Dr. and Mrs. Gilbert speedily convinced their visitor that they took a more than ordinary interest in his sister; and gave their full approval to their daughter's plan; which was that she should review her school lessons, allowing Gertrude to study them; and then that they examine each other preparatory to a more rigorous subsequent examination by the pastor.

"Nothing could have pleased me better than such a plan," warmly responded Mr. Wallingford. "I fully appreciate the delicacy with which the proposal is made; and give my hearty consent on one condition. I know enough of a minister's' life to understand that his hours of leisure are rare; and therefore precious. If you consent, sir, to devote even a brief portion of this leisure to your unfortunate parishioner, I shall insist on your accepting this small sum;" opening his portemonnaie and putting into the clergyman's hand two fifty dollar bills.

"As for Miss Marion, I accept her proffered kindness in the same spirit it is offered; and believe she will find in her own heart a reward for her warm interest in a desolate stranger."

CHAPTER XI.

JOYS AND SORROWS.

"THANK you, Mr. Wallingford," returned Marion, her cheeks glowing with pleasure. "I loved Gerty the first time I saw her; and now it will be such happiness to feel that you have left her in my charge. Papa doesn't want your money. He's always doing kind things for every body; and he will take his reward in hearing my pet sing."

But the gentleman insisted that he could not take the trouble to unclasp his portemonnaie again, and left the bills on the table where Dr. Gilbert had quietly deposited them.

"I have a condition too," explained Marion as they were walking together to Mr. Dudley's. "I want this arrangement to be entirely between Gerty and myself."

"Why so?"

"You are too shrewd a lawyer to ask me to explain."

"Do you imagine my brother-in-law will object?"

"Perhaps not in so many words, but he knows I have heard some remarks concerning his neglect of his child-wife; and she might be annoyed,—I may not feel right about it; but I fear obstacles would be thrown in the way of our meeting daily, as we must; for I intend to give my little friend lessons in housekeeping as well as in literature."

"Wallingford," said Paul in the evening of the same day when Marion had accompanied Gertrude to her chamber; "Will you take charge of a lady to New York? A friend of mine, Miss Richmond, whom you met at our house in Philadelphia, has been spending a few months in Chicago, and wishes to return home. Do you remember her?"

"Yes, I saw her the other evening as you were coming out of the theatre."

Paul started to his feet. "And never said a word about it, Ned? That's not like the old friend you used to be. The fact was I had engaged to attend her there before I knew of your coming; and I was ashamed—that is, it—would have been awkward to tell my wife I was going to a place of amusement with another lady."

"Decidedly; especially when that lady was one with whom you once fancied yourself desperately in love."

"Pshaw! Well, Wallingford, it's no use denying she's a splendid girl. Did you know she's become very rich? I suppose I might have married her if I'd known what a fortune she would have. It will be the making of Johnson."

"What Johnson?"

"R. D., Firm of Johnson, Morgan & Co., Wall Street, New York. They're engaged, though few in Chicago are aware of it beside myself, whom she honored with her confidence."

"If you had not been in such a hurry to marry a child only just commencing her education, you might have won the heiress for yourself," remarked Edward coolly.

"Just so. Not that I don't love Gerty, and all that," was the somewhat confused rejoinder; "but now that the excitement has past, I don't deny it was a mistake. We ought to have waited as you urged us to do."

"Will you give me back my sister, Paul?"

Wallingford had turned and was looking his companion full in the eye.

"What do you mean?"

"To take her home with me and provide teachers for her; to let Hannah fit her for a housekeeper; and allow the poor child some of the freedom from care, other children of her age enjoy."

"She wouldn't consent."

And this was true. When her brother proposed it, offering to persuade Paul to allow her to go back with him for a year or more; she answered seriously:

"He is my husband; and I have no right to leave him. I know he has not had much comfort in his home; but Marion is going to teach me to be a better wife; and I want to try at least to do right."

Our part of Gertrude's new régime was to walk out for, at least, an hour before dinner. She usually accompanied Marion to market; and together they made their purchases for the next day, the articles being sent home in the evening. In the course of a month she could select a suitable piece for roasting or boiling, could judge which was tough or tender, and was every day growing more skilful in the purchase of household supplies.

"If I only knew when Paul would dine at home," she said one day to her young teacher, "I could surprise him with a nice dinner; but I suppose it is dull for him to leave all those gentlemen just for poor, stupid me."

This summer was the most profitable, and in some respects the happiest, Gertrude had ever passed. To be sure her health was delicate; and there were many days when if she had yielded to the lassitude which oppressed her, she would not have risen from her couch; but she was beginning to find the reward of those who try to please their Saviour. She went to her heavenly Father as a loving child does to an earthly one, pleading his promise that all things, to them who love him shall work together for good. In a dim way her childish heart was learning to rest on him, and to feel that the discipline she was passing through, was what she needed for the perfection of her character. She had not the slightest idea that these exercises were gracious ones, giving evidence, that she was renewed in the spirit and temper of her mind; and often in talking with Dr. Gilbert, whom she had come to revere above every other earthly friend, she said, in her frank, artless way:

"If I were a Christian I should not find it so hard to keep evil thoughts out of my mind. It would be easy to remember when I am angry, that Jesus returned not a word to the railing of his enemies."

Instructed by her kind pastor, Gerty was learning that the warfare between indwelling sin and a yearning after holiness would have to be maintained as long as we are in a wicked world; but that the victories the child of God achieves, yield to the soul a sweet peace which all the pleasures of the earth can never give.

In her studies the young wife made rapid advancement, considering the circumstances in which she was placed. With a wisdom for which none of her friends gave her credit, she insisted on reviewing her studies from the very foundation.

"I am shamefully deficient," she exclaimed, raising her bright eyes to Marion's. "I used to worry poor Hannah almost to death, wandering in the field and cultivating the acquaintance of the birds, beasts and insects. You say I seldom use bad grammar or slang phrases. No credit is due to me, for I was never allowed in such expressions; and associating almost entirely with brother and Hannah, I imitated their manner of speech."

It was amusing to see the young girl walking the chamber repeating aloud, subjunctive, potential and other moods, then turning to her spelling book and committing column after column with praiseworthy diligence. Every week a composition was written, in the form of a letter, which was sent for the perusal of Edward and Hannah; and which were of no little interest to the readers. By them her old friend grew to trace the workings of the Spirit in the heart of her beloved charge, while in her brother they excited a wish, that he too might experience the joys of religion.

There were also private epistles, which resulted in Hannah's making several trips to New York; and at last in, the arrival of a box from Rose Cottage, marked, Mrs. Paul Dudley. In October Hannah herself was coming, to stay one or two months; and perhaps till Gertrude could go back with her in the spring.

