THE day was sultry; the air, portending a shower. Groups of young men were loitering about the steps of the different collegiate halls; some glancing up to the sky; others gazing wishfully in the direction of the river, where even at this distance a number of boats could be distinguished, safely moored ready for the race of the morrow.

"Look at that cloud," murmured a young man about to graduate from the law school. "We shall hear the thunder soon; or I'm mistaken. But if you say so, Paul, we'll go as far as the great elm."

"Aye! aye! Wallingford. I shall feel better for the walk. If we are caught in the rain, the wetting, on a day like this, will do us no harm."

"There they go," exclaimed a youth, whom his companions called Cicero, on account of his frequent quotations from that renowned orator. "They're walking off together as usual. It would be a treat to see Wallingford by himself for once."

"They're too Davidiac and Jonathanic for that," laughed another. "They are both fine fellows; but I confess Wallingford is more to my taste than Dudley; and I prophesy he'll make a greater mark in the world."

In the mean time the two friends sauntered slowly on through the college grounds, keeping a careful survey of the advancing cloud, until at length they reached the Post office where Dudley secured a couple of letters.

"You're a lucky fellow, Paul," said his companion heartily.

"It's only from mother," was the careless rejoinder. "One of her lengthy epistles about nothing. Even the girl's scribblings have more interest."

"Don't speak so," murmured Wallingford. "If you were motherless, as I am, you'd understand how such words hurt me."

"Pshaw, Ned! you know I love my mother. She isn't exactly the character to inspire respect as you can well understand. Warm-hearted and affectionate, ready to work herself to death to please one of my foolish fancies; yet she is not all that one would want in a mother."

Ned Wallingford paused his face flushed with more than the heat, and gazed reproachfully at his companion. "I would rather cut off my hand," he said at length, "than to speak so of a mother. Excuse me, Paul; but the only fault I could see in yours, was that she was too anxious to please you. She displayed devoted love."

"The natural consequence of being the only son in a family of five," Dudley answered with a light laugh. "Worship comes natural to me. I shall exact a vast amount of homage from my wife."

"Not more than you will yield to her charms, I hope."

"It strikes me, we are starting a new subject," demurely answered Paul; "and as I felt a drop of rain on my nose, I propose we adjourn to number eighteen, North Hall, up one flight, before we proceed with the interesting discussion of my wife's claims on my affection."

Three minutes of quick walking brought them inside the large hall just as the windows of heaven were opened and the rain descended in torrents.

Wallingford having thrown off his wet, linen coat, seated himself at the window and watched for a time the occasional flashes of lightning illumining the dark clouds and followed by the rumbling of the distant thunder; but his thoughts were not on the scene before him, sublime as it was.

Memory was carrying him back some dozen years, to the hour when his mother lay upon the bed of death. Her face was pale as the white robes that surrounded her; but there was a holy light resting on every feature, which had made such an impression on the boy's mind, that he had never forgotten it. He knew as he stood by her side that she must die;—that, the transparent hand closely clasping his would soon become the food for worms;—that the voice now feebly lisping words of love and counsel would soon be silenced for aye; but he could not weep. She was so happy, rejoicing that she was soon to be in the presence of her Saviour, and to join the husband and babes who had gone before her to glory; her death seemed such a fitting end to a life like hers; humble, active, trusting, that he felt it would be selfish to wish her to stay. Again, he heard her dying voice; committing him and her little Gertrude to the care of the Shepherd of Israel; again he saw her eyes, dim with the film of dissolving nature, turn to his with the parting injunction, "Edward I leave Gertrude to you as a sacred legacy, teach her to fear God and keep his commandments, I shall expect to meet you both in heaven."

"What in the world are you thinking of, Chum?" asked Paul in a gay tone, tossing, as he spoke, his mother's letter on the table. "You've sighed and sighed like a heart-broken maiden."

"I was thinking of my mother," was the serious reply. "Though she has been dead a dozen years, she still exists in my mind as the embodyment of every womanly virtue. If my sister lives to imitate her, I shall be happier than I deserve to be."

Dudley arose from his seat, looking graver than he was wont, and crossing the room to where his companion sat, he put his mother's letter into Wallingford's hand, murmuring:

"You have made me ashamed of what I said."

He spoke earnestly, adding with a bright flush, "You're my good genius, Chum, and have been for six years. You must read what mother says about you. Even she, blind to my faults as her love makes her, admits that I might be better if I would imitate my friend more closely. What I shall do when you are not by, I can scarcely conceive."

Wallingford grasped the hand which had given him the letter, saying earnestly:

"No mother could have a son more frank to confess an error. Now the shower is over, shall we walk again?"

"Yes, I can spare half an hour."

My dear reader, I will improve the time of their absence by relating briefly a history of the two friends I have introduced to your acquaintance.

Paul Dudley, as the senior in age, must first be described. He was the third child and only son of a merchant in Philadelphia. His mother was the sole manager in the family; she averring that her husband had his share of labor in earning the money which supported them. He was engaged in a lucrative business which afforded his family every comfort, and some of the luxuries of life. He was an honest; upright man in the world's opinion, and in his own opinion; but though he took no advantage of his neighbor's necessity, he defrauded his Maker, of what was his due,— the first and best affections of his heart; and beside this, he defrauded his own soul of the comfort and support of religion.

Mrs. Dudley was a devoted mother. She was bound up in her family, for whom she was willing to work early and late; denying herself many luxuries, that her children might never feel the need of them. Two daughters, girls of good sense and a fair education, were already settled in homes of their own; the one just younger than Paul was betrothed to her father's junior partner; and Anna, the youngest, was still in school.

