The Project Gutenberg eBook of Cora And The Doctor, by Harriette Newell Baker.

"Oh, Death!

Youth and the opening rose

May look like things too glorious for decay,

And smile at thee—but thou art not of those

That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey."

Frank is trying to arrange his business for a journey with me as soon as he can leave Emily, who gains daily. A very free conversation passed between her and mother, relative not only to the new feelings and hopes which fill her soul; but also to her affection for Mr. Benson. On the latter of these subjects, she has heretofore maintained the most rigid reserve, excepting only the passionate expressions which I heard. Since that interview a new tie seems to be formed between them. Mother no longer feels obliged to restrain the outward manifestation of affection for her child, while sister in her softened, subdued state heartily reciprocates her feelings and expressions.

I went yesterday with the Doctor to make a call upon Mrs. Dr. Clapp. From a variety of reasons I have been prevented from calling early, as I intended; but with these reasons both the Doctor and his wife were well acquainted. They have rented a little bird cage of a house, where the young bride performs the offices of cook, house-keeper and chambermaid. The proud husband, who is still so unfortunate as to have plenty of leisure, showed us all their conveniences, and evidently thought himself the happiest man, and his wife the dearest woman in the country. She is obviously a keeper at home, shrinking like a sensitive plant from contact with strangers, but unfolding and expanding in the congenial atmosphere of home, and home friends. No doubt the grateful Doctor had set forth in glowing terms "the unprecedented kindness of Dr. Lenox." With many blushes she thanked me cordially for the kind interest we had taken in his welfare. Frank made satisfactory arrangements with Dr. Clapp, as to leaving his business with him during our short absence, and when he began earnestly to express his thanks, my husband cut him short by saying, "I regard myself altogether as the obliged party." We enjoyed the visit much. After returning a few of the many calls made upon me, I was glad to be at home again. "There is no place like home."

We have decided to leave home on Wednesday morning, in order to take P—— on our way, to be present at a Quaker wedding, when Elizabeth Estes will become Elizabeth Nelson. We expect to go to B——, a flourishing town in the western part of New York. I pleaded hard to take Pauline with me, as Ann could well be spared for nurse; but the Doctor was inexorable. When he is decided, one might as well undertake to remove the mountains into the sea, as to change his determination. Yet I must confess his decisions are generally wise. Respectful as he always is to his mother, and ready to yield to her wishes, yet when she sees he has fully made up his mind upon a point, she never tries to change his decision. Pauline will remain under the care of mother and Emily. Frank is determined that I shall reap great benefit from this journey, and so I suppose I shall. In truth, my health is his great motive for going. I have grown excessively nervous and low-spirited. I want to sit on a cricket at your feet, and lay my head in your lap, dear mother, and have you comfort and cheer me. I try to reason with myself that I have no occasion to feel thus, but I cannot help it; the next morning I am as bad as ever. Frank tries to comfort me by saying that it is owing to my state of health and to my loss of appetite, and that I shall soon be better.

This morning Ann knocked at my door, and said Phebe begged I would go to the kitchen. I went and found a little girl and boy hand in hand awaiting me. The girl I should judge was six or seven years of age; the boy was not more than four. He kept his eyes fixed upon me, with an earnest, serious expression, while his sister explained her errand, as if the business they came upon, was in their opinion of great importance and magnitude. The little girl, in a singularly sweet voice, asked me humbly if I had any work I wanted to have done. I smiled as I inquired, "is the work for you or for your brother?" She understood the smile and said quickly, "I can weed in a garden, or run of errands, or," turning to Phebe with rather a doubtful look, "scour knives and wash dishes. I'll be very careful not to break them, ma'am."

"No, ma'am," she answered, timidly dropping her eyes to the floor, while a burning blush flashed over her pale wan countenance, extending even to her very temples. Her little brother looked at her, and then at me. Encouraged, I suppose, by my sympathy, he said, "Pa aint good. Pa's a bad man, he licks ma when she's sick."

I hastily inquired where they lived, and requesting Phebe to give them some breakfast returned to my room, where Frank was shaving. I told him what I had heard, when he interrupted me, "Ah, Reynolds has been having another spree! I'm sorry for his poor wife and children. This man," said he, turning from the mirror to look at me, "is another of Squire Lee's hopeful protegés. Oh!" he continued after a moment's pause, while he went on with his shaving, "the misery that distillery has caused in this place, would if written down fill volumes."

"Well, give them something to do, and pay them with a basket of food. Mrs. Reynolds would hardly accept it as a gift. I will ride around that way when I am out, and see what can be done."

