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."

Enclosed in this letter was a slip from Paul with these words:

"Gerty says she has told you how much we like the house; but she could not, in one letter, give expression to our grateful sense of your kindness. Your sister has created quite a sensation here by her beauty and artless manners. You would have been proud of her; and I can assure you her husband was, and is."

Edward was delighted at the bright prospects opening before the young couple; but his cheek flushed not a little at Gertrude's almost illegible scrawl, in which the most common words were either misspelled or misused. He had thought the letters he received in college bad enough, but this was much worse.

"Poor, mistaken, child!" he mentally exclaimed. "Instead of passing her evenings in places of amusement, she ought to be studying her spelling book, or reciting grammar to her husband."

He was so much distressed at this exhibition of her ignorance that he took the afternoon boat for Rose Cottage, as fortunately the ice had not yet closed the river. He found Hannah laughing and crying over a letter from her darling, just received.

"Shall I read it?" he asked smiling at her manifestations of delight.

"I will read it to you," was her hesitating reply. "I have read it so many times I can make it out quite well."

I will give my reader's an extract:

"Dear, dear Hannah. Have you longed for your naughty girl, who used to torment you so much? I hope you have missed me a little, for I have wanted you every hour in the day. Now don't you go and marry that funny Mr. Biles who made love to you; for I shall go to Rose Cottage in the summer to bring you to Chicago. Paul told me something about your beau. He rode with him the day he first came to see us, and the man talked so about our never having any visitors; because you wouldn't let any body come, that Paul was almost afraid to venture."

"Dear Hannah, I wish I didn't find it so hard to write for I have so much to ask you. I am very happy indeed, I mean, most of the time, but there are some things which trouble me. The first Sunday I was here, I dressed to go to church; but Paul said he was tired;—that it was his only day of rest, and he'd rather stay at home. I was very much surprised. I told him I had never staid from church in all my life, unless I was sick; but of course I couldn't go alone; so I stayed. I'm almost afraid to tell you that we worked all day arranging rooms, and then in the evening I had to sing and play tunes I never sang before on Sunday. I tried to laugh and be lively, because Paul said it was nonsense to be so squeamish; but I can't think it was right. I wish I knew what I ought to do, for I'm afraid Paul don't mean to go to church at all. He says his father and mother haven't been inside a church for years; and that it costs a great deal to hire such a pew as he would be willing to sit in. I told him I felt wicked all day, working just as if it wasn't Sunday; and he said; 'Pshaw, Gerty! I'll take care of your conscience. Your first duty is to obey your husband.'"

Then followed some lines written later:

"Oh, Hannah! how sorry I am I didn't learn to keep house. Paul loves coffee so dearly; and our servant doesn't know any thing. This morning I tried myself, and instead of being clear like yours; it was just like mud. I tried not to cry; but it was hard to be blamed when I had done my best. There was nothing on the table fit to eat; and so Paul went off to get his breakfast at a restaurant. I'm sorry now we tried to keep house, for the servants here are so ignorant."

"Paul's patience will not last long under such circumstances," remarked young Wallingford gravely; but "Hannah how is it that her letters are so much worse than those she sent me in college."

The woman's cheek flushed; but at last she acknowledged that it was a task Gerty was very unwilling to enter upon. "I insisted." she said, "that she should write all the words on the slate; and then we looked them out in the dictionary. Sometimes it took a day or two before the sheet was ready to send off, she had to copy it so many times."

"And was this what took her so many evenings to Mr. Monroe?"

"Yes, he teaches the school you know; but Gerty wouldn't attend because she was so much behind the rest. He came here one day to buy some fresh butter, and I made bold to talk with him about her education. Finally he agreed to teach her three evenings in a week, on condition she would come regularly and try to improve. I paid him in butter and eggs; and she was getting on finely, till Mr. Dudley came."

Mr. Wallingford paced the floor in great excitement. "It is even worse than I feared," he exclaimed; "but regret is useless now. If I had done my duty,—"

"Don't fret about that, Edward. If you had put her to the best school, she would not have applied herself; now she feels the need of an education, she will turn to her books, and her husband has promised to teach her."

He shook his head.

"I didn't know the dear child had so much conscience," urged Hannah, turning to the letter again.

"You must be careful what you write," was Edward's caution. "Paul will doubtless see the letter. I shall write at once recommending Paul to take a slip in Dr. Gilbert's pew, offering to pay the rent. She can attend then if he does not."

CHAPTER VII.

BROKEN PROMISES.

THREE months later let us look in upon the girl-bride.

It was a warm morning in the middle of May; but poor Gertrude thought not of the weather. She was sitting in her own chamber curled up in a lounging chair, her head resting on the arm, crying as if her heart would break; and truly the scenes through which she had passed during the last twenty-four hours would have brought grief to many a wife of more mature years.

