The Foe in the Household

CHAPTER XII.

AT length he perceived that he was going to Emerald, three miles away.

He had gone more than a mile on the road, perhaps, when he became convinced that somebody was following him. It was a winding road, and looking back, he could see no further than a quarter of a mile. But had he stood and waited long, no one would have appeared, for no one was coming, no one was walking upon the track at that hour except himself. He not only had the impression that some one was following fast, but his imagination acted with remarkable definiteness, — he thought it was Edna who followed ; and would he have chosen that she should overtake him ? For a long time he looked behind him at every curve ; once he stood and seemed waiting, as If he had called to her, or had heard her call to him.

So conscious was he of the fire raging in his blood, that he believed her steady and far-seeing eyes must have discerned it when she came to the shop. But what if she had discerned It ? Whence came this fancy that she was following him ? Why should she follow him ?

Poor fellow, with all his bold self-reliance and egotism, it was no new thing for him to be looking about for external proofs which should preserve him from falling. The one fear of his life was that he should stumble into that abyss of ruin into which he had already seen his father fall. To no mortal had he acknowledged this fear. Even Doctor Detwiler had not discerned it, though he had warned him to work because he had seen the danger in which he stood. Edgar, understanding the advice, had followed it; but now and then the volcano gave evidence of internal surging. He thought, as he hurried on, that he would go directly to the doctor’s office; but in order that he might do so, he must pass the station-house and the inn. Indeed, the doctor’s office adjoined the tavern, though not at the end in which the bar was kept. If he could get into the office, he was safe.

The bar-room was nearly filled with boisterous men as he passed by. He passed almost on a run. The doctor was not in his office. John sat down. What did he want ? Why had he forced himself down there, as it were, into the cannon’s mouth ? He wanted to talk with a human being with whom he could talk in safety. In the midst of the confusion which overwhelmed him, John answered the stern question thus. But when he had made the answer, he turned upon himself with a “ No.” He knew that he had come there for no such purpose. He had come because the place was Emerald, and the bar-room always stood open inviting drinkers in, and there was never so much fun and joking going on as on Sunday evenings. His flight past was a sham.

“ You came,” he said to himself, “ because you smelt wine and wanted a drink. You have lied to yourself all the way down, now own it. If you go into that room yonder, own it to yourself, you are going because you want to go. The next thing is to drink with the fellows, and you won’t stop when you have begun. You did n’t stop the last time till you could n’t speak or see, and they carried you to a room and let you lie there like a dog till your drunken fit had passed off. Suppose Miss Edna had looked at you then ! Then, as if you could help the matter that way, you worked till you brought on that long fever, and the miners said you would work yourself to death. Elsden understood it, though ; so did the doctor ; what would Miss Edna think if she saw you here now ? ”

So he sat and talked with himself. In the office it was very still. The clock seemed to punctuate and underscore the remarks he was addressing to his conscience, but he could hear voices outside, and could recognize them. By and by they rose in dispute. He went to the windows and listened. The men were quarrelling about something which he knew all about. He could have settled the dispute by a word. He started up, but half-way between the window and the door he said to himself, “That’s another blind; don’t you put it on.” Instead of going out he shut the office windows, though it was a sultry night. Then he went into the doctor’s inner room, lighted a lamp, and sat down to read ; but one might as well expect to read by starlight while a tempest raged.

It was late when the doctor came from the pure sweet evening air into his close and lighted room. When he saw John Edgar, his surprise turned into displeasure : “ What are you doing here with all these windows shut ? the office is like an oven.”

“ I had n’t any business here, I know that well enough,” said John, greatly disconcerted. He had been so occupied with considerations purely personal that the doctor’s inhospitable mood surprised him. “ I thought if I went out,” he added, " the fellows would see me, and — and I didn’t want to go in there to-night.”

“ What did you come near that mantrap for, then ? Open those windows. Have you been sick ? Does anybody want anything?” As he spoke the doctor went and looked at the slate and read the names and wants recorded there; he had been absent all day. “ H’m — h’m,” he said, in his short, abrupt way.

“ I don’t want anything, sir,” said Edgar ; “ I guess I shall be able to get by the tavern now without going in, since you ’re here to see me do it.”

He said this with assumed gayety. There was so perceptible a sadness in his voice, however, that the doctor turned from the slate, went back to the table, and, taking him by the chin, brought his face towards the light. “ Do you want to go back for anything tonight ? ” said he, after a serious glance.

“ I begin work at half past four Monday mornings.”

“ So you shall. But you had better stay with me to-night. You can sleep on that lounge. I understand you. Y'ou want that fever put out. Here ! ” — he poured out a wineglassful of mixture — “ drink that and go to sleep.”

“ I am ashamed,” said Edgar, but he took the potion.

“ What are you ashamed of ? ”

“ To think how I am made up.”

“ If you are to be ashamed of anything, it is of what you do with what is made up. That is your business. You were made a present to yourself, and you must accept the gift.”

“ Doctor, you know nothing about it.”

“Don’t I ? You have no more excuse for dying an inebriate than I have. The only thing you have to do, Edgar, is to fight clear of yourself. That’s all.”