As I returned to the kitchen, I fairly taxed my ingenuity to find some employment suited to their capacities; but in vain. So I determined to appeal to Phebe. "My good Phebe," said I, "have you no work for these children who are so anxious to be employed?"

"Laws now missus!" answered Phebe, "It's no kinder use settin sich babies to work. There's heaps on em comes here a beggin. If missus would give em a cold bite now to carry to their sick ma, 'pears like dere'd be some use in dat ar."

I wish I could describe to you the anxious expression with which these poor little creatures regarded Phebe as she replied, as if they would implore her to answer more favorably. I saw that the good woman had no idea of the real state of the case, and taking her into the hall I explained to her that they had not been used to begging, and I did not like to break down the independence and delicacy of feeling, I so much admired. With a toss of her turban the truly kind-hearted woman signified that she fully understood me, and when I told her farther that her master was going out directly to the aid of their mother, she was ready to do her full part in assisting them. She stood one moment to think what she should set them about, as she expressed it, when her countenance brightened as she exclaimed, "Wal now, if that ar aint kind o' curus. There's me's been a tellin my ole man how desp't bad I wanted de brush picked up clean out dar in de orchard fore cold wedder comes; but laws, he never has no time for notting." When we returned to the kitchen, the brother and sister had finished their breakfast, and sat awaiting the important decision. I suggested that it would be well for them to carry something previously to their mother, and obtain her consent to remain through the day. She would thus be relieved from all anxiety concerning them.

As I committed the basket of food to the eager hand stretched out for it, I was struck with the expression of the child's countenance. It shone like that of an angel. Nor did I wonder at it, when gently pulling my dress she reached up to speak to me, and said, "I felt sure, ma'am, we should get some," glancing at the basket.

"Because this morning, I said, please God give me some bread for my poor sick ma."

"Were you sure, God would hear you?" I asked, wishing to hear farther. Looking up in surprise, she answered, while her eyes grew bright, "why you know ma'am, he says, 'ask and ye shall receive.' Ma told me that he says so in the Bible."

What a beautiful lesson of trust! I kissed them both and let them go. Phebe, whose sympathies were now thoroughly enlisted, followed them to the door, saying, "tell your ma, she shan't want for vittles while mass'r 'lows ole Phebe to save em for yees;" and then remembering what I had told her, she added, "tell her thar's heaps o' work o' waiting for yees."

As I have finished my packing, I will tell you that Phebe's protegés, Anna and Willie, soon returned and went to work with such good will upon the brush that madam was enthusiastic in their praise. They brought me word that their mother was very much obliged to me for letting them earn the food. The Doctor found her sick with a cold. In a fit of intoxication her husband turned her out of the house, where she was obliged to remain until chilled through. Frank advised her to complain to the public authorities and have him confined for a time. "Oh, Doctor!" she replied, "he's not himself when he treats me so ill. He never would do it if it were not for rum. Oh, dear!" she continued, beginning to cry, "we were so happy until he went to work in that horrid distillery."

How many poor distressed wives and children have said the same! Happy indeed should we be if it were not for rum! I have become so much interested in the family, that I would gladly postpone my journey another day, for the sake of visiting her, were it not for my desire to be present at Elizabeth's wedding. Mother Lenox needed no urging to attend to the wants of the family while the Doctor is absent. I requested Frank to give me the history of the Reynolds family; but he smiled as he said, "you are so systematic a person I should be obliged to begin at the beginning, and relate every fact in due order, which would take more time than I can well spare." He promised, however, to gratify my curiosity at another time. Dear little Pauline has no idea that I am to leave her. But she will be taken good care of I doubt not. Emily pets her rather too much.

CHAPTER XIV.

"On thee, blest youth, a father's hand confers

The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes knew;

Each soft enchantment of the soul is hers;

Thine be the joys to firm attachment due." Rogers.

It is six months to day since I was married and left my beloved home. What would you say to your daughter if she were to tell you that sometimes she has been so unthankful for all her mercies as to wish she had never left the shelter of the paternal roof or the warm embrace of parents and sisters. But so it has been, and I have determined to confess it to you. I think it will guard me from ever indulging again in distrust or jealousy. But I forget that I have told you nothing of our journey and return. I have enough to fill many pages of my journal.

