PRISCILLA was late, but by running she succeeded in getting on board the ferry-boat just before it started — the last passenger. Somewhat breathless, she walked through to the other end and sat down in a corner. The boat was not crowded, in fact there seemed to be curiously few passengers, and she saw no one whom she knew. “I suppose I shall be the very last one to get there,” she thought; “and there ’ll only be a moment before the steamer sails. It’s strange that there are not more people going over, and no one with rugs and things. Can I be too late ?” She looked at her watch and was reassured. Her fellow-passengers were wonderfully nice-looking people, she thought, and then dismissed them from her mind and lost herself in an idle reverie in which she did not take account of the passing minutes.

Meanwhile the nice-looking people, being occupied with affairs of their own, paid no attention to her, until at last one of them, glancing in her direction, realized in a startled way that the girl sitting in the corner was not, after all, Aunt Avis’s maid, but quite a different person.

“Just look!” she said to her cousin. “That must be Anne over there all by herself.”

“She has changed a good deal,” said Augusta, putting up her lorgnette. The combination of Miss Harfield and her lorgnette was imposing.

“All but the red hair,” replied Kitty, “and even that has grown prettier. How stupid of Aunt Martina to send her off by herself. A pleasant way of beginning her visit! Aunt Martina always does shirk these things, and I suppose she got up a headache. Well, come on, Augusta, let ’s go and speak to her.”

Priscilla looked up, startled, as the pair stopped in front of her. “We have come to introduce ourselves,” said Miss Harfield in her best manner of blended dignity and graciousness. “I am your cousin Augusta and this is Kitty. You know our names, even if you don’t remember our faces.”

“I think you must mistake me for some one else,” said Priscilla, embarrassed.

“But you can’t be any one else,” broke in Kitty. “There’s no one else for you to be. Don’t say you ’ve forgotten our very names! ”

Priscilla had risen and stood looking from one to the other. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you are talking about,” she said, the color mounting to her cheeks. When Priscilla blushed she was lovelier than ever.

Kitty grasped her hand. “But you are Anne!” she exclaimed.

“No, I am not Anne,” said Priscilla.

The two stood gazing at each other, and Miss Harfield, holding firmly to her dignity, looked at them both with an expression of displeased surprise.

“But do please explain!” cried Kitty.

“What excessively odd people,” thought Priscilla. “Because you have made a mistake?” she asked, smiling.

“I should think you would see the necessity,” said Miss Harfield, resenting the smile.

“Oh, Augusta!” said Kitty. “You see,” she added, turning again to Priscilla, “we naturally did n’t expect to see any one but the family on the boat, and so —”

“But why not?” asked Priscilla. In her perplexity she glanced vaguely about and was startled to find the view from the window curiously unfamiliar. “But surely this is the ferry-boat for Hoboken,” she said faltering.

“Oh!” said Kitty, and there was silence for a moment.

“I don’t see how such a mistake can have been made,” said Augusta, stiffening into her most reserved Harfield manner.

“Let me explain,” said Kitty, whose wits were quicker than her cousin’s. “This boat was taken for a particular purpose and left just after the regular ferry-boat. And you got on by mistake.” Even Kitty looked serious.

The tears were very near Priscilla’s eyes. “I see,” she said. “I missed my own boat, just as I was afraid I would. And then when I saw this one I thought I had n’t missed it after all, and jumped on at the very last minute.”

“And you were going to Hoboken,” said Miss Harfield, not with an interrogative inflection, but as one asserting a damaging fact.

“Yes, to see a friend off on the King Canute,” said Priscilla, too troubled to notice inflections.

“Oh dear,” sighed Kitty.

“And now, what can I do?” asked Priscilla.

“Oh dear!” said Kitty.

At this moment Dick sauntered up. “I think this must be my cousin Anne,” said he.

“There has been a mistake,” said Miss Harfield, and Priscilla blushed pinker than ever.

“This young lady got on the boat by accident,” continued Miss Harfield.

“And she ’ll have to go on with us,” gasped Kitty.

“I’m sorry to inconvenience you,” said Priscilla, struggling not to cry. “How horrid they are to me!” she thought.