I wish truth allowed me to say that Mr. Dudley grew more tender and considerate of his wife, the more she needed his loving care. He had succeeded in gaining the confidence of the public as a business man, and had as much practice as he could well attend to. He had given up going into society as frequently as at first, but did not therefore devote more time to his family. He staid late at his office, coming home at any hour in the night, greatly to the disturbance of poor Gerty's rest. He saw that she was often pale and nervous, but attributed it to any thing else rather that his own neglect; or the disappointment which, let her strive against it as she might, was gradually chilling the fervor of her affection for her husband. At her request he had allowed her a sum for weekly expenses; but often grumbled at her foolish extravagance; and at his own folly in burdening himself with the trials of housekeeping.

Occasionally there would be an angry flash in her eye, which reminded him of the bitter experience of the first months, when she so stoutly rebelled at being broken into the matrimonial harness, as to his boon companions, he facetiously called it; and sometimes she retorted in a bitter tone; but generally the trembling of her lip, a huskiness in her voice, or a suspicious moisture in her eye, was the only evidence of the pain his conduct gave her.

To no one except her Saviour did she repeat these grievances. She would not allow her good Bridget even to sympathize with her about her husband's unkindness.

"Don't! You mean kindly, I know;—but you hurt me," she would say, putting her hand upon her heart.

"Perhaps," she said one day to herself when with a burst of tears she had run to her chamber after a cutting sarcasm, from Paul, "Perhaps, if he had continued kind and loving as at first, I might not have found a heavenly Friend;—one who understands the infirmities of his creatures; and will not try them more than they are able to bear."

A week before Hannah was expected, came the sad intelligence that she had fallen down stairs and broken her ancle. This disappointment was greater than poor Gerty could endure with any degree of calmness. Paul brought home the letter, and when she held it out to him with a cry of dismay, he made fun of her grief. Her tears flowed fast now as she realized her desolate condition. She was too deeply anxious to notice his sneering voice, saying:

"I wouldn't be such a cry baby. Why don't you show a little sense? There are other nurses beside Hannah." But finding she made no effort to control herself, he said in a loud voice, shaking her shoulder:

"Stop crying this minute, Gertrude. You act like a child; and you shall be treated like one." She fell back in a fit of hysterics, crying and laughing, her hands growing every moment more cold, until he grew really alarmed.

Bridget wild with excitement flew to the rescue; one moment weeping over her darling mistress, and kissing the cold hands; the next turning fiercely upon her master.

"You're the most unnatural husband the world houlds in it," she exclaimed, confronting him. "Ye've killed her with yer hard words, and she never letting me lisp a whisper of comfort. An angel out of heaven couldn't be more meek and condescinding to yer whims than she, poor crather; and now ye've killed her entirely."

"Do you think there is any danger, Bridget?" he asked, suddenly growing pale.

"Indade, and there is. If ye had the sinse of a man, let alone a lawyer, ye'd be off for the doctor at oncet."

Without a word he put on his hat, when she rattled after him:

"If she iver does come back to her sinses, 'twould be the greatest comfort of her life to see Mrs. Gilbert. That's the truth out of Bridget McCarty's mouth, and ye may do what ye plaze with it."

CHAPTER XII.

THE TINY ROSE BUD.

THE next morning's mail carried a letter to Mr. Wallingford, announcing the birth of a tiny girl; and that Gertrude was so prostrated by the nervous spasms which followed, that fears for her life began to be entertained. Unfortunately, Edward was absent on business when the letter arrived; but as it was postmarked "haste," the clerk carried it at once to Rose Cottage.

The trial of poor Hannah at being confined to her couch, while her dear child was dying, perhaps for want of her care; may be easier imagined than described. She worried and chafed until she brought on a fever which did not abate until a second letter was received from Chicago, saying Gerty's symptoms were decidedly more favorable.

She had roused from her lethargy, enough to call for her babe; and when once she had it in her arms, could scarcely be prevailed upon to give it up again. The child, which she had instantly whispered was to be named, Rose Wallingford, was so feeble and puny, that it could not probably live many days; and on this slender, delicate prop the young mother's life seemed to be dependent.

As may well be supposed Mr. Wallingford lost no time in hurrying to the bedside of his sister.

He found her looking fragile as a lily upon which the wind has blown too roughly; but with the light of a mother's love beaming from every feature.

"Isn't she a darling?" she murmured as he bent over the tiny form. "I am so happy. If God will only spare her to me, I will try to make her like our mother." The tears filled her eyes as he repeated some of Hannah's many messages.

"If crawling on my hands, and knees, darling, would have taken me to you in time. I would have been glad to go."

"Dear Hannah," Gerty faltered. "It has been a keen sorrow to both of us; but we know it was ordered by a friend who can tell what is best."

"Now," added Edward, "she is beginning to plan for the winter; for she insists you are to spend it in Rose Cottage. Little Rose is to be fatted up on cream from her best Alderney; and all the fowls on the farm are put on good behavior, being expected to lay a certain number of eggs per diem or forfeit their corn."

"If papa will let us, you and I will go and see Hannah; wont we little one," murmured the young mother pressing the infant to her breast—"you and I and Bridget."

Contrary to the expectations of all, little Rose lingered until she was three months old. Gertrude had gained her strength and scarcely had a thought outside her nursery. The infant was so feeble that the journey to New York had been postponed from time to time, greatly to Hannah's disappointment. The Doctor had told Mr. Dudley that his child could not linger many weeks longer; hinting that he had better break the intelligence gradually to the mother as the effect on her sensitive heart might be alarming; but Paul did not relish scenes as he said to himself, and thought there was time enough yet.

"It's getting to be an angel, ma'am."

The affection of Gertrude for her child was beautiful to witness. Every morning Marion Gilbert's feet tripped over the frozen ground, between her father's house and Gerty's, entering Mr. Dudley's by the side door, where Bridget was putting her kitchen in order, and inquiring:

"How's the baby?"

At this Bridget's apron would go up to her eyes.

"It's getting to be an angel, ma'am. Every day I see it."

In the neat nursery, Marion always found the two children, Gerty and Rose; for the mother since her illness allowed her hair to curl in her neck as formerly, and would easily be mistaken for a child just entering her teens.

The favorite seat of the mother was a low rocking chair lent her by Mrs. Gilbert; and which had been efficacious in rocking all the young Gilberts to sleep. Here in front of the cheerful coal fire, she sat, with her little blossom cradled in her arms, singing a low lullaby; or if the deep blue eyes of baby were closed, there was a Bible close at hand, from which a few words might be read.