“ I can, can I ? ”

“ Of course. Take all the help you can get, though, as you go along. For one thing, don’t put yourself where you will be likely to be tempted. But if you find yourself in such a place, off with the right hand, out with the right eye, sooner than yield. For in your case yielding is ruin. That body of yours is a sacred thing, John. Let anything profane it at your peril. When you find yourself in danger, get away from yourself; go to the best person you happen to know. Don’t stay alone, and don’t go amongst drinkers.”

“ There’s Edna,” thought John, and so he fell asleep.

By four o’clock the next morning he was hurrying up the track. The doctor had called him.

“ Time to be moving,” said he ; and the youth sprang to his feet.

“ Own to me,” said the doctor, “ how you happened to be in that plight last night.”

“ I don’t know, unless it was that I took the scent of liquor.”

“ Then you see that you must keep clear of folks that use that kind of perfume. I don't care who they are, — you can't stand it. Deny yourself, John, and take up your cross.”

John did not answer by speech; but he caught up the doctor’s hand, shook it hurriedly, and walked off.

His heart grew lighter as he went towards Swatara. That was surely not his true self with whom he had parted company last night on the doctor’s sofa ! He had risen up and had come forth a new man, so strong he felt. As he approached the foot-bridge which crossed the creek in front of Mr. Holcombe’s garden, he heard a voice singing, and he knew it was Edna’s. At first he thought she was on the other side of the stream ; but as he walked on, he found that she was among the bushes so burdened with berries, and he went out of his way a few steps to look at her, and possibly to speak to her. She had, of course, no suspicion that he was so near, for she kept on singing; but, yes — she had seen him, and was singing with a smile ! When he said “ Good morning,” she was not in the least startled, and looked up as if it were the most likely thing in the world that he should be walking along that way, at that hour of the morning.

“ How goes the picture drawing ? ” he asked.

“Well, John, I wish you could see it.”

“Then I shall see it, Miss Edna, of course.”

“ It —they all knew who it was meant for.”

“Indeed ! When shall I sit for my portrait, Miss Edna ? ”

“ 1 am going into the blackberry business just now largely. They say there is money to be made by it. I heard the doctor saying yesterday that there would be a great demand this year. I mean to gather all that grow about here.”

“ To sell ? ” asked John, with a satisfaction for which he could not have accounted to himself. It arose from the sense of equality which her determination to go into the market seemed to suggest and to imply.

“ Yes, to sell. I cannot live on other people’s bounty. I must do something, you know.”

“Why, how comes that? Bounty! Miss Edna. I don’t suppose such a thought would enter Mr. Holcombe’s head.”

“ It has entered mine, though, and that is enough. It entered it before I ever went there, and it never has gone out. I must feel myself independent wherever I am. But you need not say anything about it. Of course they would not like it : but I feel so, all the same. Do you understand it? I read in the book I lent you something like,

Well, it need n’t be ' princes’ favors ’ to make one ‘wretched,’ and I am not going to ‘ hang on ’ to any such thing.”

“ I wish you success in your berrying ; but I would try not to feel that way. Everybody is dependent, I guess, if you look into things.”

“ Yes, I know it; but not that way. I was dependent on you for help in my drawing : that did n’t hurt me.”

“And I am dependent on you for a great deal, and that does n’t hurt me,” said John ; and because he did not choose to hear the answer she might make to that, he walked off with a “ Good morning.”

“ I want to ask you if you have read my book yet ? ” she said, as if she had not heard his “Good morning ” or perceived his intention to go on.

“ I have not, but I will ; and when may I see your picture of Rosa ? ”

“ I will think about that : very soon, perhaps. John ! ”

He came back when she called him, and she showed him the berries she had gathered, and then said : —

“ Do you really think it is so hateful in me to wish to pay my way there ? They are not rich.”

“ No, not hateful to wish that. But you know what we all think of Mrs. Holcombe about here.”

“ Well, what do you think ? ”

“Why, we think — there was never another like her.”

“ Perhaps there never was, but — we don’t seem to understand each other. I don't know why I should tell you of it. She is very kind to me, but if it didn’t seem so silly, I should say we were afraid of each other. Do I seem terrible to you? For you think she is an angel.”

“O Miss Edna! you mustn’t ask me how you seem to me. It is n’t six o’clock yet, and it’s Monday morning ! ”

“ I know it,” said Edna, laughing ; “ I ought not to keep you here when your work is waiting. But I do get so tired of myself all the time. But go on, — you might as well first as last.”

“Miss Edna,” said John, suddenly, " I have a mind not to go on until I say something that — that—If you get so tired of yourself, would n’t you get more tired of me ? May I help you always ? Will you let me slave for you and not feel that you owe me anything ? I could give my life for you. I will live for you, if you will let me.”

“John,” said Edna, her eyes opening wide on him in genuine wonder, “what do you mean ? ”

“You have made me love you, and I have been fool enough to tell you of it,” he answered, confused and stammering.

“You are not a fool: and if you do love me, I thank you for it,” said Edna, promptly enough.

But John was so surprised himself at what he had said, that he could not believe she had understood him.

“ I mean for all my life,” said he.

“ That was what made me so thankful,” said she.

“ But, Edna, Miss Edna, will you marry me ? could you ? would you ? Me, Miss Edna, — me ! John Edgar ! ”

“ Not this morning, John. It is Monday morning, you know, and going on six o’clock. I must go back to the house.”

