The old Stanfield house

No more was said, and Calista began to reflect on her position with some consternation. She did not at all relish the idea of being left locked up in the great empty house without food all night, and besides she had no notion of the lengths to which her aunt might go in her madness, for as such Calista regarded her conduct. She might, however, only mean to break her niece's spirit by hunger and solitude, and thus gain her ends.

"But she will find herself mistaken," thought Calista, proudly; "she does not know with whom she has to do."

The two servants slept in a room opening from the outer kitchen, and Miss Priscilla watched Chloe so carefully as to prevent her going up stairs at all.

Calista in her prison heard all the doors locked one after another, and the chaise roll away. She tried the door, but it was fast; her room being in the highest part of the house, she could not think for a moment of throwing herself out of the window. She tried the door with all her strength, but it would not yield to her efforts. She was sitting down to rest and compose her thoughts, when she heard a welcome voice under the window call softly—

"Honey, are you there?"

Calista sprang to the window and put her head out.

"Oh, Chloe, is it you? I thought every one had left me."

"Didn't I tell you so?" said Chloe, addressing nobody in particular. "I didn't believe you went away in that carriage. Have you got a string you can let down?"

Calista found a roll of tape in her work-box, and let it down.

Chloe fastened a basket to it.

"There's some dinner for you," said she. "I mistrusted all the time you were here, and so Chloe put you up a nice basket. Now listen to me. You will have to stay where you are till dusk. Nothing will hurt you, and do you pack up all your trunks, and put all your best things in one. Keep up a good heart, honey, and if you hear strange noises and scratching round about dusk, don't you be scared. Cash has got a plan for you in his head. There, good-bye; eat your dinner, keep a good heart, and we'll show Miss Priscy that there is more than one way to the woods, and out of them too."

Calista felt the wisdom of this advice. She made a hearty dinner, and then began to pack up her trunks, putting together in one all her most valuable articles and those she was most likely to need, as Chloe had advised. She had in her possession the new travelling bag she had bought for Miss Druett, and in that she bestowed her dressing things and other small matters. This being finished, she took a book and read for a long time.

It was growing dusk, when, as Chloe had foreboded, she began to hear a distant stir and rustling, and low, cautious voices. She listened intently: something was certainly stirring in the large disused closet, wherein were stowed the old clothes that her aunt had destined for carpet-rags. She opened the door, and as she did so, another door, which she had never suspected, opened in the wooden partition opposite, and the dark, friendly faces of Cassius and Chloe appeared in the opening.

"Here she is, all safe and sound," said Cassius. "Now we must hurry, for I mistrust the old lady may get back to-night, after all. Which trunk do you need most, Missy? For we can't take but one."

Calista indicated the one she wished to take.

"All right," said Chloe. "Now, help me, Cash, and we'll put the others where Miss Priscy won't find them in a month of Sundays."

Calista waited with what patience she could till the trunks were bestowed somewhere in the dark void on which the closet opened.

"That's all right; now for this one. Come along, Missy, and mind your steps. The garret is pretty dark. Shut your eyes a minute, and you'll see better."

Calista followed, wondering more and more. Chloe shut both closet-doors behind them. They passed through the garret and down a short stairway which seemed to wind round the chimney, then through another closet similar to the one up stairs, and Calista found herself in a large bed-room on the second floor, which she recognized as her father's old room.

"All right so far, but I'm glad that trunk wasn't any bigger," said Cassius; "now it's all plain sailing. Shut all the doors behind us, Chloe, and leave everything straight."

They descended to the first floor. Cassius opened a side-door, and it was with a feeling of exultation that Calista found herself in the open air.

"Is it possible she left a door unfastened?" said Calista.

"Not she," returned Cassius. "Young master gave me a key to this door years ago, and I kept it for a kind of keepsake. But let's get on the road, and I'll tell you all about it."

"Won't you take the river road?" asked Chloe. "It's more lonesomer."

"Either road is lonesome enough at this time," answered Cassias; "and I want to get Missy into safe keeping. Have you got anything to put round you, Missy? It is sort of chilly."

"Yes, I took down this old cloak, which was hanging in the closet," said Calista.

"That is my master's old military cloak, which he wore in war times," said Cassius. "He had it on when he was took for death. Some time, Missy, if you don't want it, I should like to have that cloak; but I don't want it in my house just now."

They were soon stowed in the Jersey wagon, which was tied before the gate, and the stout little horse was going over the road at a fine pace, as if he did not mind his load in the least.

"And now, do tell me how you got in?" said Calista. "And what is the story of that closet?"

"Oh, it is all plain enough," answered Cassius. "You see Chloe mistrusted all the time that you didn't go away with Mr. Fabian, because she did not see you go out, and she told me so. So Sally says,—

"'You'd better go and make sure, and take the poor thing something to eat.' For Sally, she can't bear to think of any one's going hungry.

"Says I, 'If she is there, I reckon we can get her out easy enough.'

"You see young master and me, we used to go out night-fishing, and he had a key to the little side-door, and he and I, we built that little staircase round the chimney and through the closets, so I could come down to his room any time. Your grandpa knew it, and thought it was only a frolic. Whether Miss Priscy did or not I don't know. She was away at the time we built it, I remember. When young Master Richard went away, he gave me that key to the side-door, and told me to keep it till he came back. So as nobody ever used the door, I took it away with me when I went, for a kind of keepsake. But it took a sight of oil to make it turn smooth, I can tell you. I little thought what good it was going to do. But I kind of wish you hadn't taken the coat."

"I don't think she'll miss it," said Calista. "She gave it to me with a parcel of other old clothes to cut into carpet-rags, a long while ago, and she has never asked for the things since. Anyhow, I can send it back to her if she wants it."

"Yes, we'll fix that easy enough," said Chloe. "Here we come."

"I guess we'd better drive right to Mr. Fabian's, hadn't we?" asked Cassius.

"Oh, yes, yes, Cassius. How shall I ever pay you?"

"Bless you, Missy, don't think about that. Who's got a right to help you if I haven't, I should like to know?"

The sound of wheels on the carriage-drive brought Mr. Fabian to the door of his handsome, stately old house, and great was his amazement when Cassius stopped his horse, and helped out first Calista and then Chloe.

"Calista, is this you? What does it mean?"

"Oh, Mr. Fabian, won't you please take me in, and take care of me?" said Calista, her voice quivering with the excitement she had been repressing all day.

"Of course I will, and very glad I am to see you," said the old gentleman, grasping the hand held out. "Mrs. Fabian, will you come here?"

Mrs. Fabian appeared, stately and beautiful, in her black satin and lace cap,—for old ladies were old ladies in those days.

"Now, what is the story?" said Mr. Fabian.

Cassius told it in a few words.

"What an abominable shame!" said Mrs. Fabian. "The child might have lost her senses, poor dear. I never heard of anything more cruel."

The kind words, and the epithet which she had so often heard from her lost friend, finished the break down which had been for some time impending, and Calista burst into a fit of hysterical crying.

