Transcriber's Note:
A Table of Contents has been added.

"LOOK THERE!"

page 43

Rathfelder's Hotel.

BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE FISHERMAN'S DAUGHTER."

PHILADELPHIA:
PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION,
1334 CHESTNUT STREET.

CONTENTS

RATHFELDER'S HOTEL.

CHAPTER I.

Standing back beside the picturesque road encircling Windburg hill, near Cape Town, was a large, handsome house, rather long and high, however, according to the style of architecture usual in that stormy region of the world. The front windows on the ground floor opened out upon a broad terrace, or "stoop," as it is termed by the Dutch, shaded by a wide projecting trellised roof, which roof was so thickly interlaced by vines of the rich Constantia grape, the branches being then clustered over with massive bunches of the golden and purple fruit, that it was with difficulty the sun obtained a peep here and there down upon the persons beneath.

It was early in February, a late summer month in Africa, as some of my young readers may know. The grounds surrounding the house were extensive and varied, and laid out in the Cape fashion—that is to say, they owed considerably more to Southern nature's luxuriant hand for their attractiveness and abundance than to art. Such a state of things was not, however, so much the result of choice or taste of the inhabitants, as because gardeners, and indeed working hands of every kind, were sometimes impossible to obtain at any price. One advantage, and a very decided one in fresh English eyes, accrues from this style of semi-cultivation. Flowers alike rare and prized in our costly green-houses, but regarded by the Cape inhabitants as valueless, display a richness of bloom and splendour little conceived of by the natives of colder climes.

On a bright and beautiful morning (though indeed the reverse of that is the exception during the summer season at the Cape) a girl of between fifteen and sixteen years of age was ascending the broad staircase which half encircled the spacious hall within the above-mentioned house. The sunshine streamed in softened rays through the coloured panes of a high arched window, surrounding her form as an island in golden light as she passed. It was a charming face and figure, and a thoughtful yet bright expression seemed to pervade her whole person, filling it with love and intelligence.

"Oh how pleasant! all day long! how glad Lotty will be! I am sure she will. Dear, kind uncle! he always thinks of something good and delightful for every one," she ejaculated half aloud while speeding up the stairs, then along a wide passage, and finally opening the door of a bedroom at the farther end. Seated on the side of a bed was a fine but rather heavy-looking girl some two years senior of the first. Judging from her appearance, she had but just risen, for she was still clad only in a wrapper, while an abundant growth of fair hair, released from the cap which lay on the floor beside her stockingless feet, fell dishevelled upon her shoulders. Altogether, she presented a very impersonation of youthful indolence as she sat there, one hand supporting her elbow, while lazily she passed the other over her still sleepy-looking face.

"Oh, you are not up yet!" exclaimed her visitor, stopping short inside the door and eyeing the drowsy form before her with a disappointed expression.

"If I am not up, what am I?" she retorted, yawning audibly.

"I mean, you are not dressed yet."

"Have you come up here for the express purpose of giving me that undeniable piece of information?"

"Oh no," answered the other, quickly, as suddenly she bethought herself again of her pleasant news, and with recovered cheerfulness came close to her sister. "Uncle is going to take us with aunty to spend all to-day at Rathfelder's Hotel!—won't that be charming?—and all night, too, returning home to-morrow morning! Oh, isn't that nice?"

"Well, I don't see anything so particularly nice or charming in it," answered Charlotte in a wet-blanket sort of tone that very considerably quenched the light in the sweet, bright face before her.

"Don't you, Lotty? why not?"

"Oh, you will find out fast enough for yourself when there; do not tease me about it now, but go and send Susan here at once; I have been wanting her this last half hour or more."

"Last half hour? Why didn't you ring for her?"

"There! don't ask any more questions, Mechie, you are such a tiresome girl at that!" exclaimed Charlotte, impatiently; "go—do—and tell Susan to come to me; if you delay any longer it will be your fault if I'm late, and I shall get a scolding in consequence." So away went the young girl, wearing a very different aspect from that she presented when first we introduced her amidst sunbeams and smiles on the stairs.

In a pleasant room, the folding windows of which allowed egress upon the vine-covered stoop—and which windows were now wide open, admitting the fresh breeze from the in-coming ocean tide, the waters of the great Pacific, whose sparkling waves were tumbling and leaping toward the base of the Windburg far beneath—three persons sat at breakfast, Mr. and Mrs. Rossiter, middle-aged and of benevolent aspect, and our little friend Maria Marlow, or Mechie, as that name is given by the Dutch. Uncle and, aunt were mere nominal appellations, adopted by the two girls according to the wish of their kind benefactors, Mr. and Mrs. Rossiter, but no relationship existed between them.

Major Marlow quitted the army and India to become a settler in Cape Colony, and with his young wife and children—Charlotte and Maria—arrived in Cape Town during what was to him the inclement season of winter. Unhappily, his constitution, already injured by long service in hot climates, gave way before the sudden change, and in one month he died of inflammation of the lungs. His equally delicate wife, who loved him tenderly, sank under her severe loss, and in a few months followed him to the grave, but not before she had, through the goodness of God, found true Christian friends in Mr. and Mrs. Rossiter, to whom she trustfully consigned the possession and care of her little girls, then two and four years of age. Being themselves childless, they willingly accepted the charge, and in time loved the poor orphans as dearly as though they were their own by birth.

Though reared with equal care and love, the two children, as they advanced in years, displayed characters and dispositions of such opposite tendencies that their noble-hearted benefactors might have experienced as much vexation and disappointment in the apparent failure of their hopes on the one hand as gratification with their success on the other, had they not based their judgment of human nature upon the unerring word of God, which tells of the strange inconsistencies, singular varieties, perversities and inborn depravity of the souls of men. Happily, however, for all those under the influence and control of these excellent, right-thinking people, they had great faith in the influence of Christian training and the power of divine grace. They remembered the promises attached to patient and prayerful sowing the seed, the fruit of which would appear in God's right time. So they kept the ancient precept: "These words shall be in thine heart, and thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children; and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest, down, and when thou risest up." In such a home were Charlotte and Maria Marlow reared.

But having introduced my readers thus far to Fern Bank and its inhabitants, I will withdraw, and allow Maria Marlow to continue this little history in her own simple way.

CHAPTER II.

Circumstances had prevented my going to Rathfelder's Hotel (my young readers will understand it is Maria Marlow who now speaks) when, on a former occasion, Charlotte had been taken there, and I was gleefully chatting away to uncle and aunt of the anticipated pleasure as the former at last made her appearance.

"Oh, Lotty, Lotty, my child, how comes it about that you are again so late for breakfast?" aunty said, more in a tone of kindness than reproof, as she raised her face to receive the customary kiss which we always bestowed upon both our guardians when first greeting them in the morning; "you promised that for the future you would endeavour to be earlier."

"Yes, and it's all Susan's fault that I have not kept my promise this morning, aunty. I was out of bed, waiting for her to come and get me my bath, for nearly—" Here Charlotte, meeting uncle's eyes, suddenly checked herself, remembering how greatly he and aunt disapproved of an exaggerated style of speaking. The real truth was, as Susan had told me, that about eight or ten minutes had elapsed between the time of my looking into the bed-room to see if Lotty was up, which she was not, and my sending her there; and even that time need not have been wasted had Charlotte taken the trouble to ring her bell. "For a long while, at any rate," she continued. "Mechie came and found me sitting on the bedside—didn't you, Mechie?—and stared at me as though I had been a ghost," she concluded, sinking indolently into her chair.

I was glad to take refuge in a light laugh instead of further answer, knowing how little the case admitted of any reply likely to prove satisfactory to Charlotte. To my relief, also, uncle covered my silence by saying gently:

"Do not forget your grace, my dear girl. Let us always bear in mind from whose gracious hand it is we receive every blessing we enjoy, and be grateful with our hearts and thankful with our lips."

Charlotte directly stood up, and silently bent her fair head for a few seconds, and again resumed her seat. Aunt Rossiter did not at that time farther press the point on the subject of late rising. She detected, by our manner, that something was wrong, but, as was her custom on like occasions—that is, whenever the matter in hand seemed taking a zigzag course instead of the straight road of truth—she delayed speaking until such time as more favourable circumstances or a better state of feeling in the delinquent rendered it judicious to do so.

The breakfast was nearly concluded as Charlotte came in, and soon after Uncle Rossiter rose to quit the room. In passing her chair he affectionately laid his hand on her head, saying, gravely, "In being down so late, my child, mark, what are the consequences: first and principally, you have missed the prayer and chapter in the Bible; secondly, the meal is nearly over, therefore all is cold and comfortless; thirdly, you have vexed your good, kind aunt, to say nothing of myself, and now you must hasten, for the carriage will be at the door by ten, as we must not lose the cool part of the day for driving."

"Oh no, we will all manage to be ready by then, I am sure," rejoined Aunt Rossiter, cheerfully.

"Yes, we are sure to be ready, dear uncle," I cried, more warmly, perhaps, than I might otherwise have spoken. But my heart longed to say something to brighten his kind face, which was just then looking unusually grave, and Charlotte's general expression did not at that moment promise much in the way of concession. She seemed altogether too greatly disconcerted by the comfortless aspect of the breakfast-table to heed anything else.

Uncle smiled affectionately upon me, his fine, benevolent eyes kindling as he did so.

"Bear in mind what I am saying to you, my dear Lotty, when Susan calls you of a morning," he continued, again looking down on Charlotte; "remember that a sluggard in body is sure to be a sluggard in soul; remember that to win that prize which is above all price you must be active and energetic; remember what St. Paul says about those that strive or run to obtain a corruptible crown, and how he speaks of incorruptible. 'So run that ye may obtain.'"