She picked up her basket in a hurry, and was going to run away, when he caught her hand.

“Is this all true ? ” he said. “ May I go up there to the workshop and feel like a man who has Paradise to work for? You shall have such a home as you deserve, and I — I — O — God bless you ! ”

Edna was frightened at the feeling she had stirred. She stood still, thinking. Presently she said : —

“ You may go and work for your Paradise. Any home you would give me would be better than I deserved.”

But though her voice betrayed emotion, it was not akin to that which had stirred John Edgar. He was the lover, — she only a fugitive seeking a covert, and too ignorant to understand rightly the fact. If Mary Trost had happened along that way instead of John, she would, undoubtedly, have received the girl’s confidence, and nothing would have followed: but — he had received it; something must follow.

CHAPTER XIII.

GUILDERSLEEVE died, and, as was of course to be expected, his funeral called out the brethren in a body. The presence of the church members was an indication of the spirit with which the erring man had been received back into their midst. The curiosity was general to hear what the preacher would say about him, now that he was gone.

The preacher said little, but the Scriptures and the hymns he read, and the prayers he offered, showed no inconsiderable tact.

Mrs. Holcombe was not beyond the sound of her husband’s voice, but her mind was in a strangely wandering mood. She had been looking forward to this funeral day since she had known that Guildersleeve must die. She had come to the house attended by Edna, for Delia had remembered that the day was the anniversary of the death of Annie Gell: last year they had visited her grave on the same day, and this year they would do likewise.

The day was one to invite the human world out of doors. Little of its glory or its beauty had been lost on Edna as they ascended towards Guildersleeve’s. She had noticed all the familiar points as they came up into the highlands : she knew where the wall of green brier flourished, and where the wild briers and the cedars abounded ; and where she saw the white daisies and blue harebells, the depths of her heart were stirred. There was an old stone-wall built across the sloping field just back of Annie’s house ; the red bloom of its wild roses against the blue sky — for often she had lain in the grass under the wall, and looked up at the roses and the blue — she never could forget. She remembered it now as they came up to Guildersleeve’s. She remembered, too, that at such seasons of beauty, old Annie used to declare that Edna might as well be a thousand miles off, for all the comfort she had of her society. “ You queer creetur,” she would say, and shake her head, when she found the girl in some solitary nook, pursuing her investigations or reflections, or whatever it might be that seemed to remove her at such a distance from everything connected with her home life.

“I’m not lazy, I am working at things,” Edna would answer ; and the old one would say, “ I’d like to see something to show for it. You are the least like my folks of anything under the sun.” But when Edna recalled these words, she could do it without self-reproach, for she knew that no reproach was in them.

But Mrs. Holcombe, in the house of Guiidersleeve, was not thinking of Annie Gell, whose grave they were going to visit, nor of any other mortal under that roof, or beyond it, on earth, or remote from earth, except Mary Trost, who sat beside her.

The services over, people flocked into the yard to look at the remains of their old neighbor ; for the coffin was carried forth with lid unclosed, that all might look upon the dead. Mrs. Holcombe seized the moment to speak to Mary. Perhaps she ought not to hope that she could win her confidence, but it might be that some word she should speak would serve as an arrow in the hand of the Lord: it might be her happy privilege to show that young girl that she stood on dangerous ground.

“ It is a long time,” she said, “ since you have been to our house. Won’t you try to find time to come ? Edna is often speaking of you. We would be very glad to see you.”

Her friendly face as she stood looking at Mary, and that voice whose kindness few who had a burden of any sort to bear failed to discern, made an impression. Mary had never thought that Mrs. Holcombe was a handsome woman, but just now she was impressed by her beauty, as well as by her goodness, She seemed inspired with a sudden desire to know better this wife of August’s minister, to talk with her, perhaps even to give her her confidence ; but it was not quite likely that she would do that just now.

It was the benignity, the sympathy, the compassion.—it seemed like compassion — expressed in Mrs. Holcombe’s eye, that drew Mary towards her.

“ I am going to stay and bring the house to rights, while they are gone to the grave,” said she.

“ Let me stay and help you,”said Delia, quickly.

“Do! If people see you here they will not be apt to hang about so long.”

Mrs. Holcombe’s staying did, in fact, seem to have the desired effect. The house was speedily cleared of those who would otherwise have turned the funeral into a visit of investigation. Most of those who would have remained to explore went out and overtook the funeral train, and the rest left the house.

The two women, experts in household management, soon restored the rooms to order. The table on which the coffin had rested was put back, the white tablecloth folded and laid away. The edibles spread in the kitchen for the refreshment of such as came from a distance were removed, dishes were washed and put in their places, windowshutters were thrown open, and sunlight came streaming in, even to the little dark bedroom in which Guildersleeve had breathed his last; and soon the odors of sweet grass and of clover filled the place.

Edna had strolled away from the house while this was going on, and stood on the roadside watching the funeral train as it made its slow way towards the burial-place. When all was done, Delia and Mary went into the yard.

“ Somebody will be doing the same for us some day,” said Mary. “ I hope the neighbors will think as kindly of us then as they do of Mr. Guildersleeve. If he had been a better man he could n’t have had a finer funeral. Your people are very forgiving, Mrs. Hulcum. Everybody must see that.”