Though probably Mrs. Dudley would not have admitted the fact, it was allowed by all the others, that Paul was her favorite. From his very birth his sisters had been taught to yield their will and wishes to his. As he grew older they were called to wait upon him; to humor his whims; and in many ways involving self-denial and sacrifice, the whole family proved to his young lordship that his pleasure was their first consideration.

Of course under such training, it could not be expected that Paul would be otherwise than selfish and domineering, claiming their service as a right; petulant and irritable when his demands did not receive a due amount of attention.

When he entered College he was thrown into the society of Edward Wallingford; and admiring his abilities as a scholar, sought his friendship. For six years they had roomed, studied, talked and walked together. The ambition of Dudley's friend had stimulated his best efforts, while the constant society of a noble, ingenuous mind had done much toward counteracting for the time what was erroneous in his early training.

Edward Wallingford was the son of a gentleman who had accompanied his father from England at the age of ten years. They settled at length in New York, where they established a large iron and steel business. The younger Wallingford married soon after he attained his majority and took his wife to his father's house, where they lived only two years before the death of the Senior partner in the firm, produced a change in the business. Six months later, the elder Mr. Wallingford died, leaving his son his share in the iron works together with a few acres of rocky land just outside of the city proper.

Edward, the subject of our story, was the second child and the only one out of six children who lived to be seven years of age. Fearing, from these repeated afflictions, that the air and confinement of a city were the cause of the death of his loved ones, the father, in Edward's ninth year, purchased a place on the Hudson river, and removed his family there just before the birth of a tiny girl called Gertrude.

There amidst the picturesque scenery of that region, the children grew apace until Ned had reached his twelfth and Gerty her third summer; when a terrible affliction came upon them in the death of their father.

Mr. Wallingford had been greatly esteemed as a shrewd, successful businessman; the papers in noticing his death, remarked that he was a friend and supporter of all the benevolent enterprises of the day; but only the wife and children of the deceased knew how his large heart had beat in sympathy with every effort to advance the cause of the Redeemer's kingdom. To them it appeared for a time as if the sun had set in a total eclipse. Even after years had passed, and time had in a degree allayed their grief, they mourned his loss as the most tender husband, the most loving father, the most conscientious, humble and earnest Christian, it had been their lot to know.

Three years Mrs. Wallingford survived him; and then she too was called to her home in the skies. The summons was not a sudden one; for months she had felt her health to be declining, and to her the thought of being free from her body of sin and death was delightful. The only struggle she felt in exchanging the scenes of time for those of eternity, was when she thought of her children. But her faith in the promises of a covenant-keeping God at length prevailed over every doubt; she said to her faithful pastor:

"How can I shrink from leaving my dear ones with my heavenly Father, when I know how he pities his afflicted children? and when I remember how many earnest prayers for them are registered in heaven."

Soon after her death Edward was sent to school to prepare for college; and it was only during his vacations that he had returned to Rose Cottage, where Gertrude in the care of their faithful Hannah still resided.

[CHAPTER II.]

GOING HOME.

THE last day of the last term had come; and gone. Paul Dudley with Edward Wallingford were candidates for the bar. Paul had chosen the new and flourishing city of Chicago as the field in which he was to become famous, while Edward had decided to return to his native place. The thought of the separation which their new lives involved, was painful to both. Six years of the closest intimacy had united their hearts in an uncommon degree. Paul's love to Edward was mingled so largely with respect, that during all their intercourse he had been conscious of a desire to keep his own bad qualities out of sight, lest they should excite contempt.

Edward, though the younger by a year, had come gradually to regard his chum as a charge; one who must be encouraged and assisted to do right. This very care, had greatly enhanced his affection.

Since he entered college, it had been Wallingford's habit to return to Rose Cottage twice a year; spending at least part of his vacations there; but now fully twelve months had elapsed since his last visit. One short recess he had passed with Paul in Philadelphia, while the long vacation was occupied by a pedestrian excursion, long talked of, to Niagara and the Canadas. Now that their examination had passed successfully, Paul gladly complied with his friend's invitation to spend one month together at Rose Cottage before they commenced their battle with the world.

Edward had often spoken to Paul of his anxieties concerning his sister; and his fear lest she were growing up under the care of Hannah, in a state of semi-barbarism. He complained of her want of interest in her books; the perfect wildness and ignorance of the most common customs of society, which had characterized her at their last interview.

Paul remembered having seen a picture of the little sprite in the earlier days of his acquaintance with his friend; and he must be pardoned if he judged from her juvenile scrawls, denominated letters, of the same period, that she had been, indeed, sadly neglected.

After they had taken their seats in the cars which were to convey them to Wallingford's home, the young lawyer's heart sank as he reflected on his mother's parting injunction; and realized how sadly he had neglected his duty to the sister left in his care.

His regretful thoughts were reflected on his countenance, and his companion gayly insisted on an explanation of his gloomy and disconsolate appearance.

"I was thinking of my little sister," was the serious, almost gloomy reply. "You musn't blame her too much, Paul, if she appears rude and romping. I left her wholly unformed; her greatest delights being to climb the highest trees where she used to sit like a little monkey, swaying about among the blanches; the air filled with her shouts of mirth at my alarm."

"She must have a curious governess," remarked Paul, dryly.

"Good old Hannah has never been dignified with that title. She is manager general of the farm, house and grounds and can't be expected to have much time to devote to Gerty's education, even if she were competent to direct it."

He was silent for a few minutes when he added earnestly, "Excuse myself as I may, by my absence from home, I feel keenly that I have not done my duty toward my sister. I remember now how disappointed she was when I wrote that I should not be at home all last summer. Well, it's too late to help that; and I shall be near enough to Rose Cottage to return there every Saturday night; and next winter I will have her attend one of the best schools in New York."