Gertrude had given up all her studies now, except that of the Holy Book. Marion often thought, as she saw her storing her mind with its precious truths that by them her Father in heaven meant to fortify her heart in view of the separation which it was apparent to every one must soon come.

"Father," the young girl exclaimed one day, "Do go, and tell that poor child her baby's wings are growing and it will soon fly away to its home in the skies."

And Dr. Gilbert went; his heart oppressed with sorrow for the youthful mourner. He found his warning was not needed.

In the nursery Mr. Dudley sat, his countenance paler and more serious than his pastor had ever seen it. As the gentleman stood one moment in the hall waiting to receive an answer to his low knock, he heard Gerty's voice talking to her husband.

"I've always known she was only lent to me for a little while. At first I prayed a great deal that God would let her stay to help me be good."

"She, help you, Gerty?"

"Yes, Paul; and if you could be with her and see how patiently she bears all her pain,—if you realized how soon she is to be in the presence of the Saviour,—to rest in his bosom; you would find how easy it is to put away all unkind thoughts; to bear all the little vexations of life if we may grow meek and quiet like her. You remember Christ said to his disciples, that they must become like little children; and I've just been reading, 'Of such is the kingdom of heaven.'"

Dr. Gilbert's repeated knocks at last were answered by Mr. Dudley himself, who seemed greatly relieved when he saw who the visitor was.

"Come in, sir," he said, cordially extending his hand. "Gerty, here is a gentleman who can comfort you much better than I can. She thinks her baby not quite so well to-day, and wants me to stay at home and help her watch it."

An expression of pain, for one instant, clouded the mother's fair countenance, but was instantly succeeded by a look of resignation, so elevated, so holy, that the pastor paused to gaze.

"I'll hurry home, Gerty; and perhaps I'll find time to run in at noon," said Mr. Dudley, making a little bustle to hide his embarrassment. He feared Dr. Gilbert would offer to pray for the child before he should be out of the house.

"Precious babe," faltered the clergyman, bending over her. "We cannot mourn for you, who will so soon be free from pain and sorrow. No, sweet and unwearied as your mother's care has been, the tender love of your Saviour, who shed his blood for you, will be more sweet, more unwearied; but babes are God's precious gifts, and it is hard to part with them."

"God will give strength to bear the chastisement he sends," faltered Gerty, without raising her eyes from the infant's face. "He knows how I love her, and he would not take her away unless he saw it was best."

"'A bruised reed shall he not break,'" repeated the clergyman.

"It is sweet to feel that he does not take her from me in anger," was the faint rejoinder.

"God chastens those whom he loves, my child, for their own growth in every Christian grace. By this affliction he intends to bring you nearer to himself."

"He has already done so," she added, her whole face beaming. "I never felt so sure that he has forgiven my self-will; my disregard of all authority; my many sins against his long-suffering kindness, until I have sat here day after day and watched my little Rose, growing to be an angel, as Bridget says. I could never have borne it without his help. You have lost three babies Dr. Gilbert, and you know how easy it would be for me to give up every comfort I have in the world if I might keep her; but by his help I can say, 'She is thine dear Father, thine for life or death.'"

Dr. Gilbert kneeled to offer up a petition for continued support to the mother, and prayed that the suffering so meekly endured by the little one, might be blessed to her infantile advancement in divine grace; and then went home to tell his wife that her fears for their young friend were needless; that he had learned a lesson from her which he hoped never to forget.

He had scarcely concluded his relation of Gerty's faith in God's love; and her sweet submission to his will, though it was to take from her the dearest object she had in life, when a hurried ring announced the family physician.

"I have just come," he exclaimed, with a suspicious moisture in his eye, "from the house of Mr. Dudley. Will you, Mrs. Gilbert, be a mother to that poor child in her sorrow. Her babe is dying and Bridget is wailing over it in frantic grief. I shall ride to Mr. Dudley's office on my way back, and send him home. Nothing but the recollection of her mute sorrow keeps me from calling him some hard names."

"Come, mother," said Marion tearfully, "let's go at once."

When they reached the chamber of death, little Rose had plumed her wings and was taking her flight from earth to her home in the skies. The Doctor had persuaded Gerty to lay her on the couch; and she knelt by the side, one finger closely clasped in the tiny fingers; while the violet eyes, so wishful and wondering, were fastened on the dear face upon which they had never seen a frown.

"It was the most affecting sight I ever witnessed," wrote Marion afterwards to Mr. Wallingford, "to see Gerty smiling on her treasured one, that it might not be frightened by her tears, when her heart was nigh to breaking. This passage of Scripture, 'Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee,' came home to me with greater force than I had ever felt it before."

Just as the child ceased to breathe. Mr. Dudley rung the bell with a loud, quick jerk and hurriedly mounted the stairs. Gertrude did not seem to hear him. Her tearless eyes were fixed on the marble countenance; her hand still grasped in the stiffening fingers.

"Good by, darling," she whispered, bending over and imprinting a long, long kiss on the cold, pale lip.

Mrs. Gilbert saw a shudder run through her frame; and took hold of her to persuade her away. She saw that the shock had been too great for the overtasked nerves; and was almost glad when with a stagger the bereaved mother fell back insensible into her arms.

Motioning to Mr. Dudley, he carried his wife from the chamber, and laid her on a bed in what she called Edward's room, where Mrs. Gilbert watched by her side, while Paul, in a fever of remorse, by turns walked the floor, and passionately kissed the cold lips of his unconscious wife.

Gerry's swoon was of so long continuance that when she revived, Marion's loving hands had prepared the body of little Rose for its final resting place. When the tiny fingers were folded, Bridget, with a fresh burst of grief, begged Miss Gilbert to place within them an exquisite rose bud, which she had expended one quarter of her week's earnings to purchase at the stall opposite.

"It's the last poor Bridget can do for ye," she sobbed, rushing from the room.

"I'd give a year of my poor life in a minute," she exclaimed afterward to Mrs. Gilbert, "if the precious angel could have been spared to her mother for a little while. Then they would both have gone together; for any one must be blind not to see the Father is preparing to take her home to himself."

CHAPTER XIII.

UNAPPRECIATED.

BUT God had work on earth for Gertrude to do on earth. Some weeks after the funeral, (the body having been placed in a receiving tomb until the weather permitted its removal to Rose Cottage) Edward wrote, begging his sister and her friend to come East, for the remainder of the winter, promising to go for them if Paul could not leave.

For a moment the bright color flashed over the wan cheek at the prospect of returning to scenes so dear; but after some reflection, she concluded not to accept the invitation at present.

