gate;" but he wandered away from the mansion, called " Beautiful," and lost, forever, the warmth and sentiment that dwell therein.

XIV.

Ellen had noticed for some time that Jim spruced up, and spent many evenings away from home. Once, as she sat on a stump at the end of the avenue, she caught a glimpse of him riding by in the buggy with a sweet-looking girl. In vain Mr. Brooks sat up for him, and talked of the unwholesomeness of night air in the country, where there were so many trees exhaling nitrogen, something wonderful was the matter with Jim; and the sagacity of Ellen and Phil decided it to be love. The idea took firm possession of Ellen, and she floated in happiness. Jim to love, and have somebody to love him-it was too delightful! He must be loved, for he was too proud to visit without encouragement. Then Ellen thought of the bride coming there to live, and grew faint and cold. She remembered her self-reproaches at Sam's death, and resolved to save, if possible, Jim and his wife from the fate that had weighed upon his brother's and her own life. The presentiment that she must die soon, exalted her courage to open her wounds to Jim. It seemed to her the mystery of her life grew clear. God had placed her there to point out the way of happiness to those two souls. Oh! why had she not seen it before, and blessed the cup, and kissed the rod!

Sunday she asked Jim to go to the grave-yard with her, to plant a rosebush on Sam's grave.

The walk is too long for you, Nelly,” said Jim. "You look as if you could hardly stand up."

"We'll go slowly, and rest on the way," she answered.

"I'd rather hitch up the buggy than have you the least bit tired.”

"It seems foolish, for such a little distance. I've something to say to you, and can tell it better leaning on your arm, or sitting yonder upon the grass. See, there's a thick shawl to spread under us. The ground is dry and the air warm. It will do me good to walk."

She went in to put on her india-rubbers, and when she came back, she saw the wheelbarrow spread with pillows, and Jim standing beside it. He held up his hand imploringly :

"Oh! Nelly! let me trundle you when you are tired. I'm so strong, you know, and we'll be so happy."

She looked at his flushed, eager face, and got in without saying a word. "He half fancies me somebody else," she thought. "O! glory of love, that opens the secret springs of the heart, and casts the spray of their fountains over all !"

Jim trundled off with her briskly, and they wound through the avenues, the echo of their laughter at the funny equipage ringing along the air. Jim assured her she was as light as a feather; and he was so ardent in his desire to serve, that he felt disappointed when she insisted on walking a little. He stopped to dig up some violets. Ellen knew they were for Sam.

They reached the grave-yard, planted their offerings, and wept; then sat down to rest under the tree that spread its branches over Sam and little RoseEllen's babe.

The air was soft and languid, full of the vague inquietude of spring, when the brain is weak with dreams, and the heart swells into the opening buds of another year.

They sat silent for some time. The young leaves fluttered above-the shadows flickered below.

Jim," said Ellen, "on such days as this 'tis hard to think of leaving the world. Everything in nature and in us breathes of sweet promise. I have had a moment of struggle, but 'tis past forever. The world to come is richer in joys that never fade. You will see that I am laid here, Jim," marking the place with her parasol, "my head against the baby's grave, and my feet touching Sam's."

He looked at her with astonishment that deepened in awe at the strange, holy expression of her countenance.

"You will teach her to love me, Jim, and bring her sometimes to my grave. She will keep these flowers from dying, and plant some over me, I know, for I have seen her face."

The color mounted to his brow. His secret was known, and his dear one praised. He hung his head bashfully, and picked the blades of grass. "What's her name, Jim?" 'Mary."

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and

"I'm glad, for it's a holy name, I love it. Oh! I want her to be so happy," said Ellen, wringing her hands.

"I would shed all my blood, indeed I I would, to redeem you both from woe." The tears streamed down her cheeks. Jim hid his face on his knees.

"She has been differently educated from you, perhaps, Jim. If you were alone in a little home of your own, you would be able to yield some to her; not that she will want you to yield, for if she really loves, she had rather sacrifice -but only to you, Jim. When a woman must lay down all she holds dear on the altar of another than her husband, the heart bleeds itself away. If strong, she may suffer and live; if weak and predisposed to disease, her life may be frightfully shortened. Jim, I am to be with you but a little while. Promise me you will leave the farm, and work out your own independent destiny. Be patient, and she will be willing to wait."