Uncle then left the room without waiting for an answer, reiterating his request, however, as he went out, that we would be in time.

"Oh yes, dear uncle, depend upon it we will," I again repeated.

"Speak for yourself, Mechie, and don't undertake to answer for others," Lotty said in a quiet, half-sulky voice; "I will not promise by any means to be ready by ten, seeing I have only just begun my breakfast, and have, as you know, a very particular objection to being hurried over my meals."

"If you are not ready by the time your uncle wishes to start, my dear Lotty, we shall be under the unpleasant necessity of going without you," answered Aunt Rossiter in a tone so serious and firm that Charlotte did not attempt to dispute it, and silently continued her breakfast. Aunt then left the room. How much I wished that Charlotte would eat with a little less deliberation! At this rate of proceeding, I thought, she certainly never can or will be ready by ten.

"Perhaps, while you are finishing—" I began, when she interrupted me, sharply:

"I beg to observe that I am only just beginning."

"Well, then, perhaps more correctly speaking, while you are eating your breakfast, had I not better run up and tell Susan what we are going to wear, that she may get all ready for us, so as not to lose time?"

"Do as you like."

"What shall she put out for you?"

"I don't know; I've not thought about it."

"Oh, but do think about it, Lotty, please do," I urged, coaxingly; "I am certain to be ready myself, but there is so little time now left, I fear, unless you hurry more, you will not be dressed when the carriage comes to the door, and oh, I can't say how vexed I should be to go without you."

"The vexation will all be on your side, then; I should not care a bit."

"Oh, Lotty, is it a matter of such indifference to you whether uncle and aunt are distressed by your behaviour, to say nothing of me?"

"If uncle chooses to fix the time of our destination at so unreasonably early an hour, he must care very little whether I come or not, and therefore is not likely to feel much distress one way or the other, and as aunt quite seconded him, she, of course, thinks the same."

"But, Lotty, you know that everybody who can manage it sets off as early as that, or sooner, when they have a long drive before them; besides, the principal point is to secure a good long day at Rathfelder's. However, I must not waste time in talking, but run and get everything as forward as circumstances will admit of."

"Pray do; it will be quite a relief to be rid of you in your present worrying mood," replied Charlotte, coldly.

I had an uncomfortable misgiving in my heart that Charlotte's more than indifference to the expedition, together with her unhappy fit of ill-humour (which, to do her justice, was not a kind of temper of frequent occurrence in her), would unite in rendering her so careless about coming that the carriage would be at the door before she had even quitted the breakfast-table. So I hurried up stairs and ran to lay the case, with as much consideration for Lotty as it admitted of, before our kind old nurse and good, sensible friend, Susan Bridget.

CHAPTER III.

A truly worthy old body was our nurse, Susan Bridget. Stern and hard of visage, firm and determined in disposition and of unpolished though perfectly respectful manners, she was nevertheless peculiarly sweet tempered, and possessed as kind a heart as ever beat within woman's breast. She had been our nurse from the period of our first becoming inmates of Fern Bank, and each year that passed her simple piety, fidelity and unaffected good sense raised her higher and higher in uncle and aunt's esteem. Although not exactly adapted to the position of lady's maid, aunt would not dismiss her as we grew older, feeling secure that in her was united to the duties of an orderly, industrious servant the true thoughtful care and anxiety of a Christian friend, and that she was, therefore, well fitted for an attendant upon two growing up, motherless girls like ourselves. Susan was certainly an old-fashioned and not always very grammatical speaker, but that seemed, I always thought, to enhance yet more the spirit and truth of her admonitions, of which she was very unsparing toward her nurslings when she considered them needed. I liked her quaint matter-of-fact mode of speech far better than many a more elegant style, for it brought her directly to the point with a kind of rough eloquence that at once struck at the understanding, leaving the delinquent no excuse to stand upon. She was quick and just in her perception of character, and altogether peculiarly fitted to deal with so capricious and whimsical a young damsel as dear, humoursome Charlotte. To say the truth, too, the latter, if she did not entertain more respect for the opinions and scoldings of nurse Susan, as she continued to be called, was greatly more afraid of her than of our gentle and kind guardians.

"I can't think, not I, why it is Miss Lotty will be always so contrary in her ways!" Susan exclaimed after listening with a disapproving face to my modified account of the morning's contretemps; "what's the good of it? can she tell me that? She gains nothing and loses a deal; she spoils the pleasure to herself of almost everything she does by her whimsies and silly tempers, and makes other folks uncomfortable too. She doesn't see how ugly and unpleasant it makes her in the eyes of her fellow-creatures, spoiling her looks and her manners, but more and worse than that, how sinful it makes her in the sight of God."

"I am so afraid," interposed I, "that she does not intend going at all to-day, Susan."

"Not going at all!" repeated Susan in a voice of stern amazement, stopping short in her preparations for our dressing and staring at me.

"She says it is too early to go, and she will not hurry herself," I replied.

"Not hurry herself! that's a pretty way of talking, and it's her uncle and aunt as wants her!" and Susan hastened from the room and down stairs, saying, as she went, "I'll just give her a bit of my mind, that's what I'll do."

Now, in what that bit of mind consisted I did not know exactly, though I pretty well guessed. Its administration proved much more speedily efficacious, however, than the bits of mind which aunt and I had bestowed upon Miss Lotty, for in a wonderfully short space of time up she came, with a rather depressed head and considerably subdued look, albeit a half-rebellious expression still lurked in her eyes and round the corners of her handsome mouth. Close behind followed Susan Bridget with very much the air of a schoolmaster bringing back some runaway scholar, her tall, bony figure more than usually straight, stiff and determined. To have seen her at that moment any one would have thought her one of the most relentless tyrants in the world. Poor, dear, soft-hearted Susan!

There was but brief while for dressing, and no time was now lost on superfluous words. Susan, without waiting to extract the half-sulky, reluctant replies from Charlotte as to whether she did or did not approve certain articles of dress, unhesitatingly selected such as she herself chose for the occasion, and without ceremony put them upon Lotty, hastening her movements and utterly disregarding her pettish complaints and discontented looks. So it was, therefore, that when the carriage came to the door, and uncle and aunt were ready, to my great joy Charlotte was ready too—ready in fact a few minutes before myself, I not having had the advantage of Susan's assistance. Just lingering a moment as Lotty left the room to press a warm kiss of farewell and glad thanks for her successful management of the former on good old Susan's hard cheek, I sped down stairs after my sister, and we were soon on our way to Rathfelder's Hotel.

CHAPTER IV.

Were not places of pleasurable and healthful resort so few in the neighbourhood of Cape Town, its inhabitants would certainly not attach the degree of importance they do to visiting a spot so barren of attraction to the majority as is the country whereon stands Rathfelder's Hotel. A long, low, widespreading building, or rather cluster of buildings, it lies beside the road leading from Cape Town to Cork Bay, and nearly at equal distance—about seven miles—from both places. Excepting a scattering of small native cottages, no other habitation is within sight, and the country, bounded on the north-west by the seemingly interminable range of the Table Mountains, spreads away in other directions, far, far beyond sight, one unbroken flat. Indeed, "The Flats" is the name given to these parts by the natives. To the lover of flowers and of this kind of wild, independent solitude peculiar to the Flats, the gratification is boundless. The soil, a mixture of white sand and turf, is highly favourable to the growth of an immense variety of heaths and other flowering shrubs, which with ever-charming successions carpet the ground with their myriads of blossoms throughout the great part of the year. Heaths of the richest hues and luxuriance—scarlet, orange, pink and other colours—predominate.

It would seem that only by comparison is the value, the real pleasure or importance of anything known; even the degrees of pain and sorrow are learned but by contrast with the greater or lesser afflictions which have preceded them; and thus it was that a week or fortnight's stay at Rathfelder's or but a day's excursion to these flowery and cool regions—cooler and fresher by ten degrees than in or near the town—came to be regarded as one if not the principal delight of the hot summer-time to the inhabitants of Cape Town—especially to those who, like our dear uncle, were obliged by reason of their engagements to spend a great portion of every day in the scorching city. He was one of the managers of the great Colonial bank there.

"Oh, now, don't you call this pleasant, Lotty?" I exclaimed as we wandered together in the garden at the back of the hotel after dinner, uncle and aunt preferring to remain on the broad balcony surrounding that portion of the house allotted entirely to visitors. The garden lay at a distance quite out of sight of the house, and was shaded by fruit trees, while the banks of a stream which rippled over a pebbly bed skirting one side of the ground were brilliant with arum blossoms and other flowers, making the entire scene a very inviting one.

"Yes, it's very well in its way," answered Lotty, glancing about her with a careless air, "but I think we've had enough of it now; I should like a little change, shouldn't you? Can't we get upon those Flats, as they call them, I wonder?"

"Oh, but do you not remember," I urged, "that uncle so particularly warned us not to go beyond the garden this evening, as the hour is so late, the country so new to us, and daylight leaves this part of the Cape more suddenly than it does ours, because the sun goes down, you know, on the other side of the mountain. Just fancy losing our way out on those wild-looking Flats!"

"Losing our way!" repeated Charlotte, contemptuously; "as if that was possible in such a flat country as this. You are always such a coward, Mechie, that's the truth; and then you take refuge in a pretended obedience to uncle and aunt's wishes."

"Oh, Charlotte!" I exclaimed as I felt the blood rush to my face and brow, "you cannot mean what you say."