Following their arrival in Chicago, several parties were made in order to introduce the strangers into society. It was true that the extreme youth, the beauty and artlessness of Mrs. Dudley made her an object of interest and attention; and many evenings were by her among friends whom she felt that she could love. But after one occasion when she made some blunder, which caused quite a laugh at her expense; and for which her husband openly reprimanded her; she shrank from appearing in public, and made almost any excuse in order to remain at home.

One day when a number of ladies and gentlemen were calling upon her, an allusion was made to Dr. Kane's Arctic Explorations; and a gentleman said:

"I suppose of course, Mrs. Dudley, you have read his interesting volumes."

"No," she answered innocently, "I have never heard of them."

Paul, who sat near talking with a lady, called the attention of all to his wife by saying in a loud voice:

"Gertrude has no suspicion of any other Cain except the naughty boy who killed his brother."

When the company had gone, he turned to her and said angrily:

"Why need you disgrace me by exposing your ignorance any more than is necessary? Why couldn't you answer that you had not read the books, without adding that you never heard of them? I shall be laughed at for having married a fool."

"I told you I was ignorant; and you promised to teach me," she began, her lip quivering.

"What time have I to hear a-b, ab," he asked with a sneer.

Another time she was on her way to the parlor after tea, when she heard a great shout of laughter. She ran back to her room in an agony of grief and mortification when she overheard her husband reading aloud for the edification of a coarse companion, one of the letters she had written him soon after their engagement. Even in her own room she could hear a fresh burst of merriment when they stumbled upon a word spelled as it could be found in the dictionary.

All this time the affairs in her house were growing more and more confused. One servant after another was engaged and dismissed by the master for some trifling offence, until no decent one would come to them. It had become a habit of Paul's to take his dinners and often his breakfasts at a restaurant, without stopping to inquire where his wife procured her food.

At last he insisted that the usage of society required they should give a party in return for all their invitations, and their cards were accordingly sent out.

Poor, ignorant, unhappy Gertrude shrank with actual pain from the responsibilities of the occasion; and when she timidly asked her husband what she should do, he answered sharply:

"I can tell better what you will do. You'll act like a fool as you always have done," in company. But when she began to cry, he softened a little and explained:

"If you and your servant can manage to have the house in order, I'll excuse you from every thing else. The entertainment will be sent in from the confectioners; and waiters will relieve you of all care. You will take your place by me, nominally to receive the company; but I have engaged a lady every way competent, to do it in reality."

"Will it be Miss Richmond?"

"Yes."

"I would rather have had Marion Gilbert. She is so kind and really tries to teach me." The tone was sad and humble; but Paul did not seem to notice it.

"I have chosen the one I thought suitable," he replied, "and you will show her proper attention."

A spark of the old wilfulness shot from Gertrude's eye as she said:

"Perhaps I shall not see her, I may not be present at all."

"Just as you please, Mrs. Dudley; but remember if you choose to slight my invited guests, I never will forgive you."

She was subdued at once, and with a burst of feeling cried:

"Oh, Paul, I never thought you'd treat me so!"

The whole day of the party, Gertrude and her good-natured, but awkward Bridget spent in sweeping, dusting, washing glass and polishing silver. When night came, the weary child was more fit to go to bed in a darkened room; and have cold applications to her throbbing temples, than to dress and entertain company.

"Do try and get up some color," urged Paul, coming in for the first time since morning. "You look as if you were in the last stages of consumption. I should think you'd have some pride about yourself."

At eight the guests began to arrive; and at nine the rooms were crowded. Two or three times when Paul was introducing some one, Gertrude thought she should faint. The room seemed to whirl about in a most unpleasant manner; and once she was obliged to catch hold of a chair for support. She knew her husband was angry with her, from the occasional glances he gave her, and she longed to be by herself and have a good cry.

Miss Richmond stood near her, talking gayly with every one who came up; entirely ignoring the young wife's presence; and rendering the contrast between them as great as possible.

When the refreshments were passed around, Gertrude sick and giddy, declined the offer of one and another to bring her cake, fruit or ices. She was ignorant that etiquette required her, at least, to toy with her spoon; and did not understand why so many gazed at her, standing unemployed.

Presently Paul caught a glimpse of her and seizing a glass of vanilla-ice said aloud:

"Excuse me, Gertrude, I thought you were supplied."

Her countenance lighted with the attention, and without thought of harm, she said:

"My head aches so badly, I have no appetite."

"Take it," he muttered under his breath; and without another word returned to Miss Richmond's side.