"I promise solemnly, Ellen," said he, kissing her hand. "I've thought of it long; ever since I-I first knew Mary. I've told her how gay and hopeful you were when you caine home as a bride, and how I've seen you change and wither away. We men stand it better, for we are used to it from the beginning; besides we are strong, and live more out of ourselves than women do. It's hung heavy upon me, though, too," sighed he. "If I hadn't met Mary, I believe I should have turned into a stone. You must see her. I'll take you there in the buggy some time. I liked her first because she was like you -so gentle and ready to listen."

Ellen's strength had been exhausted by the ride and her emotions. She felt dizzy, rose to change her position, and fainted away.

Jim, fearing she was dying, flew wildly about, hallooing for aid, but at last collected himself enough to think that water would be the best thing to revive her; and, placing her gently in the wheelbarrow, he started on the run for a neighboring spring. Before he arrived there, the fresh rush of air from the motion had brought her to her senses.

"I feel quite well, Jim," said she, replying to his anxious looks; "only a little weak. Let's go home. The sun is sinking."

He covered her carefully with the shawl, beat up the pillows, and propped her parasol to shield her from the sun.

They turned homeward. The clouds grew gorgeous and the coming twilight freshened the air.

Ellen's spirits were elated by the scene and the accomplishment of her mission. She became so cheerful and gay, that Jim's apprehensions vanished, and he gave himself up to the vagaries of love.

"Just think, Nelly," said he, "how thankful I ought to be to see my way clear. Mr. Dean has offered Mary the little house on the hill at the back end of his farm. I told him I was afraid father would feel hurt if I left home. He said he wouldn't influence me at all to quit 'the old man,' but I must think of them, too. Mary was their only daughter, and he feared his wife would pine for her; if I was proud about accepting anything, I might work on the farm as a hand till I had come to love them enough to take a part of it, like a son. I had rather work my way though; they'll respect me more-never mind what they say to the contrary. I'll take the house on the same condition as the last tenant, and Mary and I will be just as happy as birds. There's a nice room for you and Phil, Nelly, when you come to see us; and I'll make a crib for the dove."

While they were laughing heartily at the idea, they saw Mr. Brooks riding on horseback, a long pole over his shoulder, crying, "Suke! Suke!" to some dozen cows he was trying to gather together, to drive home. they came up to him, he said:

As

"You have a brave horse there, Nelly, and one that can tell when he is tired. You look as bright as a button; nothing like exercise to cure real or fancied ailments. Walking is better than riding, though-it stirs up the blood."

"I think riding stirs up the spirits better," said Ellen, timidly.

"Spirits!" replied he, contemptuously; "I fancy, now, we ought to have command over our spirits.' People who act right-Suke! Suke!—don't have the blues; it's a fashionable disease, consequent upon sin and sloth. I warrant you, that woman," pointing to the Dutch tenant, in the distance, with a milk-pail on her head, a baby in her arm, and a bundle of straw under the other, never had a touch of-Suke! Suke!-dissatisfaction at her lot. One can see that fresh air is all you want, Ellen."

Here one of the cows, who had caught the distant bleating of a calf, began lowing, and scampering away, so that Mr.

Brooks was obliged to dart off in pursuit of her.

Jim hurried Ellen home, for fear of the dew.

XV.

The next day, as Ellen lay dozing on the couch, in the little room adjoining the parlor, she was awakened by loud talking. The voice was Mr. Brooks's; for once slightly excited and emphatic. He seemed to be walking up and down, and, as he neared the door, she heard him saying:

"Mr. Dean is a dough-face, and an old hunker. You'll backslide, under his influence."

Jim's voice, sounding sorrowful and respectful, said something in reply; but he was apparently seated on the other side of the room, and she could not distinguish the words.

Mr. Brooks neared again: "Honest, I suppose he is, according to the world; pays his debts, and gives good wages; but does he look further than his nose? -a pug one, at that! Does he advance Christianity or humanity a hair's breadth ?"

Mr. Brooks, nearing: "That's a foolish answer. You are young, sir. I have fifty years' experience, and it tells me that opinions are of great consequence. We must resutely put down all that are false, if we would better the world."

Nearing again: "Well, what if everybody does fancy theirs to be the right ones? I know mine to be founded on Christ. Let them bring a higher authority if they can."

Seeming to halt: "I am willing you should marry the girl, Jim; I know nothing about her, except that I have seen her cackling at neighbors', as I passed; but on condition that you bring her here. She's got independent notions in her head, about living alone. Women are always exacting, and will get the upper-hand of you, if you are not watchful. We were made to live together and if six or seven can't get along happily, how can we expect hundreds to ?"