"There, there, she is quite overdone," said Mrs. Fabian, folding Calista in her motherly arms. "We will get her to bed, and Chloe and Cassius shall have their supper and feed the horse. Perhaps, Chloe, as your mistress is not coming back to-night, you had better stay. There is plenty of room for you."

Chloe had calculated on this invitation, and accepted it without scruple.

Cassius declined, with many low bows. He must get home and see to his cows, and so on.

Mr. Fabian followed him to the door and said something, of which only the conclusion was audible: "Keep your own counsel, and if you get into trouble, I'll stand by you."

He pressed something into Cassius's hand, which glittered yellow in the lamplight.

Cassius bowed, and disappeared in the darkness, and his horse was heard trotting away.

Meantime, Calista had been conveyed up stairs to the most beautiful bed-room she had ever seen, where she was speedily undressed and put to bed. Presently appeared Chloe with an inviting tray, and when it was plain that Calista was too tired to eat, she was tucked up, exhorted to sleep as late as she pleased in the morning, and finally left to her repose.

CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.

MISS PRISCILLA.

IT was just as well that Cassius did not take the river road, for had he done so, he would have met Miss Priscilla at his own gate.

Miss Priscilla had allowed herself to act in a passion, and, she had not gone three miles from home before her mind misgave her. She had almost a mind to make a pretence of having left something and turn back. But she was not quite cool yet, and she did very much want to see Mr. Anderson, the lawyer in Graywich, about "that infamous will of Druey's"—so she called it in her own mind.

Mr. Anderson gave her no particular comfort. He was an honest man, and, moreover, he had once had to collect a bill of Miss Priscilla, and he had not forgotten (though she had) the way he had been treated on that occasion. He strongly advised Miss Priscilla not to go to law about the matter.

"These few thousand dollars are nothing to you," he said. "If you go to law, your servants and your niece will be very sharply examined, and things may come to light which may be very unpleasant."

Miss Priscilla winced.

"There is another consideration," pursued the lawyer, as gently and politely as if Miss Priscilla was a mouse and he the cat which was playing with her. "I suppose there is no doubt that your father, General Stanfield, made a second will, though it was never found. But after what has passed, Settson and Fabian will leave no stone unturned to discover it, and they are likely enough to succeed. Under such circumstances, would it not be better to conciliate the regard of the young lady,—who, from all I hear from my nieces, her schoolmates, is a very amiable, engaging young person,—and make a friend of her?"

"I tell you there was no second will—nothing of the sort," said Miss Priscilla, in great agitation. "The whole property is mine—house and all; and that money is rightfully mine."

"There you are mistaken, as I think," said Mr. Anderson, politely.

"Then you won't undertake the case?" said Miss Priscilla, in deep disappointment.

"Under the circumstances, I must be excused," said Mr. Anderson; "and my parting advice to you is to let matters rest where they are, and to endeavor to make a friend of the young lady. The time is short, my dear madam—the time is short; and both you and myself are rapidly approaching that station where no earthly riches are of any avail. I should be happy to invite you to dinner, but my wife and daughter are away, and I am taking my own meals at a neighbor's house. Good-morning!"

And Miss Priscilla found herself bowed out of the office with great politeness. She had counted on keeping herself, her horse, and her servant at Mr. Anderson's expense; but now she must go to the tavern, for the horse, at least, must have his dinner.

There was now no object in her remaining all night, and the more she thought of it, the more vexed she was with herself for the course she had taken. How should she manage when she came home? The servants would be certain to find out that Calista had been shut up in the empty house all day, and, what was worse, they would be sure to tell of it, for they were both on Calista's side.

To do Miss Priscilla justice, she was not without better feelings. She remembered that Calista had really seemed glad to see her down stairs, and she thought, too, how she had rejected the child's offer of friendship.

"The child!"

Yes, that was what Druey had always called her—Druey, who had stood by her through evil report and unkindness, and to whom she had solemnly given over the care of Calista. Suppose that when she got home she should find Calista dead, or scared into insanity! Miss Priscilla was as angry at herself as she had been at Calista. She thought matters over, and decided, with a great pang, that she would give up the contest, let the will be proved, and say no more about it. She had counted on Miss Druett's ready money to carry on her schemes with Jael and her husband, but then she could sell out some bank-stock.

Then another cold misgiving crossed her mind. She had already let these people have two or three hundred dollars. Suppose they should be robbing and cheating her all the time! But she could not and would not believe that. No, the treasure was there, and she would have it! She would coax Calista to join with her: Calista was always lucky in finding things! Yes, that would be the best plan.

That Calista should refuse to be governed or coaxed, that she should feel any lasting resentment for the way she had been treated, never entered Miss Priscilla's head.

Full of these thoughts, she stopped at Cassius's gate and called for Chloe. Instead of Chloe, came out old Sally. Was ever anything so unlucky! Cassius had been obliged to drive into town, and Chloe had gone with him and expected to spend the night with Mrs. Fabian's Miranda. Cassius would most likely stay to meeting, seeing he was there, and so would not come home till late.

This was worse and worse. Then Chloe would find out that Calista had not gone away with Mr. Fabian. And what was she to do for supper? David declared he could not and would not drive Jeff another step, and the farm horses were away off down in the pasture. But then there was Calista! No doubt the poor child was hungry enough by this time, and for once she might get just what she liked for supper.

It was not without an uncomfortable feeling that Miss Priscy ascended the stairs to the attic story, and, unlocking the door, called—

"Calista!"

Then, as no answer came, "Calista, child, take the things away from the door and let me come in; I want to speak to you! Don't be afraid. I am not angry, though you have been a naughty girl. Come, let me in!"

Still no answer. Exerting her strength, Miss Priscilla pushed away the heavy chair which Calista had left standing against the door, and entered.

The room was empty. Everything was in its usual state, except that Calista's trunks were gone.

Much alarmed, she searched the house over, but every door was locked and every window fastened. Calista was nowhere to be seen.

Leaving her to her own reflections, we will follow the fortunes of our heroine.

Calista's sleep was broken and restless till near morning, but then she fell asleep and did not wake till near ten o'clock.

When she did wake, she lay for some time in a half-dreamy state, enjoying the softness of her bed and the luxurious prettiness of her room, so different from the one she had so long inhabited. She found a real pleasure in the pretty carpet, the easy chair with its bright chintz, the Indian paper on the walls covered with processions of camels and elephants, with wonderful birds and beasts, and men still more wonderful. Presently her eyes fell upon the old army cloak carelessly thrown over a chair, and like a flash came to her mind the words of Cassius—

"He had it on when he was struck with death!"

She sprang out of bed, seized the coat, and felt in all the pockets. There was nothing in any of them, but as she turned them out, she found in the inside breast pocket a long rip. She put in her hand and pulled out a folded paper carefully wrapped round with red tape, but not sealed.

She gave one glance at it, and another out of the window. Mr. Settson's house was open, and so was the office. Clearly the family were at home.