Marion Gilbert happened to be near, and witnessed the by-play. All the evening she had watched Gertrude with a hope to be able to relieve her; but circumstances had kept them apart. Now she stepped forward, and, hiding Mrs. Dudley's blanched face from view, tried to interest her in conversation. She saw with what extreme difficulty the young wife kept back her tears; and soon managed to draw her into a corner where they could chat at leisure. At some inconvenience to herself; she staid with Gertrude until the last guest had departed; and then recommending a late breakfast kissed the poor child good night.

"I'm so weary, I can scarcely stand," Gerty said, as her husband was putting out the lights. "I am so glad it's over."

There was no answer, and understanding by this time that Paul was not pleased, she climbed up the staircase, and throwing off her dress, sank on the couch and soon fell into a heavy slumber.

The first sound she heard was the breaking of glass and starting up, to her surprise found it was broad day light. There was loud, angry talking in the hall; and running to the door Gertrude heard her husband dismissing Bridget and threatening to have her prosecuted for the damage she had done.

This was a severe trial; for though wholly ignorant, Bridget had proved more sympathizing and faithful than any of her predecessors. She knew it was no use for her to plead the girl's cause; and while she was wondering what she should do for breakfast the outer door shut, and Paul had gone.

A timid knock soon after was followed by the girl's entrance.

"I'm going, ma'am; and it's sorry I am for the sake of ye, for any baby can see ye're not fit to be left alone with the like of himself. Wherever are yer friends that they don't come, and take ye away before he kills ye intirely."

"Don't Bridget; don't talk so."

"Feth ma'am, and don't I know that; but sure there's many a husband has killed the girl he's vowed to love by his hard words. Oh, ma'am! I've seen throuble meself; and I knows how to sympathize with ye."

"I know you've been kind, Bridget. I'm very sorry you're going. I don't know what I shall do."

"Put ye're trust in the Lord, ma'am; that's all I can tell ye. Shall I give ye a bit of my life, ma'am. It'll show yer how the good Lord carries his children through a dale of throuble."

"Yes, Bridget, I should like to hear it; but I'm so faint. I've taken nothing since yesterday morning."

"I'll run down, and make ye a cup of tea. It's better for us not to mind the coffee at all, as himself is away."

In a short time she returned with tea and a cracker, which Gertrude swallowed with a relish. Then leaving the cup standing on the table, she began:

"I'm not a girl, ma'am, at all. I'm a married woman; and the ring is in my trunk. Patrick McCarty was as fine a bye as one would wish to see. He coorted me for a year; for he used to take a drop at 'the public;' and I thought it wasn't good for him, and we didn't agree about it. At last he said he'd lave drinking intirely if I'd be married, and come to Ameriky. I had seventeen pounds, ma'am, of my own airning, and a chist of as fine clothes as any one would wish."

"I consinted at last, and directly after our marriage we started for Liverpool. A cousin of Patrick's came along with us; a bold girl, and I didn't like my husband to be talking so loud with her in the car. He took a room for the three of us, with a closet in it for Maggie to sleep in. From the first day he treated me worse than a dog. He wanted me to give up all my money to his care; and when I said 'twas safer for me to keep it in my chist, he abused me awfully; and Maggie took his part against me. I don't know what I should have done if my mother hadn't taught me to pray. I used to go in the closet and ask God to continue my friend; and I had need of him, for one day when I had gone out to ease my burden by walking through the dirty streets, Patrick and Maggie carried my trunk away between them, thinking to get to the vessel and sail without me."

"I was like one disthracted; but whin I found my money and clothes and every thing, even to my Bible, was gone, I told mysilf 'twas no use fretting. I got a place pretty soon out of the city, where I churned butter and washed keelers; and the Lord was helping me grow continted, whin one day I heard a man had been run over and was lying in a shed with no one to look after him."

"I don't know what made me go there, for I had not thought of seeing Patrick; but it was he, poor feller; and I knew at oncet he had but a little while to live."

"I got leave of my mistress to have him moved to my room; and I nursed him as well as I was able, and he, all the time, as humble as one could wish. He and Maggie had quarrelled about the money until they agreed that she should have the clothes, and he, the siventeen pounds. All but one pound was gone; and it cost that to bury him; and I wouldn't be without the thought that I forgave him, the Lord helping me, for a chist full of money."

"Was he sorry for his cruel treatment?"

"Feth, ma'am; and he was that sorry, he'd never forgive himself at all; but, ma'am, I told him I read in my Bible, 'Not rindering evil for evil, or railing for railing, but contrariwise, blessing.'"

The large drops ran down Gertrude's cheeks, as she listened to this simple story. Presently she called Bridget to her, and putting her arms up, drew down the homely face and kissed it.

"YOU HAVE DONE ME GOOD AND I CAN'T LET YOU GO."

"You've done me good," she said softly, "and I can't let you go away."

CHAPTER VIII.

THOUGHTS AND REVELATIONS.