"Well, there! don't be offended," rejoined my sister, not attending to my vexed words, but passing through an opening which she spied out in the hedge beside us.

"Oh, Mechie," she continued in a delighted tone, "here is just the thing we want, nothing more nor less than a charming little rustic bridge which opens a way out of this stupid garden for us at once!"

I followed Lotty, who stood on a broad plank looking down into a deep, wide space which formed the bed of a much more pretentious stream or brook than that in the garden, this last being evidently an offspring of the first. Very reluctantly I followed my wayward sister, resolving just to look about for a minute or two on the confines of the Flats and then return to the garden. Ah, that weak or sinful first stop on the wrong road! After crossing the bridge and a large sort of enclosed field in a half-cultivated state, we clambered over some bars of wood serving as a gate at the farther end, and found ourselves out on the Flats.

But now it needed little more persuasion on Charlotte's part to induce me to proceed. Every step of the way teemed with attractions for me in the shape of flowers, beautiful and varied to a degree of luxuriance I had never seen before; and thus tempted, I became oblivious alike of dear uncle's advice and of time and path, and heedlessly followed Lotty, who wandered on ahead, every now and then gathering a blossom as its bright hue caught her eye, and as quickly casting it from her when curiosity was gratified.

So it came that walking and picking, each after her own fashion, it was not until my hand was full to inconvenience—for I was eager to carry back a splendid bouquet to Aunt Rossiter—that I observed the sun had disappeared behind the great Table Mountain and the brief twilight of that part of the world was fast becoming enveloped in the dark mantle of night. It so chanced I had got in advance of Charlotte during the last five or ten minutes, having passed her as she turned aside to look at something, and with increasing apprehension I saw how far we had strayed from the hotel—considerably farther than I had ever intended—and I felt how wrong and silly I had been to allow my sister's influence to have any weight with me in opposition to the advice of my guardian, who knew so much better what was in every way good for us than we could possibly know for ourselves.

Turning hastily to Charlotte, I exclaimed:

"Oh, Lotty, how dark it is growing, and we have walked such a distance! Oh, it was very foolish of us!"

Charlotte stopped suddenly and looking up and around her with a scared expression, said in an angry and alarmed voice: "Foolish indeed! why in the name of wonder, Mechie, were you so stupid as not to observe it before? and what did you run on for at such a rate, so fast and so far? It was as much as I could do to keep up with you! It is all your fault."

I knew well from past experience that to argue with Charlotte in her present mood would but increase her irritation and lose more of that time we had already spent too much of. When frightened or angry she seldom stopped to think of the justice or injustice her accusations, but unreflectingly cast anything at me which came into her head. Amidst my own distress, however, I could not withstand saying: "Well, it was very careless of me, I must confess, but indeed, Lotty, you cannot but fairly acknowledge that, having been the proposer and leader of this walk, it rested principally with you to be its regulator as to time and distance; and though I did not exactly act upon any defined impression of that kind, I am nevertheless conscious of having been in a manner influenced by it, and—"

"Proposer and leader!" interrupted Charlotte, angrily; "do you think I liked this stupid walk? I am not such a baby as you are, to find amusement wherever I go in picking up pebbles and flowers! It's just you all over, Mechie, to talk such nonsense!"

"Well, never mind, Lotty, who is in fault, but let us do our best to escape the consequence of our imprudence, and return at once," I answered, gently, seeing I was but wasting the precious minutes.

"Yes, that is if we can," said Lotty, gazing about her with a thoroughly perplexed look; "let me see—which way did we come? I declare it's more than I know; every side looks alike, and not a vestige of the hotel to be seen."

CHAPTER V.

Charlotte was evidently quite oblivious, in the heat of irritation and nervousness, of the previous scornful way in which she had repudiated the very idea of our losing ourselves in so flat a country. She now perceived that this unbroken level was the principal point to our disadvantage, no clearly-defined landmark anywhere presenting itself whereby we could guide our steps—none, at least, excepting the huge Table Mountain looming in the far distance, and which I remembered lay to our left in coming, and ought of course to be on our right in returning. This I suggested to Charlotte, without allusion to her past remarks on the subject, and at once commenced trying to trace our way, followed by my sister. Notwithstanding Lotty's frequently declared contempt for my tastes, pursuits and opinions, it a little amused me to observe that directly we were in any state of difficulty or danger she generally preferred trusting to my judgment and guidance to extricate us from our trouble; and so in the present instance I naturally took the lead, and to a certain extent was fortunately successful in finding the right path. This I knew by the fading blossoms Charlotte had scattered right and left on her course, and which I now looked out for. There must have been a slight inclination of the ground where the hotel stood, which, together with the thick growth of shrubs and bushes, quite concealed it from our view.

At last the deepening shades of evening deprived me of this only means of retracing our steps—Lotty's castaway flowers—and utterly perplexed I came to a standstill, trying to think what next to do. Charlotte, who was considerably more frightened than I was, added to my bewilderment by giving way to the most unreasonable temper, bewailing our dreadful situation, as she termed it, and railing at me for my stupidity in allowing my mind to be always so childishly absorbed by every folly which presented itself, instead of keeping my wits about me and acting as if I possessed one grain of common sense. Thus worried, I am sorry to say I lost my patience, and asked her pettishly in what manner she had been more wisely occupied, that she had not observed for herself in place of depending entirely on me to regulate the time and distance of our walk. Upon this she flew out, saying that of course, as I had objected so much in the first instance to our coming this way at all, she naturally concluded I should be sure to keep these objections in view and not go farther than was prudent; but it was just like me, and she had been a simpleton for trusting to me!

Repenting my hasty temper the next instant, I felt it was of no avail to dispute with one who, in her calmest mood, never to me admitted herself to be in fault, and was certainly not likely to do so now under the influence of her excited feelings. I took her hand soothingly in mine, and briefly pointed out how yet more injudiciously we were acting in thus losing the precious moments still left to us in profitless disputation, whereas our only sensible course was to make the best and speediest use of them to find our way back.

Appeased by this concession and admitting the truth of my words, Charlotte followed in quietness. We walked on over flowers and heaths, and through tangled underwood and between growths of bushes, many of them a mass of blossoms, trusting to chance to bring us right at last. But no, not chance: how could I say that, well aware as I am that there is no such thing as chance—that it is solely a word of man's own coining? Are we not expressly told that so loving an interest does God take in all the works of his hands that not a sparrow falls to the ground unnoticed by him? Silently I prayed for help out of this our trouble, for trouble it was, though not so great in itself as because of the anxiety and distress it would occasion our dear, kind uncle and aunt. I remembered in my anxiety that our heavenly Father has mercifully desired us to make known our requests unto him by prayer and supplication. This I said to Lotty, begging her to add her petitions to mine, which I believe that she did.

Well, on we went, and never before had Charlotte and I taken so wearisome a walk. The rapidly-gathering gloom rendering it more difficult every moment to direct our steps, we often became so entangled among the prickly shrubs with which these flats abound that our dresses were torn and our hands scratched painfully in our efforts to extricate ourselves, nor did there appear as yet any termination to these annoyances. Seemingly, we were far as ever from the hotel or any of its surroundings, and Charlotte became at last so tired and hopeless that she stopped, declaring she thought it worse than useless to go any farther, as we might, for aught we knew, be wandering in quite an opposite direction to that leading to the hotel, and thus go so far away from those who would be certain to look for us that they might not find us until morning, if even then. It was in vain I reasoned with her, pointing out that, though we might not be pursuing a straight path home, it was yet more certain we were not going directly wrong; the keeping the range of mountains on our right saved us from that, for if she remembered, they bounded the horizon facing the hotel. And as for danger, I urged, there could be none here; the Malays and negroes at the Cape were remarkable for their harmless, peaceful characters, and again I begged her to come on. But Charlotte was too nervous and altogether miserable even to wish to be pacified or persuaded, and would not listen to me.

"You do talk such nonsense, Mechie," she cried, "there's never any comfort in listening to you! and you expect me to be cheered and encouraged by mere surmises of your own. How can you answer for their being no dangers at night on these frightful wild flats? Doesn't the country swarm with snakes and poisonous reptiles—"

"Which only come out during the hottest parts of the day," I interposed.

"Well, there are plenty of other horrors which principally wander about at night," persisted Lotty, impatiently—"tigers for instance. Oh! I didn't think of that before. How dreadful!" and bursting into a flood of tears, she suddenly threw herself down amidst the heath, declaring she was too much fatigued and frightened to walk a step farther.

"But, Lotty, tigers never come so far away from their native jungles," I argued, "so please come on, there's a dear, good Lotty."

"There you go again," sobbed the incorrigible girl, "asserting things of which you know nothing. No tigers near a town! Why there may be one within a few yards of us now, for anything you or I know to the contrary."

"Well, then, I am sure we had better run on," I urged.

"Yes, and then he would jump at us!" replied Charlotte, looking round with a scared expression.

I tried to soothe her, saying that during all the many years we had lived at the Cape such a thing had not been heard of as a tiger visiting this part of the country.

"Not heard of!" repeated Charlotte, scornfully; "as if hundreds of things do not occur every day which you neither know nor hear of. A nice comforter you are, to be sure, Mechie!"

"Well, but, Charlotte, what is it you propose doing? Sitting there all night?" A feeling of impatience was again rising within me.

"I shall sit here certainly until some one has the humanity to come and look for us," she answered in a determined tone.

"Oh, do reflect, Charlotte, on what you are doing!" I pleaded; "do consider that poor auntie, and uncle too, will have become very anxious if not frightened about us before thinking it necessary to seek us, and—"

"And I only hope they will not go on much longer without getting frightened about us," interrupted Charlotte. "Oh how thankful I should feel to see uncle coming this way! I am sure all their united fears of a week wouldn't amount to mine at this moment."