Paul smiled at the idea of his fastidious chum escorting through the streets a little, wild Gypsy, in short clothes; her cheeks as brown as a nut, and her black hair flying in every direction.

Hurrying through New York they took passage in a North River boat which would land them within a mile of their destination. Nearly half the passage had been accomplished, when a gentleman who had for some minutes been promenading the deck came toward them and offering his hand to Edward exclaimed eagerly:

"I think I cannot be mistaken. You are young Wallingford, son of my old friend."

"Yes, and you are Mr. Winslow. I am more than glad to meet you."

The gentleman then turned to Paul and offered his hand, saying:

"From your resemblance to the family I conclude you are a relative, though I have never seen you before."

The young lawyers both laughed. "We have often been mistaken for brothers," Edward explained. "Our only connexion is, that we have been room-mates the last six years. My friend's name is Paul Dudley; and like myself he expects his fame as a lawyer and statesman to ring through the land."

"You are indeed very like," murmured the stranger as if speaking to himself while his eye glanced kindly at the stalwart forms before him. "And yet," he added after an earnest gaze into Paul's eye, "there is a difference."

Both the young men wore heavy whiskers, trimmed like their hair in the same fashion, which fact greatly increased the resemblance; but the gentleman's thought was:

"Wallingford has his father's calm, truthful eye, which wins the confidence at once. Dudley's gaze shrinks from meeting yours. He may, or may not, become a villain."

Edward urged his old friend to accompany him to Rose Cottage, if only for a night; insisting that he and his sister had a claim on the kindness of their father's friend, for the sake of old times, but Mr. Winslow was obliged to decline.

"My destination is the same as yours," he explained; "but I have to wait an hour for a stage coach to take me back into the country. If you can remain with me during that time I should like to converse with you concerning your future prospects."

"Of course I can," cried Edward, who had been longing for just such a disinterested friend. "I will find an opportunity for Paul to ride and carry the valises and I will walk home after I see you safely off."

On landing, Edward hailed a young countryman named Biles, who had been disappointed in the company he expected; and engaged him to take his friend to Rose Cottage, or as far as he went in that direction; after which, leaving his own trunks and boxes in the care of the baggage master till sent for, he passed an hour profitably in relating his plans for the future to his father's friend; and in receiving much useful counsel from Mr. Winslow's lips.

Gertrude's name was mentioned; and after some thought, the gentleman said, "I must go and see her. If she is as ignorant and unformed as you state, she must be placed in a good family school; but I cannot tell what is best till I hear her plead her own cause."

In the meantime Mr. Dudley having accepted a seat in an open wagon by the side of a good-natured looking farmer, began to gaze about him. On every side the most picturesque views met his eye;—the majestic river white with sails, varied now and then by a huge iron chimney, puffing and belching forth its smoke, rolled calmly on its course to the sea. The high bluffs, a continuation of the Highlands, rising, and breaking against the sky;—the pretty villas dotting the banks of the river;—the patches of cultivated land varied by the richest green sward; each in turn rivetted his attention, and called forth an exclamation of delight.

"I reckon you're a stranger in these parts," the countryman said, after having surveyed his companion from head to foot.

"Yes."

"Going to stop a spell?"

"Uncertain, how long."

"Going to Rose Cottage, hey? Wall I hope Hannah Goldby knows she's going to have visitors."

Paul's curiosity was roused and overlooking the familiarity of the driver, which a moment before had excited his disgust, he asked with a smile:

"Is a visitor at Rose Cottage a very uncommon event?"

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the man, leaning back to enjoy the joke. "Uncommon? ha! ha! ha! why there hasn't been a visitor at Rose Cottage, to my knowledge, since the young man went off to college better'n a year ago. Hannah wont have 'em." He shook his head in a mysterious manner, conveying the idea that he could tell strange things if he had a mind.

Paul mentally resolved that his stay should be very brief. After a pause he remarked:

"The woman takes charge of the little girl, I suppose."

This speech caused another burst of merriment. When he recovered himself the man said, "I 'spose she don't. The little girl takes care of her, more likely. She's a regular—"

Here a terrible jolt broke up the sentence, and presently, a man hailed the driver, and asked how far he was going.

Before he was answered, the stranger was subjected to a survey that would have done honor to a detective; then squirting a mouthful of tobacco juice beyond the wheel, he said to Dudley:

"There's Rose Cottage just behind that clump of linden trees; 'tisn't more'n a quarter of a mile. I think it's likely I shall turn off here."

After offering payment for the accommodation, which was answered by another:

"Ha! ha! ha! 'tisn't likely I want pay for such a trifle," Mr. Dudley descended from the wagon by an elastic spring over the wheel; and taking one carpet bag in each hand he started off in the direction indicated.

[CHAPTER III.]

THE RECEPTION.

THE sun was unclouded and the young man soon found the heat intolerable. He leaped the wall into a newly mown field and took a direct line for the stone cottage, becoming every moment more visible. At the distance of two or three hundred rods from the house was the grove of lindens the driver had pointed out. On one side was a patch of delicious green turf, soft and smooth as velvet, where in the shade formed by a cluster of young spruces, lay a couple of Jersey calves, chewing their cuds as they calmly viewed the magnificent prospect.

These creatures were so tame that they did not move when the stranger approached and patted their heads; they only raised their meek eyes wishfully to his face.

Approaching the front door, which stood wide open, not a sign of life was visible about the premises. Even the stranger's loud ring brought no one to answer his summons. Tired of waiting, he ventured into a wide hall which the air from the river rendered deliciously cool. This hall extended through the centre of the house uninterrupted by staircase; and was hung with fine old pictures, and maps. A large mahogany table, with spread leaves, and claw feet, stood near the back door which was of glass and opened upon another plateau of grass, interspersed with small beds of well cultivated flowers.