INSTEAD of obeying her angry master and leaving the house, Bridget went down stairs to the parlors, where a scene of confusion met her eye, such as would have carried dismay to the heart of her young mistress. Her resolve was taken at once to bear and forbear, if she might be allowed to stay, for the sake of the desolate child-wife so far away from all her friends.

She ran up to the attic to lay aside her bonnet and shawl, and looked in upon Gertrude to say:

"Be aisy, ma'am; Bridget McCarty's not the girl to lave ye whin ye need a stout arm and a willing heart."

"I tried to go down," faltered the young wife, "but I grew giddy at once."

It was when she was left alone that, supporting herself by a chair, she walked to the window and looked down into the street.

Just passing were two young girls, whom she had often watched during the winter as they merrily wended their way to school; their books under their arms.

She sighed as she reflected, "They are just my age; and I might have been going to school, as happy and free from care as they, if it had not been for my obstinacy and self-will. Now I am far away from all who love me, with not one, but a poor servant girl, to speak a word of sympathy or affection."

A merry burst of laughter from a group of younger children grated harshly on her ear; and she murmured:

"How long it seems since I was merry! Oh, Hannah! Oh, Edward! you're prophecies have come true! I am sorry I did not heed your advice. I deserve to be miserable." With these sad reflections she sank into the lounging chair and burying her face in her hands, sobbed as I have described at the commencement of the last chapter.

In a few minutes her grief had exhausted itself and lying there, with her eyes fixed on the clear, blue sky, her thoughts went backward to Rose Cottage.

Though ignorant and unaccomplished, Hannah had carefully taught her the sacred truths revealed in the word of God. She knew that man alienated from his Maker, could never experience perfect joy. She knew that the love of the Father had provided a way whereby his sinful children might secure, not only temporal, but eternal good. Every Sabbath she had heard of Christ's love to fallen man; again and again she had listened to the words, "'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'" "'For the Son of man is come to seek and save that which was lost.'"

These gracious promises had indeed often fallen on her ear as they were repeated in church by her good pastor; but never till now did they seem so full of meaning. For the first time in her young life she felt the need of an almighty Friend; for the first time, the prayer went up from her heart as well as from her lips:

"O, God, do help me!"

Poor child! in her deep sorrow she was beginning to seek the Lord, "if haply she might feel after him, and find him, though he be not far from every one of us."

"He is in the heavens," she said softly. "Can he hear me?" If she had but known it, her heavenly Father was by her side; his heart yearning over her with compassion and tenderness. The Holy Spirit was there too, waiting to take the things of Christ and reveal them unto her.

While she was in this softened frame, she heard the ring of the door bell. Instantly all thought was suspended in one absorbing fear that Paul had returned with Bridget's successor;—that he would be terribly angry; and that his harsh words would kill her.

Listening intently she heard low voices talking in the hall, and presently a light footstep mounting the stairs.

"May I come in?" inquired a cheerful voice.

It was Marion Gilbert; and a quick flush of pleasure for one instant brightened Gertrude's pale cheeks. She put out her arms like a wearied child; and then received Marion's tender kiss with a burst of joyful tears.

"I've been sick all the morning, and Bridget has so much to do," she began, apologizing.

"I shall feel like a stranger if you make excuses;" urged the visitor, "and I came to ask you if you want a sister. If you do, I shall take off my bonnet and go to work. There's always so much to do after a party."

"Oh, Marion! you don't know how much I need one. Bridget is the only friend I have in this whole city." She said this without the least intention of reproaching her husband; but her kind friend understood well how disappointed her hopes must be when his name was not excepted.

"Mamma calls me a very energetic girl," she said laughing; "and I mean to prove to you that I am. The first thing is to get you some breakfast, for I suspect you haven't had any."

"Oh, yes, I have!" pointing to the half empty cup.

"Do you like coffee?"

"Very much; but Bridget can't make it nice."

"I'll teach her."

She brought a pillow and laid the weary head tenderly upon it; gave the wondering child a kiss, and ran away saying, "Lie there, and remember there are three persons who love you, papa, mamma and your humble sister."

What power there is in a few kind words. Life looked very different to poor Gertrude, viewing it from the new aspect. She had long ago committed to memory a verse of Scripture. "Ask and ye shall receive." She had with her whole heart asked God to help her, and how speedily relief had come. Her thoughts were not distinct, as I have given them; but there was an indefinite feeling, that her heavenly Father was nearer than she had thought; and was watching over her, together with a resolution to cast her cares, for the future, on him.

Before she had begun to expect Marion back, she heard laughing in the hall. How pleasant it sounded.

"No, I can't take both, my dress is too long. I'll carry the cup; and you may take the waiter."