She waited no longer than to dress herself, and then, without seeing or thinking of any one, she put on her hat, and, with the paper in her hand, ran across to the office. There was no one in the outer room. She knocked at the door of the inner office, and then, without waiting for a reply, she opened it and went in.

There sat Mr. Settson and Mr. Fabian, with an elderly man whom she had never seen before.

"Calista!" exclaimed both the gentlemen in surprise.

And Mr. Fabian's voice had a shade of displeasure as he added,—

"My dear, what has brought you here?"

"This!" answered Calista, holding up her prize. "Mr. Settson, will you please tell me what I have found?"

Mr. Settson set down his snuff-box, and glancing at the outside of the document, he opened it with eager haste. He looked it through, glanced at the end, and then struck his hand on the table with a force which made the ink jump out of the inkstand and the snuff out of the box, and caused the office cat to utter a remonstrating mew.

"The very thing!" said he. "We have it at last. Fabian, Williams, look here!"

They both rose and looked over his shoulder with eager curiosity.

"That is it, Mr. Settson," said the elderly man, whom Mr. Settson called Williams; "that is the signature I witnessed, and the other signature is that of young Mr. John Blair, at that time studying in our office. I have heard he was living somewhere west—in Detroit, I believe. That is Mr. Durant's handwriting. The old gentleman gave him instructions how to draw the will, and he came in next day and signed it. I heard it read over to him myself."

"But what in the world possessed him to go to a lawyer who was an entire stranger, and in an obscure place like that?"

"I think it was because he was not very well. I remember he said something about his heart troubling him."

Old Stanfield House.
"This!" answered Calista, holding up her prize.

"Where did you find the will, Calista?" asked Mr. Settson.

Calista described the way it had come into her possession.

"Exactly. I see it all. He had put it in his pocket to bring to me as he said, when he was taken with this fit. The will slipped through the slit, and has staid there ever since. Well, my dear, you have made a good morning's work. I must examine the document further, but from what I see, I think we shall unseat Miss Priscilla from her high horse without much trouble. Run in and see Mary, and I will tell you the contents of the will when I know them myself."

"Perhaps I had better go back," said Calista, blushing. "I came out without seeing any one, and Mrs. Fabian will think it very strange."

"Mrs. Fabian will understand that you did quite right when I explain matters to her," said Mr. Fabian; "I will return with you, and come back directly. Have you had your breakfast?"

"No, sir."

"Dear, dear! Mrs. Fabian will be quite shocked, and we shall have you ill."

But Mrs. Fabian was not shocked, nor was Calista ill. She ate her breakfast with a good appetite, and then helped her hostess to rub the skins off Siberian crab-apples, and then punch out the cores with a tin tube, for, like most ladies of the time, Mrs. Fabian took pride and pleasure in preparing quantities of sweetmeats.

Oh, what a delight there was in the feeling of perfect quiet and safety! How she enjoyed the shade of the back veranda, where they sat at work, the sight and smell of the garden, the pretty, dainty household work, the sight of Mrs. Fabian's neat French chintz and apron of India grass-cloth, the soft, cultivated voice in which she told Calista anecdotes of her travels abroad, interspersed with mild moral reflections. There were people who considered Mrs. Fabian a thought tedious, but Calista could have listened forever.

After dinner Mr. Settson came over, and Calista was informed of the provisions of her grandfather's will.

"The Philadelphia property, together with fifteen thousand dollars in money, is left unconditionally to your aunt Priscilla. The Stanfield place, with all the farms, &c., the Cohansey property, and twenty thousand dollars, are left, first to your father, after him to your mother for her life, or so long as she should remain unmarried, and after her to the child or children of Richard Stanfield, share and share alike; the guardianship of said children being given to Mr. Fabian and myself as executors of the will. There are some legacies,—one of a hundred dollars to old Cassius, and as much to the church here, in memory of his last wife."

"Then I get more than Aunt Priscilla!" said Calista. "That seems hardly fair."

"No, you get a good deal less. The Philadelphia property is worth much more than the Stanfield estate, properly so called. Have you any of your mother's papers?"

"Yes, sir; I brought them all with me, for I thought they might be needed."

"Very discreet in you. Have you any objection to my looking them over?"

"Not at all, sir. I will bring them down."

Calista left the room and soon returned with two or three orderly bundles of papers and her mother's Bible.

"This book has the date of my mother's marriage and of my birth set down in it," said she. "I don't know whether they are of any consequence at all—"

"Of all the consequence in the world," said Mr. Settson, untying the bundles and carefully looking them over. "Certificate of marriage—very good; bills, &c.—of no great account. Is there any one of these letters by which you can fix the date of your father's death?"

"Yes, sir—a letter from the captain of his company, telling all about it. This is it."

"Oh, so I see. Well, my dear, all things are uncertain in this world, but so far as I can see now, there is no more doubt about your coming in possession of the Stanfield place at twenty-one than there is that the sun will rise to-morrow."

"It will be a great responsibility for a girl like me," said Calista.

"Very true; but we will hope you may have grace to use your fortune wisely and rightly. Now as to another thing—I mean your place of residence. I understand Miss Druett wished you to board at Miss McPherson's; but I saw the good lady in New York, and she told me that every room and bed in her house were engaged. Mrs. Fabian is anxious to keep you with her, as she has no daughters living to bear her company. Should you like that?"

"Yes, sir, very much."

"I should have liked to have you with us," continued Mr. Settson, "but I find myself obliged to give a home to an aged aunt of my late wife's; and to say truth, I think Mrs. Fabian, with her knowledge of the world and society, a little better fitted to be the guide of such a—you won't be offended if I say such a decided young lady as Miss Calista Stanfield?—than my Alice."

"Oh no, sir," said Calista, smiling and blushing. "And I am sure I am quite contented here. I think Mrs. Fabian is lovely. Then you don't think I shall have to go back to my aunt?" she added, rather anxiously.

"No, indeed! Most decidedly not!" answered Mr. Settson, with emphasis. "You must keep out of her way, and not go near the place at all."

"But if it is her duty, papa," interposed Mary, who had been sitting quite silently with her knitting. "Don't you think she ought to go if there is any chance of doing Miss Priscilla any good? Who knows how she might be the means of influencing her?"

"I would go if it was thought right," said Calista; "but, oh, I should dread it. I want to do my duty, I am sure," she added, anxiously.

Mr. Settson took a pinch of snuff, and regarded his daughter with the slightly sarcastic smile which she particularly dreaded.

"It is the duty of such little girls as Calista and Mary to do as they are bid by those who have the authority over them," said he. "It is especially the duty of Calista, because there may be considerable danger in her acting otherwise. So, if you please, we will consider that matter settled. Is there anything else you would like to ask me about?"

"No, sir; only—please don't be hard on Aunt Priscilla. I am sure she is not quite in her right mind, and I 'am' dreadfully afraid of her, especially since what she did yesterday; but I could not injure her for the world."