“I’m so sorry,” said Kitty, sympathetic at once. “You ’ll miss your friend — and—we’d like to make you as comfortable as possible — but you won’t have a very pleasant day.”

“But where are you going?” asked Priscilla, more and more confused and distressed.

“To Harfield,” said Kitty. “We are the Harfields,” she added by way of further explanation. But Priscilla still looked quite blank and Dick took up the tale.

“The fact is, Miss — ”

“Lathrop,” murmured Priscilla.

“Thank you, my name is Harfield. Well, the fact is, Miss Lathrop, the reason why we are a family party is that we are going to Harfield for the funeral of our aunt. We have got so far on the way that it would hardly be possible for us to take you back and so we are very much concerned on your account.”

“Oh!” said Priscilla, shocked. She looked around at them all with tears of distress in her eyes. “How can I forgive myself ? Please don’t let me be a trouble to you. If I might just sit here by myself until you can put me off somewhere.”

“We are very sorry for your inconvenience,” said Miss Harfield, trying to be as civil as she owed it to herself to be. She turned inquiringly to Dick. “Can the boat make a landing anywhere?”

He shook his head. “We are more than half way over to the island,” he said. “I ’m sorry, Miss Lathrop,” he added, turning to her, “that we cannot do better for you. We can only try to make you as comfortable as possible.

“But the intrusion,” said Priscilla in dismay. “If I cannot leave you, at least you must not trouble yourselves about me at all. Please try to forget that I am here.” She looked appealingly at them all.

Miss Harfield felt distinctly that they had done everything which the situation required. “ Of course, under the circumstances, you will excuse us,” she said, preparing to take Priscilla at her word; but neither Kitty nor Dick seemed to notice her signal. Augusta, who was by no means a woman of resource, stood for a moment looking uncomfortably from one to the other, and then, at a loss what to do next, hastened away to seek assistance.

“Come and sit down,” said Kitty to Priscilla. “Of course you are dreadfully disappointed not to see your friend off,” she went on in her friendly way, “but you must n’t distress yourself about us.” She hesitated, scarcely knowing how to convey the idea of a gentle and modified affliction without seeming heartless.

“You see,” she continued, “Aunt Avis was very, very old. She was our great-aunt, you know. We all know that life had ceased to be any particular pleasure to her. And then—we are a very large clan, and we are all taken to Harfield to be buried. And being so many we don’t always know each other very well. For instance, Anne. She has come to visit one of our aunts and we have n’t seen her since she was a small child, but she used to have hair like yours — and your dress is black, you know — and so we took you for her. Well, I was going to say, you must n’t think us too lightminded. The older people and Aunt Avis’s granddaughter are all on the other side of the boat. It’s generally arranged that way. And the rest of us are on this side. And please don’t be uncomfortable about us.”

“It certainly is hard lines for you, Miss Lathrop,” put in Dick, taking advantage of the first pause.

Priscilla had not been unaware of his regard. “It was my own stupidity,” she replied.

“It was a most natural mistake,” protested the young man; “and since you are, in a way, cousin Anne’s substitute, I hope you ’ll try to feel amiably towards us. I ’m sorry we can’t make it a pleasant day for you.”

It was evident that the brother and sister were —to say the least — quite willing to make the best of things. In the mean time Miss Harfield, on the other side of the boat, was filled with vexation. She was not the woman to leave Dick, the pride of the family, and Kitty, its most irresponsible member, in the hands of a strange girl, whom she was already prepared to look upon as a minx, aside from the indecorum of the situation under present circumstances. She had gone in search of Aunt Maria, but found her so occupied with old Aunt. Susanna (who, old as she was, ought not to have come at all, Augusta thought), that any immediate interruption was clearly impossible. In her extremity she turned to a rosycheeked, stout little gentleman who was at the moment gazing reflectively at a row of black-veiled women sitting opposite him. “Certainly I ’ll go over there,” he whispered, as soon as the matter had been explained to him, and departed with an alacrity which had in it a suspicion of relief. When he appeared in the other cabin, Kitty rushed to meet him.