I was excessively disconcerted by this obstinate fit of Charlotte's. Up to the present time I had no doubt that uncle and aunt believed us still in the garden, or the former would long ago have come to seek us, and my great anxiety was to return before they had discovered our absence and become apprehensive of our safety.

"If you are resolved to remain there, Charlotte," I exclaimed, "I cannot of course prevent you—I can't move you against your will—but you cannot expect me to second such a folly, nor will I. I shall leave you at once and try to find my way back, and then uncle will come and bring you home if I succeed in reaching it myself."

"You will do nothing of the kind," cried Charlotte, passionately. "If you dare, Mechie, I will never forgive you. How can you think of anything so wicked? I tell you I am tired to death and frightened to death, and quite unable to walk a step farther. If we stay here, they will be able to find us, but if—"

Charlotte stopped abruptly, for a rustling in the bushes a little distance on our right caused even my heart to bound with terror. We both strained our eyes in the direction of the sound.

"Look there! what's that? Oh, what's that?" gasped Lotty, pointing to a dark spot under a bush.

"Where? what?" I panted out, scarce able to breathe.

"There! don't you see it," she continued in a shuddering whisper and grasping my arm convulsively, "lying down there, crouching?"

I did see it, and felt more terrified than I had ever been in my life before. I saw the dark form of some large animal; and now it was partly raising itself, and gazing at us with great glittering eyes, distinguishable even in the gloom.

"I don't know! come on! oh, come on! quick! quick!" I exclaimed under my voice.

Charlotte, springing up instantaneously, caught my hand and tore away, dragging me after her. But one feeling guided us—to fly from the monster, whatever it was, regardless alike of impediments or course. Having run a considerable distance, suddenly, to our unbounded joy, we found ourselves opposite the very gate leading into the field we had before passed through. Scrambling over it, we now stood a minute leaning against the bars, breathless and panting, to see if we were pursued.

At this part of the Flats there was a large space free of bushes and underwood, and consisting only of sandy turf and innumerable small flowers. Nothing following us was visible as yet, but Lotty suggested the probability of its stealing round through the underwood; therefore we once more grasped each other's hand, and ran for our lives down the field to the bridge. Here we halted, for an obstacle presented itself to our proceeding which we had as little anticipated as any of the foregoing. Happily, we could clearly perceive over the open field that no animal of any kind was in pursuit. All was thus far safe, and requesting Charlotte to join me in heart in thanking the Almighty for having preserved us through we knew not what of peril, we set to work to surmount this last difficulty, namely, crossing the plank over the brook. A thick belt or line of low trees skirted the bank on the eastern side of the river, as this stream was called, and their shade, in conjunction with the fading daylight, so obscured the little rustic bridge as to render the walking across a very critical if not hazardous undertaking. The water was not deep, certainly, but the height from the plank to the bed was sufficiently great to cause us serious injury, perhaps, were we to miss our footing and fall. "What are we to do now?" I said, after contemplating the depth and darkness of the way with a thoroughly perplexed, but, I must confess, a rather amused, feeling. We were so near home now that my anxiety about aunt and uncle was considerably allayed, and our present position had, in my opinion, something irresistibly comical in it.

"I see nothing to laugh at," exclaimed Charlotte, pettishly, detecting those signs of merriment in my voice; "it's the most provoking thing in the world, I think. There seems no end of our troubles this evening! I am sure, long as I live, I shall never forget this odious walk!"

"We can't do better, both of us, than remember it," I answered; "for my part, I shall always strive to keep in mind the lesson it has taught me—not again under any circumstances, however pressing, to allow myself to disregard the voice of dear uncle or aunt, let it be on the most apparently trifling matters. Witness what our disobedience has cost us this evening! If we had attended to uncle's warning not to leave the garden, what an amount of fatigue, distress and terror it would have saved us!"

"There! don't waste time talking and lecturing, Mechie; what good will that do now?" cried Charlotte, impatiently. "How are we to get over this pitfall of a bridge now that it is so dark? That's the thing to be considered at present."

Charlotte stepped close to the plank, and going down upon her knees partly dragged herself and partly crawled over in safety to the opposite side, then springing up, cried out triumphantly, "There, Miss Mechie, what do you say to that? here I am, you see!"

Adopting the same mode of proceeding, I also effected a secure passage, though it was certainly with fear and trembling I did so. It is strange, I thought, that Charlotte, who throughout our previous adventures betrayed so much nervous fear, should on this quite as trying occasion prove herself possessed of considerably more courage and firmness than I. "The battle is not always to the strong, nor the race to the swift," I thought to myself; both would as it were have been lost in our ease this evening had the final victory rested with me, for I should never have been ingenious or brave enough of myself to conceive and practice such an unprecedented method to meet the difficulty but for Lotty's example.

CHAPTER VI.

"Why, Charlotte! why, Mechie! my dear children, where have you been?" broke in the anxious voice of Uncle Rossiter, who hastened forward from a side path to meet us.

"Oh, we very foolishly, and very wrongly too, forgot your advice, and went out on the Flats and lost our way, uncle," cried Charlotte, running to him and putting her arm within his; and as we proceeded to the hotel she continued in an off-hand manner, which somehow quite disconcerted me by its fluent flippancy, describing our having tired of the garden, and how, when upon the Flats, I had been so enraptured at sight of the beautiful flowers and occupied in gathering them that she had not liked to disturb me; moreover, she was highly gratified herself, and so it came to pass that advice and all else were forgotten, and on and on we wandered.

I did not say anything—indeed, Lotty allowed me no opportunity—and uncle's answer, when at last spoken, had a tone of gentle reproof and sorrow in it which went to my heart.

"Neither your aunt nor I thought you would venture beyond the garden after the warning you had received, it being already late when you went out; happily, therefore, we were saved the uneasiness your long absence would certainly have occasioned us."

"Oh yes! as it has turned out it was indeed very lucky you didn't know, uncle," rejoined Charlotte, quite cheerfully, feeling, I could see, exceedingly well satisfied that matters were, by her good management, seemingly drifting into so smooth a channel. "Mechie's and my greatest uneasiness all the while was the fear that you and auntie would find out our absence from the garden and be distressed by it; wasn't it, Mechie?"

"Ye—s," I answered rather reluctantly, remembering Charlotte's utter indifference on that very point, but not knowing at the moment what to say.

Hurrying on, Charlotte still talking in a vindicating style, we reached the balcony, and were soon in aunt's presence. She, who was as yet unconscious of our delinquency and believed we had only been sitting too late in the garden, dismissed us at once to our bed-room to take off our damp clothes before tea, which, she said, had been delayed some time by our absence.

"Now, Mechie, don't you say anything, but let me explain the whole business to aunt, and I'll make it smooth and right with her, as I did with uncle," Charlotte said while we were performing our hasty toilet. "But if you begin any of your blundering accounts, you will only do mischief. So now mind what I say, and leave it with me."

"I was not aware I was addicted to giving 'blundering accounts' of anything, Lotty," I answered, feeling rather hurt at such an imputation. "A simple statement of facts is all that the case requires, and in my opinion admits of—"

"That's all you know about it," interrupted Charlotte, contemptuously. "However, it doesn't matter what you think so long as you keep silent," she added, quickly. "So now are you ready?—for I am." Saying which, she left the room, and I hastily followed.

During our absence uncle had told of our misadventure, as described to him by Charlotte, and I was not surprised, though much grieved, to see a vexed, grave expression in my aunt's kind face as we came in.

"I am truly sorry, my dear children, that you disregarded your uncle's advice," she said, gently—"sorry for many reasons; but as I am sure you know what they are, I will merely observe that you might have wandered away in so totally wrong a direction as to have made it impossible for your friends to find you until the morning; and if nothing worse had befallen you than heavy colds, that alone might ultimately have proved the death of one or other of you. Besides, you know, my beloved girls, I am not strong—I am far from that—and believe me, it would be no light matter to me to experience the hours of apprehension and anxiety consequent upon your absence under circumstances so distressing."

Although I did not at that moment realize the full meaning of these last words, there was something in the tone and manner in which they were spoken and in the expression of her mild face, a trembling, affectionate earnestness in her voice, which made its way with painful keenness to my heart. Going to her and clasping my arms round her, I warmly and repeatedly kissed her cheek, saying how very, very sorry I felt at having vexed her and dear uncle, hoping they would forgive me and Lotty, and promising—with an inward determination which it was always afterward my constant prayer to be assisted in keeping—that nothing should make me ever again willingly do the smallest thing likely to distress them. Charlotte, who was seated at the tea-table (she and I made tea alternate evenings), rose at this instant, and coming to aunt's side, knelt down, and resting her hands on her lap, exclaimed with great seeming honesty, "I'll tell you all about it, auntie. I am a better hand at graphic description than Mechie is."

Charlotte was well aware that the view taken of the case, as regarded herself, would depend for its light entirely upon her keeping the account under her own direction. It was not that she had the least intention of asserting a wilful falsehood or purposely misrepresenting her conduct, but knowing she had been more in fault than I had, conceived there would be no harm done in just suppressing some parts wherein she figured alone, and carelessly throwing all the circumstances of the case into one line of action, in which we appeared to be mutually in fault, so as to secure herself from the blame of greater disobedience than I had shown.

Aunt Rossiter laid her hand kindly on Charlotte's head, and looking affectionately into her fair, handsome upturned face, said: "We will postpone the account, dear child, till after tea. It is late already, and we must not keep your uncle waiting any longer."