“ It would be a hard heart that stood against a brother who asked to be forgiven,” said Delia.

“ Nobody did stand against him that I’ve heard of,” said Mary. “ I suppose anybody would have been glad to come here, and do what they have let me do for them. But I would n’t have taken half the comfort doing it if things had not come round as they did — if grandfather had been called in to do what Mr. Hulcum has done, I mean. The thing I like about your people is their charity ; and then they are all above-board, as you might say. They all know just how they stand with each other.”

“ How could we have the face to ask God to do for a brother what we were not willing to do for him ourselves, as far as we were able ? ” asked Delia.

“ But it is the spirit of your people,” repeated Mary, as if bent on pointing out to the preacher’s wife the feature which she found beautiful and praiseworthy, in view of that which she was herselt about to attempt in behalf of liberal Christianity. “ You have the confidence of all the people in your church, and out of it, Mrs. Hulcum ; you have mine, I know, though you have stood by your church just as I have stood by father.”

“ It seems to me of little consequence what name we go by, sitting out of doors on an afternoon like this, while the people have all gone to bury an old man. Young or old, that is what we must all come to,” said Delia.

“Yes,” answered Mary, thoughtfully, “but it is n’t a little thing either. My grandfather does n’t hold that it is, neither does your husband. When we come to the point, we don’t think it is, either.”

“But suppose you had only yourself to think of,” said Delia, “ it would n’t seem a great matter, would it, to give up your church for what you should think was more important? I don't mean that anything could be more important than religion and your duty, but your outside church, I am speaking of. One thing might seem sufficient to you to make up for what you lost in church communion ; and another to me, if I left mine. Abraham went out from his own country seeking another, and even Moses was persuaded, by what he hoped to find in Judæa, to leave what he had in Egypt.”

“Is not the gleaning of the grapes of Ephraim better than the vintage of Abi-ezer ? ” answered Mary, with a thoughtful smile, more moved than she cared to make manifest by Mrs. Holcombe’s talk.

“Yes and no,” said Delia, with more spirit. Did not Mary desire to be persuaded ? “ That is what we all think

until we find out the reason why it is so. I knew it must be. There are feelings that can influence us more powerfully than the obligations we own that we are under to people in general, as in a church.”

“ If a person has only himself to answer,” said Mary, “ it would be easy. But that is n’t the way with most of us. When it comes to separating from those who cannot go with you, if you go they must see that you choose to, and that there’s something you like better than you like them. It is better to give up the thing you would go for, and stay in the place where you were born.”

“It depends upon what calls you, whether you can,” said Delia, looking off towards the far horizon, yet speaking with a rapidity which betrayed her nearness.

“ Do you know what has called me,Mrs. Hulcum?” asked Mary, suddenly, turning her frank eyes on the preacher’s wife. She had suspected that Delia did know, but whether she knew or not, it was impossible for her to carry on an Indian mode of warfare. Ambush did not suit her.

After all she was a little surprised and excited by the answer, — “ Yes.”

“ Is that what you mean by saying it depends ? ”

“Yes.”

“ It is to give up my religion and take his, that is the thing.”

“ No,” answered Mrs. Holcombe, now steadily gazing at the girl. “You cannot say it is that quite. You think it will be as well to see what he will do. I would not dare try that.”

She paused. Mary said nothing ; she was convicted. She had thought just this.

“ I would not dare,” said Delia, “to try what I could do with him.”

Mary’s red cheeks crimsoned ; but neither did she reply to this further venture of the preacher’s wife. All at once, Delia herself found it impossible to proceed ; her own face reflected the heightened color of Mary’s. Mary’s silence might mean embarrassment, but it might also mean scorn of her counsellor. It was quite possible that she was preparing to turn upon her with a suspicion of her own past, equivalent to knowledge. Was she not Trost’s child? Was he not everywhere inveighing against Mennonites as a people who lived in violation of their own laws, traitors to their own government, deceivers, and at what point had he stopped short ? She was paralyzed by the fear which overtook her in the midst of her endeavor to warn and protect this child. But presently she felt a hand touching hers, and a voice, half suffocated by emotions, said, “ O Mrs. Hulcum, go on, speak to me ! ”

Then Delia’s spirit rose ; and she took up the weapons of the Lord, though it should be to the slaying of herself.

“ I do not think,” she said, “ that Deacon Ent will leave us. But, Mary, you may become his wife, —forgive me,

I dare not leave it unsaid, — you might become his wife, and not seem to be with us. You might secretly marry him.”

“ I would scorn such a marriage ! ”

Mrs. Holcombe bowed her head; she sat thus considering these words, and all this serious business. At last she looked up, and said still more seriously: “ I believe you would. Better, far better, live and die alone, than be deceived by anything that would have an end so different from happiness. You would not consent to it on your own account. I have not meant to say anything against Deacon Ent. There are men as upright as he who would persuade you to do this. I am glad that you are angry. Do you suppose I say this because I think it would be to Mr. Holcombe’s credit that you joined our society ? I warn you as one woman has a right to warn another. You will not give up August, —he will not give you up.”

“Do you think it would be impossible for you ? ” said Mary, half angry yet. “ You seem so sure of it in my case.”