Then he sat down by Jim, and Ellen lost the rest of the conversation. An hour or two after, she heard Jim calling her. She bade him enter. His eyes were very red. His part was taken. He had come to say good-by. They embraced in silence, and he departed.

XVI.

The roads began to dry up, from the spring rains, and Phil could no longer delay a projected jaunt, for the purchase of a bull. He expected to be gone four or five days-perhaps a week, if the animal should be hard to drive. He felt very sad at the thought of leaving. Ellen had been failing rapidly, he could not disguise it from himself; but the doctor had told him she would frequently have ill turns, and be better again-it was such a fluctuating disease. The bull must be bought-his father had desired it; so he went, with a heavy heart, to break it gently to Ellen.

He found her in a rocking-chair, which was propped back with the poker, to keep it in a reclining position. She was asleep-if it can be called sleep-that of kind stupor of weakness, which shortens the weary days of the suffering.

Her eyes were so nearly open, that Phil at first thought she was awake; but their meaningless expression, and the dropping jaw, made him tread softly. How ghastly and worn she looked! She awoke immediately.

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Oh! pardon me, Phil, dear; I couldn't help it. It goes to my stomach, and makes me sick." Her lips turned white.

"I had forgotten that I had stroked Jack in passing," said he. "I would have washed my hands, indeed, if I had thought of it. You were not made for a farmer's wife, Nelly, that's plain."

As he went off to wash his hands, he could not help thinking there was some affectation in her squeamishness. His own sense of smell was not acute, and he knew nothing of the delicacy of a stomach impaired by sickness. He came back, and announced to her, with

considerable preparation, his departure. She cried, trembled, and clung to him, saying she had a foolish presentiment that she should never see him again.

Then we wont think of it any more, Nelly," said he; "I'll commission Tom Jones to buy the bull. He is a fellow of some judgment, though he doesn't know the points of an animal as well as I do."

Ellen was happy. But before night Phil told her his father said, if he valued his stock and his purse, he was a fool to let another man select for him. So Phil packed his knapsack, and left in the morning. Unknown to her, he had written to her mother, begging her to send some one to stay with Nelly during his absence, and saying that she was sad, and needed company.

XVII.

Ellen had feared to pain her parents by a statement of the full extent of her illness. She knew her mother would leave home, where her active presence was necessary to her young family; and she dreaded, too, lest, in the first impulse of grief, she might reproach Phil for evils, Ellen thought, in her pitying love for him, he could not help. So she had frequently implored Phil to conceal the doctor's decision, and not alarm them in any way. Now it happened that, in the same train the letter went, the doctor was also, bound for the same place; and not having to wait to be distributed, he knocked at Mrs. Grey's door before the postman; and, supposing her as wise as himself, spoke frankly of her daughter.

The

There was wailing and lamentation at the Greys'; for they were not disciplined Christians. Mr. Grey was summoned from his office, the children from school, and Rose from her home. cook--an old house-servant,' who had trotted Ellen on her knee-bemoaned so disconsolately, that the contents of her pipe burnt holes in her dress, and the potatoes were consumed to nothing. In the general consternation, everybody expected to start for Owlcopse; and the smallest child, divided between fright and delight at the journey, was the first to hurry down with his carpet-bag. Mrs. Grey was too agitated to think of anything; but Rose acted for all.

The doctor does not represent her danger as immediate. It will be better for Mr. Grey to stay, and take care of the family. Mrs. Grey and I will leave today, and write at once, if it should be necessary for the rest to come."

It was settled so; and they huddled their things together, and left.

XVIII.

Twilight gathered around Owlcopse. The watch-dog howled incessantly, and made Jane's flesh creep with fear; for Ellen had been very ill that day, and a new physician, from the village, was still sitting with her. A messenger had been dispatched to meet Phil, if possible, and hasten his return. Mr. Brooks had written several letters, and sent for one of his female relatives to come and pass the night. He was calm and serene, as usual, and displayed admirable judgment in everything he did. Jane was heating a brick, to place at Ellen's feet. The candle drained down, and formed winding-sheets on both sides. The dog howled. Jane trembled from head to foot, and burst out crying:

"Oh! Lord! She has got to die. Such a pretty creetur, and so kind to black and white! She made this 'ere very dress. Oh! good Lord, take me, instead of her. I'm only a nigger, and a wicked sinner. I's willin', indeed I is."