We started on a clear, bright morning in September, and in two or three hours reached P——. We went directly to the house of Friend Shove, where we met by appointment Friend Estes, her husband Jotham, and her daughter Elizabeth. I suppose Jenny, our old nurse at home, would have told me as she used sometimes to do when I was a child, that I had "got out of bed wrong," for I felt cross all the morning. And when as we rode on, (we were in our own carriage, and some of the wedding party were to take it back,) Frank tried to cheer me, and said kindly, "You must expect sometimes to feel a little out of tune," I only felt worse. When, however, I saw the smooth, placid face of Friend Estes, and her bright, smiling, blushing Lizzie, as she is affectionately called, I began to think there were pleasant spots in the world after all. And when I had sat down at a neat table covered with everything to tempt one's appetite, and had taken a cup of delicious coffee, and a slice of ham, I felt decidedly more reconciled to life. I could eat nothing before I started. After waiting half an hour, we all walked to meeting, where, as in England, among the same denomination, the males occupy one part of the house and the females the other. Josiah Nelson and Elizabeth Estes sat on the high seat in front of the audience, and in sight of all of them. After sitting for some time without a word being spoken, Josiah arose and took Elizabeth by the hand, saying, "In the presence of this assembly, I take this my friend Elizabeth Estes to be my wife, promising through divine assistance to be unto her a faithful and affectionate husband until death shall separate us."

Then Elizabeth in a sweet voice which she vainly tried to keep from trembling, said, still holding her friend by the hand, "In the presence of this assembly, I take this my friend Josiah Nelson to be my husband, promising through divine assistance, to be unto him a faithful and affectionate wife until death shall separate us."

They then subscribed their names to the certificate, which was as follows:—"Whereas, Josiah, son of Samuel and Hannah Nelson, and Elizabeth, daughter of Jotham and Elizabeth Estes, have declared their intentions of taking each other in marriage to P—— monthly meeting of the Society of Friends held in P——, according to the good order used among them; and their proceedings after due inquiry and deliberate consideration thereof being allowed by the said meeting; they appearing clear of all others, and having consent of parents, these are to certify to all whom it may concern, that for the full accomplishment of their said intention, this sixteenth day of the ninth month, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-five, they, the said J. N. and E. E., appeared at a religious meeting of the aforesaid society in P——, and did declare," etc. [See marriage contract as above.]

After this novel and interesting ceremony had concluded, we returned to a most bountiful dinner with the hospitable family of Friend Shove; and soon after bidding our friends "farewell," we proceeded on our journey.

CHAPTER XV.

"Foul jealousy! that turnest love divine

To joyless dread, or mak'st the loving heart

With hateful thoughts to languish and to pine,

And feed itself with self-consuming smart;

Of all the passions in the mind thou vilest art." Spenser.

We reached B—— on Tuesday evening, September 22d, where we were cordially welcomed by Mrs. Morgan, a sister of Frank's father. The family consists of Mr. and Mrs. Morgan, and their son Joseph Lenox, named for his uncle. There was also Mrs. Fidelia Schuyler, an orphan niece of aunt Morgan, who had been married but a few months. She is a child of aunt Morgan's brother, who has been deceased many years. As I shall have much to say of her, I will describe her as she presented herself to me at the time. She appeared to be about twenty years of age, with very light flaxen hair, hanging in loose curls at the side of her face. She had blue eyes, and a somewhat fair complexion. At the first glance I thought her a very little like Emily in expression; but afterwards wondered how I could have thought so. Emily's eyes are a splendid gray, fringed with long, black lashes, and her hair is the darkest shade of auburn, like Frank's.

Fidelia received me cordially enough; as I was a stranger, I could not expect she would be as glad to see me as she was to see her own cousin. I felt almost hurt that Frank did not more fully reciprocate her joy at their meeting. There was a perfect fascination to me about this young bride. She was constantly changing like the colors and figures in a kaleidoscope. Sometimes she would introduce conversation with the Doctor upon politics, and really talk very sensibly, so that I felt ashamed that I was ignorant of such subjects. Then she would talk of old times in a manner I did not at all understand. I fancied once or twice that Frank, to whom all this conversation was addressed, looked rather annoyed, and supposed it was in consequence of my listening so closely; I therefore turned to my cousin Joseph. He claimed me as such, before I stepped from the carriage. He is a fine intelligent youth near my own age I should imagine; and though he made many inquiries about his aunt and Emily, which I was occupied in answering, yet I could not wholly withdraw my attention from the cousin near me. Her voice would often drop to so low a key that I could not distinguish the words; but its intonation was soft and languishing, and her whole appearance, to say the least, as she sat upon the sofa with Frank, was certainly peculiar. Joseph observed my frequent glances in that direction, and he whispered, "The greatest coquette," motioning with his head towards his cousin, "in the known world."