“ When I look into my own heart, I tremble for you.”

“ What would you advise, then ? ”

“Tell your grandfather exactly how things stand between you.”

“ You do not know him, Mrs. Hulcum !” exclaimed Mary, aghast at this counsel.

“ What I say is, do not keep your secret from him. Tell him that he is father and mother to you, and you will be a stronger woman from that moment. And he will be a kinder father.”

“ You do not know him, Mrs. Hulcum.”

“ No matter if you think so. Be honest. Tell him all. Unless—you find that your church is more to you than your love.”

Mary’s eyes overflowed with tears. What had become of her pride and her determination, and that pretty purpose of hers to test her power, and the power of Methodism ?

“ I understand these things well enough to know how it will be,” Delia continued. “You must give up August, or else see that it is a light thing to leave all and follow him. Why do I say this ? Because I am Mr. Holcombe’s wife, and know that Deacon Ent is really, as my husband is always saying, the preacher’s right-hand man ? I say it because I have two girls in my house who may soon be standing where you are. I would not have dared to speak so to you, Mary, had I not feared to keep still.”

Edna now came, and said that the people were returning from the graveyard, and Delia, rising, said, “ My girl here will be glad if you come down to our house oftener ; she has made you a good many visits. Will you not come soon?” It was easy to promise, and indeed the thing which Mary now desired to do was to keep near to Mrs. Holcombe.

Delia went down the lane to the well, purposely leaving the girls together a few moments, and Edna halfdoubtingly said, following Mary’s eyes, which followed Delia’s movements, “ Is n't she a good woman ? ”

“ Good ! ” returned Mary, “ she is the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.”

In the graveyard, standing by the low mound which covered the body of poor Annie Cell, Edna said to Mrs. Holcombe, " Do you really think of me as if I was your daughter ? ”

“ Always ! ” This was the assurance which Delia had longed so many times to give, and had never found freedom for it. Now the question had been fairly put, she answered from an overflowing heart. “ You are just as dear to me as Rosa. If ever you should doubt it, remember what I say here in this place; it is true. Perhaps you are oftener and more tenderly in my thoughts than even my darling Rose is.”

“ How could that be, Mrs. Holcombe ? ”

“ Ah, you will never understand, Edna, never till you call me mother, as Rosa does ! But I will tell you. For the very reason that would make it seem unlikely: because you are older than she is, and a great deal older, much more than five years ; because your mind is working in so many ways. And — I am so anxious that you should be happy with us, and do that, and be that, which will make you happy. And so, if I should sometimes seem to require a good deal more of you than I do of Rosa, you will understand how it is. Because I am hoping so much for you ; because, dear child, I feel more responsible for you. It seems even more important to me to do the best I can for you, than to have your love and confidence.”

There was something in the voice which spoke these unexpected words that strangely moved Edna. She did not intend to give her confidence so far as her berrying project was concerned, or in the matter of John Edgar ; but nevertheless she brushed a tear from her cheek, and felt conscious of a feeling to master before she could answer, as she did, in a half-despairing way, “ I am not worth half the trouble I cost, Mrs. Holcombe.”

“ But God has given you to us, and his gifts are sacred.”

“ I could have loved her better, and served her better, and I wish I had,” said Edna, looking on the grave at her feet.

“ I am glad that you may think how much you did to make her happy,” said Delia. “ I was glad when you insisted on paying for the grave-stone, and that you wanted one that would have cost a great deal of money, though we thought it would please aunty better if you bought a simpler one.”

“ We had only each other,” said Edna.

“Yes, but now she has heaven, and you have earth and memories, and the hope of heaven,” answered Delia. “ And how many hearts there are which you can make happy. O child, if I could only make you see what it is possible for you to be ! Do you not feel in yourself ability to lead a life which would make you a blessing to everybody ? I seem to see in you resemblances to the most precious objects that I have ever dreamed of.”

“ O Mrs. Holcombe, do not say such things as that to me,” said Edna. " You make me feel ashamed.”

“ But I shall still look for your increasing likeness to all I have loved best, and all that I do love best. You are not quite what you would like to have me think, — a stranger and a pilgrim. You are our dear child ; our house is your home.”

“ Mrs. Holcombe,” said a voice. By the graveyard gate stood Maxwell Boyd. Driving slowly down the road, he had recognized the preacher’s wife, whose acquaintance he had made one day in his wanderings about the neighborhood of the mines. “ May I carry you down in my carriage ? I am going your way.”

“ You will be very tired, if you walk,” said Edna, glad to have the conversation, which was becoming so painful to her, interrupted.

Delia hesitated, but finally took her seat in the carriage, and Max enjoyed his opportunity of exhibiting skill in the management of ponies along mountain roads.

He enjoyed his drive so much that, when Mrs. Holcombe invited him into the house, — to the door of which he carried them, in spite of her assurances that it would be much better to let them cross the stream on foot by the bridge, — he accepted the invitation.

It was his first visit, and he said when he entered the house :—

“ I have n’t felt at home before in a dozen years.”

Delia smiled. She was accustomed to assurances that her house was indeed a home.

“ Stay and take tea with us,” she said ; and so he stayed.