During tea we had an animated discussion as to the strange animal we saw under the bush, Aunt Rossiter being of opinion that it was a sick deer wandered away from the herd, as is their wont when wounded or otherwise injured, and Uncle Rossiter that it was a cottager's dog lying there to be quiet. Tigers, he said, had never been known to make their appearance so low down the country, nor any other savage beasts, with the exception of monkeys, which were sometimes violent and dangerous.

After tea uncle strolled out on the balcony. The rich Southern moonlight gave a yet wilder look to the long range of Table Mountains on the one side and the boundless flats on the other, bringing out in dazzling relief against the dark surrounding foliage the patches of white sand gleaming and glittering here and there like molten silver. And now Aunt Rossiter expressed a wish that each of us would give her a narration of our evening's adventure—that is, sharing it between us, one commencing and the other finishing. "And," she added, hastily, seeing a look of alertness in Lotty's face, bespeaking an eagerness to be the first to begin, "Lotty being, as she says, the most skilful in describing, shall take upon her the concluding portion; that, of course, will be the most sensational." And aunty smiled. "And she can exercise all her eloquence and ability to render it as interesting as possible. Mechie shall give me the more matter-of-fact beginning. Now, Mechie."

I perceived, what I do not think Lotty did, that aunt had other and deeper reasons for wishing to hear this little history of our troubles, and depended upon having a true statement from me. Thus called upon, therefore, I very reluctantly described our stroll in the garden and my enjoyment of its retirement, its shade, its beautiful flowers and wild scenery. I could not with the least truthfulness include Charlotte in a participation of these feelings, for she had made no pretence even of liking it or being at all charmed by the attractions which so pleased me. On the contrary, she unhesitatingly declared the garden to be stupid. With yet greater unwillingness I was obliged to admit Lotty's proposal to extend our walk, and my own objection, on the ground of uncle's advice and the lateness of the hour; and this I told, though truly sorry to tell of my sister's fault, for I dearly loved her. But it was a far more painful feeling to my nature to lie under the imputation of having utterly disregarded the wishes of our kind friends, and of even setting them totally at defiance. Albeit I felt my cheeks flush deeply, and my manner was nervous and my voice low, and I much wished I could have left out this disagreeable portion of my account, but it might not be. Charlotte, who from the style of my character well knew what was coming, sat with disconcerted face and averted looks, gazing out through the large folding windows on the moonlit scene.

CHAPTER VII.

When I concluded aunt placed a cushion on the ground by her side, and called to Lotty to place herself on it, which she did, laying her face in aunty's lap in an indolent sort of manner. Her expression was one of thorough consciousness of having done wrong, but without that feeling of repentance which would have filled my eyes with blinding tears and my cheeks with blushes. At this point I arose and went into an adjoining room, thinking my presence might distress Lotty; yet, the door being open, I heard aunty speaking earnestly on this old subject of truthfulness, pointing out the labyrinths to which so many resorted instead of following the straight road of honesty. She pressed upon her the danger of allowing small beginnings of sin to go on unchecked, seeing that even Lotty's short experience had often shown her how fatally great its endings sometimes became; and in no way, she added, was the point in question more forcibly illustrated than by the works of nature. "You have often noticed, and so, I know, has Mechie, a certain little cloud, peculiar, I believe, to the Cape, just making its appearance, creeping stealthily, occasionally quite hid, then emerging into view, then doubling round a projection, and turning and twisting, and so on, and over the top of the Table Mountain. You know how very small it generally is in the beginning, seldom larger than a man's hand, and is white and picturesque, and tangible-looking, and seems to select any tiny aperture or division on the mountain brow to glide through. One might really fancy its object is to avoid observation, or why not advance at once and openly over the broad unobstructed space? However, it seems unreasonable to suspect harm of so little and innocent a looking thing, for harmless indeed it then is, although in truth its undeveloped character is fraught with danger, violence and mischief. Well, it advances, and advances, gaining breath and magnitude every yard of the way, till finally the whole mountain side is enveloped in its folds. And now, no longer inoffensive in its proceedings, its real nature breaks out. Down pours a tornado of wind, sweeping over land and water, driving the ill-secured vessels from their moorings, bearing clouds of noxious sands into our habitations, and but that long experience has suggested to us efficient means of securing our property from destruction, much ruin would constantly result from the visit of that little, apparently simple mist. My dear child, when in future you are tempted to exaggerate in the slightest degree remember the 'cloud-hand.' I have been more especially induced to speak in this way on the present occasion because this morning, Lotty, I had a few minutes' conversation with Susan concerning your late rising, which has been frequent during the last fortnight, and your reasons and excuses for the same—many and various." Mrs. Rossiter abstained from any allusion to that evening's deception on Lotty's part. I knew her reason, and was grateful for it. She feared creating bitter feelings in my sister's heart toward me, and yet I was sure that Lotty's account to uncle of our misadventure, given in her own cautious style and coming so immediately after the offence of the morning, had excited aunty into thus speaking without farther delay and in the impressive manner she had done.

But now, softly quitting the room, I put on my hat and joined uncle on the balcony.

CHAPTER VIII.

We both slept that night, Lotty and I, in a large bed-room separated from uncle and aunt's by an ante-room. The folding windows, as in all the rooms, opened upon the balcony, and were only shaded by venetian blinds, which allowed of seeing clearly out, but not into the room. We were dropping asleep when Charlotte suddenly exclaimed in a drowsy voice: "By the way, Mechie, did aunty say anything to you about going away? She told me this evening she was—where to, I wonder?—and, from what she said, evidently intends leaving us behind—a thing she has not done before."

Of the four beloved beings comprising my heart's home (aunt, uncle, Lotty and Susan), our gentle Aunt Rossiter was the most dear to me, and the thought of being separated from her, even for a day, was more inexpressibly painful to me than until thus tried I had conceived possible. Starting up and leaning on my elbow, I looked at Charlotte, saying: "No, she did not tell me. What did she mean? What was she alluding to when she said it?"

"Oh, I can't remember that," replied Charlotte, pettishly; to her the matter did not seem one of much interest. "And indeed, Mechie, I wish you would not fly up in that extraordinary manner, just as if I had told you poor, quiet aunty had talked of setting the hotel on fire. Do try and be more rational, and less of an uncontrolled child. At this hour of the night especially your wild behaviour quite worries me. Lie down and go to sleep. Aunty will be sure to tell us all about it to-morrow."

"Oh, Lotty, I can't sleep till you tell me all you know. Please do—everything she said."

"But I have nothing to tell you, for the simple reason that aunt, as I said, refused to answer my questions. So now, pray, do not talk any more. The matter is not worth the fuss you are making, and I am very sleepy." Thereupon Charlotte turned her back to me.

"Lotty, look here! just tell me, word for word, what aunty said about going away, and what led to her saying it at all, and I won't disturb you any more to-night, I won't indeed."

"Dear me! what a nuisance you are, Mechie, with your curiosity and your questions!" cried Charlotte, impatiently. "Well, remember you are to keep to your word, for it's little enough I have to tell you, and little satisfied you will be with it, any more than you are now; but I can't help that, bear in mind. Let me see: aunt had been giving me a lecture on the subject of truthfulness, though why I cannot conceive, for no person is more truthful than I am. I hate a falsehood, and never utter one—though I don't pretend to say I go headforemost at everything in the steeplechase fashion you do," continued she, correcting herself rather, as the "cloud-hand" rose to her recollection as last she saw it creeping through a cleft on the mountain top. "I do not consider that necessary for either the sense or truthfulness of anything."

"But, Lotty," I said in a deprecatory voice, fearing to offend her, "don't you remember what uncle said?"

"Don't bring forward what uncle and aunt say about the matter," broke in Charlotte, impatiently. "They are full of old-fashioned notions on that and many other points not worth repeating."

I felt my cheeks burn at this contemptuous treatment of opinions I perfectly reverenced, but continued gently: "What uncle said would be just as applicable to any period, past or present. He said that if in describing any circumstance, conversation, or even feelings, the narrator omitted or altered the smallest part, with deceptive intent to change the character of the whole statement and produce a different impression on the minds of the hearers than a straightforward account of the simple facts would have done, it was tantamount to asserting a positive falsehood, since 'lying is but the intention to deceive;' and that phase of it is as hateful and sinful in the sight of God as any other."

"According to that, then, an abridged book, in which all that is objectionable is left out, is not worth reading, because the remainder, though good, gives rise to an erroneous impression of the whole."

"That is hardly a good illustration, Lotty," I answered. "It admits of many positions, which truth does not."

"I don't see how that can be," objected Lotty.

"Well, this one alone is sufficient: In altering a book by, as you say, leaving out the objectionable parts, the motive could only be a good one, and not under any circumstances with an intention of deceiving; it is done with a wish to render the work to all readers harmless."

At this juncture Charlotte gave so loud a snort in pretended imitation of snoring that it quite startled me.

"Oh, Lotty!" I cried, "how could you?"

"What is it, dear? what's the matter?" cried the naughty thing in a well-assumed bewilderment.

I could not resist laughing a little, exclaiming, "Oh, for shame, Lotty!" Then anxiously I begged her to answer my first question regarding aunt's allusion to going away.

"Dear me, Mechie!" cried my sister; "I do wish you would let me go to sleep! What a pest you are, to be sure, when you get anything into your head! I'm sorry I was goose enough to tell you a word about it till to-morrow morning, when you might have talked and queried as much as you liked, and I could have listened and answered as much or as little as I liked. However, this is all I know of the matter, so now listen for once and all. Aunty, as I told you, was scolding away—"

I could not withstand an interruption: "Poor aunty scold! she never did such a thing in her life!"