"Don't be alarmed, my dear; Miss Priscilla shall have every chance. Leave all that to me. I must take these papers away with me, but I will take great care of them. Good-bye. I suppose you and Mary have a great many hours of gossip to make up."

And Mr. Settson departed, leaving the girls to themselves.

Calista gave a little skip as she closed the door after him.

"Oh, how glad I am!" said she. "I feel like a bird let out of a cage."

"Well, I must say I rather wonder at you, Calista," said Mary, in a somewhat disapproving voice. "I should think you would be sorry for your poor aunt,—

"'Deserted, at her utmost need
  By those her former bounty fed.'"

For Mary had been reading poetry, and liked to quote it.

Calista's face flushed. "I wonder who did the deserting," said she. "Miss Priscilla, who went away to stay all night and left me locked up alone without food or light, or myself, who got out and came away? As to her bounty, the less said the better."

"But if you could do her good, I think you ought to sacrifice yourself and not choose a life of luxury with a worldly, fashionable woman like Mrs. Fabian. I must say I am disappointed in you."

"And I am disappointed in you," said Calista, with some spirit. "I thought you had more sense. Don't you see that I must obey your father and Mr. Fabian, whom Providence has so plainly placed over me? As to calling Mrs. Fabian worldly, I don't know what you mean by that. She has been as kind as a mother to me, and I don't think it is just the thing to speak of her in that way in her own house. But come, don't let's quarrel. I want to hear all about your travels. Where did you go? And where did your father pick up this Mr. Williams?"

"He found him quite by accident in a little town not far from New York, where we stopped over night," answered Mary, making a desperate grasp after her good humor, and partly recovering it. "We were in the stage together, and we got talking. He asked where we were from, and when papa told him, he said he once met a gentleman from our place under rather peculiar circumstances—General Stanfield. Of course that set papa asking questions, and he soon found out the whole story. So your dreams are fulfilled, Calista, and you will be able to do what you please with the old mansion."

"I don't seem to think or care much about that now," said Calista. "Of course, I am glad to have something decent to wear, and to finish my education; but I had rather set my heart on being a teacher. However, there is no telling what may happen yet. 'There's many a slip,' you know."

CHAPTER NINETEENTH.

MISS PRISCILLA MAKES CHANGES.

THE proverb which Calista had quoted did not seem likely to be fulfilled in her case. The business went on smoothly.

Calista wisely resolved to ask no questions, and to think as little as possible about the matter. She worked very hard at her lessons, did her best to please Mrs. Fabian, accepting in the best spirit all that lady's hints about manners, dress, and so forth, and fell into all the ways of a daughter of the house. She was happier than she had supposed possible, and would have been quite happy but for her anxiety about her aunt. Mrs. Fabian said she should never be able to part with Calista, and began to calculate the time of her nephew's return from Europe.

Miss Priscilla had waited impatiently for Chloe's return. And the moment she entered the house, she was saluted with the question,—

"Chloe, where's Miss Calista?"

"Why, she's at Mrs. Fabian's, of course, a-having of a good time," answered Chloe, assuming that mask of absolute non-comprehension which only a negro or an Indian can assume to perfection. "The last I saw of her she was a-setting on the back stoop helping Mrs. Fabian peel and core crab-apples. Mrs. Fabian, she has a little tin thing that she had made a purpose, but I always takes a quill," concluded Chloe, with the air of one communicating valuable information. "I think the tin kind of blacks 'em, don't you?"

"Nonsense! What do I care about your crab-apples?" said Miss Priscilla, impatiently. "When is she coming home?"

"Not for a good long while, I should think," answered Chloe, with an innocent air of surprise. "She took her trunk, didn't she? I thought I saw it standing in her bed-room."

Miss Priscilla was not pleased. She said no more at the time, but the next day she ordered the chaise to drive to town.

"Put Miss Calista's room in nice order," said she to Chloe. "You can give her the wash-basin and pitcher out of the front bed-room, and some white towels out of the press. I presume she will come back with me. A day or two's visit is all very well, but I don't want her staying on to be spoiled by that foolish woman."

"Now, I call Mrs. Fabian a real nice lady," said Chloe. "She hardly ever speaks a harsh word, and knows how to keep house as well as any one I ever saw."

"Much you know about housekeeping! Tell David to have the chaise ready, and get out my brown silk and my India shawl."

In the brown silk and the India shawl did Miss Priscilla alight at Mr. Fabian's, and ask for Miss Stanfield.

"Oh, Mrs. Fabian, please don't leave me alone with her," said Calista. "I don't know what she may do."

"Don't be alarmed, my dear, nothing shall hurt you," said gentle Mrs. Fabian. "Miss Stanfield has not asked for me, but I shall remain in the next room so as to be within call."

Miss Priscilla greeted her niece with unusual cordiality, and Calista was glad to respond. They talked about a variety of things for a few minutes, and then Miss Priscilla said, in a matter-of-fact way,—

"I think you had better go home with me to-day, Calista. David will not be in till Saturday, and you don't want to make your visit too long."

Calista summoned all her power, and inwardly asked for help from the Source of all strength.

"I am not going back again at present, aunt," said she, gently. "You know Miss Druett—"

"I know Miss Druett made a very silly will, which I could break up in a day if I chose, but I shall not try," interrupted Miss Priscilla. "You are quite welcome to her little savings. But your place is with me, and I must insist on your coming home at once."

"I cannot do it, aunt," answered Calista, firmly but kindly. "You have no right to expect it after the way you have treated me. Mr. Fabian and Mr. Settson both wish me to live here."

"Pray, what has Mr. Settson to do with it?"

"He will tell you if you ask him. Please do, aunt. There is something new turned up that you ought to know about."

"What do you mean?" said Miss Priscilla, turning pale.

"I would rather not tell you, aunt. Please ask Mr. Settson. It is something about a will. And, aunt, I took grandfather's old cloak to put round me; will you take it back with you?"

"Cloak! What cloak?" asked Miss Priscilla.

"The old blue cloak with red facings. I took it to put over me because the evening was so cold. The one you gave me to cut into carpet-rags."

"I believe it was the carpet-rags scared you away," said Miss Priscilla, trying to make a joke of the matter; "we won't say any more about them, and you shall spin or do what you please. And only just let me have that money, and you will see what will come of it," she whispered. "Jael is quite sure we shall find the treasure the next full moon."

"Jael! Oh, Aunt Priscilla, don't have anything to do with those wretches. Pray, don't."

"Much you know about it! Just see what she brought me only last week." And Miss Priscilla exhibited a large gold coin.

Calista looked at it.

"Why, aunt, how can you be humbugged so!" said she, laughing. "This is one of the very pieces I found in grandfather's desk. Don't you remember, they were all marked? See here," and Calista pointed out the small deep cross cut on the margin of the guinea.

Miss Priscilla snatched it back.

"Nonsense, child! As if two guineas could not be marked. Come, get your things on."