But he had an unexpected lesson from Mrs. Holcombe before he went away. He had gone out into the little flower-garden in front of the house, to give Rosa a lecture on botany, and it seemed to interest him quite as much as it did her ; for how he laughed at the work she made pronouncing the names he gave to the simple flowercups and leaves !

Delia was drawn out of herself by the laughter in the yard ; she felt the cheerful influence of the young gentleman, and he had won her confidence at once. He was Mr. Boyd’s brother, and his friendly feeling seemed a sort of guarantee of safety to her whom a sense of danger was forever tormenting, so strong and capable he looked. He reminded her of another, who years ago had come to Emerald, as buoyant in spirit and as full of hope and expectation !

All at once Rosa stood before her, flushed and doubting, and brighter than her bright eyes was the ornament she wore. “ Mother, look here ! ” she said, pointing to the diamond pin which Max had removed from his cravat and fastened in her collar.

Delia said nothing, but took her daughter by the hand and led her forth. Max expected her, but pretended to be so much absorbed in his examination of a shrub that he did not notice her approach. But when Delia paused beside him it was impossible that he should not look up and perceive. Unfastening the pin from Rosa’s collar she laid it on her child’s palm, and bade her give it back to Mr. Boyd; and at the same moment Delia’s hand rested on his shoulder. The gentleness of her reproof went deep into the young man’s heart. “ You know these things are not allowed among us,” she said. “You are very kind ; but you must remember it will not do to show your kindness in such ways.”

Max seemed for an instant vexed; but he received back the ornament.

“ Then I will take it as a present from you,” he said, recovering his goodhumor. “ Must n’t I give you anything? To tell the truth, I was pretending that I had just got home after a long absence, and that you were all my family! What if you cannot use it ? ”

“ Give me your confidence, my son,” said Mrs. Holcombe. “ You may give me that; and if I see that I cannot trust your discretion, let me say so to you.”

“ What do you mean ? ” asked Max, quite sure that if anybody else had said that to him, he would have resented it as an insult.

“ I mean that you are young, and that these girls are children ; and that, though I should like to see you coming here, I should wish you to remember that there is a great difference between you and them, which you must see, and ought not to forget. You see I speak to you very freely, Mr. Boyd, because I think you are to be trusted. I am glad that you feel that you are at home at last.”

Max went out of the house more a man than when he entered it, resolving nobly, and thinking of Mrs. Holcombe as he would have thought and felt had he found a mother.

But the eyes which had seen Rosa decorated with diamonds would not be likely to lose again the vision.

Edna said : “ I am going to make two pictures of you ; one for myself and one for your mother ; in one you shall be just as Mennonite as you can be, and that’s for Mrs. Holcombe, but mine shall be Sawyerish.”

“ If you make me Sawyerish,” answered Rosa, quickly, “ I “ll tear it in pieces.”

“ Wait till you get it,” returned Edna, with a laugh. “ I shall put you in pink with a sash, and, let me see, with a flower or two in your hair. How pretty that will be ! Come now, let me please myself for a moment.”

Rosa hesitated, but finally the girls went up stairs together, and Edna decorated her sister with a pomp of ribbon which Miss Sawyer, who had come to the mountains for her health not so long ago that either had forgotten it, and had lodged for three months in Preacher Holcombe’s house, had left behind her.

“You look like another being,” said Edna, brushing Rosa’s hair till it waved above her forehead and rippled over her shoulders. “Now sit there and don’t stir till I tell you.”

“You look like another being yourself, Edna,” said Rosa, sitting very quiet and very conscious, while Edna flew about making preparations to begin her sketch. And indeed she was right. Edna was in her brightest mood.

“ If you make me like Miss Sawyer, I — I shall pout,” continued Rosa.

“ Pout then. Miss Sawyer was a beauty.”

“ You cried for grief when she went away, you know.”

“ I was glad to have her gone ; because it was like a funeral here, before she went, with your mother coming down with that fever.”

“O Edna, think if she — but it could n’t be.”

“ No ; you are right. It just could n’t. But suppose you don’t look as if you were going to cry, — that’s it! I don’t want you to look as old as Methuselah in my picture. Well now, tell me, how did those diamonds feel ? Mr. Boyd must be very rich to be giving them away like that. Miss Sawyer kept hers under lock and key, and hardly dared look at them herself. I would have liked to throw that box into Pit Hole, just to see if she would have thrown herself in after it.

“It was an odd thing to do,” she continued, after a minute, during which Rosa was probably endeavoring to ascertain how the diamonds did feel. “ I have never seen a girl like the one I am making out of you, Rosa. But it will be as if you were his born sister, I must get some colors for it, somehow. You are never to see the picture though, you know.”

“ I suppose not; for that’s like you,”

“Tut; it isn’t like me. I never do what I wish to, or say what I wish to, and you can’t find me out.”

Edna spoke with the mystery of an oracle, and Rosa looked at her with profound wonder mixed with admiration.

“ Am I Sawyerish ? ” she asked, after a while.

“just about as much as your mother is,” answered Edna, intent on her work.

“ Why don’t you say mother, and not your mother ’ all the time ? ” asked Rosa, looking shyly at Edna, half afraid to utter the question she had wanted to ask so long.

Edna dropped her pencil, and looked at the child with what she intended should appear overwhelmed amazement.

“ Why should I ? ” she said. “ I have no mother.”