Before they entered the room the pleasant aroma had revived the sick child; and oh, how good it did taste! Bridget stood by, her face lighted up by such a look of pleasure that it made her almost handsome.

"Now finish clearing off the dishes," said Marion, in that clear, decided tone which servants love to obey. "I'll be down directly and put away all the dainties. Do you think you shall remember about the coffee?"

"That I shall, miss; and I'll always be thanking yees as long as the breath of life is in me."

"You must eat every mouthful of this nice toast and the egg with it. Don't you like dropped egg?"

"It tastes just like home," was the contented reply.

"Bridget has work enough for the whole morning," said Marion; "and I am going to be nursery girl as well as cook." She turned down the bed clothes and threw the bolster near the open window to air, while she picked up the various articles of dress about the chamber. At last she turned to Gertrude and said gayly, "It's for sisters to know each other's ages. I'm twenty next month."

"And I was sixteen the day I left home. Paul wished to be married the August before; but my brother would not consent."

"Of course not." Marion did not add what she thought. "He must be an idiot to consent at all."

"I had such a dear home," Gertrude went on. "I told you last night it was called Rose Cottage. I wish you could see it; and such a good kind Hannah. She is not a common servant. She was mamma's friend; and mamma gave me to her, and to Edward in charge. I don't mind telling you that I acted very badly; and when they begged and plead with me not to leave home till I was two or three years older at least, and had been to school; for really, Marion, I know nothing, I wouldn't listen to them. I just repeated the words Paul told me to use. 'I have given my promise; and unless he wishes to be free, I shall keep my word.' Now I know that I am not fit to be a wife; and have the care of a family. Paul says, I'm a natural fool; and I'm afraid it's true, for I see so many girls of my age, who know a great deal, and can spell every word of a letter without looking in a dictionary."

Marion was obliged to bite her lips to keep her indignation within bounds, at this artless revelation. She had heard the story of the exposed letter; and ever since had found her heart drawn out toward the unprotected child.

Gertrude, greatly revived by the most appetizing meal she had partaken for months, prattled on, revealing every moment traits which drew out the listener's sympathies more closely.

When the room was put in nice order, Marion looked at her watch.

"Oh, how the time flies!" she exclaimed. "I should so love to sit down and talk with you; but I promised Bridget to help her. By the way, she is very fond of you, and though awkward, she is teachable; much better than the average."

"I'm afraid Paul wont let her stay. She broke a glass dish this morning," was the timid answer.

"We'll try to contrive somehow to keep her. Now if I shut the blinds, can you sleep?"

"If you'll promise to wake me as soon as you've done. It's so nice to have you here. I wish Hannah and Edward knew what a friend I have found. Do you know," she added in a reverent tone, "I think God sent you here."

"I am sure he did, my sweet sister." Marion's eyes grew dim as she looked into the wishful face; but not being a sentimental girl she winked the tears out of sight, and added gayly:

"Pleasant dreams to you of home and Edward."

CHAPTER IX.

THE SURPRISE.

DOWN stairs there were brisk steps and suppressed, though earnest, voices. Marion whose whole heart was bent on being of service to the young wife, had two objects in view in every step she took. First the room must be cleaned, the carpets cleansed from the spots of grease which every where met her eye; and what was quite as important, Bridget must be taught the best method of doing the work. She was delighted to see that the girl caught her ideas at once; and tried to imitate whenever it was in her power.

In the meantime Marion listened to a revelation of Paul's unkindness which shocked her.

"Such cruelty shall be stopped," was her energetic reflection; "but how?"

By half past eleven the lower part of the house was in fine order, though it must be confessed there was a strong odor of benzine with which the carpets had been cleansed. Marion ran softly up to the chamber and found Gertrude still sleeping; and concluding the rest was doing her more good than any thing else, went back to consult with the servant about dinner.

Mr. Dudley, she learned to her astonishment, usually took that meal away from home; but sometimes came in upon his wife all of a sudden; and then talked "awful" because there was nothing fit to eat.

"I believe," the young lady said, "that gentlemen are always cross when they are not well fed; and we must see that he has no excuse of that kind to-day; for I want to get his leave for you to stay and comfort your poor mistress."

An exploring expedition into the larder proved there was abundance in the house for a nice little family dinner. Enough dainties remained from the feast to furnish dessert for weeks.

There was half a boiled ham from which sandwiches had been made by the caterer; a slice of steak uncooked, potatoes, rice and plenty of nice little rolls. These last she had told Bridget to wrap in a towel to keep them moist; then when needed for breakfast to wet and crisp them in the oven.

Having begged an apron from the girl, she began to pare a ring around the potatoes, throwing them into the pot with a little salt; calling Bridget to observe every motion, with a view to another time.

