"Will you have the goodness to trust that ere to Ben | just sich a face, and just sich a cretur, all but the color, Benson, marm, and he'll see that there's no mistake this prowling about this ere very house-in and out like a time. That same awkard chap brought a pair of shiners mouser-has woke up the idee agin, and my own just like these, from the brook last night, and instid of mother couldn't sing it to sleep, if she rose from the gitting in here, as he expected they would, what does dead with the old lol-lo-by on her lips. I wish somehe see but that ar' gov'rness a-carrying them up in a thing could drive it away, for it's all the time a sighing silver platter to General Harrington's room, as if he'd in my ear, like the sound of waves when they meet been sick, and not the lady. If you've no objection, over a corpse." marm, Ben Benson 'll sarve these ere fellows hisself, for the brook hasn't got another of the same sort, if he beat brush for 'em a week." "You are always kind," answered Mabel, "and it won't be the first time you have turned cook in my behalf. Do you remember, Ben, doing like services for me in Spain, years ago, when you insisted on leaving the ship, and turning courier for us all?" "Don't I, now?" said Ben, and his face brightened all over. "Didn't Ben Benson? He was a smartish youngster then. Didn't he use to scour their skillets and sase-pans, to git the garlic out on 'em? But it wasn't of no use, that ere garlic strikes through and through even hard iron in them countries, and a'most everything you touch tastes on it, but the hard biled eggs that had tough shells to 'em, as I used to bile for you and the poor sick lady-they stood out agin it." Mabel was looking sadly downward, and a troubled shadow came to her face as she murmured "Poor lady-poor lady! How she suffered, and yet how completely her disease baffled the Spanish physicians! That was a strange death." Ben drew close to his mistress as she spoke. A strange meaning was in his glance, as he said, impressively "Lady, that was a strange death. I've seen consumption enough, but it wasn't what ailed her!" Mabel lifted her eyes and looked anxiously at the honest face bent toward her. "How can you think so, Benson?" she said. "Because I know who gave that lady her medicine o'nights, when you and the rest on 'em were in bed, and fast asleep; and I know that one time, at any rate, it wasn't of the same color or taste as that the doctor left, and she give it ten times when he told her once. I didn't think much about it at the time, but since then, it's constantly a-coming into my head." "It is a terrible thought," said Mabel, shuddering. "Now, don't go to turning pale nor nothing," said Ben, with prompt anxiety, "don't take it to heart, no how-just as like as not, it's one of old Ben Benson's sea-sarpents, that'll float off the minute it's touched, and if it does amount to any thing, ain't that individual here with his face to the wind, and his hand on the helm? Only do be careful what you eat and drink here alone, if that ere gov'rness is turning waiter for you or the General. There's a reason for it-be sartin of that." "How foolish all this is," said Mabel, striving to laugh. "One would think, Benson, that we lived in Italy, when the Borgias made poison an amusement, instead of being quiet people in the quietest land on earth!” "The quietest country on earth," answered Ben, reflecting over her words with a hand buried deep amid the jack-knives, bits of twine, and lumps of lead, in his deepest of deep pockets. "That ere sentiment used to sound beautiful on a Fourth of July, when I was a shaver, but it's took after my example, and outgrown itself a long shot. Why, marm, there ain't ere a day but what some poor woman goes through a post mitimus, and two or three men are found with their skulls driv in by sling shot down in the city, to say nothing of them that never git under the crouners hands, but are put away with a doctor's pass, into the grave that somebody should be hanged for filling. I can't go out a-fishing on the Hudson now, marm, without a feeling that some gang of rowdies may set upon me and steal my boat. I can't go into the city with a sartinty that a bowie knife won't be buried in my side, before I get home. In short, marm, I don't believe in calling countries quiet where murders and amusements go hand in hand. America was a peaceable country once, but it ain't that thing no longer. Mabel was turning gradually pale, and, yielding to a Them ere Borgers, as I've hearn, did their murders sudden faintness, sat down. "You do not think-you cannot think that there was really any neglect?" "I didn't say nothing about neglect, marm-there wasn't much of that, any how, for the poor lady never had a minute to herself. That ere cream-colored gal was always a-hanging over her like a pison vine, and the more she tended her, the sicker she grew-any body with an eye to the windward, could see that without a glass." "Benson, you surprise-you pain me!" cried Mabel, with sudden energy. "Great Heavens, what could have put this wild idea into your head?" "It was in my head years ago, and went to sleep there," answered Ben impressively" but the sight of softly and arter dark, and