"Is she a widow then?" I asked eagerly, "I understood aunt she was Mrs. Schuyler; if so, I should hardly think, she would waste her energies on a married man. You would be a better subject." He laughed so heartily that for a minute or so, he interrupted the conversation on the sofa, when I heard Fidelia say to Frank, in a voice hardly raised above a whisper, "Your wife seems very free and easy; I suppose it results from her being educated in Paris. One would think from her manner, she had been acquainted with Joseph a long time."

"Ah! now, I shall have a fine chance to find your age. Doctor," said he, breaking in upon their conversation, "will you favor me with the exact age of your wife?" The Doctor looked as if he did not quite understand.

"She thinks," he continued, "that I am about as old as she is. Now to ascertain the correctness of this judgment, I apply to you for the year, month, and day, of her birth."

I laughed at the mock gravity of his manner, and should have been entirely deceived by it, had it not been for a merry glance from his eye. "I could easily have answered the question," said I, "if you had applied to me; I was born, as I have been informed, on the fourth day of February, one thousand eight hundred and seventeen, and am therefore, at the present time, eighteen years, seven months, and eighteen days." I imitated his manner as I replied. He bowed almost to the floor, and resumed his seat.

"Astonishing!" murmured Fidelia, "she is very free to tell her age, now she is married."

Frank started to meet his aunt who was returning to the room after having attended to her evening duties. He led her to a distance, where they were soon absorbed in an interesting conversation, in which they were joined by uncle Morgan, a thorough gentleman of the old school, perhaps a little too formal in his extreme politeness, but a very excellent husband and father. He is a lawyer, and a man of considerable wealth. Fidelia often looked that way as if wishing to follow her cousin, but at length left the sofa, and took a seat near us; but not before Joseph had asked me in a hurried manner how old I thought she was.

After half an hour, during which time Joseph did most of the talking, aunt came to me remarking that I looked very tired and had better retire. This I was glad to do, and she said she would accompany me; but Fidelia begged so earnestly for the privilege, that I requested aunt to remain with Frank. Contrary to my expectation, and indeed to my wish, she entered my room, and remained so long I had no excuse for not undressing; and at length was obliged to do so in the presence of an entire stranger. She continued talking, however, in a most confidential strain. "I suppose you don't wonder," she commenced, "that Frank, (the rest of the family called him Doctor,) and I are so glad to see one another, considering,"—she stopped.

"Considering what?" I asked in surprise at her manner, which implied far more than her words expressed.

She hesitated, "why considering that we were brought up together. Aunt Lenox adopted me when mother died, and I always lived at your house. What room do you occupy?" she asked.

I answered reluctantly, though I could not tell why. There was something very unpleasant about her conversation. It always, unintentionally perhaps, left a sting. She went on to inform me in the strictest confidence, that she and Frank had been fondly attached to one another.

"Friendship," she repeated in a theatrical tone, "say rather ardent love!" I could not prevent my voice from trembling a little as I repeated my question.

"Oh!" she replied with a mysterious air, "aunt Lenox—peculiar reasons."—She suddenly started on hearing a step; and whispering, "not a word of all this, my dear," hastily left me.

I don't think I could have endured it a moment longer. I never felt so thoroughly "worked up," as the Yankees say; and for five minutes I would have given every thing I possessed, could I have been safely at home under my own dear mother's roof. When Frank came up, I could only feign sleep in order to conceal my new and strange emotions of distrust and jealousy, Fidelia had awakened in my mind. I forced myself to be quiet until Frank was asleep, when I could contain myself no longer. With my face buried in the pillow to stifle my sobs, I wept until I could weep no longer. I lay awake all night, revolving the dreadful deception which I fancied had been practised upon me. I could well understand, I thought, why mother Lenox had never even mentioned Fidelia's name in my presence. Nor could I account for the fact that Frank had not, except upon the supposition that what she had told me was true. Indeed the truth of her story I did not for a moment doubt.

When I awoke the next morning, which I did from a troubled nap after day-break, I could not at first remember what had happened, such a heavy weight was upon my spirits. If any one had told me then, that I was not the most unhappy person in the world, I should have considered them very unkind.

Frank actually started when I tried to rise, and would have persuaded me to lie down again; but I was determined to do as I chose, and persisted until a sudden fit of faintness compelled me to return to my bed. I felt so severely the effects of my night's excitement, that I began to be really anxious about the result. If Frank spoke to me, I averted my head. I could not endure to meet his eye; and when he kindly went below and brought a cup of coffee to the bed, I refused to take it. I could only sob and say, "I want to go home. I must see my own mother."