The table was covered with a handsome woollen cloth; and upon it stood a silver ice pitcher on a huge salver; which also supported two silver goblets.

Laying his bags in one of the heavy leather-covered chairs, our traveller took a long draught of the ice water with which the pitcher had been lately filled; and having smoothed his locks by the small mirror set in the hat-rack made his way into an open room on the left hand of the hall.

Here he found additional evidence of refinement and taste. On one side of the spacious apartment was an elegantly carved book case; and through the glass in front, rows of well bound volumes were visible. Between the windows a long mirror descended from the roof to a marble slab about two feet from the floor, upon which slab lay a child's hat, tied with blue ribbons. On the marble mantel; on the tables; and every where that they could be placed, stood vases of flowers exquisitely arranged. The fragrance of roses, heliotrope, mignionette and other varieties, would have been oppressive but for the air which stole in through the Venetian blinds.

A well pleased smile played about the mouth of the stranger, as he gazed leisurely around. "A fancy nook Ned has here," he said to himself. "If I had another like it, and a wife to welcome me home after the trials of the day, I'd ask nothing more of fortune."

Leaning back in the luxurious chair which held out its arms so invitingly, he began to wonder how it happened that no one was at home. Gradually his thoughts became more indistinct, and he slept.

His dreams were interrupted by a vision so exactly in accordance with them, that for a moment, he supposed himself still the sport of an illusion.

Just in front of him stood a young girl apparently not more than fifteen years whose laughing eyes were gazing into his own, while her sweet rosy mouth was parted in a bewitching smile.

"When did you come? How long have you been here?" exclaimed a clear, ringing voice. "Why didn't you tell me you were growing this?" playfully pulling his beard.

"Am I awake?" murmured Paul, trying to rouse himself, and sitting forward in his chair; his gaze still rivetted on the beautiful vision.

"Hannah! Hannah!" called out the young girl. "Ned has come, and fallen asleep in the parlor."

A middle aged, motherly looking woman, speedily answered the summons, and was hurrying across the hall, when the real Ned appeared at the door.

"Ah, Hannah!" he said cheerily. "You're in good health I see. How's Gerty? I suppose my friend has come, as I see our valises are here."

For one moment Gertrude stood in the centre of the floor bewildered, blushes mantling her cheeks as she realized that she had made a mistake; then with one bound she flew into the outstretched arms of her brother.

"Are you really Ned?" she inquired archly, having nestled her head against his breast.

"Yes, my little sis. Am I so changed that you didn't know me?"

"I feel greatly flattered," explained Paul, coming forward with a smile. "Miss Gertrude, as I suppose this young lady to be, did me the honor to imagine I was her brother. I found the house deserted and fell asleep, and could not at once shake off the idea that the laughing eyes looking into mine and the voice, calling me Ned, did not belong to my vision."

"It was this that deceived me," laughed Gerty pulling her brother's curly whiskers. "I don't think you look at all alike now."

"How pleasant and cool you keep yourselves," exclaimed Edward, turning to Hannah who had seated herself opposite him. "Is every thing prosperous about the farm? I see you have a pair of fancy calves on the lawn."

"Yes, and two more in the pasture. I believe the work is well advanced for the season. I wrote you about the new man I had hired."

"Yes, and I shall want to hear all about it in the morning. My long walk from the landing has heated me terribly."

"Your room is in order if you would like to go to it before tea. I will have the north chamber ready in a few minutes."

"No, Hannah, stay here please," exclaimed Gertrude, "and I'll run up and open the blinds. You know, Ned, she keeps the house in such perfect order there is nothing else to do."

She flew up stairs almost like a bird, her voice breaking out into a strain of warbling, which with a thought of the stranger, was instantly checked. Seizing two tiny silver vases, filled with delicately tinted flowers, from her own room, she carried them to the guest-chamber; then throwing open the blinds on the north side let in the refreshing breeze. One minute more to fill the large china pitcher with fresh water; and then she gayly announced that the rooms were ready.

"Ned," exclaimed Paul, the instant they were alone, "confess at once that you have been deceiving me all these years. How dared you tell me your sister was ignorant, unformed, a Gypsy and so on? She is the most perfect specimen of humanity that it has ever been my fortune to meet. Then what refinement! Only think, Ned, what a home she'd make for a man; think of her arch glances and bewitching smiles."

"She has greatly improved within a year;" was Wallingford's grave reply, "more than I dared to hope. She is not yet sixteen. By the time she is twenty-two or three, I believe she will resemble our mother."

Without another word he turned to his own room, leaving his companion examining the flowers, and wondering whether Gertrude had placed them there, before she knew of his coming.

An hour later they were seated in the hall, around the abundant board. In the centre a huge glass dish of raspberries was well flanked by a pitcher of cream.

"These are delicious," exclaimed Edward, helping himself and his friend to a bountiful supply.

"Hannah and I were out picking them, when Mr. Dudley came," said Gertrude with an arch glance in his direction. "I remembered how fond you used to be of berries."

"We don't often see such cream at our College ordinaire," suggested Paul, pouring the thick, new luxury over his fruit.

"If you wish to get into Miss Goldby's good graces, praise her Alderney's," remarked Ned, laughing. "But seriously Hannah, I must arrange somehow to board at home, when I take an office in New York."

"I thought that would be a matter of course," urged Gerty seriously. "I've been anticipating the pleasure of driving to the landing every afternoon to meet you."

"Ah, Wallingford! you're the luckiest fellow I know," cried his friend with a shrug at his own fate. "Here you will be, in the midst of luxuries, with a lady to greet you on your return from business; with a well ordered household and an estate exactly to your taste; while I must delve among musty old law papers twenty hours out of the twenty-four, in order to have butter with my bread."