"Aunt Priscilla, you must excuse me," said Calista, decidedly. "I am not going home with you. I wish I could, but you yourself have made it impossible. What did you think would ever become of me if I had not found a way of escaping, when you shut me up in the old house to stay without light or food all night?"

"I didn't stay away all night," said Miss Priscilla.

"But you meant to, aunt, or else why did you send Chloe into town to stay with her sister?"

"I should like to know how you got out, that's all!" said Miss Priscilla.

"A way was made for me. No, aunt, I cannot go back at present, if for no other reason than that you allow that woman to come about the place, and have dealings with her. Oh, aunt, don't!" exclaimed Calista. "Please don't! I am sure nothing but harm can come of it. Even if you found the money—if it is not all a cheat and delusion, as I believe it is—what good would it do you? You must soon leave it, even if it does not leave you. Just think how short this life is, and how long eternity is; do think of your immortal soul!"

"Nonsense! I am not to be scared by Methodistical cant," said Miss Priscilla, though she trembled visibly. "But if you are absolutely determined to put yourself into the hands of these people, who will turn you out helpless on the world just as soon as they have stripped you of everything, do so. I wash my hands of you. And when you are stripped and turned out, or kept to clean floors and black shoes for that proud fool of a woman, don't come back to me. I wash my hands of you. It was a bad day for me when I first took you out of the poor-house. Don't come back to me. I don't like snakes!"

A part of this amiable speech was intended for the ears of Mrs. Fabian, whose presence in the next room Miss Priscilla suspected, though she did not see her. But Mrs. Fabian, calmly superior, worked on at her lace collar, and smiled. She knew the strength that lay in silence.

"Shall I get you the cloak, aunt?"

"Yes; I don't choose that my dead father's clothes should be in such hands. And do not call me 'aunt,' if you please. I acknowledge no relationship to you any more."

Miss Priscilla departed, and crossed the road to Mr. Settson's office, from which she was seen to issue after a somewhat lengthened conference, followed by Mr. Settson with a large tin box, which he placed carefully in the chaise. Rejecting the gentleman's assistance, Miss Priscilla unfastened Jeff, the pony, and drove out of Cohansey town, never to enter its streets again.

Calista retired to her room and, girl-like, indulged in a hearty fit of crying. She could not return with Aunt Priscilla, and yet the thought of her aunt living alone, without even the solace of her evening cribbage and backgammon, was dreadful to her. But there was no use crying about it to annoy Mrs. Fabian, and nothing she could do about it—and then she remembered she could pray about it. She could not influence or comfort or protect Aunt Priscilla, but there was One who could do all these things, and to that One Calista betook herself with simple and child-like faith.

The next day but one, as Calista set out for school, she saw Chloe and David talking to Mr. Settson at his office gate. He beckoned her across the street.

"Here is a new state of things," said he. "Chloe tells me that your aunt has turned her and David away, almost at a moment's warning. Worse than that, she has taken that woman Jael and her husband into the house to live."

"Oh, Mr. Settson, can nothing be done?" exclaimed Calista, much distressed. "Think of her alone with those dreadful creatures! She will be ill-treated, if not robbed and murdered. Can nothing be done to save her from them? Surely, she must be crazy!"

"I must turn the matter over and see what can be done," said Mr. Settson; "but I don't know where to get hold of the case. Miss Stanfield has an undoubted right to take whom she pleases into her own house, and, so long as she displays such acuteness in money matters, we can hardly call her insane. But do not be distressed, my dear; we will try to keep watch of their doings. At any rate, it is not your fault."

"How did she manage it?" asked Calista of Chloe.

"Well, she came home in a great tantrum, ready to turn the house out of window; then she calls me in and wants to know how you got out. And says I,—

"'Why, Miss Priscy, you told me yourself she went away in the carriage with Mr. Fabian.'

"Then she wanted to know if any of your things was left behind in the house, and I said, not that I knew of. For, you see, just as soon as she was gone, David and me, we moved your trunks to a safe place, thinking to send them to you. Then she didn't say any more, only went up and rummaged over your room. That night old Jael came and stayed all the evening, and the next morning came again. And then Miss Priscy told David and me we could go—she didn't want any more of us, and paid us up. And we bundled up our things and borrowed Cash's old wagon and came away. And we's got your things along with ours, and I suppose we've got to look-out for some place to be in and something to do."

"I wouldn't have cared," said David, who was a man of few words, "only for the dumb beasts—Jeff and the farm horses, and the cows." And David turned away and wiped a suspicious drop from his eyelids.

"Miss McPherson wants a cook and a coachman, I know," said Calista; "how would that suit you?"

"First-rate," said Chloe, speaking for both, as usual; "wouldn't it, old man?"

"Suit me," said David. "I ain't afraid to groom horses, nor drive horses, with any man in Cumberland County. But I don't know as you could cook good enough for the young ladies."

"Oh, you go 'long! He will have his joke, you see, David will," said Chloe, apologizing for her partner's light-mindedness. "Well, maybe you might speak to the lady, Miss Calista. We'll leave your trunks to Mrs. Fabian's, and then I guess we'll go to Jubalina's."

"That is just what I have been expecting," said Calista, as she walked along to school with Mary. "If such things were, I should think Jael had bewitched her, as Chloe says. To think of her taking those people into the house to live with her!"

"Perhaps if you had staid she would not have done it," said Mary, who had been planning for Calista a grand self-sacrifice, and did not like to have her romance destroyed.

"I don't think it would have made any difference," said Calista. "One thing she wanted me for was that she might use me in her treasure-seeking scheme. And do you know she showed me a guinea which Jael professed to have found, and it was one of the very pieces which I found when I looked over grandfather's desk. I knew it, because they were all marked."

"How could she come by it?"

"I suppose aunt paid it to them—she has given them ever so much money already—and Jael gave it back, trusting to aunt's blindness not to recognize it. Oh dear! I wish this will business was finished; then we could soon clear out the poor old house."

"I should hardly think you would wish to turn your poor aunt out of the house where she has lived so long, even if you don't want to live with her," said Mary, reproachfully.

Calista faced round upon her rather sharply.

"Who said I did? Or why should you suppose that one invariably means to do the very worst thing possible under the circumstances? Would you like to have any one do so by you? You said only yesterday that it was a great cross to have your mother's aunt come into the family and take up the best room, though she seems to be a very nice, kind old lady."

"She smokes," said Mary.

"Well, do you think it would be very much better if, instead of smoking, she addressed some insulting or sarcastic remark to you, or now and then threw a book at you for variety?"

"But I have taken up my cross," said Mary, somewhat taken aback.

"Would you if you could help it?" asked Calista. "Wouldn't you be glad this minute if the old lady were sent somewhere else?"

Mary did not answer.

"That is not my idea of taking up the cross," Calista continued. "And any way, Mary, it is my duty to obey those whom Providence has set over me, as your father says. I won't deny that I enjoy the change. It is something not to go to bed hungry, and to have a comfortable bed to sleep in."