The Doctor was now seriously alarmed, and went for aunt. With true motherly kindness, she administered to me, persuaded me to drink the coffee and eat a slice of dry toast. She then smoothed my pillow, darkened the room and left me, after a promise that I would at least try to sleep. She left a small bell upon the table, and said, "no one shall come in until you ring."

To my surprise, when I awoke, the sun was shining high in the heavens; and on my consulting my watch, I found it was near noon. I arose quietly and dressed, and not a little astonished the company sitting in the parlor below, by my sudden entrance. It made me feel no better, however, to perceive, as I did at a glance, that my husband and his cousin occupied seats near each other on the sofa, as on the previous evening. But the Doctor was busily engaged in reading, and did not perceive me until I had advanced to the middle of the room.

"There, Frank," exclaimed Fidelia, as he sprang up to give me his seat, "I told you, you were unnecessarily alarmed. Now, sweet cousin," said she, turning to look up in my face, and mincing her words, "confess you were only shamming."

"Fidelia," said my aunt, in a stern voice. I did not look to see what Frank thought; I did not care. I covered my eyes to prevent the tears from being seen. I wanted to keep them covered forever rather than to see Fidelia's face again. In justice to myself, I ought to say, that probably this state of mind, which was greatly aggravated by the condition of my health, would soon have passed away, had it not been for the continual suggestions and insinuations of Fidelia. Sometimes by a word, sometimes by a significant shrug of the shoulders; then, again, by a glance of the eye, she gave a false coloring to the most trivial words or actions, and

"Trifles, light as air,

Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong

As proofs of holy writ."

All this time, the Doctor grew every day more and more grave, almost stern. Now and then, when I looked up suddenly, I met his eye fixed upon me in a serious, inquiring manner, as if he would read my very thoughts. Though I felt that I was innocent of any wrong toward him, and that he had deceived and wronged me, yet I could not help looking very much confused.

Joseph, good kind Joseph, was the life of the house. He devoted himself to my comfort. He read to me, told me stories, and was never tired of hearing me talk about my sweet little Pauline. Oh! how in imagination, I hugged the little thing to my heart, as the only one on earth in whom I could repose entire trust. Joseph wove many a tale out of her romantic story, in which by turns she figured as a Countess, a Duchess, or, at least, as Lady Pauline. I told him, I was entirely satisfied to have her plain Pauline Lenox. Then the merry fellow asked me to educate her for a wife for him. "That would be just the thing, and your desire could be satisfied by having her name unchanged, I would merely add Morgan to it.

"Now, Coz" said he one day, "I'm serious about this matter; I've been looking about for a year or two; and I have seen no one whom I should wish to honor with my name and title. I lay awake all last night thinking what a fine thing it would be to have her educated for me."

I could not help laughing as I replied, "I should shrink from so responsible an employment."

"Why, Coz," he said earnestly, unconsciously raising his voice, "Make her like yourself. I ask no greater joy than to possess the hand of one in every respect like yourself."

At the last sentence, I noticed that Fidelia gave the Doctor a quick glance to direct his attention to us; and I heard her say, "quite sentimental." Frank started from his chair with a terrible look, such as I had never seen but once before, and that was when I told him of Emily's treatment of Mr. Benson. He walked quickly across the room, but appearing to recollect himself, he took a book and resumed his seat. I detected a smile of exultation on Fidelia's face which in vain I tried to account for or understand.

Joseph bent down over me, taking my hand as he did so, and while he played with the rings on my fingers said, sinking his voice to the lowest key, "What can the matter be? You may always be sure there is mischief where Fidelia is."

I started;—how true this had been in my case! I fell into a long reverie; so long that Joseph took up a paper to read. I thought over all she had told me from our first interview; looking at this subject and that by the light of the new revelation, I had of her character. But there were stern facts to be met. She had passed all the early part of her life in the closest intimacy with my husband; they had loved each other ardently; nay, she had hinted that at one time they were affianced. And yet this had been sacredly kept from me, while he had often told me I was the first object of his affection. Then I could not shut my eyes to the fact that Frank was entirely different in his manner toward me. I could hardly believe him to be the same man. As day after day passed he grew more and more polite; but it was a frigid politeness, which chilled my very blood; and this, too, at a time when my health demanded unusual tenderness. I sometimes wonder even now, how all this could have happened, and Aunt Morgan not have noticed it more particularly. But then I remember that she had not known her nephew intimately for many years; and I was a perfect stranger to her. She knew not that, until we arrived at her house, we had been all the world to each other.