When the potatoes and rice were boiling, she pounded the meat, to Bridget's great surprise, and laid it upon the gridiron to be ready for broiling; and then, seeing that the coal burned briskly, hurried off to set the table. But finding the servant had already been taught this operation by her young mistress, she resorted to the chamber; and faithful to her promise, softly kissed the sleeper's pale cheek.

"I feel so much better. My sister has cured me," Gertrude said, pulling Marion's face down for a second embrace.

This proved to be a day of pleasant surprises. Marion had assisted her new sister down stairs, where, with a pillow and shawl she was realizing how pleasant it was to be cared for once more, when another ring brought a hectic flush to her cheek.

It is sad indeed for the wife, be she young or old, when she trembles with fear at the thought of meeting reproachful looks and hard words from her husband.

"That's Paul," she said half aloud, rising and leaning on her elbow.

But she was mistaken this time; it was not Paul.

"Is Mrs. Dudley at home?" inquired a cheerful, manly voice of the waiting Bridget.

"Yes, sir, she's at home; but I can't tell without asking whether she'll be able to see yerself."

"Tell her, Mr. Wallingford, her brother, is here."

"Och, sir! and that's the news I'll be proud to tell. Walk in, sir. Yer welcome as the morning sun."

"Gerty, dear, I smell medicine. Are you ill?" he asked, opening the door and descrying her in the back parlor.

He had no time to say more, the youthful figure bounded from the sofa and almost fell into his outstretched arms.

"Oh, Edward!" was all she could say; but she nestled her head against his breast, and gazed into his face with such a loving, satisfied glance he needed no other assurance of welcome.

"What is the matter, Gerty? Your heart is fluttering like a frightened bird," he said tenderly, seating her on the sofa and gazing sadly into her pale, wan face. "It is well Hannah is not here or she—"

He stopped abruptly as she exclaimed, with a tear of joy:

"It seems like a dream. I never expected to be so happy again."

"Tell me all your trouble, little sister. I came a great many miles to satisfy myself whether Paul was keeping his promise."

She went on in her childlike way to relate about the party; her sickness; the trouble she had experienced with servants, and the great kindness she had that morning received from Marion Gilbert, the daughter of their clergyman.

"You have a servant now who seems attached to you," Mr. Wallingford answered gravely, recalling her characteristic welcome at the door.

"Yes, she's as kind as can be. I do hope Paul will let me keep her. Marion says she's very teachable."

"Why do you think he will not?"

"She broke a glass dish. She is not generally careless; and he dismissed her." This was the only mention she had made of her husband.

With a calm, steady gaze in her eyes her brother said:

"Tell me, Gerty. Is Paul kind to you, and considerate of your wants?"

Her eyes fell beneath his; and there was such a pained expression on her once happy face he needed no other answer.

A little tingle of the table bell announced that dinner was ready; and almost immediately after Marion appeared smiling and blushing at the singular position in which she found herself placed.

"This is my brother, Marion," Gertrude said with a bright smile, "I've been telling him all about my new sister."

"Will you try to come to the table, darling?" whispered the visitor; "or shall I bring you a piece of steak here?"

"Oh, I will go! Edward will give me his arm."

Marion rolled an easy chair to the table; called Bridget to bring a cricket, and without a word seated herself at the head of the table opposite a steaming dish of potatoes, mashed and browned in the form of a pineapple. She waited one moment hoping Mr. Wallingford would offer to say grace; but as he did not, she bowed her head one instant and then with a smile, commenced her self-imposed duty of waiting on the others.

Bridget, who had been privately instructed, stood behind her chair waiting to carry the plates.

On the handsome side board was a dish of jelly and a silver basket filled with different kinds of cake, with Gertrude's pretty service of silver, exciting suspicion that coffee would be forthcoming in due time. The young wife colored with delight as she saw what a nice repast was in readiness for her brother, and could not forbear saying:

"Edward, you must thank my new sister for your dinner. I am a very poor housekeeper."

"Bridget has proved an efficient help," quietly observed Miss Gilbert. "You will be able to judge presently of her skill in making coffee."

"But where is your husband?" inquired Edward.

"He generally takes dinner at a restaurant," answered Gerty, trying to steady her voice.

Edward looked so indignant that the poor child felt called upon to explain.

"You know, brother, Hannah's cooking was always done with so little fuss, that I thought it no trouble at all to keep house. Paul would have very sorry fare, if he took his meals at home."

Before she had finished speaking, there was a loud, decided ring.

"That's Paul," she exclaimed anxiously.

"I know his ring."

"Don't tell him he has visitors," cautioned Marion, as Bridget passed her to open the door.

"How came you, here?" Paul asked angrily. "You needn't expect a cent from me. I told you to go at once."

They heard him walking into the hall, where he probably perceived the smell of steak and coffee.