"I am sure Paul would miss me," she explained to her friend. "He has been so loving and kind since our little Rose went to her Saviour. Perhaps if I let him see how God sustains me, he himself will ask for support. I know my duty is here now."

She thought by Marion's silence that she was disappointed, and presently added:

"You will go home with me in the spring, dear; and we will take the baby and lay her to rest under the linden trees, where the first violets grow; and the robins sing their earliest songs."

"Yes," murmured Marion, "I will go then."

One day Mrs. Gilbert was surprised by a sight of Gerty's pale face peeping out from her close mourning hat walking into the pastor's study.

"I am going to work again," she said earnestly. "I thought it all over last night, while I was waiting for my husband to come home. It will not make me think less of Rose, if I return to my books. My heart is full of her all the time; and I might be more useful to somebody if I had more knowledge."

"You shall do just as you please, my child," returned Dr. Gilbert, thinking in his heart that God had granted her a knowledge of himself given to but few.

"Don't you think, sir, I'd better take up that course of history I was reading. I had only just commenced."

"Yes, child, with the abstract I recommended. This will fix the principal facts in your memory; and give you power of condensing in style."

So the daily lessons, of which Paul had not even a suspicion, commenced again, Gertrude at first finding it a wearisome task to abstract her mind from reveries of the one loved and gone before; and to fix it upon her page; but at last, out of gratitude to the kind friends, who had taken such an interest in her progress, she accomplished her self-imposed task and gradually her interest in her studies returned.

Before spring opened she had read a large number of the best histories of different nations, and was well advanced in the rudiments of French. She was timid about pronunciation and often longed to ask her husband to help her, knowing he was a thorough French scholar. For some time she had been wondering whether it would not be best to confide her plans for self-culture to him; and one day when she had been puzzled over a French irregular verb, she determined to do so.

She was particularly unfortunate in the time chosen for this. Paul had lost a case and was very irritable.

"You had better adhere to your worsted work," he said sharply.

"But I'm trying to make myself a better companion for you."

"Oh, well!" he answered, with a contemptuous laugh; "you may study as much as you please, only don't bother me with it."

He regretted that he had spoken so sharply, when he saw how disappointed she looked, and added more pleasantly:

"You're a dear little soul; but I don't think learning is your forte. If you ever accomplish a letter decently, it will be all that is necessary. Don't you think so?" patting her cheek.

He had no suspicion of the long weekly letters she wrote to New York, which Edward proudly exhibited to her guardian, as a proof of her persevering application, but was rather surprised at her serious reply:

"We ought to improve the talents God has given us."

"Just so," he said somewhat piqued at her implied reproof; "but where little is given, little will be required."

She had seldom been so wounded as now. Her breast heaved convulsively; and it was with difficulty she commanded herself to restrain her tears. She rose presently and left the room; and her closet witnessed a burst of grief such as she had not experienced for months.

"I cannot live so," she repeated again, and again. "How can I win my husband's respect?"

A thought of Miss Richmond flashed through her mind. Paul spoke frequently of her splendid abilities; of her accomplishments which rendered her society sought after. "I admired her ease and perfect self-possession," soliloquized the grieved wife, "and used to wonder how she dared converse with gentlemen so freely upon politics and professional life; but there is something about her I wouldn't like to imitate. I think it is her boldness; not of feeling, I dare say, but of manner. Marion is equally well educated; and to me she appears far more attractive; while she is so modest the veriest trifle will call a blush to her cheek. I feel that God has given me powers; and I will make the most of them. Some time Paul may regret that he has classed me with the lowest."

This hope gave a fresh impetus to her studies. Marion wondered at the rapidity with which her mind was unfolding; and so did Edward, who encouraged her to write freely on every subject which interested her. It had become her habit of late to send him themes, or abstracts of what she read; and occasionally she surprised him with a few verses of poetry, very original thoughts, gracefully expressed and in correct measure and rhythm.

Her mourning prevented the necessity for going into general society. A few times she met a circle of agreeable friends at Dr. Gilbert's, and gained not a little confidence in herself, when she found she too could converse on subjects of general interest in a manner to gain the respect of her companions.

Once, only, Paul accompanied her there; and then staid but a short time, excusing himself on the plea of a pressing engagement.

Gertrude happened to be standing by a table chatting with a gentleman about some engravings which lay upon it. There was one picture of Abbotsford; and as she had just been reading the life of Sir Walter Scott, in connection with English Literature, she felt a good deal of enthusiasm on the subject. In her artless way she was pointing out the beauties of the situation, narrating facts in regard to them, when her husband passed and gave her a glance of warning, which sent a crimson tide to her fair cheek. The look was not lost on the gentleman, who wondered what it could mean. The young wife knew that her husband feared she would disgrace him by her ignorance.

Paul soon took his leave, after saying he would call for her at eleven.

On their way home he said more kindly than usual:

"You are improving in self-confidence, Gerty, and looked uncommonly pretty to-night. I had no idea black would become you so well; but you had better be careful not to venture beyond your depth. It is easy to acquire the habit of listening as if you understood."

"Marion ventures to converse as well as to listen," faltered the poor child, resolved to say a word in self-defence.

He laughed, as he answered, "I only spoke for your good. Marion has been a close student in her day, while you—"

"Accepted the love so earnestly proffered," she added, interrupting him. "In that I confess I showed my weakness. I ought to have been sent to my room for a naughty girl; and have been made to learn an extra column from the spelling book."

"Well done, Gertrude," he exclaimed, making the night air ring with his loud laugh. "You are really growing smart. I must have my wits about me when I measure lances with you."

"Weapons of war require skill and strength as well as sharp wits," was her quiet answer; at which reply he was so much amazed he said not one word.

In July Edward came on for another visit, accompanied by Hannah, who declared that she had no idea the United States contained so much land, as lay between New York and Chicago. Nothing but her longing to see her dear Gerty would have tempted her to come so far; and now she dreaded the journey back.

"Perhaps Paul will let me go with you," urged Gerty glancing in her husband's face. "Only think it will be two years next Christmas since I saw my dear home."

"I suppose I may as well tell you my plans now, as any time," remarked Paul, addressing himself to Edward. "I expect to sail fur France in September; to look up evidence in a patent case."

"Ah! I'm glad of it; the trip will do Gerty good."

The husband looked terribly embarrassed. "I had not thought of taking her with me," he said. "In fact it would be impossible. My expenses are paid by my client who accompanies me. It is a very important case; because there is a precedent to be established, you know."

No one spoke. Gerty had walked to the window; and was trying to keep down the fluttering at her heart.

"September is the month we have fixed upon," Mr. Dudley went on; "but it may be later."