"There is no food tastes so sweet as that we have worked for," remarked Hannah sagely; "but Gertrude do you notice how late it is, only ten minutes of seven."

The young girl blushed, as she hurriedly rose from the table, and only saying; "Good night, Ned, good night Mr. Dudley," put on the hat Paul had seen lying on the marble slab, and went out by the front door.

Both the young men started to accompany her; but Hannah said decidedly, "She prefers to walk alone, and Hiram will go for her at nine."

"I protest," began Paul; but Ned interrupted him by asking gravely:

"Where does she go at this hour?"

"She spends three evenings every week with a friend," was the evasive answer. "It is a great privilege for her, and we are both grateful for the opportunity."

[CHAPTER IV.]

TAKING TIME BY THE FORELOCK.

"AND so you don't approve Mr. Dudley as an acquaintance for Gertrude," began Mr. Wallingford, laughing at Hannah's anxious countenance.

"No, Edward, I'm free to say I don't. I can't explain why it is; but I mistrust him." She was kneading a pan of dough, and knuckled away for a moment in a most decided manner.

"But, Hannah, I've roomed with him for six years. If there was any thing very bad about him I should have found it out before now."

There was no answer until the dough had been pounded and put into pans for a second rising; then turning to the young lawyer the woman said:

"Edward Wallingford, I held Gertrude in my arms before she was an hour old, and loved her as if she were my own. But when your mother, the day before she went to heaven, called me to the bed and made me promise to be a mother to her motherless girl, I called God to witness that I would be so till I died. So far I've kept my vow. Within a year I've had a chance to have a home and a husband; but I said 'no, I've a promise to keep, and God helping me I'll keep it till I'm called away.' Edward, I love that girl with all her faults; and she has faults, better than I could even love any other human being; if any sorrow were to come to her, 'twould go nigh to kill me."

"I don't see how Mr. Dudley's being here for a few weeks can bring sorrow to her."

"None are so blind as those who wont see," murmured the woman with a sigh. "But remember what I tell you. If you don't put some check upon your friend, as your father would do were he alive, you'll regret it when it is too late."

"Do speak plain, Hannah. What is it you fear? Gertrude is only a child; and after this visit will probably never see Paul again."

"God grant it; for I tell you he will never make a kind husband; and I can see, if you can't, that he's doing his best to steal away her heart."

Edward laughed, but not heartily. "You're mistaken, Hannah," he urged. "He has no idea of marrying for years, I have heard him say so a hundred times. He means to be settled and make a fortune first; and then his ideas of a wife, are the very reverse of what Gerty is."

"Well, time will show which of us is right; and I pray earnestly my fears may prove false; but will you answer one question; supposing, I am right and that his hanging round after Gertrude, watching every step she takes, and being quite lost when she is out of sight, means that he wants her for a wife, have you never in all the years you've been together seen any thing you would disapprove in a brother-in-law?"

The young lawyer started at this plain question; but as she gazed searchingly in his eye, he answered:

"I never thought of him in that light. I know him to be a man who will succeed well in business. When he has made a few thousands, and Gertrude has four or five years more over her heads I don't know that I could offer any serious objection. Still men are so different in their intercourse with each other, from what they are with the other sex—I—"

"Yes, that is it," she exclaimed, interrupting him. "I'll venture to say I know more about Mr. Dudley, in some points, than you do, after all your intimacy."

"I've been with him several times to his home," murmured Edward as if speaking to himself.

"Well, how did he act there? Was he a good son and a kind brother? I heard him tell Gerty he had four sisters."

The young man felt his face flush as he recollected certain home scenes, which at the time had roused his indignation. He recalled also remarks Paul had made about his mother; and realized that after all, Hannah's opinion might be more correct than his own.

The woman stood with an anxious face awaiting an answer, when he suddenly laughed aloud:

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "Gerty has scarcely commenced her education. Paul is too honorable to engage her affections, till he is sure of my consent. When he asks me the question it will be time enough to refuse."

She walked to the window with a sigh, but turned back suddenly and put her hand on his arm.

"Look," she said, "and see for yourself. Oh, I wish her mother were alive!"

Paul and Gertrude were crossing the lawn together. In her arms she carried a favorite dog, which seemed to have been injured, for she bent over it, pressing her cheek to its silky hair. Her companion was talking earnestly; and just as Edward reached the window, she raised her head and gave one shy, loving glance into his face. That gaze told volumes to the anxious spectators.

Edward started, exclaiming in an angry tone:

"If he has dared,—" when she interrupted him:

"It is as I feared," she groaned, sinking back on a chair. "Now I beg you to be cautious, for the more you thwart her, the more resolute her determination will be. Oh, why did you bring him here!"

"You knew him better than I. He is a rascal; and I shall tell him so."

He caught his hat from the rack in the hall, and was starting for the door in an excited manner, when she again stopped him.

"Edward, I am only an uneducated woman; and you have spent twenty-three years in piling up learning; but listen to me this once. I was right in thinking he was trying to win her. I may be, I think I am right now. Don't say a word to him 'till you are calmer, till you have thought it over for an hour at least. If she thinks he is treated cruelly, she will take his part, poor, innocent thing. If he is a gentleman he will speak to you before long."

"You're right, Hannah;" and turning in the opposite direction, she presently saw him walking with rapid strides up the road back of the farm.

"If his mother were alive, she would go to her closet and tell her trouble to God," murmured Hannah, wiping away a tear; "and I'll do the same, for as sure as the sun will set to-night, there's sorrow before my poor, undisciplined girl, if she gives her heart to that man."