Jane groaned and sobbed so loudly, that Mr. Brooks came in, and told her it was no use to caterwaul; she disturbed the house, and might worry Ellen.

"You had better tie the dog over at the barn, too; it makes a very disagreeable noise,” said he.

Jane choked off her sobs, told one of the men to take the dog away, and carried the brick in to Ellen.

She lay with her head propped up, to breathe easier. Her face, wan and attenuated, would have looked as if life had already fled, but for the flickering of the nostrils. The dove was crouched against her cheek. Jane, supposing it an annoyance, went to remove it; but Ellen said, wildly:

"No, no, let it be. It is all I have to love me. I am dying, you know, all

alone-all alone!"

The touching sorrow of the words opened again the fountain of Jane's grief, and Ellen felt her tears on her hand.

"Yes, Miss Ellen, so help me God." "Press your hand against my forehead, then, and don't go away. Oh! Jane."

The black hand was laid against the pallid brow, and the last tear that Ellen shed, mingled and was lost in the fastfalling tears of the negress.

For some time they rested so, in silence.

Jane," said Ellen, "cut off a lock of my hair for Phil, and tell him I-I died happy, blessing his name. But he will come, though-he must come. I cannot go without his kiss. God will be merciful. Oh! I hear his horse; quick! quick! to the window. I must meet him!"

She rose out of bed, her eyes starting from her head. Jane had to shriek for aid, to keep her from jumping out of the window. She struggled with the doctor, and cried out:

"They gave him to me at the altareven unto death. Let no man keep us asunder."

They held her down in the bed, and from violence she passed to supplication -imploring them so earnestly to let her go to Phil, that the strange physician, though used to suffering, was blinded with tears. He told her Phil would soon be there; and, if she wished to hoard her life to see him, she must not exhaust herself in that way.

This seemed to compose her; but she was still delirious, and had strange fancies. She thought Mr. Brooks was her father, and asked him to walk with her, and sing. He stooped to pick her up, saying he would walk with her, but he didn't know any songs. The dove ruffled up its feathers, and pecked at him furiously. Ellen whispered in his ear:

"She thinks it's Mr. Brooks. He doesn't know how to sing. I've never lain on his shoulder. It wouldn't do, you know; for I've stood beside him, very weary in my limbs and spirit, and he never beckoned me to come. He doesn't love me, though I gave up everything to please him, and cut my heart-strings away."

Mr. Brooks was troubled at these fantastic words, but came to the conclusion that delirium often presented much more singular phenomena. His conscience assured him he had done everything that was possible for her salvation and happiness. If she entered the heavenly gates, it would be owing chief

ly to the pains he had taken to open her eyes to the ignorance and darkness in which she had groped.

Ellen called, by turns, upon Phil, her mother, father, and Rose to come.

"Oh!" she groaned, "I thought I was brave enough to die without them; but my soul clings to earth yet, and yearns to feel their presence. Oh! pray for me to die," she said, turning to Jane, “that I may be released from my agony."

Jane knelt by the bedside, and prayed fervently:

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"Oh! good Lord God, let her die; poor honey! I can't stand it any longer;" and she broke down and sobbed aloud.

A few moments after, Ellen was struck with death. "She is growing

cold," said the doctor. "No, warm," she murmured-"Listen -music!"

Her face broke into a smile, and she gave a sigh of relief, as if something for which she had long thirsted had

come.

"Are you happy, Ellen?" said Mr Brooks.

She nodded.

A spasm convulsed her form, and her spirit fled-leaving the last print of its celestial vision in her face.

At that moment, there was a sound of hurrying feet. The door burst open, and Phil, Mrs. Grey, and Rose entered the room.

My child, my child," shrieked Mrs. Grey. They have killed her and kept it from me. Nelly, it's your motheryour poor mother come for one word Speak to her, dear; just say you love her and forgive her coming late. She is not dead, you know," said she hoarsely to Rose. "She has only fainted and will speak to me soon."

She threw herself upon the body. The dove, that had sat trembling on Ellen's shoulder, rose in the air, circled round the room with a moaning noise, and flew out of the window. They looked at each other with awe, for it seemed as if it was the shadow of her soul that had lingered and gone.

XIX.

That night Jane watched over Mrs. Grey in fainting fits. Rose and Phil sat up with the corpse.

The owls hooted dismally; bats sailed in and out through the open win