“ Because I — O yes, you have ! Why, how could anybody be more a mother to you than mother is ! ”

“ My mother could,” said Edna, taking her pencil again, and resuming her work. “ Since I 've lost her, — well and good. You would n’t think that you could have more than one.”

“ But then it is her,” said Rosa, as if she would remind Edna that there never could be but one woman in the world to compare with the woman who gave so freely of her love to Edna.

“ I know it is her; and I know all you can say besides, but you need not say any more about that. You are all too kind to me. I would gladly do anything for you, die for you even; yes, I think that would be the best. Then there would be no more trouble about me or anything.”

Edna was perhaps a particle in earnest, but her chief recompense for so expressing herself was, not the relief she felt, but the surprise and distress of Rosa that she should feel and speak so. She found presently that she must drop her drawing, and give herself heartily to the work of drying the child’s tears, and consoling her with assurances that she had only spoken in jest. But this sort of play had been played now to weariness, and Edna felt a little misgiving and shame when she saw how Rosa had taken her words to heart.

CHAPTER XIV.

“You are our dear child,” and “our house is your home,” were words in themselves so sweet, and they had been so tenderly spoken, that Edna could not forget them. Nevertheless they had not the effect to make her feel at ease with Mrs. Holcombe, nor at home under the preacher’s roof. Out of doors she was happy and especially content so long as she could be at work gathering berries, and whatever else she could gather from the hillsides and the woods, that had a market value. One day the doctor found her near the roadside, contemplating a great heap of sarsaparilla root which she had pulled.

At first he seemed disposed to make light of her labor, until he perceived that it was a serious business with her ; then he ceased to treat her as if she were a child, and told her that she was right about it ; people had to pay a price for just such things as she intended to sell ; she was in the way to make money, if money was what she wanted.

On the strength of this encouragement she advanced, and asked him if there had been another offer lately from Mr. Faulkner for her land ; for, on the doctor’s advice, she had decided to let the little farm lie idle until the neighbor who really wanted to add it to his own should be willing to pay the price it was worth. He told her that five hundred was still Faulkner’s figure, and asked her if they should stand for the seven hundred, which he had no doubt they should get in time.

She reflected, and said, yes, if there was a prospect that he would purchase within fifty years.

But there was something evidently on her mind of which it would be well to relieve her, if he could. What was it? The doctor had many patients besides those whom he prescribed for openly. He had been talking just now with Superintendent Elsden about John Edgar, and felt so encouraged by the report he had heard that he was ready to undertake any other good work that offered. Besides, Delia Holcombe had said to him, not long since, talking about Edna, as if in despair, “ That girl meets me at every turn. What shall I say to her ? What shall I do with her ? What is the matter ? ”

He had answered Delia: “She has more strength in her than she knows how to use. That is the matter. I would not be surprised,” he had said further, “if you found her intolerable at times. Girls are not often so, I suppose, but boys are. All that headstrong, imperious selfishness which goes rampant in young fellows until they are ashamed of it, in the more enlightened time of manhood, helps to keep the world going. Edna is n’t a common drudge, but a born worker. You must control her. Easier said than done, but you can be trusted for that. You won't make the mistake of breaking her down in endeavoring to control her.”

“ I am so tired of all this, Michael! ” Delia had said that in a way which left no doubt on the doctor’s mind that it was a despairing weariness she felt; and he knew that she had made a confession to him which never would have escaped her in Friend Holcombe’s hearing.

“ It is very clear to me,” he answered, “ very clear, that the mother of such a child as Rosa will not make any serious mistake in managing any other girl. The thing is to secure Edna’s confidence.”

“ She has never given it to me for a single moment! ” Delia had exclaimed.

“She must give it to you though. Command it. It is your right. Why, Delia Holcombe, do you mean to say that you are balked, for the first time in your life, by a chit like that ? She is frank and open enough —too frank, if anything. She won’t be reticent everywhere ; just make her love you. That’s always been an easy thing for you to do ”

But the doctor had not yet forgotten that his words had failed to make an impression. It was with the recollection of Delia’s tearful eyes and sighing that he now set himself to discover what could be done by him in behalf of the girl and the woman.

He stayed there talking half an hour, and when he mounted Lightfoot and rode away, lie had arranged these points in his mind for reflection, — that Edna felt herself adrift and homeless, but that she had resolved on earning a right at least to the food and shelter which Friend Holcombe’s house afforded her ; that she had read every book that Edward Rolfe had left with Bishop Rose, and most of the volumes again and again ; that her mind was filled with the Shakespearean personages and thoughts; that she was ambitious to draw faces well, and had taken to heart the encouragement of Mr. Barlow, conveyed to her by John Edgar; that John Edgar had exercised a distinct and peculiar influence over her, the nature of which he could not quite determine.

But above all he was questioning the parentage of this girl, and a suspicion had arisen which seemed to him so unjust, so outrageous, that he was glad to account for it by recalling the recent conversation between himself and Mr. Elsden, in which old times had been recalled, and Edward Rolfe so distinctly, that it would hardly have surprised the doctor to pass him on the road as he used to do every day.