It was indeed as the good woman had apprehended, too late to interfere between the lovers. From the very hour when waking from his sleep, Paul had seen the bright vision before him, he had cast aside honor, fame, future success and every thing else, with the determination to win this beautiful creature in all her sweet fresh girlhood. He easily foresaw, that her present beauty, great as it was, only gave promise of what it would be when more fully developed; and he was certain that unless he secured her now, he would have rivals with whom it might not be easy to compete. He acknowledged that she was backward in many branches; but, then she knew so many things of which girls of her age were usually ignorant. There was not a flower in her garden; and scarcely an herb growing in the vicinity that she could not describe, and explain its uses. Then she was such an ardent lover of nature, and so enthusiastic over a fine view;—she had such wonderful power over animals;—the most stubborn farm-horse on the place, yielding readily to the touch of her slender fingers. As to learning, he reasoned with himself, that it would be a delightful task to open before her expanding intellect the gems in literature. If he had her to himself, he would educate her according to his own favorite theories, and would have no one but himself to blame if she did not make a wife to suit him.

He passed hours when every other inmate of Rose Cottage was asleep in what he called calm reflection. There was only one subject which worried him.

"If I only could ascertain," he said to himself, again and again, "whether she has any property in her own right; enough for instance to set up house keeping. Wallingford was always economical; but never pinched as I often am; and the estate here must be very valuable. I was surprised to find the style of living so far beyond ours at home."

I cannot say that he did not have misgivings: concerning the future;—that there were not moments when he realized that honor would have required him to gain the brother's consent before he confessed his love to Gertrude;—that prudence required him to establish himself in business, and be sure that he could support a family before he undertook the responsibility of one;—that he did not sometimes question himself whether he could trust his own heart with the care of one so young and undisciplined. Occasionally the recollection of his own overbearing temper would cause him to pause, before he subjected a child, he really loved, to its chilling influence; but one glance in her bewitching eyes; one tone of her clear, silvery voice would dissipate all doubt; and his resolution would be stronger than ever to win her if it was in his power.

When Miss Goldby came forth from her closet, having left her cares at the foot of the cross, she found Paul and Gertrude walking slowly back and forth across the piazza; their tones low but earnest; their attention wholly absorbed. As she busied herself in laying the table for supper, an occasional glance showed her how lovingly he bent his tall head toward her girlish form; and her heart went up to God with the petition:

"May his affection for her deepen and grow more fervent from this hour." For, understanding Gertrude as she did, she knew as well as if the young couple were already standing before their minister, that they would be married at no distant day.

Edward did not make his appearance until they were seated at the table; longer delay on his account being inexpedient on account of Gertrude's evening engagement, which as yet had never been postponed. When he did come in, he took his seat gravely; his face pale, but calm. He had been going over his whole acquaintance with Paul; and had come to the conclusion that Hannah was right, in her opinion. Dudley, though an agreeable friend to one of his own sex, was neither fitted by education nor by native refinement of feeling to make a wife happy. He was resolved, therefore, positively to refuse his consent; and if his wishes were set at nought, to appeal to her guardian, an old gentleman in New York city, one of his father's most valued friends.

"We waited for you as long as we could," explained Gertrude, laughing in her brother's serious face. "This is my night to go away; and I always try to be punctual."

"I was the one in fault," he answered without a smile, "and by the way, that reminds me that I must engage a music teacher from the city for you at once. A few quarters of thorough drilling will turn you out quite a brilliant performer."

Gerty glanced uneasily in Paul's face and then meeting her brother's eye, blushed deeply, rising to hide her embarrassment.

"Put on your knit sacque," urged Hannah. "There will be a fog. Hiram will be there for you at nine, as usual."

"I object to that arrangement," protested Paul with rising color. "That must be my privilege, now."

Though turning a shade paler, Hannah took no notice of his remark; but rising, brought the soft scarlet sacque, and assisted Gerty to put it on.

The moment the door was shut, Edward turned to his guest, and with a kindling eye, asked:

"By what right do you assert any care of my sister?"

It was evident to both persons present that he was laboring under intense excitement which he was trying, however, to conceal.

"Give me an hour and I will explain," was the cool reply.

"I am at your service immediately;" and taking their hats, the two young men walked out to the linden grove, where they were soon seated on a rustic bench.

[CHAPTER V.]

IMPULSE VERSUS PRUDENCE.

TWO hours passed. Hiram had gone to attend his young mistress home as usual, when, Hannah, whose anxiety was almost more than she could endure, heard Gertrude's step on the piazza.

"Are you alone and in the dark?" the young girl asked petulantly. "Well I must say, I do like people to keep their promises. Where are all the people?"

In the moonlight Hannah could see that her darling wore an ugly pout and that her cheeks were crimson. Trying to steady her voice, she answered:

"Edward and Mr. Dudley went out together, directly after you did, and I have not seen them since."

"Did you find Mr. Monroe, as agreeable a teacher as usual?" she added presently, as the young girl threw herself listlessly into a chair.

There was no answer, to this; but after a few moments' silence, a sob was heard.

"What is the matter, my poor child?" exclaimed the kind woman, approaching her darling and kissing her forehead. "You're like a child to me, you know; and you wont keep any thing back from one, who loves you better than herself."

Gerty sprang up and threw her arms around Hannah's neck.

"I do believe you love me," she sobbed, clinging to her oldest friend, "and you wont let Ned be cross now when—"

"Don't be afraid to tell your own Hannah all that's in your heart, my dear child."

"Well—well, Paul—Mr. Dudley, I mean, wants me to go and live with him in Chicago; and I'm almost sure Ned will—will say I'm too young."

"But darling there'll be time enough to talk about that, when you have finished your education. You're getting on so finely now; and Mr. Monroe is so earnest to help you along, that in a few years you'll be like your own blessed mother. Then if Mr. Dudley and you are agreed, I don't think Edward will refuse his consent."