"Well, lecturing then; and in my opinion that's worse; I would rather a good deal have one of Susan's scoldings. Short and sharp, they always either frighten or anger me, which prevents my feeling weary and sleepy, both which sensations afflict while undergoing a lecture from dear, good, well-meaning aunty."

"Please go on, Charlotte," I interrupted. Nothing was more unpleasant to me than this style of flippant invective toward our generous benefactors which Lotty was so fond of indulging in. She thought it witty, I know, and it was this, I felt sure, which instigated her to exercise so unamiable a humour, and not any want of affection for them.

"I am going on faster than you like, or you wouldn't say that, Miss Mechie," she said; "however, I have no wish to lose time. After aunty had lectured me to her heart's content she kissed me, and concluded with these words in a lower voice that trembled, I thought, a little: 'I shall not be always with you, my love. I may not be so long, even. God only knows;' and then she added something about wishing to her heart that before she left us we should both have become all that is pleasing to our heavenly Father. I asked her what she meant and where she was going to, but she only answered, 'We will not talk of that now,' and made me finish the account of our evening's adventure; and that's all I can tell you, so good-night!"

"Oh, I wonder you could have forgotten aunt's words until only just now!" said I in a low, unsteady voice.

"There's nothing particular to remember in them that I can see," replied Charlotte, carelessly; "people must be separated sometimes; aunt is going on a visit for a little while, no doubt. She has not left home by herself within my memory—that is, without us—and it is high time she should begin, I think. But now go to sleep, do; I have told you everything, and if you talk any more, I won't answer you, so do not trouble me any longer, I beg of you." Thereupon she again turned her back, and in a few minutes I distinguished by her regular breathing she was fast asleep.

Not so with myself. I could not sleep; every wish to do so was gone, chased away by my sister's words, and I lay looking out on the balcony, that appeared white as snow beneath the silver moonlight. What did aunt mean? why had she not told me? and why when saying it to Charlotte did her voice lower and tremble? Those changes must have been conspicuous indeed for my careless sister to have observed them. Then came back suddenly to my recollection the words spoken by aunt, which, though not understood by me at the time, nevertheless took such painful hold upon my heart: "For indeed, my dear children, I am not strong, and it would be no light matter to me to experience the hours of anxiety," etc. Coupling this sentence with the announcement made to Charlotte, could it be? did she know it? was she—was she going to die?

This thought, which seemed to flash like fire through my brain, sent a rush of agony to my heart beyond my power to lie still and endure. Softly leaving the bed, I stole to the window and sat down, and gazed for some time with tearless, unconscious eyes on the singular view, white and ghost-like in the moonbeams. Our kind, gentle, loving benefactress—oh, more than that, our tender, devoted mother!—was she going to die? going to leave us? Were we never again to meet in this world? to hear her soft, earnest voice? be encouraged and brightened by her affectionate smile?

The hour, the wild loneliness of the place and the death-like stillness within and without sharpened these reflections to a degree of keenness which for a while quite bewildered me by the intensity of their misery, they were so new, so sudden and so unprepared for; for though always delicate, our cheerful, enduring, uncomplaining aunt was one of the very last people with whom I should of myself have connected the chill, dreary idea of death; for—alas that so it is and ever will be!—darkness and cold and dreariness are the brief attributes of death to our mortal nature, and we shrink from it even when the sting is removed and the grave no longer triumphs.

But now, the perception once awakened, one remembrance after another came thronging to my mind, until dread doubt became an overwhelming certainty, and bowing my face in my hands upon my knees, I wept such tears as I had never before shed in my young life. Nor did they bring me that relief the tears of childhood had hitherto done; they were hot and scalding, and seemed but to scorch my pained heart. After a while I bethought me I was not acting as aunt would approve, and how unhappy it would make her were she now to see me thus hopelessly and rebelliously yielding myself up to sorrow. Sliding down upon my knees, I prayed long and ardently—prayed that dear aunt might be spared. Oh, never before had I experienced more truly the feeling of praying from my soul and heart as I did now! My whole being trembled with the fervour of my petitions. I wished to pray for our good, kind uncle, that support might be given him, if God, in his divine wisdom, still saw best to remove her from amongst us, and for a spirit of submission in myself, but I could not. I felt as if it were impossible any amount of support could in the slightest degree reconcile us to a loss that seemed like wrenching away the principal part of our very existence. I grew more calm, however, for prayer will always bring a peace to the believer's heart which the whole world cannot give at such times, and presently I returned again to my bed and to a dreamy sleep extending later into the beautiful morning than I wished.

CHAPTER IX.

The bright sunshine, the soft voice of birds, whose songs in that clime, though brief and broken, are peculiarly melodious, the glow and glitter and warm stir of life above, below and on every side, were altogether so little in unison with the sad thoughts which had agonized my mind the previous night that my spirits, buoyant with youth, yielded to these cheering influences, and began to rise again to their own level. Hope struggled within my heart, and so far succeeded that, as I pursued my morning's walk through the sweet garden and over the memorable plank bridge to the Flats, I commenced to question with myself whether Lotty's view of the case might not after all be the right one, and that the more likely because her cooler, quieter judgment would favour her discerning the truth more clearly than my anxious disposition admitted of. Perhaps dear aunty was only meditating a short visit to some friend's house, and could not conveniently take us with her as heretofore. Yes, I would hope and wait.

MECHIE AND THE GARDENER.

page 75

On my return home after a more agreeable wander over the Flats than I had dared to anticipate upon first setting off, and as I was passing through the garden, I saw a man at work beside the path I was coming down. Hearing my steps, he turned sharply and looked at me from under his beetling brow. What a disagreeable look it was!—like that of a savage wild animal meditating a spring at me. Never before, I thought, had it fallen in my way to meet with a human being of so repellant an appearance as this man had, both in face and form. He evidently possessed great muscular strength, judging from his short, broad form and large head, which latter, as he took off his cap to wipe his forehead with a very unrefreshing-looking red handkerchief, displayed a thick growth of matted black hair, wiry and curling. I must confess that as I thought of the loneliness of the garden and my possession of a beautiful gold watch and chain—the latter worn conspicuously in front of my dress, and which were the gifts of my kind uncle and aunt on my last birth-day—I felt very uncomfortable at having to bring so tempting a prize closely within his reach. Encouraging myself with the reflection that not only was his occupation a harmless one, but that he must have received some sort of recommendation to induce Rathfelder to engage him as a servant, I came slowly up to him as with a concluding scratch of his head, which he gave in a savage kind of way, he thrust his handkerchief into his pocket and replaced his cap. From very nervousness—a feeling akin, I afterward thought, to that which, with so strange and irresistible a power, draws the poor bird into the jaws of the rattlesnake—I stopped and wished him good-morning as pleasantly as I could, to which civil greeting he merely vouchsafed a grunt.

"I suppose you are Mr. Rathfelder's gardener?" I suggested, wishing to further propitiate him.

"I s'pose I be—leastways, he thinks so," he answered in a compound tone of fierceness and sulkiness.

"Well, but are you not?" I repeated, puzzled by so doubtful a reply, and still less reassured by his words and manner.

"I don't mean to be so long, that's sartin." He seemed determined to avoid giving me a straightforward answer, and as I stood perplexed and casting about in my mind what next to do or say, he added abruptly, "John Rathfelder don't pay me wages enough, that's the fact; and if he won't, I shall cut, that's all."

"I have always understood that Mr. Rathfelder is a generous, liberal master," I objected, in some surprise. "Surely there is some mistake. Did you engage with himself or through another?"

"There's no mistake about it," he rejoined, roughly. "I'll tell 'ee what it is," he added, speaking with fast-increasing fierceness, for the unlucky subject was one which evidently excited very bitter feelings, "it don't follow that what be liberal to some be so to all. He might be liberal enough to them 'ere stoopid black critters, but if he thinks Joe Blurdon will put up wi' the like he'll find himself in the wrong box, that's all."

"What country do you belong to?" I asked, feeling more and more uncomfortable as I detected his wild, glittering eyes, which boldly stared at me, frequently fastening themselves with, I thought, a hungry, rapacious look upon my gold chain, which he no doubt supposed to be attached to a valuable watch within my belt.

"Hinglish, to be sure!" he answered, with a look and tone of indignant surprise at, he considered, so unnecessary a question. "I be Hinglish, and don't want to be nothing else."

How much I wished some one would come into the garden, and break the spellbound feeling which, despite my fear and dislike of this man, kept me against my will rooted to the spot!

"Is not Rathfelder as good a paymaster as all other land-owners at the Cape?" I asked.

"I got a deal better wages when I drove a bullock-wagon up country," he answered in his usual evasive way; "I had five pun a week, and my wittles; and John Rathfelder, he gives me two pun ten a week, and I 'ont go on wi' it."

My worst suspicions were awakened by this acknowledgment of his former occupation, for of all reckless characters the wagon drivers amidst the savage wilds of Africa are considered among the worst. Nevertheless, despite all my apprehensions and his forbidding looks, an inclination I could not withstand impelled me to say a word of advice and warning to his darkened soul. I was as yet unskilled in such style of speaking; but no matter, thought I; I hold the seed in my hand, and I will at least cast it on the earth, and leave the rest to that merciful God who has declared of his word that it shall not return unto him void. Besides, I really felt a sort of pity for the man, who was evidently unhappy. Dashing abruptly into the subject, I exclaimed, "Oh, don't go back again! don't go back to those savage, godless places! how do you know but that the Almighty, in pity to your uncared for, uncaring condition, has himself worked out your return to this Christian, civilized part of the world, where you can hear his word and be taught his laws in order to save your soul and bring you in the end to himself? And oh, think how soon that end might be at hand! What is the longest life in comparison with eternity, an eternity—according to how you live in this world—of woe unutterable or of such joy as the heart of man hath not conceived? Stay at the Cape—do—and go to church every Sunday, and pray to God to make you all that is pleasing in his eyes. You will be happier, I promise you, than you have ever been while living without God in the world, even though your wages are far less."