On Saturday afternoon, Mr. Schuyler arrived. He is of German origin, rather abrupt in manner, but possessing naturally, I should imagine, a warm heart and capable of making a loving wife happy by the strength of his affection. But I had not been in company with them many hours before I saw that Mrs. Schuyler was recklessly throwing away her own happiness, and that of her husband. By every means in her power, she contrived to render him she had sworn to "love, honor and obey," uncomfortable, nay, even wretched. He had some slight peculiarities of person to which she referred in the presence of the family, in a manner so unbecoming and unlady-like, that my cheeks burned with shame and indignation. I could see that it was with difficulty that he refrained from giving her a tart reply.

But all other annoyances were slight compared with the one great desire which had taken possession of her soul, which was to render her husband jealous of the Doctor. To this one purpose she bent all her powers. I cannot describe to you the variety of conflicting emotions struggling for mastery during the hours of that never to be forgotten Sabbath. I had slept little the night previous, but had lain awake revolving the character of my cousin, and, for the first time, doubts of her truthfulness began to intrude themselves into my mind. I acknowledged her fascination, her great conversational powers, but I could not shut my eyes to the fact that all these gifts were perverted to unlawful purposes, such as would surely destroy not only her own, and her husband's happiness, but the happiness of all with whom she associated. Even in my troubled sleep she was before me, and appeared like the serpents I had read of, who fascinate and charm but to destroy.

On Sabbath morning, Fidelia appeared elaborately dressed and really looked beautiful. Frank's eyes rested upon her with such a singular expression that I looked at him with wonder. I had before thought her free in manner with him, but now I was amazed. I had never even imagined any person so artfully insinuating. Sometimes I determined to leave the room, unable longer to endure the annoyance and excitement; but the next moment I was restrained by a desire to see what would follow.

Directly after family prayers, she availed herself of a seat near the Doctor, and, leaning familiarly on the arm of his chair, said, "Dear Frank, I've so often longed to talk with you upon some subjects connected with my spiritual interests! You, dear cousin, always understood my inner nature, my better feelings. Oh," said she, slightly raising her voice, and sighing heavily as she glanced toward her husband, "how I have longed for a congenial spirit—for some one who could appreciate my aspirations after higher good. Dear cousin," she added, laying her hand on his, and gazing up into his face with an expression of languishing fondness, "those were blissful days when we scarce called a thought or wish our own, until we had imparted it to each other."

Frank started from his seat, and I was sure there was a strong expression of disgust upon his countenance. But the indignant husband saw not this. He had caught his hat and rushed from the house.

Fidelia remarked with a sneer, "it is a great grief to me that I have never been able to prevail with Mr. Schuyler to keep in doors on the Sabbath. It is really disgraceful to see any one so openly profane the day."

"Fidelia," said the Doctor, in a reproving tone, "The God of the Sabbath requires not only an outward observance, but a regulation of the thoughts and feelings of the heart. We may offend him as truly by indulging in unkind thoughts or improper feelings, as by any outward violation of the sanctity of the day."

I expected Fidelia would be offended by the plainness of this speech; but to my surprise she caught Frank's hand, and pressed it again and again to her lips; and with her eyes, which were humid with tears fixed lovingly upon his, she said in a sad tone, "Oh, Frank! if I could only have had you near me to point out my faults kindly and tenderly, I might have been happy and good. Don't blame your poor Fidelia, who, connected with a man with whom she has not a single feeling of communion, is indeed very miserable."

The Doctor appeared much perplexed and annoyed, while Uncle Morgan walked angrily out of the room. Joseph came and sat down by me, and began in a low voice to talk of his wonder that the Doctor did not see through and despise her hypocrisy. "I can endure anything else," said he, while an expression of intense abhorrence passed over his countenance; "but when she gets on to one of her pious strains, I have to call to mind all the consistent piety of my parents to keep me from thinking religion a farce."

"Dear Joseph," said I, "it distresses me to hear you speak so lightly upon religious subjects. It is the want of religion your reason disapproves. Believe me, true piety never repels in the way you mention." I looked up to meet the eyes of my husband fixed upon me with such sadness that the blood burned in my cheeks. I felt, from Fidelia's looks, there was something wrong; but what, I could not imagine. The Doctor left the room, and soon his cousin retired to dress for church. Joseph wished to remain with me, but this I would by no means allow. I intended to retire to my own apartment, and spend the time in a manner befitting the sacredness of the day.

