CHAPTER III.
Again I beg the reader to pass over two years—short to you who possess health and plenty, long to those in disease and want—and come with me to the heights of the Alleghanies, crowded with stately trees all covered with snow and ice, with here and there thick clambering evergreens, looking all the richer for their bright unsullied winter caps. Slowly and laboriously do the wheels of a heavy traveling carriage wind along the rugged ascent, while the heaving flanks and dilated nostrils of the noble steeds bear witness to the toilsome pathway. Muffled in cloaks and furs, we scarcely recognize, in the inmates of the coach, our two school-girls, lately emancipated from their narrow cell and the thraldom of school-laws. We would willingly linger to admire with them the grandeur and sublimity of these props of heaven; but we will not attempt a description of that which was among the mightiest works of Him, the Almighty; so we pass over the perilous and impressive journey, nor pause until, again in her own village, again on the steps of her dearly loved home, Alice Clayton is pressed to her mother's bosom.
Now under her father's roof, she has become the glad child again. We see her first with her companion, Kate Earle, wandering about the spacious drawing-rooms, now tastefully arranging the folds of the heavy satin curtains, or decorating the tables with rich bouquets; then trying the full, clear tones of the piano; and at last, taking a delighted survey of the whole, she trips away into the long dining-hall, contemplates a moment the iced pyramids, foamy floats, transparent jellies, &c., then, arm in arm, they seek their chamber, and are soon busily engaged in the witching duties of the toilet.
Night hurries on, and the cold moon looks calmly down the quiet village: but soon, no longer silent, we hear quickened foot-falls, rolling carriages, the hum of busy tongues, and occasionally a silvery laugh floats out upon the cool night air. Before the stately, and now brilliantly-lighted, mansion of Mr. Clayton they pause, ascend the steps, and are lost to view. But we will enter and look upon the happy throng assembled here to welcome back their former playmate, sweet Alice Clayton. Ah, how tenderly she greets them! Now do her soft eyes light up and flash with intense joy as she receives her numberless guests with unaffected grace, presenting many to her visitor, Kate Earle. The music and the dance begin, youth and beauty eagerly join the circle, while the older ones retire to the whist-tables, none marking the speedy flight of the rosy hours. Some are there, strangers to the fair idol of the brilliant concourse: one of these, a youth of striking mien and unusual elegance, is now seeking a presentation from her father. With a good-humored smile, he bows assent, and together they seek our heroine.
"Come, Alice dear, make your prettiest bow to my young friend, Percy Clifford." Then, in a mock whisper, he added, "Guard well your heart," and left her, smiling maliciously at the painful blushes which his remark had summoned to her cheeks.
However, the low, easy tones of Clifford's voice soon reassured her, and a half hour glided away so pleasantly that her father's warning was forgotten, or, if remembered, but too late. I don't mean to say that Alice really gave her heart away before the asking; but that night when she and Kate were repeating the sayings and doings of their late guests, Percy Clifford's name was oftener on her lip, and when, with arms entwined, they slept the sleep of innocence, Perry Clifford's musical voice and captivating smile alone hovered round her pillow.