"Where do you intend to leave your wife?" inquired Hannah in the driest tone. "She has the house here at her disposal; but I suppose she would rather not have the care of housekeeping."

"We'll gladly receive her at Rose Cottage," remarked her brother firmly; "but how long shall you be away?"

"That is uncertain, as it depends on circumstances beyond my control. My client, Mr. Curtis, who is a man of wealth, expects some delay in Paris; and has invited me to make a trip to Rome."

Mr. Wallingford remained two days longer than he intended that Hannah might return with him, their plans being entirely changed by Paul's new project. The New York lawyer resolved, if it were in his power, not to be outdone in shrewdness by the Chicago one. He learned, through Bridget, that a lady had been to hire the house furnished, for one year; with liberty to renew the lease; and keeping this knowledge in his own breast, he went to Paul's office for a quiet talk.

"I have been thinking what is best to be done," he began at once. "Of course we shall be delighted to have Gertrude at home; and as your stay is uncertain, why not allow me to rent the house I gave her, which with her furniture will support her in comfort till your return."

Paul started. This was taking his business out of his hands with a vengeance; but his brother-in-law went on:

"I know what you would say. You wish to do more for your wife than merely give her the use of what is her own. I have heard you repeat a hundred times that you should wish your wife to be dependent entirely on you. I acknowledge it is a noble sentiment; but you must remember that travelling is expensive; and though your client pays fare, etc., there will be occasions when you will need all the money you can raise."

"Just so," faltered Paul. "Just so; but if I should return in six months."

"Leave Gerty at Rose Cottage through the summer and board at one of your hotels. Just say the word, or rather give me power to do it; and I'll have the business all arranged for you before I go back." He drew a sheet of paper toward him, wrote rapidly over the page and then passed it to his brother-in-law to sign.

It was all so sudden that Paul could form no excuse; and presently Mr. Wallingford left, the office with a power of attorney in his hands to manage his sister's property, during the absence of her husband.

"What does this mean?" exclaimed Marion Gilbert, entering the next morning while they were at the breakfast table, and pointing to an advertisement in the paper.

Edward glanced toward his brother-in-law to explain.

"Only this, Miss Gilbert. My business calls me across the ocean; and it is better not to have a house stand empty."

"Oh, Gerty, how can I spare you?" exclaimed Marion in real distress.

"I'm not going to Europe," murmured the young wife. "Mr. Dudley's is a hurried trip on business; but as he and Edward think it will be best to rent the house; and it can't be leased for less than a year, I shall probably remain that length of time at Rose Cottage."

"I shall not consent to such a monopoly," urged the warm-hearted girl. "We shall claim you part of the time. I read this in the paper which I generally skim over for papa while he eats his breakfast; and I couldn't wait one minute till I learned what it meant."

"Paul don't leave for two months yet," explained his wife.

"In that case I shall have time to offer all my inducements to keep you in Chicago," rejoined Marion smiling; "and as I left papa and mamma almost as anxious as I was, I'll hurry back and enlighten them."

The advertisement was answered at once by a lady, whose daughter was intending to be married immediately. The couple had been disappointed in a house they expected to hire, and the mother of the lady was so pleased with this, that she brought her daughter and fiancée at once to decide.

Before Edward left the next day, the lease was drawn and signed, a check for the money to be forwarded to him in New York quarterly; and nothing remained but for Gertrude to look over with the lady an inventory of every article left in the house.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE SEPARATION.

I MUST pass rapidly over the succeeding months. The first of October found Gertrude in her old home renewing her acquaintance with every nook and corner of the farm, caressing the old house dog, coaxing the draught horse to let her mount for a ride, and winning anew the hearts of the neighbors by her evident sympathy with all that concerned them.

Bridget was there too, having accompanied her master and mistress to New York at Edward's special request. He could see that Hannah's lame ancle made it painful for her to be on her feet from morning till night, as had been her custom; though she would acknowledge nothing of the kind, the young lawyer was sure Bridget's faithful service would turn to good account on the farm, when once initiated into the mysteries of butter and cheese making, raising Jersey calves and rare kinds of fowls.

Paul sailed from New York the last week in September, remaining in the city only three days. He was astonished to find that his brother-in-law had gathered a lucrative practice; for the gentleman had been very reticent concerning his own affairs, and was surprised into the remark:

"I've been thinking for some time that I made a mistake in going to Chicago; and perhaps if I don't succeed in making a good thing of this patent business I shall never go back."

It only needed this, to confirm Edward in his opinion of Paul. He was wanting in perseverance. "'Unstable as water thou shalt not excel,'" his father had frequently quoted to him, when he wished to leave college to go into mercantile business, or any where that he saw a prospect of rapidly accumulating a fortune.

During his visits to Chicago, Mr. Wallingford had learned that his brother-in-law was not considered as established in that city;—that he talked openly of going to Rochester or some place farther East. He bid Paul adieu at the wharf with a belief that it was the lawyer's intention to abandon his wife for some years.

In January Gertrude went to New York city, where her brother had engaged board for her and Marion who had promised to pass the rest of the winter with her friend. Here the best teachers were provided for the ardent scholar; who was bent on improving every hour of her husband's absence in fitting herself to ensure his respect. Constant employment was necessary to her happiness, else memory carried her back to the parting with Paul, so cool and careless on his part;—while she wept and clung to him as if she were never to see him again.

Once a month he had promised she should have a letter from him informing her where to direct to him.

For three months he kept his word. His letters were short, and one was addressed to Edward, requesting him to forward some documents necessary to his success; but they were more kind than his wife had looked for, and her spirits rose accordingly. She gained both strength and color in these quiet days; reminding Marion when she came on, of the bride when she first saw her.

In the third letter Paul told her to direct next to Paris, where he should remain till the first of the year; after that he should be travelling, and she must not be worried if she heard nothing for some months. He omitted in his haste to mention that Mr. Curtis and himself had joined a party of Americans and were intending to travel with them for the rest of the winter; and that Mr. Jackson, (who with his wife, and a younger sister were members of the party) having turned out a mere fortune hunter, found it very convenient to have some one to play the agreeable to his wife; and relieve him from a duty already become irksome.

This was the last they heard of the travellers for many months; and knew not therefore where to direct letters.

In May there was news for him; for on the first of the month when the fields were expected to be green, and the flowers in profusion, all of which the lateness of the season prevented, a second little blossom came to gladden Gertrude's anxious heart.

This was a boy, strong and resolute, who bid fair to fight his way in the world. Without a moment's hesitation his mother called him Paul, thereby proving, that however her husband regarded her, the affection she had professed for him remained in all its force.