it won't be long afore we learn to do the thing genteelly, as they did. I tell you, marm, I don't like strangers a-running about this house while you and Miss Lina live in it. Ain't the old sarvants enough-and what have they done to be turned out of doors?" "Who has been turned out of doors, Benson? No one by me," said Mabel, a good deal surprised by this harangue. "No, marm-but they're dropping out of their places softly marm, as the leaves fall out yonder, without the least idee what wind strikes 'em. Yesterday, the old cook, as has been in your kitchen twenty years, got her discharge. To-morrow, for anything that old feller knows, Ben Benson may git his mitimus, and when he know how to cook a trout arter he's catched it." asks to see the lady as he's sarved heart and soul since | flatter that ere conceited feller-but Ben Benson does he was a boy a'most, they'll tell him as they did the cook-that this ere lady is sick, and can't be troubled with such matters." "And have they discharged my cook-poor, faithful Nancy? Is this so, Benson? Who has done it? How dare they!" cried Mabel, surprised and indignant. Why did she not come to me? Has Nancy really gone?" 66 "Do as you please, Benson; they will certainly taste better from your hand than if prepared by a cook whom I have never seen." "In course they will," answered Ben, taking up his basket. "I'll go down to the kitchen, and get things under way." The Mabel saw him depart almost unconsciously. morning had been one of surprises and painfully con Yes, marm, I saw her myself go off to the city, with a bandbox under her arm, and a man behind, car-flicting feelings. She felt that a crisis in her life had rying her trunk.” "But what was her offence?" "She didn't keep the General's woodcocks quite long enough to make 'em tender-sarved 'em up too fresh and sweet-I don't know of nothing else that they brought agin her." "And she has gone-actually gone!" "Bag and baggage, marm; they made clean work of it." "They? Of whom do you speak? Not of Lina, not of Mr. Harrington-who, but the General, himself, would dare to discharge my servants ?” "In course, nobody but the old Gineral could do it; but that are gov'rness, marm, as has been a whispering with him in his room and out on it, ever since you've been shut up here. She's been a-doing some of that ere Borger work in a new way, pizening the mind, instead of the stomach. Since that ere black-eyed pussy-cat came here and got to mousing around, there hasn't been a mite of comfort anywhere, in-doors or out. The very boat, as was as kind a craft as ever tuk to water 's got to running contrary, and is allus cutting across currents, and tussling agin the wind. It ain't Christian, and as like as not, it's slandering the poor feller to say it, but my 'pinion is, that Ben Benson's a-beginning to hate that ere gal like pizon." arrived, that the time for dreamy thoughts and gentle endurance was at an end, and her strength rose to meet the occasion. The lassitude and nervous reluctance to give up her seclusion which had oppressed her of late, gave way, and with that dignity which is born of womanly self-command, she changed her toilet, and passed from the solitude of her sick room. The sitting-room which we described in the past chapter of this narration was empty when Mrs. Harrington entered it. The luxurious easy-chairs stood about the floor, as if recently occupied, and the fire of hickorywood burned brightly behind a fender of steel lace-work that broke the light in a thousand gleams and scattered it far out on the moss-like rug. Everything is as she had left it, even to the position of her own easy-chair in a corner of the bay window, but the absence of all living objects chilled her, and a presentiment of perpetual loneliness crept slowly to her heart, as she sat down, looking out of the window with that peculiar vividness of interest which we always feel in seeing familiar objects after convalescence.. The gorgeousness and wealth of the autumn had gone by during her illness; a few red and golden trees, contrasted with the hemlocks and pines in sheltered hollows; but, on the hill-tops, half the trees had cast off their leaves, while those which clung to the boughs Mabel was so occupied with new thoughts, that she had lost all their vivid tints, and thrilled mournfully to did not hear the conclusion of this speech, but sat gaz-every breath of wind, like humanity trembling at the ing steadily on the carpet. "What can all this mean," she reflected. "The General has not been to see me since the first day of my illness; then the half insolent air of this girl-the discharge of my old servant, what can it mean?" "More 'an this," continued Ben, warming up, "Nelly the chambermaid is a going. She says that things don't suit her, and she's got too many mistresses, by half, for her money!" "This is very strange,” said Mabel, rising with that firm moral courage, which always prompted her to face a difficulty at once. "Say to the General, that I wish to speak with him." approach of death. But the calm flow of the Hudson was the same. Its hills might be stripped of their affluent foliage, the grass grow crisp along its banks, but this had no effect on the grand, old