It was clear that he had never before been so addressed, and the mixed and varied expressions which came and went like light and shade over his dark, hard face were curious to see.

"My mother was one of your sort, and as good an 'ooman as ever lived; I mind that, though I was young when first I left her," he said with a more softened voice than before.

After a short silence, during which I endeavoured to recover from the excitement which almost took away my breath,

"Is she still alive?" I asked.

"Still alive?" he repeated, abstractedly, "yes—leastways, she was when I last heered from her."

"Then you can write and read? and you keep up a correspondence with her? Only think how nice to be able to tell her you are living a respectable, religious life in Cape Town, and that you are looking forward to meeting her again in another and happier world, if not at home. Wouldn't that make her very glad?"

In speaking of his mother, I saw I had touched the one chord which still rang out in unison with one of the best and holiest of human feelings and sympathies. I saw it in the changed tone of his voice and in the softened look of his face, that contrasted strangely with its general expression of ferocious recklessness and degradation. But my last words proved a sad failure, for to my extreme terror and astonishment his manner suddenly and completely changed; all that was hopeful and gentle vanished at once from his features, which resumed their former wild-animal style of fierceness, distrust and dislike.

"I'll tell 'ee what, miss, I don't like this at all, I don't!" he exclaimed, savagely. "I sees what it is. Some mean, cowardly-hearted villain has been a telling on me, and have set you on to trap me. That's the fact!"

His eyes gleamed and glared so ferociously I felt frightened half out of my wits. In vain I assured him he was mistaken, that no one had spoken to me about him in any way, that in truth I was ignorant of his very existence until I saw him in the garden.

"He didn't believe me," he said, "not a word, and I ought to be ashamed of myself, that I ought, to be a-preaching at him one minute and telling lies the next."

Of course I am obliged to leave out some of his words while thus condemning me, they were so profane and dreadful. "I was a good-for-naught wench," he concluded, "and he'd have nothing more to do with me." Thereupon he struck his spade energetically into the earth and resumed his digging.

As much grieved and disappointed as terrified by the failure of a success so near attainment, I stood hesitating whether or not to make another attempt; but the determined, dogged expression of his countenance and every movement deterred me, and sorrowfully I left the garden.

When again, during breakfast, my eyes rested on the pale, sweet face of Aunt Rossiter, the recollection of last night's painful fears concerning her almost chased away more recent feelings, and I resolved I would take the first opportunity which offered during the morning to ask her the meaning of those words she had spoken to Lotty which had caused me so much distress. After a while I related my conversation with the gardener and its mortifying termination.

"Such a result is not to be wondered at, my little Mechie," uncle said, smiling encouragingly on this my first serious attempt to turn an erring fellow-creature from the path of sin. "I was walking up and down the stoop a little while ago with mine host Rathfelder, and this gardener passed at the time, and impressed me, as he did you, with an unpleasant feeling of what a singularly unprepossessing-looking being he was. It seems Rathfelder's former gardener was old and sick and obliged to give up work, and Joe Blurdon, as he calls himself, was engaged a few weeks ago to supply his place. The exigencies of the case—for no other labourer in that capacity could be obtained just then—prevented our landlord from being as particular regarding character as he usually is, and he unfortunately contented himself with receiving a short, unsatisfactory recommendation from his last master, for whom he had worked a very little while, and whose place is the only one he has filled with the exception of Rathfelder's since his coming to the Cape. He is drunken, idle, discontented and altogether worthless, the landlord says, and is to leave his service in a few days. So you see, my darling Mechie, if you had succeeded, as in your amiable heart you wished, in making a convert of that misguided man, you would indeed have achieved a great victory."

CHAPTER X.

To my extreme satisfaction—for there was a vast deal in this wild, out-of-the-world place which particularly took my fancy—uncle and aunt decided upon our remaining a week at Rathfelder's Hotel. Dear aunt had passed a better night than she had done for a long while, Uncle Rossiter said, which made him desirous of trying the effect of a longer stay, and he should go home that day to arrange accordingly and bring back Susan to attend us.

Aunt met my examining eyes fixed upon her—oh, she knew not how anxiously—and smiled lovingly upon me. It was a bright smile, and yet a sad one too. Ah me! what keen note I was beginning to take of every look and tone which came from her now!

"But why can't you sleep, aunty?" inquired Charlotte, carelessly. "Aren't you well?"

"One thing is certain, dear Lotty: we cannot expect always to enjoy the same health," she replied, I thought evasively. "By-the-bye," she continued, abruptly changing the subject, "we must not forget, dear," turning to Uncle Rossiter, "that our wardrobes will require an addition with this unexpected increase of absence from home, so please bear that in mind and mention it to Susan."

In the course of the morning aunt and I went into the garden to enjoy its shade and sweetness. Charlotte preferred remaining on the balcony with her books and work, and as we were the only visitors at that time in the hotel, she would not be interrupted. Having taken a few turns about the paths, we seated ourselves on a rustic bench delightfully shaded by a narquotte tree, whose branches were clustered over with a delicious little golden fruit, while the surrounding air was redolent of odour from a group of young lemon trees in full bloom, and other rich scents.

And now I turned over in my mind how best to introduce the subject nearest my heart. Happily, Aunt Rossiter opened a way for me at once by saying, anxiously: "What makes my little girl so unusually grave and silent this morning? I trust you are not ill, dear child? or has anything occurred between Charlotte and yourself to vex you?"

Upon that I reminded her of her words to Lotty on the previous evening, saying how much the thought of a separation distressed me, and begging her to tell me where she was going to and for what reason, whether on a visit or for change of air.

She did not immediately speak, and I heard her suppress a sigh as, putting her arm round me, she drew me slowly to her side and fondly pressed her lips to my cheek. This silent action spoke volumes to my already trembling heart. An intolerable sensation of anguish, as on the preceding night, came down upon me like lead, oppressing my very breathing. She had confessed nothing, but yet I now felt, felt for a certainty, that I knew all—knew that my worst apprehensions were correct, that death was the coming separation.

Presently she spoke; her voice was a little unsteady, but low and calm: "My beloved child, remember that not a sparrow falls without the will of our heavenly Father. Whatever happens to his servants, whether of outward weal or woe, is certain to be for the best."

"You never said you were ill," I answered, in choking words. "Oh, aunt, why did you not tell me before?"

"Until quite lately I was quite ignorant of the seriousness of my complaint. Even Dr. Manfred was misled by delusive appearances, and believed that I should recover; but God in his wisdom sees fit to ordain it otherwise, and his will be done!" Again she lovingly kissed my cheek, and I unconsciously drew myself away and sat up. A feeling as though I had been stunned half bewildered me. By degrees this passed off, and then, oh how changed everything seemed to me! The brightness of the sun and the flowers, the scented air, the glad voice of birds and brook, were all now but as a hollow mockery of happiness, and I marvelled how they could look and sound so joyous while I felt so unutterably miserable.

At this instant Blurdon came by with his spade on his broad shoulder, and gave me a quick, defiant glance. Something in my face—the impress, I suppose, of the dreary feeling of woe which possessed my whole being—caused him to look again and almost stop.

"You must find this very hot weather for working," aunt said in her kind, winning voice.

"What's the matter with her?" he returned for answer, stopping and indicating myself with a jerk of his thumb.

Aunt hesitated for an instant, and then said: "In common with all human beings, my little girl finds it very difficult and painful sometimes to submit her will to that of her heavenly Father."

"Why, what's she been a-doing of? What harm can the likes of such a soft little creature as that do?" he growled, eyeing me with a perplexed and perplexing stare, for was it possible that this wild, savage, strange man felt sorry for me? And yet I thought he looked as if he did.

"Judging from the style of your accusations against her this morning, you did not then consider her so innocent or harmless," rejoined Aunt Rossiter, smiling, and with intent, I knew, to check further questioning on his part. It instantly took the desired effect.

"Ah, that's true enough!" he exclaimed, savagely. "I'd forgot that, I had. No, it's not always, nor maybe never, for the matter of that, the most innocent-looking things are the safest. I knowed a-many flowers up country as soft and pure to see as she be," nodding his shaggy head at me, "and yet they was as full of poison as they could hold—ay, that they was!" and with another defiant glance, that seemed to dare me to do my worst, he strode on his way.

I longed to ask Aunt Rossiter whether she was very ill, whether the doctor had said she would die soon; but besides that the mere uttering such woeful words made me shrink, I dreaded her answer. I felt if she told me, "Yes, in all human probability she must leave us speedily," I could not bear it.

Once more she came to my assistance. Again putting her arm around my waist and drawing me close to her, she said, in her usual cheerful, heart-comforting voice: "It does not follow, my precious child, that because my disease is mortal it will in consequence be brief. Under the blessing of the Almighty, human skill and care may keep me with my beloved on earth much longer than I think. Trust in the mercy and wisdom of our heavenly Father, therefore, my little daughter; pray for me, pray that he will, if he sees good—only on that condition—permit me to remain amongst you yet a while."