Bridget's faculties were now brought into full play. She lived but for her darling; and proved herself so faithful a nurse that Gertrude still found many hours every day which she could devote to her books. She was now wanting six months of being nineteen, an age when many young ladies are leaving school, fancying their education complete; but when Gertrude was just awaking to the delight of gaining knowledge. Her thirst for it seemed almost unquenchable. She applied her acquisitions to a practical use, keeping all the farm, as well as the family accounts; and greatly amusing Marion, who had staid on from time to time, because her friend would not part from her, by sending for a book and studying the diseases of cattle; and finding cures for their various ills.

If Gertrude could have been relieved of anxiety concerning her husband, she would now have been perfectly happy. She was not only a pet but a companion to her brother, who confided to her his most important cases; and told her the course of argument he intended to pursue.

For his sake she interested herself in polities; and often surprised him and Marion by her shrewd remarks.

July was ushered in by a terrific thunder storm. Marion had insisted that she must leave directly after the fourth; and they were all congratulating her that she was not already in the cars. Edward who came up every night did not appear till an hour later than usual; and then looked so very stern and forbidding that Gertrude gazed at him in wonder, and profound astonishment.

By this time Marion seemed indeed like a sister, and was treated, both by Mr. Wallingford and Mrs. Dudley, with the frankness due to that relation. Gertrude was not at all surprised, therefore, to hear her brother ask the young girl to walk with him on the piazza.

She went to her room to undress little Paul, a delightful task, never delegated to another. On this occasion she lingered longer than usual, for the wide awake child was not readily soothed to sleep. At last dropping the lace netting around his crib, she descended the stairs leaving Bridget, with her sewing, within hearing.

Edward and Marion were sitting on the piazza; and she was about to join them, when she heard an exclamation:

"Disgraceful! He is a villain! I am surprised though I always distrusted him! And so lovely as she is; worthy the affection of a noble heart?"

Gertrude paused trembling from head to foot. Could it be Paul, her husband, of whom her dear friend was saying such hard things. Then he was alive; and one great throb of joy quickened her whole being; but presently came a resolve to hear the worst and stepping quickly forward she said:

"What is it, Edward? What bad news have you heard. If it concerns me, I can bear almost any thing better than to be kept in suspense."

"Come with me," said her brother, leading her into the parlor, when he shut the door.

"I have seen a gentleman to-day," he began, leading her to a seat, "who is acquainted with Paul. He parted from him the first of June. Your husband was aware he was coming direct to New York; and yet he sent no message."

He waited to see how she bore this; but as her countenance remained unchanged and she sat as erect as ever, he went on:

"Gertrude, darling sister, your affections were misplaced. Paul Dudley is unworthy of your love. You must forget him."

She found her voice now. Her eyes sparkled with indignation.

"Edward Wallingford," she began, "is it you who counsel me to break my vows; who tells a wife to forget the husband of her choice, the father of her babes? I cannot believe you are in earnest in what you say. I married too young, brother. I have always regretted that I did not listen to your advice, and wait till I had completed my education; but I never regretted that I chose Paul Dudley. I don't pretend that he has no faults. None of us are perfect; but whoever says I ought not to love and respect him, gives me wrong counsel and I reject it."

She drew up her form to its full height, her nostrils dilating; and her whole face expressing derision. The gazer thought he had never seen a finer, grander model of beauty.

"Gertrude," he urged tenderly, "do you think I would have taken up a mere rumor and brought it to you? The gentleman I saw was a stranger to me; and gave his evidence unbiased."

"What evidence?" She asked the question proudly.

"That Paul gained his case in March, and made a large sum of money by it. That Mr. Curtis was so much pleased he offered to make Dudley a sort of partner in the profits; that is he was to stay abroad and have a royalty on every article sold under their patent. It will be a year more, my informant tells me, before it is necessary for Paul to be there; but he is wasting his time while—"

"No, Edward; don't draw inferences which you may regret. He is travelling as he proposed to do. Why he doesn't write I don't pretend to explain. He may have written frequently and the letters be still delayed. You have told me nothing as yet which is disgraceful; unworthy an honorable man. (You see I overheard Marion's expressions.) Nothing to lead me even to a desire to forget the words, 'I promise to love, honor and obey Paul Dudley; to cling to him till death us do part.' You are prejudiced, Edward; Paul observed the change and mourned it. You will live to regret you suspected him. The year is not out. You know he is not aware he has a son; and you will see that he will either return or send for me to join him, and I shall go."

CHAPTER XV.

SALE OF THE ROCKS.

SHE was turning to leave the room, when he placed his hand on hers.

"Wait one minute, sister. I have not yet done; but I am more proud of you than I ever was in my life. If I thought any one would ever love me with such disinterested affection, I should be very happy. You have proved yourself strong to endure, and I will tell you all."

For one instant she turned pale and putting up her hand murmured:

"Wait," but presently with a flashing eye, added:

"Well, what more did you hear?"

"That my brother-in-law has fallen into bad habits; that he has been seen in the lowest company, especially since Mr. Curtis left him;—that the party who travelled with him have excluded him from their circle. Is not that enough?"

"I do not believe one word of it; and I shall tell him so. Will you have the goodness to ascertain from your friend where a letter will reach my husband?"

"Yes, I'll do it; though I don't approve your writing. But Gerty, promise me one thing. If you ascertain that his habits are corrupt, that he, is staying abroad with the intention of abandoning you, will you allow me to procure a divorce?"

"Never, until I have Bible authority for such a course. Until I am convinced that he has been unfaithful to his marriage vows, I shall cling to him and him alone; hoping to win back the affection he once pledged me." Her voice trembled a little at last. She returned his kiss and only adding:

"Excuse me to Marion," went to her own chamber. The next hour was passed in prayer for the wanderer. If a doubt of his worthiness crossed her mind, she would not entertain it a moment. She did not sleep until she had covered eight pages with assurances of her affection. She said nothing of what she had heard; but begged him to hurry home to her and their dear little Paul.

Once more Marion's departure was delayed. Edward urged that his sister would be obliged to yield to the evidence of her husband's crimes, and would need the sympathy of a loving friend; but not once had the long-suffering wife alluded to the subject of their conversation. She often spoke of her husband; and sometimes cast a quick glance around, as if she feared to meet looks of scorn; but she talked with baby of dear papa, "poor papa, way off, all alone," till Hannah could not keep back her tears.

September came and passed, and still no tidings of the absent one. Marion had returned to Chicago; and at last Gertrude made no effort to detain her. A terrible fear that she was forsaken began to make her nights wakeful and her pillow moist with tears. She thought it would be a luxury to be alone with her grief, with no loving eyes watching her every motion. Marion had promised to send her Mr. Curtis' full address; and as soon as she received it, she requested Edward to copy a letter she had written to the gentleman. It was briefly asking him to impart confidentially to the writer any facts he knew concerning Mr. Dudley.