stream, that flowed on ever the same, like that river of Christian faith that Mabel fed from the humble springs of a heart, already smitten down to its deepest waters. She was a strong woman, that Mabel Harrington, and knew well that no trouble could fall upon her, of which she had not already tasted the bitterness, and lived. But the flow of those waters, gliding by her ever "The General isn't at home Mar'm, and hasn't been and returning no more, filled her with mournfulness. since yesterday." She felt like a pilgrim who drops his scrip on the wayside for a moment's rest, and dreads the hour when he must take it up and toil on, with a patient hope of finding some shrine at which he may repose, though none is in sight. "Well," she murmured with a patient smile, which came across her mobile features with a gleam of heavenly beauty, "Let it flow on, this earthly life; be it laggard or fast, the moments that we leave behind but send us onward with a swifter speed. The descent grows steeper every day, and years rush on impetuously, as hours did in that beautiful time of youth. The stream of life was impetuous then. Now it is slow and powerful, nor stops to foam and ripple at the troubles that are always falling, like drift wood, upon it." Thus Mabel mused within herself-confident that some stern trial was at hand, but resolved to meet it steadily, and trust to God for help. She needed such help; for, in solemn truth, the great battle of her life was at hand. The door opened softly behind her, as she sat gazing upon the river. The back of her chair was toward him, and James Harrington saw only the garments of a female flowing downward to the carpet ; and, thinking that it was Lina, he came into the room. He, too, had been gazing upon the scene without, and thoughts kindred to | those stirring in Mabel's heart, had left him sad and gentle as a child. "I do thank God, first, that I am alive, and, then, that it was one of our own household that saved me. But this coming back from death, it is full of pain, to which the last agony seems but little. The scene around that old tree haunts me yet." "And me," said Harrington, thoughtfully. "You all looked so strange and wild, I could not comprehend the identity of any one. Even Ben Benson appeared like an angel luminous from Heaven, and that cedar a pillar of holy flame, around which he ministered." "You did not know any of us, then ?" inquired Harrington, eagerly. "I did not know myself, for I, too, seemed like an angel, bound to love everything around me, as heavenly spirits do." "Then you remembered nothing?" questioned Harrington, bending his earnest eyes upon her with a power that would have won the truth from a statue. She did not blush; her eyes looked quietly and truth "Lina, my sweet child," he said, approaching the fully into his, and a pang both of joy and regret came chair, "I am glad to find you indoors." to his heart, as he regarded the innocence of that look. Mabel started at the sound of his voice, with a quick leap of the heart; then, she arose slowly and stood up, holding forth her hand, as a sister might claim congratulations of her brother after illness. "It is not Lina, James, but one whom you will not be less pleased to see, I am sure. How is this? You look pale and careworn, my friend; have you, also, been ill ?" For one instant, the flash that lighted up Harrington's eyes was dazzling-the next, he grew calm again; but the expression of his face was unutterably mournful. "I had a very long walk; the fine weather tempted me too far," he said, with a faint smile, relinquishing her hand almost the moment it was taken. "It was, after all, a pleasant hallucination," said Mabel, "for even the governess, whom I do not much like, seemed transformed into a seraph, as she bent over me. As for Ben Benson, he was really sublime." “Thank God!” answered Harrington, but the exclamation was followed by a deep sigh, as if the anxiety preying upon him had been changed, not entirely removed. Still there was a relief and freedom in his manner, as he drew a chair up to the window, and fell into his old habit of talk. 66 Why is it," inquired Mabel, "that you have not once been to inquire after me? It was very strange." "I did inquire after you every day," was the rather He did not inquire after her health, but stood for embarrassed answer. a moment, thoughtfully regarding her. "I did not hear of it," said Mabel, easily satisfied, Mabel smiled, and instantly his own features grew and too happy for repining at anything. luminous. "You may not know," answered her companion, "I am glad, I am very glad to see you so much bet-"that I have been making arrangements to go abroad?" ter," he said, yielding to the old friendly habit; "it has been very lonely without you." "That "I hope you missed me," said Mabel, the pure joy of an affectionate heart breaking over her face. was a fearful night, Harrington." "It was, indeed, fearful. I shudder to remember that night. It seems impossible to imagine anything more dreadful than the scene, as that steamer ploughed over your boat. When you came up, with the blue lightning quivering around you, the rocks seemed to reel under my feet. Nothing but the power of God could have