanny, and then her voice, too, was so like her sister's that ere long she ceased to be disagreeable to him, and instead of avoiding her society, as at first he had done, he now sought it.

Julia saw her advantage, and determined to follow it up. Nothing could exceed her extreme amiability, and apparent sweetness of disposition. Even Mrs. Lacey was partially deceived, and concluded she had been too hasty in her estimation of Miss Middleton. Still she watched her son's movements narrowly, and hoped he had no intentions of making Julia his wife.

She was in New Orleans three weeks before her uncle's house was in readiness; but at the end of that time she, together with Dr. Lacey, Mabel Mortimer and Florence Woodburn were about to exchange the heat and dust of the city for a cooler residence near the lake. The day before they left was hot and sultry, and in the morning Julia sought the shade of a large vine-wreathed summer house, which stood in the garden, near by the tree under which Rondeau had buried his master's letter.

One word now about our old friend Rondeau. The buried letter had cost him a world of trouble. He was constantly fearful lest he should be detected. Particularly was he afraid that the author of the letter, failing to receive an answer, would write again, and thus he might be exposed. Twice had he dug up the epistle upon occasions when he fancied some one of his master's letters bore a similar superscription. In this way he had become tolerably familiar with Mr. Miller's handwriting, which was rather peculiar, being a large, heavy, black hand.

On the morning when Julia was snugly esconced in the summer house, Rondeau returned from the post office in great tribulation.

"What's up now?" asked Leffie, whom Rondeau drew aside, with a dolefully grave face.

"Nothing's up," answered Rondeau, "but the letter has got to come up! I ain't going to feel like I was a whipped dog any longer. I'll confess all to Marster George, for see, here's another like the buried one." So saying, he held up Mrs. Carrington's letter, on the envelope of which was Mr. Miller's writing.

Leffie offered no remonstrance, and as Aunt Dilsey just then screamed for her, Rondeau went alone to the garden and proceeded to disinter the buried document. 'Twas but the work of a moment, and could Julia have been cooling herself in Greenland, as she ought to have been, all would have ended well. And now I suppose some indignant reader will say, "Why didn't you put her in Greenland, then, or some worse place?" But patience, patience, a little longer. You would have us tell things just as they were, I suppose, so we must not only suffer Miss Julia to be in the summer house, but we must also allow her to be a spectator of Rondeau's proceedings.

She was greatly surprised when she saw him take from the cigar box a much soiled, yellowish-looking letter, and she could not help feeling that in some way it concerned herself. Suddenly appearing, she startled Rondeau by saying, "What are you doing? Whose is that? Give it to me."

Rondeau was anxious to conceal from her his long-buried treasure, and he passed her the other. She took it and recognizing Mr. Miller's writing, knew also that Rondeau had given her the wrong one, so she said in a commanding tone, "What does all this mean? Give me the other one immediately."

The submissive African, ever obedient to his superiors, handed her the other letter, and then in a few words told his story, and announced his intention of confessing all to his master, at the same time extending his hand to take the letters. But Julia did not mean he should have them, and she said, coaxingly, "You have done very wrong, Rondeau, and your master will undoubtedly be very angry, but I will take them to him and intercede for you, as you are on the whole a pretty fine fellow. He'll forgive you for me. I know he will, but mind, don't you say anything to him about it until you've seen me again."

So saying, she returned to the house and, going to her room, bolted the door. After which, breaking the seal of the oldest letter, she deliberately read it through, occasionally uttering a malediction against Mr. Miller, thanking the good luck which brought it to her hands instead of Dr. Lacey's, and making remarks generally. Said she, "Mighty good opinion Mr. Quilting-frames has of me (alluding to Mr. Miller's height), glad I know his mind. A heap of good the answer to this did him, and his doll wife, too. Hadn't I better answer it myself? I'd write after this fashion: 'Mr. Miller—At first I thought I would treat your letter with silent contempt, but recently I have concluded to write and thank you to mind your own business. By order of George Lacey, Esq.—Julia Middleton, Secretary.' Yes, that would serve the meddling old Yankee Dictionary right," continued she, and then, as her eye fell upon the remaining letter, she added, "Yes, I'll read this one too, and see what new thing I'm guilty of!"

As soon as she broke it open and glanced at the handwriting, she knew it to be from Mrs. Carrington. "What now?" said she, "what has Mrs. Carrington got to say about me."