Mr. Curtis' answer was extremely guarded. He spoke of Paul as a good business man, who had done him great service, etc., etc., without coming to the point at all.

"Will you give him up now?" inquired her brother, tenderly. "I would give half I am worth to be able to say, 'His enemies have slandered him without a cause;' but I heard only last week that his character is vile; and when I remember how coolly he parted from you; how deliberately he was planning to defraud you of your little fortune, I am forced to the conclusion that when he went, he did not intend to return."

Gertrude sank on a chair and burst into tears. For a long time she had not allowed herself such a luxury; and now she could not immediately regain self-command.

"Wait six months longer," she urged at last, trying to control her voice. "Something will certainly happen in that time."

When the spring came and Paul was a year old, she plead again. "Wait till fall."

Two years from the hour she parted from her husband, the law had set her free. Paul Dudley was no longer her husband, and even his parents, whom Edward had visited in Philadelphia, confessed she had borne more than could be expected. Alas, they knew their son had fallen! that their fond hopes were blasted, and learned too late the truth of the inspired words; "'The rod and reproof give wisdom; but a child left to himself, bringeth his mother to shame.'"

Through all these weary days and these trying scenes, Gertrude, hopeful and faithful Gertrude, quieted the anguish of her heart by the thought:

"God is my Father and friend. He knows all things from the beginning; and has some wise purpose to accomplish by all these trials."

Still there were hours when her grief could not be controlled; when poor weak human nature cried out, "It is more than I can endure. Has it come to this, that I am abandoned, forsaken?—that I shall never again see one to whom my heart clings, notwithstanding all that has passed?"

Mr. Wallingford sent the journal containing a notice of the divorce to Paul; and then tried to forget, and lead others to forget his existence.

When he gave the paper to his sister, pointing out the paragraph, she gave way to a burst of emotion. Pressing her baby to her breast she sobbed over him, faltering:

"Oh, my poor boy! my poor, fatherless boy!"

"I pledge myself, Gertrude," said her brother, greatly moved, "with the help of God, to be a father to him; to watch over him and care for his interests as if he were my own child." From that very hour he began to teach little Paul to call him papa, and soon grew into the feeling that he was a father in reality.

The fall and winter months glided away unmarked by any event, except that Edward heard through Paul's sister that he had received notice of the legal proceedings taken against him; and expressed himself satisfied with the result; being decided not to return to the United States, and feeling unable to support a family abroad.

Gertrude came gradually to mingle in society, frequently visiting New York for a few days, leaving her babe who was uncommonly healthy, with Bridget under Hannah's supervision. All who knew her, found themselves equally delighted and surprised at the noble development of her character. It was indeed true that the afflictions through which she had passed had refined her, as silver is refined in the furnace. Her piety had deepened and matured till it could easily be seen, that her chastisement had "'yielded the peaceable fruits of righteousness.'"

She was now approaching her twenty-first birth day; a season always saddened by the associations; and her guardian laughingly assured her he should be ready to give up the care of her property. She was aware that her few thousands had been lying at interest; and was delighted that she should be enabled to educate her boy for a broad field of usefulness. Her great desire was that he should be a clergyman; but this was at present confined to her own breast.

Between herself and her brother the most entire confidence usually existed; but of late she had noticed that he was reserved, and unusually occupied. Early in the morning he started off for New York without consulting with his farmer as had been the case since the early spring; and when he returned late at night sat absorbed in thought or smiling to himself.

One day, however, he returned before dinner, and meeting Bridget dragging her boy in his fancy carriage along the avenue, seized him and mounted him in triumph on his shoulder.

"Gerty!" he shouted, at the foot of the staircase, "Gerty, come here a moment."

She ran down, wondering what had happened.

"I wish you joy, Mrs. Wallingford," he began. (She had taken her old name.) "I have the pleasure of announcing to you that I have this morning completed the sale of our rocks in the upper part of the city, where the new park is being laid out; and shall be able to put down to your share, one quarter of a million of dollars." She gazed in his face with an incredulous smile but when he added:

"Our grandfather's speculation has resulted exactly as he expected. New York city can be enlarged only in one direction. He foresaw the result; land would rise in the upper part of the city,—he purchased those few acres of rocks for a small sum; convinced it was a safe investment; now after forty years it has yielded a profit almost fabulous."

"Oh, Edward, if Paul were only here to share it with me!" was Gerty's exclamation.

"My little Paul will be heir to my portion," the lawyer went on.

"You ought to marry, Edward," said Gertrude, earnestly.

"Not till I can find a wife who will love me in spite of my faults, as my deluded sister did a most unworthy man," he answered with a heightened color.

"I know of one who would do all that," was her arch reply; "and now that you will have more money than you will know what to do with, I advise you to make a visit to Chicago at once."

"Time enough for that. You know I don't approve of marrying too young. But now to business! Mr. Van Husen has been a rare guardian, faithful to your interests in every particular. He is getting old to be sure, and intends to give up some of his business; but you would find no one so useful as he, to manage your estate. He has been figuring for this sale ever since your marriage, and is immensely pleased that it took place before he resigned your property into your own hands, with so large an increase."

"You must manage for me, Edward. If you think it best I shall consent of course. I know one thing I shall do."

"What?"

"Have a church and pastor here, in our village. Wouldn't it be splendid if we could persuade Dr. Gilbert to come?"

"I claim the right to pay half the expenses in such a project," was the lawyer's reply; "but I must run back to New York, if Hannah will give me a lunch. I shall engage Mr. Van Husen to assist me in investing my share of money and will carry your request too."

"Yes, and say he must pay himself well; for I may prove a troublesome client, always wanting a draft; for Edward, we must remember God has only made us stewards for him; and we must render an account for every dollar we spend. Think in New York city alone, how much good may be done!"

CHAPTER XVI.

THE TRAVELLERS.

ANY one who had only seen Mrs. Wallingford on her marriage, would scarcely have recognized her, when at the age of twenty-four she stood on board the deck of the good steamer Asia about to sail for Liverpool. Near her, with a huge shawl wrapped around him, sat her brother Edward; and just opposite their dearly loved pastor Dr. Gilbert, and Marion.

The wishes of Gertrude had been fulfilled. By the judicious use of money, backed by the lady's strong will and energy, a beautiful spire now pointed the inhabitants of the village to the skies; and Rose Cottage was blessed with a most faithful pastor.