“Oh, Uncle Jerry,” she exclaimed, “do come and see this sweet girl! Has Augusta told you? Well, do be nice to her. Augusta was snippy. And she could n’t help it, poor thing. It’s horrid for her. And of course she simply has to come with us and have lunch at the house and all.”

Personally Uncle Jerry succumbed at once to the peach-bloom complexion and the lustrous brown eyes, which did not, however, prevent him from seeing the advisability of dislodging Dick; and as that young man seemed immovable, and as a contest over youth and beauty between an uncle and nephew appeared — no matter how worthy his motive — a trifle unseemly, he betook himself once more to the other Cabin and, more successful than Augusta, returned bringing with him a feminine replica of himself. The resemblance, however, was confined to external appearance, for whereas Jerry was distinguished by a certain artlessness of character, his sister’s wavy white hair covered the brain of the family diplomatist. Aunt Maria at once took command of the situation. Her methods were kindly, and it was in the most benevolent way imaginable that she assumed possession of Priscilla, not giving her a chance to speak to any one else.

“ She is perfectly dear,” thought the girl gratefully.

The little journey was soon over. When the boat drew near the wharf, Aunt Maria was obliged to return to her own place, but not before giving some definite directions.

“ You had better stay here,” she said to Priscilla, “until we all get away. After that you can walk where you like. You can hardly lose yourself. That is the house, over there to the right. If you get there in about an hour, that will do very nicely. Of course we expect you to lunch with us.” She hurried away without waiting for a reply.

“I can’t go there to lunch,” thought Priscilla. “I really can’t. I wonder if it would be rude if I ran away until it is time to go back. I wonder if any one would notice”—Here she felt an arm linked in hers.

“I never can get used to funerals,” said Kitty with a little shudder.

Priscilla looked at her, startled. The boat had now made the landing, and there was a stillness followed by subdued but unusual sounds; the shuffling tramp of men carrying a burden, directions given in low tones. Her heart sank suddenly. Oh, this was far worse than she had thought. Up to this time her morning’s adventure had seemed excessively embarrassing, very inconvenient, and more than a little fantastic; but she had not realized that it was the actual funeral cortège which she was accompanying. Now she was seized with a shivering sense of the stark reality of it all. Presently Kitty was summoned.

“ Good-by,” she whispered, givingPriscilla’s arm a last squeeze. “Don’t run away.”

When they were all gone she went out on deck. A panic seized her at being left on the deserted boat, and she ran hastily down the gangway and stood for a moment hesitating which way to turn. She could see the procession stretching, long and black, down the country road, the coffin carried in front. She turned her back on it and walked slowly in the opposite direction, where a path led between overarching trees up a little hill. It was a heavenly spring day. The air, Warmed by the sun, cooled by the nearness to the sea, was divinely fresh and pure. Overhead, the foliage, still tenderly, delicately green, was not yet dense, and she looked through it to the large blue sky. Only the singing of the birds broke the silence. She gained the top of the knoll and looked down, directly into the Harfield burial-ground. The procession had followed a bend in the road and passed through the open gateway and had now massed itself in a black group. Instinctively she closed her eyes, but in a moment, drawn by an inexplicable fascination, opened them again. The black group hid the grave from her view, but she saw it in her imagination. Poor old Aunt Avis! No, she must not look, it was an intrusion. Turning aside, she walked a little way down the hill again, and seated herself under a tree; but the clergyman’s voice came to her through the still air, speaking undistinguishable words. Was she never to get away from it all ? For the first time in her life she realized that the one thing in the whole world that one cannot get away from is death.

She could not tell how long she sat there, but Kitty and Dick, themselves subdued and serious, came in search of her.

“Aren’t you well ?” asked Kitty, startled by her pallor.

“ Oh yes.” The color came back with a rush. She looked at them with a sort of wonder — these two young people who had a share in so many graves. “I have never been to a funeral before,” she said with a little catch in her voice. Dick maintained afterwards that this was precisely the moment when he fell in love with her.

Loath to go in, they loitered along the country road until the sweet spring air had somewhat lightened their spirits.

“Cousin Harriet won’t like it if we are late,” said Kitty at last, and they turned their faces toward the house, Priscilla finding herself wonderfully reconciled to the prospect of facing the ordeal.