A rapid perusal of the letter showed her what Mrs. Carrington had to say, and she continued her remarks as follows: "She has described me quite accurately. I didn't suppose she knew me so well. I wonder who'll write next! It seems everybody is in league against me, but I'm enough for anybody there is in Kentucky; and," she added, in a lower tone, "I wouldn't hesitate to try my strength with Satan himself;" but even then the dark girl trembled as she thought there was a God, whom none could withstand, and who, one day, would inevitably overtake her.

Quickly as possible she drove such unpleasant thoughts from her mind, and then tried to devise the best plan for managing Mrs. Carrington. "For Mr. Miller's letter," said she, "I care nothing. It was written so long ago that he has ceased expecting an answer, but I well know Mrs. Carrington's designs, and she will continue to write until she receives some reply. I have once successfully counterfeited Dr. Lacey's handwriting, and can do it again. I'll send her something that will quiet her nerves better than assafoetida!"

This settled, she went in quest of Rondeau, whom she told that, as she had expected, his master was very much displeased. "But," said she, "after I interceded awhile for you, he said he would forgive you on condition that you were never guilty of the like again, and never mention the subject to him in any way, as it makes him angry to talk about it." To both these conditions Rondeau readily agreed, and Julia left him, thinking she was safe in that quarter.

Several days after, Mrs. Carrington received a letter which she supposed came from Dr. Lacey. In it she was coolly requested not to interfere in other people's matters, and told that any efforts on her part to engraft herself into Dr. Lacey's good graces by maligning Julia, would be useless, and only serve to confirm him in his present low opinion of her, while at the same time it would increase the high estimation in which he held Miss Middleton!

After that Mrs. Carrington troubled Dr. Lacey with no more letters, but busied herself in anticipating the capture of a wealthy gentleman, who Ashton told her was, in the course of two or three months, coming on from Charleston, South Carolina.

The scene now changes from Dr. Lacey's to the "Indian Nest," on the lake shore. It was a charming spot, and looked as if intended only for the inhabitation of the pure and innocent. Yet even there was crafty ambition and base deceit. Julia was there, eagerly seeking to wind her coils securely around her long watched-for prey. To all eyes but her own she seemed not likely to succeed, for though Dr. Lacey admired her and possibly treated her with more attention than he did either Mabel or Florence, yet his heart still turned to Fanny, and for hours he would sit, talking to Julia of her sister, while she schooled herself to answer all his questions without one sign of impatience.

Occasionally she would speak to Dr. Lacey of his cousin, young Stanton, and would tell how much pleasure Fanny seemed to take in his society. But this produced no effect, for Dr. Lacey had learned from Stanton himself of his approaching marriage with Miss Ashton. Then Julia pulled another string and expatiated so largely upon Frank Cameron's sayings and doings that Dr. Lacey became really uneasy, for recently he had thought seriously of again writing to Fanny, and now he determined to do so.

Without knowing it, Julia was herself the means of causing this determination to be carried into effect. One night she and Dr. Lacey had been strolling for more than an hour through the many delightful walks in the garden, which lay upon the lake shore. To her great satisfaction, they were entirely alone, for Mr. Middleton and Florence were engaged in their favorite game of chess, while Mabel was eagerly listening to Ashton, who was relating to her some of his India adventures. Mabel had good sense enough to know that her efforts to win Dr. Lacey would be useless, and rather reluctantly she had given him up. Now her eyes grew brighter and her heart beat faster whenever Ashton approached. But, fair Mabel, your hopes are all in vain.

For Inez, the Spaniard, Is o'er the sea, And the heart thou wouldst win Is not destined for thee.

As we have before said, Julia was delighted at having Dr. Lacey thus to herself, and she resolved to increase the favorable impression she knew she had already made upon him. Most admirably was her part played. Fanny herself could not have been more gentle and agreeable than was Julia, as, together with Dr. Lacey, she traversed the broad walks of the garden. Sweet and soothing were the words she poured into his ear, occasionally administering a little well-timed flattery, and wishing, as she had once done before to another individual in similar circumstances, that Dr. Lacey had been her brother. He did not, like Mr. Wilmot, follow up this wish by a proposition that as he was not her brother she would accept him for a husband, but he pressed the hand, which, with seeming unconsciousness, had been placed on his, and said, "God knows how ardently I once hoped to be your brother, Julia."