"Chicago is so far away I should not be happy any more. He wants me to go now: he says he is sure of being successful. Oh, Hannah, I love him so dearly!"

"Well, well, child!" said the woman resolutely checking back a sob. "I'd go to bed now. Why you're nothing but a baby; old Hannah's baby. I don't see how I can give you up yet."

"I shall miss you terribly I know," urged the child impulsively. "Paul, he says I'm to call him Paul, now, thinks we had better board at first till he earns a little money; but I shall go to house keeping very quick, and then you'll come and be my dear good Hannah, wont you?"

"Oh, my pet!" cried the woman, overcome at last, "I can't give you up to a stranger. I can't! I can't! I've had the care of you sixteen years next Christmas; and I wouldn't know how to live without my darling girl."

"I've made you a great deal of trouble," murmured the child, kissing the woman's cheek. "You must think of that."

"'Tisn't for myself alone, I'm grieving dear. I'd try to bear it, praying God to help me; but it's for you, Gerty. You're too young; and it can't be expected a stranger will have the patience with your faults which those have, who've known you longer."

"Not if the stranger is my husband? You don't know how he loves me, Hannah."

The woman shook her head; but instantly added; "If I could be sure 'twas for your good; and that your mother in heaven would approve; I'd hide all my own grief at the parting, so far down in my own heart, that you would never know it; but I can't be sure and so—"

The sound of hasty steps on the gravelled path checked her words. Gertrude started to her feet, and seemed about to dart away; but like a frightened bird, not knowing from which direction the enemy would appear.

The young men came in together. It was a relief to all that in the moonlight the traces of emotion could be but dimly observed. Edward advanced at once to his sister and put his arm around her.

"Come with me a moment," he said softly.

"I have heard Paul's confession," he began abruptly. "I would give all I am worth if he never had come to Rose Cottage; or that, having come, he had shown the honor of a man. He says you have engaged to be his; to leave your home in a month and go with him to Chicago where he may, or may not, succeed."

"Yes, I told him so; and I shall keep my word." Gertrude held up her head and looked her brother proudly in the face.

"Not with my consent," was the firm response. "Nor with the consent of your guardian. Why, Gerty, you are only a child; not half educated; totally unfit for the cares of a family."

"Paul has promised to teach me; to overlook all my deficiencies, if I will be his wife."

He groaned, aloud. "I know Paul better than you do," he urged in a bitter tone. "I know him better in the last hour, than in the six years which have preceded it. Oh, Gerty, cannot you understand that it is solely for your good, I urge you to pause before you bind yourself! Wait only one year. If your attachment continues, it will be time enough then, and Paul will have established himself in business."

"He says his success is in a great measure dependent on me," she answered in a pleading tone; "that a gentleman with a family can gain access to society where another would be excluded. I gave him my promise freely, and unless he releases me I shall hold myself bound to keep it."

"Just the words he uses," muttered Edward angrily.

"If he isn't good, and all that, why did you bring him here?" she asked in a triumphant tone.

"I considered him a gentleman; and as I had paid repeated visits to his house, I wished to return his hospitality. To-morrow morning I shall go to New York for an interview with your guardian. You must promise me that this foolish affair shall proceed no farther until you have his sanction."

"I have already given promises enough for one day," was her evasive answer, "besides, his opinion will have no weight with me. I know what is necessary for my own happiness."

"The law gives him power, Gertrude."

"Over my property," she rejoined laughing; "but not over my person."

"Paul has an apt scholar, I see," he remarked bitterly.

"He only taught me how to defend my rights; but seriously Ned, I wish you would tell me whether I have any money. I must buy wedding clothes, you know."

"I have already enlightened Paul on that subject."

Mr. Van Husen, Gertrude's guardian, was shocked at the intelligence Edward communicated; and declared up and down that the foolish child should not be allowed to throw herself away; that the wild scheme must be checked in some manner. But after the young lawyer had repeated his conversation with Dudley;—the cool determination of the lover to carry his point;—and the self-will which he was obliged to confess was a prominent trait in Gertrude's character, the white-haired old gentleman shook his head gravely.

It is not necessary at present to state all that passed on this occasion, Mr. Wallingford returned to Rose Cottage with a heavy heart, resolved, however, to effect a compromise if possible; and on the plea of time to prepare a trousseau for his sister, to postpone the time of marriage until her sixteenth birthday, which would be a week before Christmas.

Three days later Mr. Dudley had taken his leave, intending to make a hasty trip to Philadelphia; inform his parents of his new plans; and then proceed to Chicago, to establish himself in business.

Through the aid of a relative, Mr. Lancester, one of the monied men of that rising city, he was enabled to write his old chum that his prospects were of the most flattering kind. He took an office with a popular lawyer, with the understanding, that if agreeable to both parties, they would eventually enter into a partnership.

In October he wrote Edward again, (his letters to Gertrude were of weekly occurrence,) saying:

"Every body is congratulating me on coming here exactly at the right time. I have had such a successful practice so far, and am so confident of being able to support my family even in the style I used to talk about in the good college days; that if I could feel your consent to our marriage was willingly bestowed, I should have no more favors to ask of fortune. Dear Ned, any thing else under heaven that you could have asked me, except that I would resign the dear hand so confidingly trusted to my keeping, would have been granted without a word of dissent. I mean to prove myself such a model husband; and withal to act as teacher, that in time your prejudices, and those of that prim old maid will be disarmed."

Finding it useless longer to resist, Edward paid several visits to New York for the purpose of consulting Mr. Van Husen in regard to finances. The old gentleman had a few thousand dollars which he had carefully hoarded for the education of his ward; and as she was still under age, he refused to give up more than was absolutely necessary for her fitting out.