But there must be some alloy in the pleasures of time, that we may be the more willing to exchange it for eternity. While every effort of Gertrude's succeeded almost beyond her expectations, she was pained to see the gradual decline of her brother's health. A few months before this time, he had a slight hemorrhage of the lungs accompanied by a cough. His business engagements were pressing; and his clients were uneasy lest he should employ another lawyer. He was tempted to imprudence, which resulted in a second and more alarming attack of bleeding.

The winter and early spring were passed at Rose Cottage, amid alternate hopes and fears; and then the Doctor advised his patient to try the effect of a sea voyage. Without a moment's hesitation Gertrude resolved to accompany him, leaving her son, now in his fifth year, in the care of Hannah and Bridget, with dear aunt Marion to continue the lessons his mamma had commenced.

The parting adieus were spoken at last, and the party to go on shore were turning away, when the invalid seized the hand of Marion, and said in a low voice:

"If I never live to return, remember you are my first earthly object of regard. You have led me to accept my Saviour; and if I might have had you by my side I should ask nothing else."

"Why do you tell me this now, Mr. Wallingford?" she asked, struggling to retain self-command. "Let me go or I shall be too late."

"One word of love to carry across the ocean would be so much comfort. I did not tell you before, because I could not get courage to ask you to unite yourself to a man on the verge of the grave."

"Marion! Marion! the boat is starting," called her father, excitedly.

The young girl's color came and went, but suddenly stooping toward him she whispered, "I shall pray daily that you may return. I loved you at first for Gerty's sake. Now I love you for your own."

"God be praised!" was his fervent reply as she bounded away; and throwing herself into the corner of the close carriage sobbed as if her heart would break.

During the voyage, the feebleness of the pale invalid;—the watchful tenderness of the lady accompanying him;—the evident refinement and cultivation of both, rendered them of great interest to their fellow passengers. Indeed, few could watch the noble carriage of Mrs. Wallingford;—the well-formed head so gracefully poised on the shoulders;—the clear dark eye;—the open brow;—the peaceful calm resting on every feature;—the elastic step, without wishing to know more of the stranger.

One of the gentlemen had ascertained from the captain's books that the names of the couple were Wallingford. It was natural to suppose that they were man and wife; and in this relation they were regarded through the voyage.

On reaching Liverpool, Gertrude lost no time in starting for the south of France where they proposed to pass the month of May.

So far the effect of the journey had been beneficial; and Gertrude's first letter home was full of encouragement. Marion had engaged to keep a journal, in which every saying of Master Paul should be recorded. As Gertrude was closing her letter to her friend she turned to her brother with the inquiry:

"Do you wish to send a message?"

"Enclose this," he answered, giving her a sealed envelope addressed to Dr. Gilbert.

Without a suspicion that her brother had at last gained courage to ask for the hand of her friend, in case his health should be restored, Gertrude answered, "I thought you settled all business with him the week before we left."

Remaining in Paris only one week in order to receive letters forwarded there; they proceeded to Nice, where they soon found the salubrious air was restoring vigor to the enfeebled frame. With her usual energy Gertrude devoted herself to the care of her brother. She walked with him; drove him in the easy carriage she had hired; sung his favorite songs; read the books he loved best; more than all, talked by the hour of home and Marion.

How rejoiced she was during all these days that the tie of Christian love rendered their natural relationship more enduring. Even though this change of climate, from which they hoped so much, should end in disappointment, she rested her hopes for him on the Saviour's promise, "'Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.'"

She knew her brother had learned to pray; and she believed that his consecration of himself and all that he had to his crucified Redeemer had been accepted. Nothing short of this would have supported him in the prospect of death, and given him such acquiescence in the will of his heavenly Father.

Now that she knew the state of his affection toward Marion, she sometimes regretted that the marriage had not taken place at once; and then the wife could have accompanied him abroad; but she did not think it wise to produce useless regret in her brother's mind by such a suggestion.

In June they went to Switzerland; and Edward had so far regained his health as to join a party, who were intending to ascend some heights in the Alps.

News from home came regularly to hand, through their banker in Paris; and news from the travellers gladdened many hearts in the quiet village.

October found them settled in Rome for the winter. Edward who was now quite able to relieve his sister of care, hired a beautiful villa, on the banks of the Tiber; and every fine day a little pleasure boat could be seen shooting out from the tiny wharf, carrying the elegant Americans.

They had been in Rome almost a month; had received calls from many distinguished countrymen and countrywomen; and were beginning to feel quite at home, when one morning Gertrude accompanied her brother to the studio of an American artist, who had some pictures on exhibition before they were sent to New York.

There was quite a crowd in the room, and Gertrude, leaning on the arm of her brother lingered outside the door quietly awaiting her turn, when she was startled by the sound of a familiar voice.

She turned quickly, but not before Edward who had also heard it, had stepped where he could intercept her view.

He took her hand, drew it into his arm and as at this moment several persons left the studio, pressed his way inside the door.

Every particle of color had vanished from her face, and he could feel her form tremble as she leaned heavily against him for support.

"I can't stay," she urged, "Let me go."

A lady near thought her fainting, and offered her vinaigrette, which was politely accepted by Edward.

After the most cursory examination of the famous pictures, they gladly left; and hailing a carriage at the door, rode swiftly home.

"It was Paul's voice. I am sure of it," murmured the poor wife. "Paul Dudley, my husband. I must see him."

"You forget," urged her brother, "that he has forfeited that holy tie. I caught a glimpse of his face; and I assure you, I should never have recognized it as belonging to one, once so familiar to me."

She was weeping bitterly, while he stood by, wondering what he could say to comfort her.

"Oh, I wish my boy were here!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands convulsively. "Our boy. I would send him to his father. You couldn't deny him a sight of his own child."

"Gertrude, you are beside yourself. You must be aware that Paul, the father, has a right to his son;—that he can take him from you at any moment. He may use this power; or by it he may extort from you every cent of your fortune."

She shuddered visibly; and at length exclaimed:

"Oh, Edward, be merciful! You separated us. I feel this moment that I could forgive every thing if he will only take me again. Perhaps God would help me win him back to virtue."

Mr. Wallingford was greatly shocked at her words. He turned from her with such a distressed countenance that her fears for him were at once aroused.

"Forgive me," she plead, grasping his hand. "I am indeed ungrateful when I say such words to you. Forgive me; and I will promise to be governed by your wishes. Only think of Marion; and ask yourself whether you could ever turn from her."

"Paul forsook you," he murmured, seating himself on a couch and putting his hand to his head. "Let us talk of this no more to-day. We are unfit; at least I am to decide what is best. I will take the earliest opportunity to inquire what character he bears in the city. After all we must be governed by that."