Meantime Alice had sought the friendly shelter of Ellen’s room, where the tension of nerve endured so long gave way, and sinking upon the sofa she fainted just as down the Lexington turnpike came the man looked for so long in the earlier part of the day. Alice had written to Mr. Liston a few weeks previous to the sale, and indulgent almost to a fault to his beautiful ward, he had replied that he would surely be at Mosside in time.
He had kept his word, and it was his familiar voice which brought Alice back to consciousness; and pressing his hand, she told him what she had done, and asked if it were unmaidenly. She could not err, in Mr. Liston’s estimation, and with his assurance that all was right, Alice grew calm, and in a hurried consultation explained to him more definitely than her letter had done, what her wishes were—Colonel Tiffton must not be homeless in his old age. There were 10,000 dollars lying in the —— Bank in Massachusetts, and she would have Mosside purchased in her name for Colonel Tiffton, not as a gift, for he would not accept it, but as a loan, to be paid at his convenience. This was Alice’s plan, and Mr. Liston acted upon it at once. Taking his place in the motley assemblage, he bid quietly, steadily, until the whisper ran round, “Who is that man in that butternut-colored coat?”
None knew who he was though all came to the conclusion that Harney’s hope of securing Mosside was as futile as had been his hope of getting Rocket. There were others disappointed, too—the fair matrons who coveted Mrs. Tiffton’s carpets, mirrors, and cut-glass, all of which passed to the stranger. When it came to the negroes he winced a little, wondering what his abolition friends would say to see him bidding off his own flesh and blood, but the end answered the means, he thought, and so he kept on until at last Mosside, with its appurtenances, belonged ostensibly to him, and the half glad, half disappointed people wondered greatly who Mr. Jacob Liston could be, or from what quarter of the globe he had suddenly dropped into their midst.
Col. Tiffton knew that nearly every thing had been purchased by him, and felt glad that a stranger rather than a neighbor was to occupy what had been so dear to him, and that his servants would not be separated. With Ellen it was different. A neighbor might allow them to remain there a time, she said, while a stranger would not, and she was weeping bitterly, when, as the sound of voices and the tread of feet gradually died away from the yard below, Alice came to her side, and bending over her said softly, “Could you bear some good news now;—bear to know who is to inhabit Mosside?”
“Good news?” and Ellen looked up wonderingly.
“Yes, good news, I think you will call it,” and then as delicately as possible Alice told what had been done, and that the colonel was still to occupy his old home. “As my tenant, if you like,” she said to him, when he began to demur. “You will not find me a hard landlady,” and with playful raillery she succeeded in bringing a smile to his face, where tears also were visible.
When at last it was clear to the old man, he laid his hand upon the head of the young girl and whispered huskily, “I cannot thank you as I would, or tell you what’s in my heart. God bless you, Alice Johnson. I wish I too, had found him early as you have, for I know it’s He that put this into your mind. God bless you, God bless my child.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE RIDE.
That night after her return from Mosside, Alice had playfully remarked to Hugh, “The Doctor says you stay too closely in the house. You need more exercise, and to-morrow I am going to coax you to ride with me, I am getting quite proud of my horsemanship, and want your opinion, I shall not take an excuse. You are mine for a part of to-morrow,” she added, as she saw him about to speak, and casting upon him her most bewildering smile, he hastily quitted the room, but not until she heard his muttered sigh and guessed that he was thinking of Rocket. He had not asked a question concerning Mosside, and only knew that a stranger had bought it with all its appurtenances. Rocket he had not mentioned, though his pet was really uppermost in his mind, and when he woke next morning from his feverish sleep and remembered Alice’s proposal to ride, he said to himself, “I cannot go, much as I might enjoy it. No other horse would carry me as gently as Rocket. Oh, Rocket!”
This was always the despairing cry with which Hugh ended his cogitation of Rocket, and he said it now bitterly, without the shadow of a hope.