When the church bell rang, the family assembled in the parlor; and as Mr. Schuyler had not returned, Fidelia put her arm in Frank's before they left the house. I could not resist the inclination to look at them from the window. She hung heavily on his arm as she lovingly turned her face to his. I pressed my hand to my heart to still a rising thought prejudicial to my husband, and returned for a moment to my seat. Before I had recovered myself sufficiently to go to my room, the outer door burst open, and Mr. Schuyler entered, in no enviable frame of mind. He had met his wife and Frank on their way to church, and had only needed the look of unmistakable affection with which she regarded her companion to raise his jealousy to the highest pitch.

He appeared wholly unconscious of my presence, but walked with hasty strides across the room, soliloquizing in an angry manner: "A pretty life she leads me! She says, they were formerly engaged to be married. Upon my soul, I believe it; though I've found out long ago she has no more regard for the truth than that," vehemently snapping his fingers. "Fool that I was to marry her—to be so taken in by a pretty face and languishing looks! Bah! it makes me sick to see her fawning round the Doctor."

He walked to the mantel piece and stood for a moment looking into the fire, when he commenced again, "I thought her an angel of goodness. If it had been real she might have moulded me into what she pleased. Upon my soul," with a half uttered oath between his teeth, "I believe she's possessed of all the devils that were cast out of Mary Magdalene. I've made up my mind what course to pursue." After a short pause, he added with a sigh of relief, "Yes, I have it! She was poor—she married me for my money,—well—yes, that will serve her right," and his hollow laugh made me shudder. "And yet," he added, in a softened tone, while his good spirit again seemed pleading, "how I loved her,—how happy we might have been—well, we shall see,—we shall see!"

Many times since the entrance of Mr. Schuyler, I had started from my seat intending to say something to soothe his anger, but as often had sunk back powerless. I was myself suffering, and what could I say? But the agony he endured; the jealousy and desire for revenge exhibited by him opened my eyes to the fearful brink upon which I stood, and I firmly resolved by the help of God, to give no sleep to my eyes until I had unburdened my heart to my husband, and besought a return of his confidence and love. I saw plainly where I had sinned, in the coldness and reserve which was creeping between us; and I said to myself, "God helping me, it shall be so no longer." I arose silently and retired to my room, where I prayed fervently for strength to tear up every root of unkindness, distrust and jealousy which I had cherished toward my dear husband. I was happier already.

Long before I had begun to expect them, the family returned from morning service. I heard the outer door open, and Frank, after ascertaining that I was not in the parlor, hastened up stairs. I smiled as I held out my hand to him, and said, "I did not expect you so soon."

He did not return the smile, but pressed my hand against his heart, and said with emotion, "Oh, Cora! Cora!!"

At that moment the bell rang for dinner, and Frank putting my hand in his arm led me below. Oh! how my heart bounded at this simple act of tenderness! I felt strong to endure whatever insults Fidelia might offer. "If I only have my husband's love," I said to myself, "I defy you to injure me."

When we were seated at dinner, Joseph said, "what have you been doing, Cousin Cora? I never before saw you look so happy." All eyes were turned toward me, and I caught one glance of love from my dear Frank which certainly did not diminish my color.

Fidelia noticed it, and looked at Frank as if she thought herself personally aggrieved, while the next moment she cast a glance of defiance at her husband in reply to the scornful sneer with which he regarded her. The Doctor persisted in being silent, and kept his eyes fixed on his plate, notwithstanding all his cousin's attempts to engage him in conversation, while Joseph bit his lips to keep from laughing to see her for once so completely foiled.

The moment dinner was over, Frank turned to leave the room, after giving me an imploring glance to accompany him; but not before his cousin had stepped forward and laying her hand on his arm detained him while she said something I could not hear.

"Impossible!" he replied aloud, "I am otherwise engaged;" and he led me from the room. A malignant scowl darkened her face; but I think Frank did not see it. We entered our room, but had hardly closed the door when some one knocked. With a gesture of impatience he opened it, when to my surprise Mr. Schuyler stood in the passage pale and trembling from suppressed excitement.

"Perhaps you will think me strange; but you will excuse my asking you if you love my wife?"

Frank started forward with the simple word, "Sir," in a tone which implied that he considered the question an insult.

"Yet," continued Mr. Schuyler, "My wife affirms that such is the case; and that during the last few days you have repeatedly told her so."