Rose Cottage was given by will to Edward; and he had heretofore refused to sell a foot of land, even when somewhat pressed for money; but he now resolved to part with a valuable house-lot rather than have his sister go penniless to her new home. He knew enough of Paul to be sure that in a house of his own, well furnished, he would be a more considerate husband than if the inmate of a fashionable hotel.

With a definite purpose in view he made a journey to Chicago late in the month of November, and was so fortunate as to find a new house in a handsome block, on one of the main streets, which he immediately secured, and furnished; using for the latter purpose, a thousand dollars he had persuaded Mr. Van Husen to advance, from his sister's fund.

Having accomplished his object, he returned home without having once met his old chum. He was delighted, however, to tell Gertrude and Hannah, that rumor spoke highly of the young attorney; who was bending the whole force of his mind to his business.

Nor was the wardrobe of the child-bride so neglected as might have been supposed. Among Miss Goldby's relatives was a widow who kept a fashionable mantua-maker's establishment in the Empire city. To this place was conveyed a large, old fashioned camphor-wood trunk, in which Hannah had hoarded some articles formerly belonging to her mistress. There was a large velvet cloak, bought when Mrs. Wallingford had plenty of money; several dress patterns of muslin and gauze not made up; a lilac satin with abundance to make it into the present mode, beside shawls and laces in variety, and some valuable jewelry.

Several entire days were devoted to shopping in search of more common articles, bed and table linen, etc., etc., so that when Mr. Dudley came on for his wife, he found five immense trunks marked Chicago, packed and ready for transportation.

[CHAPTER VI.]

NEWS FROM THE WEST.

THE wedding was to be strictly private. This point Gertrude had yielded to her brother, who was unwilling that any stranger's eye should intrude on an occasion so painful to him. The husband elect arrived only the previous evening, and the nuptial ceremony took place at Rose Cottage at nine o'clock in the morning. There was a handsome breakfast at eleven; and the bridal party took the boat for Albany at two.

Directly after the ceremony, Edward invited the wedded pair into the library, where he put into his sister's hand a deed of gift of the house he had purchased, explaining that he had furnished it with her money; and that, on a number of the articles, she would find a mark showing that it could be exchanged if not in accordance with her taste.

Gertrude was wholly overcome at this generous gift, especially as she knew how her wilfulness had grieved her brother. She threw her arms around his neck and begged him always to remember that she loved him next to Paul; and that she never, never would forget his kindness.

The parting between poor Hannah and her darling was so painful that all were glad when it was over; and the self-sacrificing woman was free to give vent to her grief. For Gerty's sake she had put a violent constraint upon her own feelings; dressing her dear child in the bridal garments with her own hands, and decking her fair head with orange blossoms. Indeed, since she had found it must be so;—that no arguments could avail with the self-willed girl, she had abstained from useless reproach, and substituted such counsel as her true woman's heart enabled her to give.

Though her opinion of Mr. Dudley had never changed since she first begged Edward to find some excuse for shortening his friend's visit; yet never after the marriage was settled did she, by word or look, give evidence of her distrust.

Every night she sought Gertrude's couch with the excuse, "I shan't have you with me long darling," and there cautioned her against the indulgence of those traits which would surely wean her husband's affection; or begged her to mark out and continue some course of study such as would fit her to be as useful a woman as her mother was.

Sometimes Gertrude was softened by Hannah's earnestness, and would promise any thing. At other times she would pout, or say:

"You talk as if Paul didn't love me much; but he does; no matter what I do wrong, he says he can't help loving me."

Then Hannah would urge a higher motive for self-discipline, even the favor of God; and the impulsive child would weep and confess:

"I'm sick of being naughty. I wish I could be good always."

Then they both would kneel while Hannah besought the blessing of her heavenly Father upon the child in the untried scenes before her.

Now the pleasure of working for one she loved was over; and there was nothing to do but to weep and pray, that out of seeming ill, (for she could not regard this unseasonable marriage otherwise than an event to be mourned,) God would bring good. Years after she knew that her prayers had been answered, and though she acknowledged that—

"God moves in a mysterious way,

His wonders to perform,"

yet with streaming eyes she gave to him all the glory.

Edward, at great inconvenience to himself, had continued to make his home at Rose Cottage while his sister remained. He had taken an office in the city, and had already gained some suits. Now he intended to leave at once, and for the rest of the winter apply himself diligently to business.

Hannah was to remain at Rose Cottage; and Minnie Howard, her niece, to be her guest till spring.

The morning following the wedding, Edward was seated at the table for an early breakfast, when he said:

"I shall run up Saturday night as often as possible, for I shall need cheering; and in the Spring I shall come out every night as I have done this fall."

"I don't look forward to any thing," was the desponding answer. "I have a feeling that Gertrude, poor child, will want me. She'll turn to her old friends when others fail her."

"I hope you don't wish her husband to fail her, that she may come back to you."

"No, Edward, I love her so dearly that though it would be one of the greatest sacrifices, yet I would be willing never to see her again, if I could be sure she would not need me; but I distrust that man, I try not to; but I can't help it."

"Well," he rejoined with a sigh. "They are married and we must hope for the best."

The first letter from Gertrude reached her brother on the last day of the year. It seemed to have been written in great haste, and was full of expressions of affection and gratitude for his kindness in providing her with so beautiful a home.

"Paul is busy all the day," she wrote; "but in the evening helps me arrange the pictures and books I brought from Rose Cottage. We have not changed one article; and we both admire your taste in the selection of every thing. I have been to the theatre twice, and oh, it does seem like heaven! I do hope it isn't wrong to go. I remember Hannah telling me that my mother said it unfitted one for the duties of life; and if I thought it would do that I would stay away, much as I like it. My dear brother, I have made a resolution to be as good a woman as my mother was; and Paul is so kind he helps me a great deal."