It was not so terrible after all. The first subdued bustle of arrival had already subsided, the guests had betaken themselves upstairs, and Cousin Harriet and Cousin Caroline were flitting about the lower rooms, attending to the last touches of hospitality. The old homestead had descended to these two little elderly ladies, and with it the duty of entertaining the funeral guests. Of late years they seldom left Harfield, living there the year round; and with the passage of time their connection with the living members of the family seemed to be chiefly through the dead. Far from being depressed by their surroundings, they were vivacious little women, even somewhat worldly,— but that was in the blood,— accepting with cheerful philosophy whatever befell.

Cousin Harriet had been forewarned of the unbidden guest. “Who is she? Does she belong to any one we ever heard of?” she had asked.

“Oh, no,” Aunt Maria had replied. ‘She’s nobody at all. Well-mannered and astonishingly pretty, but really nobody at all. She lives with her mother up in Harlem, and I should judge that they are perfectly respectable people. It was just one of those extraordinary accidents. And I do think it was very stupid of her.”

“And Kitty and Dick have charge of her?”

“Not at all,” replied Maria with spirit. “I took charge of her myself all the way over, and I’m very much vexed that she did n’t come to the house as I told her, without waiting to be hunted up. Kitty was the first person to notice her, and you know how feather-headed that child is. And Dick — well, dear Harriet, you know how Dick is — and for that matter, how all our men are when there is a pretty face in question. One has to exercise diplomacy. It’s very tiresome. But I ’ll hand her over to Jerry going back, and he won’t let another man come near her — and thank Heaven, one need n’t worry seriously about him.”

However, there were a couple of hours yet to be provided for, and Harriet’s first glance at Priscilla, walking up to the door between Kitty and Dick, convinced her that it would be well not to take chances. The names on the tombstones all — or very nearly all— belonged to the best families. She greeted Kitty and Dick with affection, and Priscilla with hospitable civility; but Dick was handed over to Cousin Caroline and Kitty was sent with a message to Aunt Maria, while Harriet herself showed the stranger to an upper room, where, following the line of division observed on the boat, the less afflicted of the ladies of the family were awaiting the announcement of luncheon. Priscilla effaced herself as far as possible, and when the others went downstairs, followed them shyly. She longed to see everything in the interesting old house and could not resist stealing curious glances at the portraits and the beautiful antique furniture. Meanwhile Harriet had been giving careful thought to the best way of disposing of the too attractive guest. It was the custom of the family, when the company was too large to be seated in one room, to have an extra table laid in the library and to put the young people there, while Harriet at one end of the long dining-room table and Caroline at the other, dispensed hospitality and gathered in family news. Augusta was to preside in the library, and Harriet determined to put Priscilla in her charge. Kitty did n’t matter so much; but as for Dick, she would make a place for him in the dining room.

Priscilla, standing near the library door, saw the procession of uncles, aunts, and elderly cousins,filing into the diningroom. Last of all came Dick, walking very slowly, with old Aunt Susanna on his arm. Priscilla had not seen her before, and of all the persons whom she had met on this remarkable day, she thought that Aunt Susanna was the most wonderful. She was at the same time so old and so beautiful; a slender, erect old lady, with lustrous white hair, a delicately pink and white complexion, finely cut, aristocratic features, and eyes of a vivid blue seldom seen in old age. Only about her mouth and chin did the ravages of time show themselves, and their effect was diminished by the soft folds of white lace. The contrast between her and the tall, broad-shouldered, handsome young man was one of the prettiest things imaginable, and Priscilla, quite forgetful of herself, stood gazing with appreciative eyes, until the couple disappeared from her sight.