"And would you then have loved me?" asked Julia, "me whom few have ever loved, because they did not know me; say, would you have loved me as a sister?"

The face of her who awaited Dr. Lacey's answer was very beautiful, while tears moistened the long eyelashes, which veiled the large, bright eyes, and the tones of her voice, now more like Fanny's than ever, thrilled his every nerve. What wonder, then, that his lips for the first time touched the polished brow of the tempter, as he said, "It would be no hard task, Julia, to love you with more than a brother's love."

"One more well-aimed blow," thought Julia, "and I shall have him at my feet"; but she was mistaken. Between herself and Dr. Lacey there arose the image of one, the remembrance of whom had a power to prevent the utterance of words which otherwise might have been spoken.

Abruptly changing the conversation, he drew her rather reluctantly toward the house, which they reached just in time to hear Florence exclaim, as she scattered the chessmen over the floor, "Why, Uncle Billy Middleton, what do you mean? Put yourself up to be played for, and then beat me; shame, shame."

"What is this all about?" asked Dr. Lacey, having some inkling of the truth.

"Why," answered Florence, "you see, Mr. Middleton has conceived a fatherly affection for me, and as he is rather rusty in such matters, he could think of no better way of proposing than to put himself up as a prize, and tell me if I beat him in playing chess, he would be mine, or in other words, make me Mrs. Billy Middleton."

"And who beat?" asked Julia.

"Why, Mr. Middleton was ill-mannered enough to win," said Florence, "but then, it was such fun to see how desperately he played, for fear I should get him! Now, Dr. Lacey, I suppose you have been proposing to Julia in the real old, orthodox way, but that is too common. You must sit down at the chessboard and let Julia play for you," and she pushed them both toward the chairs, which she and Mr. Middleton had just vacated.

Julia did not refuse, but Dr. Lacey, freeing himself from Florence, said, "Excuse me tonight, Miss Woodburn. Perhaps at some other time I will comply with your request," then bowing, he left the veranda and went to his own room.

When there he strove to recall the events of the evening, and the words he had involuntarily spoken to Julia. "Why is it," said he, "that I feel so uneasy whenever I am alone with her? Is it that I love her and am afraid I shall tell her so? No, that cannot be. I do not love her; and yet, next to Fanny, she is more agreeable to me than any one else."

Memories of other days came thronging about him, and he then resolved again to write and beseech Fanny at least to grant him her second love, even if her first, best affections had been given to another.

"Suppose she refuses you," seemed whispered in his ear.

It must have been some evil spirit which prompted the reply, "Then I will marry Julia, as being next and nearest to Fanny." His resolution once taken, he proceeded to carry it into effect. The letter was written and over Dr. Lacey came a sense of relief—a feeling that he had escaped from something, he knew not what. But she, who was upon his track, was more wily, more crafty than anything he had ever imagined.

This time, however, her interference was not necessary, for early next morning a carriage drew up in front of the Indian Nest. From it sprang Lida Gibson, who had recently returned from New York. She was full of talk, and within an hour after her arrival the story of Fanny's engagement with Frank Cameron had been repeated in Dr. Lacey's hearing at least three times.

"It must be true," said Lida, "for every one said so, and their actions proclaimed it, if nothing more; besides, Mr. Cameron's sister, Gertrude herself, told me it was so."

"I am not surprised," said Julia and her uncle both.

For Julia's opinion Dr. Lacey possibly might not have cared, but when Mr. Middleton too added his testimony, the matter was settled. The letter was not sent.

During the day Lida wondered much why Dr. Lacey stayed so closely in his room. "I should think he would roast in there," said she. "I do wonder what he is about?"

"I fancy," answered Florence, "that he still loves Fanny, and now that she is engaged he is staying alone until he gets his rebellious heart tied up."

When Lida afterward learned the truth, she expressed a wish that her tongue might have been cut out ere she had been the bearer of news which caused so much trouble.

While Dr. Lacey was securely bolted in his room, nerving himself to bear this fresh disappointment and striving to drive each thought of Fanny from him, Julia too was alone and busily engaged. What pains she took to rub and soil those tiny sheets of paper, until they assumed a worn and crumpled look! Then dipping her finger in the silver goblet at her side, what perfect tear blots she made, and how she exulted over the probable success of her morning's work! When it was finished she placed it in her portfolio, and waited for a favorable opportunity.