"So you and your mistress can get up a meal when I'm away," he began in a sneering tone. "You didn't expect I'd come home, I suppose. Well, I'm glad I've found what is done in my absence; and you may leave as quick as you please."

By this time he had laid aside his hat and gloves, thrown his newspaper on the hall table; and walked toward the dining room, asking: "Is your mistress here?" throwing open the door.

His tone changed as if by magic; and yet it was easy to perceive the surprise of seeing his brother-in-law was not at the moment an agreeable one.

"Why, Wallingford, how are you? Welcome to Chicago. Miss Gilbert you look as blooming as a June rose. Gertrude, love, are you ill? You are very pale. Ah, I feared the effect of your last night's dissipation. Fact, I have myself a blinding headache to-day. Makes me as blue as I used to get sometimes in our old college days, Wallingford."

"How is business?" inquired Edward, breaking an awkward pause.

"Very good! No, I thank you, Miss Gilbert, I have eaten dinner. I came home to see how Gerty was getting on with her clearing away, after our first party. She ate so many dainties last night, feared she would be sick to-day."

"Why, Paul, you forget I didn't taste any thing."

Both Marion and Mr. Wallingford caught an ugly scowl which for one moment distorted the features of the lawyer, which instantaneously changed to a smile, as he said carelessly:

"Ah, was that so? My duties as a host kept me very busy. You are so fond of cake and candies, that I supposed you indulged freely."

CHAPTER X.

THE NEW PROJECT.

WHEN the coffee was served with the dessert, Mr. Dudley, who had taken a cup, said with a bow to Miss Gilbert, "I suppose we are indebted to you for this luxury. Gertrude, I wish you would find out the method. This is really delicious."

"You are giving me quite too much praise," Marion answered quietly. "Bridge concocted it; and I agree with you she is deserving of great credit. Indeed I recognize in her the elements of a first rate cook; and as she says she has no place, I shall engage her for mamma."

This speech caused Gertrude to open her eyes, while the girl who had great shrewdness understood the plan at once.

"I don't see how I can spare her," faltered Mrs. Dudley, glancing shyly at her husband. "Our other servants have been so bad."

"I've no doubt, love, she will stay if you insist," urged Paul, beginning to fear that in dismissing a girl who could give him such a cup of coffee, and who was an embryo cook, he had made a mistake. "I will add another dollar a month to her wages if that will please you."

"Oh, thank you, Paul! I am so very glad."

After dinner the two lawyers went to Mr. Dudley's office; but first the husband managed to see Gertrude alone, when he asked abruptly:

"What stories of your husband's unkindness have you been telling Edward? He looks as grave as a judge."

"Not one word, Paul! You ought to know me better than that. I suppose he is sorry to see me looking so ill."

Upon every indifferent subject Edward conversed with his usual freedom; but the moment his sister's name was mentioned he proved by his reticent manner that this was a subject upon which he did not wish to speak.

Paul offered to show his visitor around the city; and they strolled for an hour or two through the principal streets, conversing of improvements to be made; handsome public buildings to be erected; etc., etc. They were passing a dry goods store when a lady, elegantly dressed, came out, to whom Paul bowed with great empressement, as the French say. Edward thought the countenance familiar; and glanced in his companion's face, wondering he did not speak of her. Paul's lip was curled into a pleasant smile, as if some agreeable memories had been stirred; but he presently remarked in continuation of their former conversation:

"Chicago is destined to be a great city, one of the greatest in the country."

They returned to find Gertrude impatiently awaiting her brother. At her earnest request Marion had consented to send Bridget with a note of explanation to her mother; and remain through the evening.

"A very wise arrangement, little one," observed Paul, playfully tapping his wife's cheek.

The tea table presented an inviting appearance, glistening with silver, glass and china. There was a plate of crisp rolls, a platter covered with thin shavings of ham, a glass of jelly and a basket of cake.

"If Hannah were only here, I should be too happy," cried Gertrude, looking smilingly around among her guests.

Paul was in unusual spirits. He had always liked Edward; and was more relieved than he could express that his first visit was passing off so agreeably. He secretly thanked Gerty again and again for urging Marion to stay; for it would not be polite to leave his brother alone, and an engagement for the evening awaited him.

After tea Marion tarried a few minutes in the dining room with Bridget to show her how to wipe the silver; and to give particular directions for breakfast, which the girl promised faithfully to remember; and then at Edward's request accompanied herself in some simple songs.

At the end of one of them, Paul started to his feet exclaiming, "Your music, Miss Gilbert is so charming that I quite forgot an engagement I was so unfortunate as to make before I knew I should be honored with company. I shall shorten it as much as possible and shall hope to find you here on my return."