"Surely you did not go hungry?"

"Indeed I did, half the time; and I had not bed-clothes enough for decent neatness, not to say warmth. I wonder how that would suit you, who must have at least three or four clean towels every week. Only for Miss Druett, I should have had nothing but woollen sheets all winter. More than that, I never had a cent of pocket-money for any use till Miss Druett took charge of me. But I don't mean that my present life shall make me self-indulgent. I have been trying to lay down some rules for myself, like Mrs. Fletcher. Oh, Mary, I wish you would read that book!"

"I should like to see it," said Mary, beginning to feel a little ashamed.

"I will lend it to you. Then no one could live with Mrs. Fabian without being the better for it," continued Calista. "She is so good and gentle, and does so much in such a quiet way. Just think! She sends poor Mrs. Rolfe a dinner fit for a sick person every day, and always sees to it herself."

"I am glad you told me," said Mary, feeling still more ashamed of her harsh judgment. "I wonder if I could not do something for her."

"She wants old linen very much. I have just been making some handkerchiefs for her, out of a fine old linen night-dress of mother's."

"I don't see how you could do that; I should think everything of your mother's would be sacred," said Mary.

"I thought mother would like it if she were here," said Calista, simply; "and I wanted to give something of my own."

Here the conversation ended.

But as Mary sat down to her desk, she said to herself, "I am envious and jealous, and that is the whole of it. Calista's money has spoiled me more than it has her." And the snake, being called by his right name, dived into his den to be seen no more that day.

CHAPTER TWENTIETH.

AN EXPLOSION.

THE weeks went on very quietly with Calista for a time—so quietly and pleasantly that she sometimes wondered whether either her present or her former life were not a dream. She worked as hard in school as if she still had no other prospect than that of becoming a teacher, and found great delight in her drawing; for which she showed a special talent. At home she took the place of a daughter. She helped in the housekeeping, and learned to make cakes, and preserves, and pickles in endless variety. She read aloud to Mrs. Fabian, and saw, in a quiet way, a good deal of company, and listened to a great deal of clever conversation.

She would have been perfectly happy only for that thought which was always in the background—poor Aunt Priscilla. She could hear very little about her. Mr. Davis, who managed the farm, reported that he rarely saw her. He thought she was shut in her room a good deal. Jael had a younger woman with her,—her daughter, he thought,—and he feared Miss Priscilla did not fare very well.

At last, one crisp, delightful morning in late October, Calista came in from an early run in the garden with her hands full of the hardy flowers which that mild climate often spares till Christmas. As she came into the entry, she found old Cassius talking with Mr. Fabian, and both wearing such anxious, perturbed faces that she started and dropped her basket.

"Oh, I am sure something has happened to aunt!" said she. "Do tell me! What is it?"

"Don't alarm yourself, my dear," said Mr. Fabian. "I think the time has come for interfering in your poor aunt's behalf. Tell Miss Calista your story, Cassius, but first come in out of the draught."

"Tom Edgar and me was a-coming home from sitting up with old Mr. Heminway," Cassius began, without any of his usual prefaces; "it was about five, and not very light, when we see old Zeke and Jael come out of Miss Stanfield's house, all loaded down with bundles. They hid 'em away in the Red Hollow, and started back for more, I suppose. Tom says, says he,—

"'Uncle Cash, they're robbing the house. I wonder if they've killed the old lady?'

"Says I, 'Tom, you keep watch here, and I'll run home and get my horse and ride into town as fast as I can go.'

"You see, I thought Tom was the strongest, if it came to a tussle, and I knew the old mare would go faster with me than with any one."

"Oh, Mr. Fabian, do let us go out there at once!" said Calista, in an agony of impatience. "Oh, won't you do something?"

"We will do everything. Don't distress yourself, my dear. We must get some force together, and proper authority, and then we will set out directly," said Mr. Fabian.

"But you will take me with you?" said Calista.

"No, my dear, not till we find out what state things are in. I promise you, you shall go the moment there is anything to do. Now, be a good girl and try to keep composed."

"I will," said Calista; "only do send for me as soon as you can."

Mr. Fabian was not the man to let grass grow under his feet, but it seemed an age of agonized suspense before Tom Edgar arrived on his splendid black horse, about the last relic of his prosperous days.

"We've caught them—caught them in the very act!" said he, as soon as he could speak. "I believe they would have got off, but the old woman, in her hurry, tried to cross the middle of the hollow, and got bogged. I had hard work to save her, I can tell you. I thought I should go in myself. They had cleaned out the house pretty well, but we have got some of the things, and I guess we shall find the rest."

"But my aunt!" exclaimed Calista. "Never mind the things."

"Well, I'm afraid the old lady is in a pretty bad way," said Tom, gravely. "Mr. Fabian says you are to come out in the little carriage directly, and bring Aunt Betsy and the doctor; and here's a note for madam. I spoke to the old lady coming along, and she will be all ready, and the doctor is half way there by this time. Here's the note."

"Mr. Fabian says:

   "'I wish you to come at once, and bring some clean linen and clothes for the poor thing, who is in a pitiful condition, and quite unconscious. Let Calista come with you. It is possible her voice may rouse Miss Stanfield. Only for Cassius and Tom we should never have succeeded.'"

"You must have some refreshment, Mr. Edgar," said Mrs. Fabian, always considerate. "Will you take some breakfast? Miranda, give Mr. Edgar some breakfast. Put on your bonnet, Calista. I will quickly get together what is needed."

With such a perfect housekeeper as Mrs. Fabian, it was the work of a few minutes to collect a basket of clean linen, tea, and sugar, and whatever a sick person would be likely to need. They called for Aunt Betsy, but she had already "caught a ride" with Dr. Elsmore, and when they arrived at the Stanfield mansion, she met them at the door.

"I'm glad you've come. Did thee bring some clean linen, Maria Fabian? Yes, I see: trust thee to think of everything. Doctor says she has been drugged with something, though he doesn't know what, and that washing her and changing her clothes will be as likely to rouse her as anything. Calista, thee 'd better stay down here till we get her fixed a little."

"No, no, let her come up," said the doctor. "Miss Stanfield may notice her niece's voice."

"Oh yes, do," said Calista.

And in a moment she had run up the well-remembered stairs, and was bending over her aunt, kissing her and speaking words of love and tenderness into her ear. But there was no voice, nor any that answered.

Priscilla lay on her bed, her eyes half open and dull as a dead person's. Her night-dress and bed-clothes looked as if they had not been changed for weeks. Some dry remnants of bread and a tumbler of sour milk stood near her on a little table. She was terribly emaciated, and was hardly to be recognized by those who had seen her a few weeks before.

"She looks starved," whispered Calista.

"I fear she is starved, and worse," answered the doctor, gravely. "But, now, if you know of a room near by which can be comfortably fitted up, you may set about it, while Miss Betsy and Aunt Sally get her washed and her clothes changed."