But outrageous and unjust as the suspicion was, it was not to be dismissed. It recurred again and again, as the doctor rode his round, and at nightfall he actually found himself hesitating whether he should go over and ask Delia to tell him something more definite than he had heard yet concerning that girl’s history. But his hesitation resulted in his return to Emerald the visit unmade.

CHAPTER XV.

MR. ELSDEN — with Rolfe’s marriage certificate in his pocket, and half a dozen annual reports of the Insane Asylum known as Rolfe Hall on his shelves, put forth by Dr. Jackson, manager of the same—was considering the case of John Edgar quite seriously that morning, when the doctor called, and incidentally inquired how John was getting on.

He had already taken steps with reference to John, —important and well-considered steps. He had instructed the machinist how to be a gentleman, indirectly ; chiefly by pointing out features and traits in Maxwell Boyd which made him an agreeable companion. These features and traits were all such as could be copied, imitated. In private John had considered these, and had carefully endeavored to shape his conduct by them. Mr. Elsden had also excited his ambition in other ways than by playfully inquiring how long he supposed he should be content to stay delving in the machine-shop. He had praised him on account of the possession of abilities of which John himself was as yet scarcely conscious, and the result had been precisely that on which the superintendent calculated, — the powers he had assumed actually became apparent. Mr. Elsden, in short, had the machinist in training, and in a brief time his urbanity, consideration, and politeness ceased to excite John’s surprise.

Indeed, in the pride of his heart, when Edna showed him the “ Sawyerish Rosa ” which she had made for herself, his first thought and wish was to let Mr. Elsden see it. So he quietly took possession of the drawing, promising Edna that he would procure paints for her, and on the first opportunity he showed the picture.

“She is an artist!” said the superintendent, and John told Edna that. But Mr. Elsden said more ; he said: “ That young lady ought to be supplied with everything that would help her in that work. Do not fail to show her drawings to Mr. Barlow when he comes again ; but meantime let me do something for her. What does she want ? Has she any materials ? ”

John told him what she had, with a light in his eyes by which Mr. Elsden easily read all which he did not tell. And the result was that Mr. Elsden ordered from town a box well filled with artists’ materials, which he asked John to give to Miss Edna with his compliments.

See Miss Edna, then, coming with her lover, to thank Mr. Elsden for his gift! And perceive the Holcombe satisfaction, though mingled with so much surprise !

And hear Mr. Elsden saying afterwards to John Edgar: “You are a fortunate young man to have been able to serve a young lady like Miss Edna. Tell me something about her. She must have a history.”

That was a subject concerning which it had hardly entered John Edgar’s head to inquire, — it was the thought of Edna’s self that had occupied him; and so Mr. Elsden said in an off-hand way: “ In my opinion, the girl has rights which have never been claimed for her.”

Coming from such a source, the suggestion was startling enough, and John said, “ I don’t — know what you mean, sir.”

“ I don’t know that I know myself, but it’s between us, Edgar; so if I have made a wrong guess, no harm is done. She is a very pretty girl, and if I were a younger man — You gave her those first drawing-lessons, eh ? ”

“Yes. But, Mr. Elsden, what is it you suspect, sir ? ”

“I suspect, John, that her father was an old friend of mine, who was killed suddenly. It was not supposed that he left a wife. He had never declared his marriage. But I have reason to think he was married, and any way this girl looks enough like him to be his daughter. Of course such a thing is n’t to be talked of, unless it can be proved. If you care anything for the girl —”

“ Why she is mine ! ” exclaimed John, in a tumult; and there he was in his pride, and in his helplessness too, in the hand of Mr. Elsden, who made no more of crushing men with hand and foot, if they chanced to be in the right position for dexterous management, than he would have made of crushing worms.

“ I congratulate you then,” he said, with spirit; “she is not only a pretty girl, but an heiress, and we can show it in time.”

That provision “in time” was well suggested. Mr. Elsden, as we have seen already, had no intention of grasping at success in haste now, after so long an experience of failures.

He was fortunately interrupted in this conversation by the entrance of Maxwell Boyd, and several days passed before Edgar found an opportunity to ask again for explanation of the mystery which was of so much consequence to him. Meantime the fact that Mr. Elsden knew the relation existing between Edna and himself was exalting. It seemed now as if Mr. Elsden must perceive that others had seen that he was not a worthless member of the community, that he had a future before him. But this fact, while it had its satisfactions, was not the only one which occupied him ; it was quite possible that he should stand yet on an equality with Maxwell Boyd, and that was constantly becoming more and more his aspiration ; almost as if he felt that in time it would be possible to find a rival.

Suppose Mr. Elsden’s suspicions were proved warrantable. Suppose Edna was the daughter of a gentleman (it was easy to believe), suppose a fortune did wait her demand, would that relation between them be changed ? That relation had been established in a moment of the greatest surprise to him. He often found himself questioning the reality of it; it became quite as important to John that he should assure himself of the reality of Edna’s love, of its enduring nature, as that he should discover the secret Mr. Elsden had in store for him.

But how could the truth be discovered ? Edna was in such a state of gratitude, on account of the box which Mr. Elsden would never have thought of giving her, she knew, but for John Edgar, that she was ready to fall down and worship him whenever he appeared. Don’t blame the poor fellow that he accepted all this gratitude for something else, mistaking it for that in comparison with which gratitude is cold and unlovely.