How delightfully passed the evening to those left behind. The moment Paul had shut the door, Wallingford's reticence vanished; and he shone, as his sister had never seen him before. He talked of their home, and described to Miss Gilbert, who had never visited New York, the scenery on the banks of the Hudson river. He told Gerty of Hannah's success in raising calves; and made them both laugh by detailing the persistent attentions of Hannah's old beau, Mr. Biles. He talked, too, of his anxieties that his sister should improve every moment of the time she could call her own, in making up the deficiencies in her education; and Gertrude, now realizing as she never had done, how necessary knowledge is to happiness, promised to take hold of study in earnest. Her eye grew bright as she realized the possibility, that by this means, she might win back the love of her husband.

But at last Marion noticed that her sister looked weary, though there was still a smile on her lip, and insisted on seeing her in her chamber before she left, calling Bridget to help her mistress to bed. Then bidding her an affectionate good night, with the promise of another speedy visit, she took Mr. Wallingford's offered arm, and commenced her walk home.

"May I talk with you freely, Miss Gilbert, as if you were indeed a sister," the gentleman began at once. "I am sure you will understand how my heart aches for poor Gerty."

"I love her like a sister," was the earnest reply; "and before I was aware she had a brother to defend her rights, resolved to take that service upon myself."

"Thank you. I shall forget, then, that I am talking to one so lately a stranger. I see my sister's marriage has resulted even worse than I feared. Dudley was an intimate college friend; but his treatment of ladies led me to fear he would never make a tender husband; and poor Gerty is such a very child."

"Mr. Dudley is extremely popular with the ladies here," was her cool reply; "but I agree with you that he is not tender of his wife."

"What can I do for her? Shall I charge him with cruelty and take her home?"

She laughed at his earnest tone, but presently aided seriously:

"'For better for worse, till death us do part,' I think that is the way the service reads. No, I don't imagine she would be happy away from her duty."

"It seems to me he has forfeited all claim to her love. Did you notice the glance he gave her at dinner?"

"Yes; and the meek manner in which she bore it was a proof to me that she has begun to look above for help. Mr. Wallingford, there is One who has done more for us than any human being could do; who has set us an example of forbearance and forgiveness. Shall we not try to imitate him by bearing with each other's faults?"

For a moment he was too much affected to speak; but recovering himself said with great feeling:

"Excuse me; your words remind me so much of my mother, long an inhabitant of heaven. Just so she would have urged me to patience, and to hope for the future. But if she had lived, Gerty would not have married Paul."

"How long shall you remain in Chicago?" she asked, rather abruptly.

"Only a day or two."

"Then will you call to-morrow after dinner at my father's? I have thought of a project; but as I make papa my confident, I wish to consult him before I mention it to any one."

"Does it regard my sister's education?"

"Yes," laughing. "I forgot you were a lawyer and accustomed to close, as well as to cross-questioning."

"I will certainly call."

They were at this moment passing the theatre, and both started to see Mr. Dudley coming under the blaze of the light at the er trance with a lady hanging on his arm. He was leaning toward her; and as Mr. Wallingford unconsciously checked his steps, he recognized the lady as the one to whom his brother-in-law had bowed in the afternoon.

"That is Miss Richmond," said Marion, when the couple had turned in the opposite direction. "She is an heiress from Philadelphia, visiting in Chicago."

"An heiress?" repeated Edward.

"Yes, by the death of a miserly uncle, and the non-discovery of any other heir."

"I remember meeting her in Philadelphia," murmured the gentleman abstractedly. "She is an old acquaintance of Mr. Dudley."

"She was at the party last night," explained Marion, understanding how keenly the brother must feel the neglect shown his sister. "She is brilliant and accomplished; even gay and thoughtless; but I believe her to have good principles; and I have heard lately that she was betrothed to a gentleman in New York."

Mr. Wallingford passed the entire forenoon with his sister. She looked brighter than the preceding day; and there was an expression of serenity on her exquisitely cut features he had not looked for. Indeed there was an elevation in her whole countenance which recalled instantly the scene of his mother's death-bed.

Dudley seemed more at ease than on the previous day; and warmly commended Bridget on the wonderful improvement in her cooking. He kissed Gertrude's cheek as he went out, saying gayly, "I shall feel quite easy about you, love, now that Ned is here to entertain your ladyship."

The start of pleased surprise with which the wife received this token of affection convinced her brother that such manifestations were rare. He recollected with a flush of indignation hearing his old chum once say to his youngest sister as he rudely threw her off when she volunteered a sisterly embrace:

"Nonsense, Nannie! don't bother me."

Directly after dinner Mr. Wallingford met his appointment at Dr. Gilbert's, carrying with him a note to Marion which was, to say the least, correctly spelled.

"Will it do?" she asked her brother, glancing half shyly in his face?

"Capitally!" reading aloud.