As it happened, Aunt Susanna had been expected to eat her luncheon in the south sitting-room, to which she was taken on her arrival. She had been at first somewhat agitated and it was felt that she needed very special care. In fact, it was against every one’s advice that she had come; but she was a willful old lady who refused to be dictated to. With the death of her sister she was now the eldest member of the clan and the only representative of her generation, and her ideas of propriety demanded that she should pay the last tribute to Avis; but as she stood by the grave she felt that her turn would come next and the thought shook her. However, after she had sat for half an hour in the big, comfortable chair in the south sitting-room and had sipped a glass of old Madeira, she began to feel that it was time for some diversion. She had paid her tribute to poor Avis and could do no more. When her turn should come she hoped that she would die in a manner not unbecoming a Harfield and a Christian, but meantime she preferred not to think about it. She sent for Dick, who was her great favorite, and Harriet conveyed her message with alacrity; nothing could have happened better. So Dick came and talked to her in that manner of chivalrous deference blended with bon camaraderie which old women love in young men, and she revived greatly; and when told that her luncheon would be brought in to her, said briskly, “Certainly not! Give me your arm into the dining-room, Dick.”

Arrived there, she Would have him sit next her, and Harriet and Maria congratulated themselves on such a successful arrangement. Short-lived exultation, for in crossing the hall after luncheon was over. Aunt Susanna stopped and turned to speak to some one, drawing her hand away from Dick’s arm. As she started to go on again, her foot caught in a rug and she stumbled. At the moment, Dick’s eyes were elsewhere. He was looking at Priscilla, who, after a somewhat depressing meal, eaten in the shadow of Augusta’s frigid civility, had come into the hall and was standing close by, enchanted at getting another glimpse of the beautiful old lady; and it was Priscilla who darted forward and prevented her from falling. There was a fright and a flurry, everybody pressing forward anxiously, and competent hands laid hold of Aunt Susanna. But when Priscilla tried to withdraw, the little old hand clung to her arm, the blue eyes looked up into her face, and Aunt Susanna exclaimed,—

“But which one are you, my dear? I don’t seem to have seen you before.”

Priscilla, blushing and confused, was spared the embarrassment of answering, for Aunt Maria said hurriedly, “Let Dick and me take you to your room, Aunt Susanna. I ’ll explain then.”

“Nonsense!” said the old lady, who was much less disturbed by the accident than any one else. “I’m all right. A miss is as good as a mile. However, I ’ll go to my room. You come with me, my dear, and explain yourself. I can’t think whose child you can be. Come, Dick, you can take my other arm and then we ’ll have no more trippings or slippings. Nobody else need come. Too many people are confusing.”

So the three walked away together and nothing could be done, for no one could venture to dispute the commands of the autocratic old lady. When the explanation was made, she found it diverting. Priscilla and her adventure served well to distract her thoughts from serious subjects, particularly as she liked young people to be good-looking and the girl fulfilled all requirements in that respect. She enjoyed Priscilla’s evident admiration too, and was incidentally pleased by her interest in the old house.

“I was born here,” she said, “and lived here until I was married. That portrait was painted when I was eighteen.” She indicated a picture hanging on the opposite wall, and Priscilla and Dick went together to look at it.

“Oh, how lovely!” exclaimed Priscilla. But there was no resemblance to the old woman in the radiant face of the young girl. Even the eyes, blue as they still were, did not seem the same. “To think,” murmured Priscilla under her breath, “that one must grow old!”

The pity of it overcame her. That one must lose all that young loveliness and at best have only the fragile beauty of age, a beauty pathetic in its suggestion of imminent extinction! She went back to the old woman with a wonderful tenderness in her face. “It is most beautiful,” she said.

“But you would n’t have known who it was, would you ?” asked Aunt Susanna, a little sadly.

“But a portrait of you now would be equally lovely,” said Priscilla quickly, in her sincere voice.

The old lady patted the girl’s arm with her little white, blue-veined hand. “That was prettily said, my dear;” and she added in a tone of satisfaction, “Yes, I have something to be thankful for.”

Harriet came in to help her with her wraps, and Priscilla retreated, but not before Aunt Susanna had told her that she would expect to see her on the boat. There was a carriage to take some of the older ones to the wharf, and as they were starting, Harriet exchanged a word with Maria.

“Do try to divert her mind to something else. I’m afraid she’s getting a little childish.”

“I shall certainly do my best,” replied Maria. “It ought not to be difficult, now that her curiosity is satisfied.”