I had fallen back in my chair when Frank's looks arrested my attention. There was not a particle of color in his face or lips, and for a moment there was a terrible struggle to control his anger; but at length he said, in a low, firm voice, "She has deceived you. I have never loved her. From a boy I have loathed her character. God forgive me," he added in a hoarse voice, "but I can hardly hear her name with patience. She has even endeavored to"—with a quick glance of sorrow at me, he checked himself, and then exclaimed, turning to the window to conceal his feelings, "Oh, why did I believe her?"

"Enough," said Mr. Schuyler, whose countenance had gradually assumed a fixedness of expression dreadful to witness, "I see you are aware of the intrinsic beauty, and loveliness of the character of the woman I have the honor to call my wife." These words were said in a tone of bitter irony which it is impossible to describe; but he immediately added, lowering his voice, "Dr. Lenox, I have foolishly distrusted your honor. I ask your forgiveness."

"I rather think, sir, you'll have a call for your pity in another direction," pointing compassionately toward me; "mine eyes have not been so blinded by my own misery, that I have not seen how your wife suffered."

Frank shook with emotion as he hastily bolted the door, and took a seat near me. I had covered my face with my hands, and was trying to force myself to be calm.

"Cora," said he, in a voice which trembled in spite of himself, "won't you look at me? Oh, Cora, you used to love me!"

"Dear, dear Frank," I said, throwing my arms around his neck, "I love you now. I have always loved you."

He pressed me silently to his heart. "Cora," he asked, turning my face where he could look into my eyes, "tell me truly, do you not love Joseph Morgan?"

O, what a world of light that one question let into my soul! I sprang joyfully to my feet, and looking him fully in the face, "My dear husband," I answered, "as I love, honor and fear my Maker, I have not, and never have had one thought or feeling toward him unfaithful to you as my wedded companion, nor has he ever given me reason to suspect that he felt toward me otherwise than as he would feel toward a dear sister, or cousin. Oh, Frank! how could I, when I loved you so dearly?" I could endure it no longer, but burst into tears.

"Then, may God forgive me," murmured he with a convulsive sob. "But I can never forgive myself."

It was a long time before I was composed enough to hear him explain; and he had hardly entered upon the subject, when he was seized with giddiness, and in attempting to reach the table for some water, was obliged to catch hold of the bed post to save himself from falling. I forgot everything else in my anxiety for him. I knew that he had been dangerously ill with attacks of this kind in former years, and after assisting him to reach the bed, I ran below for Aunt Morgan. She and Joseph immediately went to him. When they approached the bed the Doctor held out his hand to Joseph, while with the other he pressed his throbbing brow. "Cousin," he said humbly, "I have wronged you, greatly wronged you."

"I have been led to believe that you and Cora loved each other; loved as you ought not. Can you forgive me?"

The hoarse voice, and suppressed breathing showed cousin, that this was no time for a joke, and he answered gravely, "truly and fully."

"Frank," I said, as his paleness every moment increased, "I shall send for a physician, or can you prescribe for yourself?" He requested Joseph to go across the street to the druggists and procure some medicine which he named. He then said to aunt, "I used to have these turns long ago, but have not for a year or two."

When cousin returned with the phial I administered the medicine according to his direction, when he told aunt, if it would not be giving too much trouble, he should like some strong mustard draughts for his feet.

After half an hour, a fire had been made in the room, and the poultices had begun to take effect. He felt his pulse, and asked me to administer another dose of the medicine. Seeing that I looked very much troubled, he said gently, "try, my love, to compose your feelings. It is true I am very sick; but I tell you the truth when I say, there is probably no danger, provided I keep perfectly free from excitement, and the medicine operates favorably. I know exactly what to do."

I was turning away to hide my tears when he drew me down to him and whispered, "say once more, dear Cora, that you forgive me!" It was almost more than I could bear; but I choked back my sobs, and assured him again and again of my love and entire forgiveness.

I had been moving quietly about the room preparing for the night, when aunt came in, and said she or Joseph would watch with Frank. But I told her nothing should induce me to leave him. This was said in a whisper, but Frank heard it, and said, "let her stay. I am already relieved, and shall need nothing. I shall rest far better if she is by my side."

Aunt put her hand on his head. "Doctor, you are very ill, I shall send for a physician immediately. Your head is burning up, and fairly throbs with violence."

Frank's face lit up almost into a smile, as he said, "It is easy to bear that; the pain is all gone here," putting his hand to his heart.

"Dear husband," said I, "don't think of that now; only remember that I am your own Cora, and try to go to sleep." Dear aunt had to take off her glasses and wipe them twice before she could see; and she would not be contented until she had brought him some hot herb tea, which he consented to take, as it might hasten the operation of the medicine.

CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER XVI.