saved you then." "I remember I knew it all," said Mabel, lifting her clasped hands gratefully upward. The last thing that left me, was your figure on the rock; no, not on the rock, but midway between me and the bleak waves. I tried to scream, but the waters choked me." "Abroad? But when-why?" "Indeed, it seems impossible to give a reason, except that my health seemed to require change." "Your health?" "Remember, please, that your first remark was about my looks." "But you are not really suffering?" Harrington left his seat, and began to pace the room, as was his habit, when conflicting thoughts beset him. Mabel followed his movements sadly with her eyes, which were eloquent of a thousand gentle feelings "And you will go ?" she said at last, with a quivet ʊ the voice. "You will leave us all?". "No," answered Harrington with energy, "I will not go. Why undertake a pilgrimage when there is Harrington took her hand, and wrung it with uncon- nothing to gain, and nothing to avoid." scious warmth. "Thank God, it is over," he said fervently. "Thank you thank you," said Mabel, with her eyes. full of tears. At this moment there was a slight stir in the hall, and Ralph came in, followed by Lina, both brilliant and smiling, as if the conservatory in which they had been loitering away the hours, had bathed them with the perfume of its blossoms. "Oh, mamma, this is so pleasant!" cried Lina, stealing forward and seating herself on a cushion at Mabel's feet. "Isn't this a beautiful, beautiful day?" "All days are beautiful to the light-hearted," answered Mabel, burying her hand fondly in the golden curls that fell, a perfect network of light, from Lina's drooping head. "I thought it very dull and heavy this morning; now, the air seems invigorating as old wine. Still, I think the day itself has changed but little." "Hasn't it?" questioned Lina, looking up tenderly through the sunny mist of her hair. "But you are so much better, and look so blooming-perhaps it is that." "Perhaps," said Ralph, stooping down and kissing his mother's forehead, "it's because we are all together again; even this room seems like a desert, when our lady mother is absent. This should be a gala day with us; what shall we do, Lina? Crown her with roses, or bring an offering of fruit and nuts from the hills.” "I will give her some music," answered Lina, springing up and taking her guitar from a sofa, where it had been lying, neglected and untuned; "mamma shall have a serenade." Lina flung the broad, blue ribbon attached to the guitar over her neck; and, seating herself again, began to tune her instrument, with her pleasant eyes lifted to Mabel's face. "Now, what shall it be about," she inquired, casting a half-coquettish look at Ralph, and blushing like a damask rose beneath the highness of his eyes. "What shall I sing about, mamma?" Then hope grows bright and glorious, Her heart has twinn'd its being, Then she feels a new existence- Is hers to keep and give- That yield their blood to toil, And brighter than the diamond lights Oh, her soul is full of richness, Oh, she counts not time by cycles, Mabel gave a start as the first words of this melody fell upon her ear, and the slow crimson crept over her face; she kept her gaze steadily on the carpet, and had any one looked at her, the sadness of her countenance must have been remarked. But the young people were occupied with each other, and James Harrington sat, pre-like herself, preoccupied and listening. As Lina broke into another and lighter air, the two looked up, and their eyes met. The blush on Mabel's cheek, spread and glowed over her brow and temples. She arose, and went to the window. "Oh, love, sing of nothing but love, to-day, sweet Lina," whispered Ralph, as he stooped down and tended to adjust the ribbon over her white neck. “Shall I, mamma?" said Lina, with an arch glance upward. "Sing anything that pleases you," answered Mabel. "Then it shall be some lines, mamma, that I found in an old book in the library, with the leaves of a white rose folded in the paper. It was yellow with age, and so were the poor, dead leaves. I took it to my room, learned it by heart, and found out that it went by the music of an old song which Ralph and I used to sing together. That is all I know about love," continued the lovely rogue, with a blush and a glance upward. "Well, well, pretty torment, begin," whispered Ralph, again busy with the ribbon. แ For a moment, Lina's little hand fluttered like a bird oer the strings of her guitar; then it made a graceful dash, and her voice broke forth: Like a water-lily floating, On the bosom of a rill, Like a star sent back to Heaven, A woman's soul lies dreaming, 'Oh, yes; why not. I wrote a great many trifles like that at one time." "I knew it; I was sure of it." That instant the governess came in, followed by Fair Star, who began to plunge and caper at the sight of his mistress. Agnes looked keenly at Mrs. Harrington's flushed face; but, the covert smile, dawning on her lip, vanished, as she saw Ralph in the chair his mother had abandoned, bending over Lina; who sat upon the cushion, trifling with her guitar, from which, in her confusion, she drew forth a broken strain, now and then. (To be continued). |