But it was impossible to turn Aunt Susanna from her whim. In vain did Maria try to keep her from demanding Priscilla, and failing in that, to keep Dick out of the way. Nothing would do but that she must have them both, one on either side of her; and as an easychair was arranged for her on the boat, Priscilla found herself part of a conspicuous group. She was acutely uncomfortable, for she could not be unconscious of the disapproving looks of those silent, black-robed figures who sat against the wall; while Aunt Maria’s alert watchfulness, as she hovered about them, was only too evident. “If I could only get away!” thought poor Priscilla.

To make matters worse, Aunt Susanna was in the excited stage of fatigue, and displayed a liveliness that scandalized the family. Even Dick, who was not by way of being conventionally gloomy, looked deprecatingly at Priscilla, as if to ask her not to be too much shocked. She really was shocked, in spite of the most tender compassion for what she could divine to be a strange phase of the weakness of old age. She scarcely opened her lips and yet felt that she was considered in some degree responsible for this ghastly vivacity. It was an unspeakable relief when Aunt Susanna finally lapsed into drowsiness.

At the first moment of release she rose to leave the cabin. She did not know how to say in so many words, “I am sorry to have been in the way; ” but her manner expressed so sweetly all that the most right-thinking girl would naturally feel under the circumstances, that Aunt Maria ought perhaps to have been disarmed. However, Aunt Maria, who had been long-suffering under compulsion, took no notice of her as she hastily took her place at Aunt Susanna’s side, but motioned imperiously to Dick to stay where he was. Courtesy compelled him to wait for a moment to hear what she was saying to him, and so Priscilla walked the length of the cabin alone. No one spoke to her, but she felt that every one was looking at her. She held her head erect, but her cheeks tingled and she had much ado to keep the tears from her eyes.

“I could n’t help it!” she said to herself. “How can they think that I could help it ?”

But at the door Dick overtook her. “Let me take you on deck,” he said; and she consented, little suspecting that therein she was putting the capstone on her offenses. They walked through the other cabin, but there no one took much notice of them. They were nearly home now. Everybody was tired, and the incident of Priscilla was an old story. Only Kitty started forward, but thought better of it and forbore to join them.

It was a relief to get out into the air, and as Priscilla leaned on the rail she kept her face turned away from Dick until she could recover herself. For the first moment neither spoke, and then Dick said, —

“You must n’t misunderstand my poor old aunt. The whole thing was too much for her, I ’m afraid.”

“Oh, I don’t misunderstand. I only felt sorrier and sorrier for her. It seems so dreadful to grow old — even though one may look so lovely. And the only alternative is to die while it is still pleasant to live!”

“But don’t let us think of that,” remonstrated Dick. “Just think how pleasant life is now. Poor Aunt Susanna has had her good times — a good many of them too.”

In fact, Dick could not realize what a hard day it had been for Priscilla, being, himself, accustomed to his family and to the family funerals, which he took simply as he took everything. For with all his sophisticated traditions and habits he was singularly free from mental complexity. He lived in each day as it came, elaborately as to externals, simply as to essentials, with a mind open to take anything that fortune might bring. To-day fortune had brought this charming girl, and already he told himself that her coming meant much to him. He had no intention of losing sight of her, and time was pressing.

“Will you let me call on you and your mother?” he asked, and when she consented he wrote her address down; and then came Uncle Jerry in search of him, with a message from Aunt Maria, who desired him to escort Aunt Susanna to her carriage. After this, not very much attention was paid to Priscilla. Uncle Jerry, to be sure, lingered by her side for a moment and Kitty bade her a friendly good-by; but Aunt Maria was unresponsive when she tried to express her thanks for all their kindness, and Aunt Susanna did not notice her when she was led past, looking white and tired. The old lady clung to Dick and made him get into the carriage with her. It was a relief to the girl when the goodbyes and thanks were over and the Harfields had all driven off in their respectable family carriages.

As she leaned back in her humbler conveyance she found herself very tired and a little dazed. She thought of herself as she had started out in the morning, and wondered whether her mother would find her changed. That she could never again be quite the same, she knew, for on this strange day she had become aware of Death; and, although as yet unrecognized, Love was knocking at the door of her heart.