"We had better take Miss Druett's room, I think," said Calista, to Mrs. Fabian, as they stood in the entry. "The bed is tolerably good, and it is the only one, except mine, which has been used since I came to the house."

"And where was yours?"

"Up in the attic," answered Calista. "This is Miss Druett's room," she continued, opening the door as she spoke. "It does not seem to have been disturbed. Here are all the seals just as Mr. Fabian put them on. I wonder they did not break open the drawers."

"Very likely some superstition restrained them," said Mrs. Fabian. "It was a sad day for your poor aunt when Miss Druett died."

"Yes, she was the only person who had any influence with her. Shall I open all the windows? It seems very close."

"Do, my dear, and see if you can procure some wood and the means of making a fire. Nothing freshens up the air of a room like an open fire."

When Calista came back with her basket of wood and chips, and looked in the cupboard for a tinder-box (there were no lucifers or parlor matches in those days), Mrs. Fabian attacked the bed as energetically as any housemaid.

By the time the poor invalid had been washed and dressed, the room had assumed a neat and habitable aspect. Sally carried her in her arms as if she had been an infant, and laid her in bed.

"Is she dead?" asked Calista, in a tearful whisper.

"Oh no, honey; she's better. She opened her eyes, and swallowed some water. Now I'll just run down and make a little wine-whey—that's soon made and very strengthening—and if she takes that, we'll try her with some broth. But we must be very careful, for I don't believe she has had any food for two or three days. I suppose there is wine in the house?"

"There ought to be plenty in the cellar, but I have no notion where the keys are or what may be left," replied Calista. "For aught I know, these wretches may have drunk it all."

"Oh, I've got the keys. She had them hid in the bed, as if that would do any good."

And Sally departed, leaving Mrs. Fabian and Calista with the invalid.

Presently Aunt Sally came back with her whey, and with great care proceeded to feed Miss Priscilla, who swallowed two or three spoonsful apparently without the least consciousness of what she was doing.

"That's well," said Sally. "When folks can swallow, there's always hopes of them. Now, I must go home for a little, but I'll come back and stay to-night. Do you mean to stay, Miss Calista?"

"Oh yes. Please do let me, Mrs. Fabian," said Calista, anticipating Mrs. Fabian's cautious—"Really, I don't know." "You know she might come to herself any time and know me. Oh, it would be worth so much if she would. After all, she was my father's sister, and she did give me a home. I am afraid I have been very ungrateful."

"Some folks is thankful for small favors, ain't they?" said Sally, aside, to Mrs. Fabian. "I wouldn't treat a stray cat as Miss Priscy used to treat that poor child. But there is something in what she says," she added, aloud. "Miss Priscy might come to and know her, and perhaps say something she ought to hear."

"I will ask Mr. Fabian," said the lady, perplexed between her feeling for Miss Priscy and her care for Calista. "He will know what is best."

"Really, my love, I think Calista is right," said Mr. Fabian. "I think there is no real danger. These wretches are already on their way to Cohansey jail under a very sufficient guard, and Mr. Davis and his son have volunteered to remain in the house all night. As Calista says, it is very desirable she should be with her aunt when she recovers her senses, both from motives of affection and because the poor lady may be able to give us important information."

"I think you said you had recovered all the property," said Mrs. Fabian.

"All that is recoverable; that is, all the silver and such like. A great deal has been destroyed in mere wantonness. And as for the wines, real Burgundy and the most valuable Madeira wasted like water." And Mr. Fabian shut his eyes and groaned. "They must have been tipsy when they planned their flight, or they would have been more clever about it. The old woman, who seemed to feel some gratitude to Tom Edgar for rescuing her from a terrible death in the bog, said they tried to open the bricked up cellar, but every time they did, they heard the old gentleman firing pistols at them inside."

"Lawful Suz!" said Sally. "What do you s'pose it was?"

"No doubt the bursting of champagne and cider bottles disturbed by the concussion. I think, my love, we had better go back and send Calista some comforts and necessaries in the way of provisions and the like. One or both of us can come out in the morning."

Mrs. Fabian bade Calista farewell with many embraces. In about two hours the horses came back with a load of bedding, provisions, and the like, and also with Chloe, who, on hearing of the catastrophe, had at once and adroitly inserted Jubalina in her place at Miss McPherson's, and came out to help take care of her old and her young miss.

Calista's watch was destined to last more than one or two days. Miss Priscilla remained in about the same state, eating and drinking what was given her, but, as it seemed, almost without consciousness. Mrs. Fabian had fitted up a comfortable room for Calista, and Miss Betsy would not allow her to sit up at night; but by day she only left the sick room for her meals and the open air exercise her friends insisted on.

One afternoon she was sitting alone with her aunt, Miss Betsy having gone to lie down. It was one of those perfect days which never come except late in the autumn, and both windows were open, though a little fire was burning on the hearth. Calista sat by the open window musing over all the changes that had taken place in a year. She almost felt inclined to doubt her own identity. Chloe had just been up to ask what Miss Calista would have for supper; and as Miss Calista, as usual, had no opinion of her own, she had suggested hot cream biscuit and fried oysters.

"Just to think,—" said Calista to herself, as she leaned out of the window to watch a flight of birds making for the reed-beds on the river—"just to think of Chloe's asking 'me' what I would like for supper! I, who used to be snapped at and sent away from the table for asking for more butter. To think how many times I have gone to bed hungry in this very house! I wonder if it is all a dream, like the dreams of pudding and roast meat I used to have in those days."

A slight movement at the bed made her look round. Miss Priscilla was regarding her with a look of intelligence and full of wonder. Calista felt the need of perfect calmness, but her heart beat fast as she bent over her aunt.

"Calista! It is Calista, isn't it?"

"Yes, Aunt Priscy. Are you better? Do you want anything?"

She waited in a kind of awe for her aunt's first words, anti when they came, she almost laughed aloud in the sudden revulsion of feeling.

"Calista, who is frying oysters?"

"Chloe, aunt. Mrs. Fabian sent some."

"Chloe!" in a tone of surprise. Then, as memory came slowly back, "But how did you come here?"

"I came to take care of you, Aunt Priscy."

"But you must not stay!" said Miss Priscilla, in a low tone of abject terror. "They will come back and kill you, and give me more of that dreadful medicine. Oh, Calista, I haven't been good to you, but can't you get me away from them? Can't you?"

"You need have no more fear of those wretches, Aunt Priscy," said Calista, trembling between fear and excitement. "They are all safe in Cohansey jail."

"All! What, Jael too?"

"Yes, all; and you have no more to fear from them. Aunt Betsy and myself are taking care of you; and Chloe has come back to do the work."

"But how was it? And, where am I?" asked Miss Priscy, bewildered. "This is not my room; this is Druey's!"

"We moved you in here to have your room and bed cleaned, Aunt Priscy. Don't you like it?"

"Yes, it is all very nice; and you are a good girl to come back—a very good girl. You won't leave me, will you?"