I could only kiss her fondly; I could not speak. "Oh," thought I, "if prayers and entreaties to heaven, if love and care and skill can obtain it, will we not try!"

If only a few days ago sweet, gentle aunty had uttered such uncertain words, how sad and comfortless would they have sounded to my then all-confident soul! but now they came as a bright flash of hope piercing the gloom which enveloped my heart, like an indefinite reprieve to one condemned to execution. One of the wisest, most merciful arrangements of Nature is that gradual advance toward the completion of her works, and not the least so among them is the ready buoyancy of youth—that happy tendency, the result of the ignorance of inexperience, to turn away from the shadowed to the sunny side of life's path. Were it otherwise, were distress and grief to cling to us in the springtime of our existence as in its autumn, alas! how aged should we prematurely become! How soon would the winter of life settle down upon our heads and heart—ay, before the sunshine has even come.

From that day forward, my first, my ever-anxious prayer was for our beloved protectress, my constant thought and care to promote her comfort and guard her from every breath of harm. And as time went on, bringing with it a perceptible change for the better in her general health, so my spirit lightened of its load of solicitude. Albeit I was conscious that the sorrow of that day had cast a shadow between my heart and its before unreflecting joyousness which neither event nor time could remove, yet it was a merciful lesson, teaching my inexperienced soul the uncertainty of all human happiness, teaching me that in the midst of life—ay, the brightest, the most seemingly blessed and prosperous life—we are in death. Ah, boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth!

CHAPTER XI.

Upon uncle's return, he brought us the unwelcome intelligence that Susan had been suddenly sent for by her aged mother, who was ill, and that consequently she could not come to us at present, but hoped to do so soon. I will here add that she was prevented from acting upon that wish until too late to be long of use to us at Rathfelder's Hotel. "And meanwhile," continued Uncle Rossiter, with a meaning smile, "Lotty must take care of herself, and Mechie will take care of us all."

"How will you like that arrangement, Lotty?" asked aunt, giving one of her gentle, anxious looks at Charlotte.

"Judging from past experience, and especially that of last night, I would rather take care of myself than trust to sister Mechie to do it for me, auntie," replied Charlotte, laughing.

I did not know to what experience she alluded, whether the troubles of our walk, which she still persistently laid at my door, or my keeping her awake when we went to bed.

"Why, what mischief has my little girl been at?" uncle said gayly.

Charlotte, seeing that her love of repartee was bringing her, as it too often did, into trouble, extricated herself by exclaiming, "Oh, by-the-bye, uncle, what about our clothes? Could you manage it with Susan from home?"

"Oh yes," he said; one of the other servants had packed a box full for us, and we should, he hoped, do very well.

Charlotte and I then went to our room to dress for dinner.

"As I walked by myself

I talked to myself,

And myself said to me,"

sang my sister, while combing her hair; but I will not conclude the verse, for to those who know it already it is unnecessary to repeat it, and those who do not lose nothing by their ignorance. To me the sentiment it contains is so odious in its selfishness that although I feel certain Charlotte had no unamiable motive in thus singing the really silly words, yet her tone and manner grated harshly with a heart still aching under its present load of afflictive knowledge. I was the more vexed, too, because only a short time back I had told her of my conversation with aunt in the garden and the painful confession it had elicited; and though certainly surprised at the moment by her calm reception of an announcement which had so greatly tried and distressed me, I inwardly laid it to her superior firmness and self-control enabling her to take a more rational view of the case. Her calmness often made me feel myself to be morbidly sensitive, foolishly tender-hearted to a degree which was sometimes quite sinful. There were occasions however—and this was one—in which I pined to see a little less (I will honestly confess it) of the firm, upstanding spirit and more of weeping sympathy. I cannot but say that Charlotte heard my sad news with surprised feeling and evident regret; the colour deepened in her cheek and her eyes filled with tears; but it hurt me keenly to see how quickly she recovered from the stroke, making up her mind that, as she expressed it, "what must be, must be, and all the grieving in the world could not prevent it."

"If all the care in the world can, it shall," I exclaimed, passionately, yielding for the first time to an irrepressible burst of agony which drew upon me a lecture and a scolding, though not unkindly, from Charlotte.

"Such violent, uncontrolled sorrow, Mechie, proves a want of proper submission to the will of God," she went on. "I really wonder at you! Does not the Bible say, 'Have we received good at the hands of God, and shall we not receive evil?' or words to that purport at least. We have had nothing but good, as you know, all our lives through; and now the very first affliction which is sent upon us excites in you a most unholy feeling of opposition and expressions of murmuring and discontent."

And thus Charlotte continued until the subject, or rather her eloquence, was exhausted, wholly forgetting how often some trifling inconvenience or a few hours' illness had led her to bewail and lament over herself as one of the most ill-used and unfortunate beings in the world, and how any consolation or admonition on my part had been met by arguments as skilful in support of her discontented feelings as those she now used in condemning mine.

These thoughts and many others bearing upon the strange inconsistencies of her character, which I never could quite understand, flashed through my mind while Charlotte was carelessly singing the foregoing rhyme. That she could sing at all and seem so sorrow free only two short hours after hearing from me of our threatened bereavement astonished and pained me beyond expression. And now to be proclaiming, even in joke, that "no one cared for her, and therefore she had better take of herself," added so strong a feeling of anger to my other sensations that I cried out in a vehement tone: "Don't say that, Lotty! I can't bear to hear you. They are unchristian, unholy, heartless words! And how do such sentiments agree with what you said a short time ago—and very truly—that our whole life has been a continuation of blessings? Oh, Lotty, Lotty, how I do wish you would try, with the help of the Almighty, to cure yourself of that inconsistency which makes you appear what I know you are not—heartless and selfish!"

Charlotte had affected to be startled as first I spoke, and stared round at me with wide-open eyes of assumed amazement.

"Why, Mechie, how you frightened me! Really, these violent outbursts of indignation quite take away my breath. I must say I am very glad, considering poor auntie's delicate state of health, that you always reserve your heroics for my especial edification. Such sudden surprises would be highly injurious to her."

"My heroics! Oh, Charlotte, when you see me really distressed is it kind to speak in that sneering way?" I said, warmly, and bitter tears filled my eyes.

"Dear me, Mechie! do not be so silly; you know I do not mean to be ill-natured."

"I know you do not mean to be unkind in any way, dear Lotty, and it vexes me the more to hear you repeat as if you were in earnest such selfish words as you sang just now."

"Oh, now you are giving me credit for too much or too little, whichever it is," answered Charlotte in a more serious tone than she had yet spoken and again resuming her hair dressing. "I am not at all sure that I did not quite sympathize with the feeling of the author—indeed, that I do not do so now; at any rate, a sensation closely akin to the sentiment so beautifully expressed in that poetic verse filled my heart and thereupon overflowed my lips," she said, laughing a little.

"Oh, Lotty!"

"Now you just look here, Mechie, and say honestly whether I am not perfectly excusable." In her unreflecting vehemence Charlotte evidently quite overlooked the fact of there being any one else in the same boat with herself. "Look here. I am brought away, without any will of mine being consulted, from a home full of comforts and luxuries—which ours certainly is; from attendance abundant and varied according to every requirement; from agreeable society, suited to my tastes—Hester Martin, Jane Burgess, Lucy Morgan, and the rest; from other pleasures and advantages which I need not enumerate,—to a place destitute of every attraction under the sun—a wild, dreary, frightful country, a great and desolate hotel without a soul in it but ourselves; no companions, no servants even, except the St. Helena girl and her sister who cook and do the rooms and are as ugly and stupid and uncivilized as everything else here. I declare, I would as soon ask one of them to dress me or get out my clothes as I would one of those mountain monkeys of which uncle spoke. Then, to bring matters to their worst, Susan, knowing well the delectabilities of this place and what was in store for her, wisely provides against the evil and strikes work in time to save herself—"

"Her mother is ill, Lotty!"

"Yes, of course she is, and always will be when occasion requires. And so, now, here I am, as I say, without any choice of my own, as uncomfortable as I can possibly be, every act of others from first to last proving that they care nothing for me; consequently and of necessity I must, as the objectionable rhyme has it, 'look after myself.' In what way I am to do it, however, in this wilderness, passes all my powers of devising. But now, Miss Mechie, you must see that thinking these thoughts is the natural result of such disagreeable circumstances, and naturally led to my singing that verse which so instantly set your inflammable temper in a blaze, and that so far from being to blame in anything I am exceedingly to be pitied, in everything."

"But, Charlotte, is it possible that you have so forgotten or are indifferent to what I told you of poor aunt? Do you not remember that it is on her account that we are staying here?—that the change is doing her good? Oh, Lotty, surely you would feel any sacrifice you could make compensated for by even the slightest improvement in dear auntie's state of health?"

"Oh, of course I should! I wonder you consider it necessary to ask such a question, Mechie!" exclaimed Charlotte in a tone of warm indignation that sent a comforting glow into my chilled heart. "But that is, in my opinion, the silliest part of the business. Just think, seriously, Mechie, and you must see as plainly as I do that she can get no good by staying in a place like this. Remember the distance we are from Dr. Manfred. Uncle must of course drive in every day to the bank, and fancy the distressing position you and I would be in if during his absence aunt were to fall dangerously ill, requiring instant medical advice, perhaps, and the doctor seven miles away!"

Oh, if Charlotte had known what a thrill of pain her words would awaken in my heart as they brought before my imagination with sudden vividness the picture of her whom I loved better than all the world beside lying white and still, patient and suffering, perhaps dying, on her pillow—had Charlotte known it, she would not have spoken so carelessly.