"No, indeed, aunt," said Calista, trying to steady her voice. "You know I would not have gone if I could have helped it."

"I know! But my mind is confused," said the poor lady. "Are you sure those people are gone?"

"Quite sure, aunt. Did they use you badly?"

"They beat me and starved me to make me tell where my father's money was hid, and when I said I didn't know, they gave me horrible stuff. It made me crazy."

"But you are better now," said Calista.

"Yes; I am not crazy now. Calista, I want to see Mr. Settson. Send for him."

"Yes, we'll send for him right away," said Miss Betsy, who had entered the room unperceived; "but thee mustn't talk any more now. Calista, go to thy supper, and tell John Davis to go for Mr. Settson—

"And the doctor," she added, following her to the door. "I mistrust she will not last long now she has come to herself."

Calista returned to kiss her aunt, and Miss Priscy held her with her thin hand and looked wistfully at her.

"I should like a nice fresh raw oyster," she said. "Could I have one?"

"Yes, yes, dear; you shall have what you want," said Calista, unable to keep back her tears at the changed tone and manner; "shall she not, Aunt Betsy?"

"Yes, an oyster is just the thing; but let Calista go now."

"And, Calista, tell Chloe not to use butter to fry with. It is extravagant, and lard is just as good."

"I will, aunt." And Calista finally escaped.

She sent a messenger for the doctor and lawyer, who came together.

"Let her have just what she fancies; it won't make any difference," was the doctor's sentence; "she is running down like a clock. There is nothing to be done but to give her a little stimulant to keep her up as long as we can. But it is wonderful how clear her mind is. She seems as bright as ever."

Miss Priscilla had a short private conference with Mr. Settson, who came out of the room wiping his glasses and his eyes.

"She wants you, Calista," said he. "She understands the whole affair now, and says she is glad all will come to you. Shall I send any one out to you?"

"Oh, if Mary would come! If she is not afraid, I should so like to have her."

But Mary was afraid, and showed it so obviously that her father decided that she would be neither a help nor a comfort, and accepted Miss Meeks's offer instead. Mr. Fabian was disabled by one of his rare attacks of illness, and his wife could not leave him; but she heaped Miss Meeks with everything she thought could be a comfort to herself or Calista, remarking in her silvery, emphatic voice, that she was glad Calista had friends who would not desert her in the hour of trial.

Poor Mary fled into her room to cry herself into a fit of sick headache. It was a terrible tumble, but a wholesome, and it was noticed that Mary's Christianity was hereafter much more charitable and less didactic in its character.

When Calista came back to her aunt's bedside, she took both her hands and drew her down beside her.

"Mr. Settson has told me all about the will," said she. "I did not hide it, Calista. I did not believe my father ever made it. But it is quite right. I was a wicked woman. I had Richard's letters, and never let my father see them. Poor Dick! He was such a pretty boy, with curly hair. 'Pity' he used to call me; but I had not much pity on him. But father need not have taught him—"

She seemed to be wandering and, desirous to call her back, Calista said, gently—

"But you are sorry now, Aunt Priscy. You wouldn't do so again."

"Yes, I am sorry. I would take it back, but we can't take back the past. It won't come back. Calista, I was not good to you, but you won't turn me out of the house, will you? I was born here, and I should like to—You won't turn me out, will you?" she repeated, wistfully looking into Calista's face.

"No, indeed, aunt! Don't think of such a thing!" said Calista. "But don't mind about business—not now. Don't you want to have Mr. Alger or Mr. Lee come to see you?"

"No, no!" said Miss Priscy. "But you may get your Bible and read to me, if you like. Read in St. John. Your grandmother liked that."

Glad of so much concession, Calista got her book and read on far into the night. The restlessness of death was on Miss Priscilla, but so long as Calista read, she was tolerably quiet, sometimes murmuring over words that struck her mind or fancy.

At last she dropped asleep, and Calista dozed too, leaning on the side of the bed. She was wakened by a gentle touch from Miss Meeks, who had shared her vigil and spent almost the whole night in prayer.

Calista looked at her aunt, and by the light of a new day saw the awful gray shadow which never falls but once.

Her aunt was sensible; she pressed Calista's hand and spoke faintly—

"Child—never love money—it is poison if you do; you'll have a great deal—but you had better lose it all—than set your heart on it."

"You will forgive me, won't you, aunt?" said Calista, through her tears.

"There was nothing to forgive," said she; "I am the one to need forgiveness—you and Druey were good to me—always." She held Calista's hand fast in hers, and looked fixedly at her.

Then collecting her strength for a last effort, "God bless you!" she said, in her old strong tones—"God bless you!" Her head fell back.

"She is gone," said Aunt Chloe, coming forward and closing the poor eyes that had looked their last. "The Lord have mercy on her! She confessed him in her death, if she didn't in her life."

There is little more to tell. Old Jael was no sooner in Cohansey jail than she was attacked with rheumatic fever, of which she died after long suffering. She seemed much struck with Tom Edgar's bravery in saving her life at the risk of his own. She had every comfort consistent with her situation, but there was no cure and little alleviation was possible. At first she positively refused to hear one word on religion; but Tom Edgar at last won her to hear the Bible read, and by slow degrees her mind opened to the truth.

Before she died she made a full confession. She said she and her husband had imposed on Miss Priscilla's credulity, in order to gain access to General Stanfield's house and get possession of the treasure which they believed he had hidden there. They had meant to frighten away Miss Druett and Calista, or to work on Miss Priscilla till she drove them out of the house, but the death of the former had opened the way for them more easily than they expected.

They had found Miss Priscilla harder to deal with than they expected. Her suspicions became aroused, and she insisted on keeping the keys herself, so that at last they had given her things to make her keep her bed. What the "things" were she obstinately refused to tell, saying that some one might make a bad use of them again, but they were roots and herbs that her people knew of.

She declared that her daughter had nothing to do with the robbery or with ill-treating Miss Priscilla. There being no proof against the younger woman, she was allowed to go free. And after her mother's death, she disappeared from the place.

Zeke was tried and convicted, but his mind failed so entirely before the end of the trial that he was sent to an asylum; from which, however, he contrived to escape, and was found dead in the Red Hollow, to which some glimmering of remembrance had no doubt led him.

The old house was put in good repair, but Calista did not come to live in it for several years. She lived as a daughter with Mr. and Mrs. Fabian, cheering their old age with daughterly care and affection.

As soon as she was of age, she visited her mother's old home, where she found Mrs. Tom Folsom old and poor, but still working to support herself and her helpless son, and after much persuasion prevailed on that lady to accept a tolerable provision, which should place her above the need of labor much too hard for her age. Miss Malvina's little old red house happening to be in the market, Calista bought and fitted it up neatly as a residence for her cousin, and saw her comfortably established before leaving her. Mrs. John Folsom, who was still preaching self-denial, thought Miss Stanfield might have used her money to better purpose, but every one else was pleased to see the hard-working, independent woman so well provided for.