"Oh, Mr. St. Claire," interrupted Edith, "You surely do love her.

You cannot help loving her, and she so beautiful, so innocent."

"Yes," he answered, "as a brother loves an unfortunate sister. I feel towards her, I think, as a mother does towards a helpless child, a tender pity which prompts me to bear with her even when she tries me almost beyond endurance. She is not always as mild as you see her now, though her frenzied moods do not occur as frequently as they did. She loves me, I think, as an infant loves its mother, and is better when I am with her. At all events, since coming to Gra.s.sy Spring, she has been unusually quiet, until within the last two weeks, when a nervous fever has confined her to her room and made her somewhat unmanagable. Griswold said she would be better here, and though I had not much faith in the experiment, I see now that he was right. Griswold is always right, and had I followed his advice years ago, much of my trouble might have been averted. Edith, never conceal a single act, if you wish to be happy. A little fault, if covered up, grows into a mountain; and the longer it is hidden, the harder it is to be confessed.

This is my experience. There was a false step at first, and it lies too far back in the past to be remedied now. No one knows of it but myself, Griswold, Nina, and my G.o.d. Yes, there IS one more whose memory might be refreshed, but I now have no fear of him."

Edith did not ask who this other was, neither did she dream that Richard Harrington was in any way connected with the mystery. She thought of him, however, wondering if she might tell him of Nina, and asking if she could.

Arthur's face was very white, as he replied, "Tell him if you like, or any one else. It is needless to keep it longer, but, Edith, you'll come again, won't you? come to see Nina if nothing more. I am glad you have seen her, provided you do not desert me wholly."

"Of course I shall not," she said, as she laid the golden head of the sleeping girl upon the cushion of the sofa, preparatory to leaving, "I'll come again, and forgive you, too, for anything you may have done, except a wrong to her," and she carefully kissed the poor, crazy Nina.

Then, offering her hand to Arthur she tried to bid him good-bye as of old, but he missed something in her manner, and with feelings sadly depressed he watched her from the window, as, a.s.sisted by Ike, she mounted her pony and galloped swiftly away.

"She's lost to me forever, and there's nothing worth living for now," he said, just as a little hand pressed his arm, and a sweet childish voice murmured, "Yes, there is, Arthur. Live for Nina, poor Nina," and the snowy fingers, which, for a moment, had rested lightly on his arm, began to play with the b.u.t.tons of his coat, while the soft blue eyes looted pleadingly into his.

"Yes, darling; he said, caressing her flowing curls, and pushing them back from her forehead, "I will live for you, hereafter. I will love no one else."

"No one but Miggie. You MAY love her. You must love her, Arthur.

She's so beautiful, so grand, why has she gone from Nina, I want her here, want her all the time;" and Nina's mood began to change.

Tears filled her eyes, and burying her face in Arthur's bosom she begged him to go after Miggie, to bring her. back and keep her there always, threatening that if he did'nt "Nina would be bad."

Tenderly, but firmly, as a parent soothes a refractory child, did Arthur soothe the excitable Nina, telling her Miggie should come again, or if she did not, they'd go up and see her.

CHAPTER XVII.

NINA AND MIGGIE.

It would be impossible to describe Edith's feelings as she rode toward home. She knew Arthur had not told her the whole, and that the part omitted was the most important of all. What could it be?

She thought of a thousand different things, but dismissed them one after another from her mind as too preposterous to be cherished for a moment. The terrible reality never once occurred to her, else her heart had not beaten as lightly as it did, in spite of the strange story she had heard. She was glad that she had met with Nina--glad that every obstacle to their future intercourse was removed--and while she censured Arthur much she pitied him the more and scolded herself heartily for feeling so comfortable and satisfied because he had ceased to love the unfortunate Nina.

"I can't blame him for not wishing to be talked about," she said.

"Shannondale IS a horribly gossipping place, and people would have surmised everything; but the sooner they know it now the sooner it will die away. Let me think. Who will be likely to spread the news most industriously?"

Suddenly remembering Mrs. Eliakim Rogers, the busiest gossip in town, she turned Bedouin in the direction of the low brown house, standing at a little distance from the road, and was soon seated in Mrs. Eliakim's kitchen, her ostensible errand being to inquire about some plain sewing the good lady was doing for her, while her real object was to communicate as much of Arthur's story as she thought proper. Incidentally she spoke of Mr. St. Claire, and when the widow asked "What under the sun possessed him to live as he did," she replied by telling of NINA, his ward, who, she said, had recently come to Gra.s.sy Spring from the Asylum, adding a few items as to how Arthur chanced to be her guardian, talking as if she had known of it all the time, and saying she did not wonder that a young man like him should shrink from having it generally understood that he had a crazy girl upon his hands. He was very kind to her indeed, and no brother could treat his sister more tenderly than he treated Nina.

To every thing she said, Mrs. Eliakim smilingly a.s.sented, drawing her own conclusions the while and feeling vastly relieved when, at last, her visitor departed, leaving her at liberty to don her green calash and start for the neighbors with this precious morsel of gossip. Turning back, Edith saw her hurrying across the fields, and knew it would not be long ere all Shannondale were talking of Arthur's ward.

Arrived at home she found the dinner waiting for her, and when asked by Richard what had kept her she replied by repeating to him in substance what she had already told Mrs. Eliakim Rogers. There was this difference however, between the two stories--the one told to Richard was longer and contained more of the particulars. She did not, however, tell him of Arthur's love for Nina, or of the neglected wife, the mother of little Miggie, though why she withheld that part of the story she could not tell. She felt a strange interest in that young mother dying alone in the noisome city, and in the little child buried upon her bosom, but she had far rather talk of Nina and her marvellous beauty, feeling sure that she had at least one interested auditor, Victor, who was perfectly delighted to have the mystery of Gra.s.sy Spring unravelled, though he felt a little disappointed that it should amount to nothing more than a crazy girl, to whom Mr. St. Claire was guardian.

This feeling of Victor was in a great measure shared by the villagers, and, indeed, after a day or two of talking and wondering, the general opinion seemed to be that Arthur had magnified the evil and been altogether too much afraid of Madam Rumor, who was inclined to be rather lenient toward him, particularly as Edith Hastings took pains to tell how kind he was to Nina, who gave him oftentimes so much trouble. The tide of popular feeling was in his favor, and the sympathy which many openly expressed for him was like a dagger to the young man, who knew he did not deserve it. Still he was relieved of a great burden, and was far happier than he had been before, and even signified to Grace his willingness to mingle in society and see company at his own house. The consequence of this was throngs of visitors at Gra.s.sy Spring, said visitors always asking for Mr. St.

Claire, but caring really to see Nina, who shrank from their advances, and hiding herself in her room refused at last to go down unless Miggie were there.

MIGGIE had purposely absented herself from Gra.s.sy Spring more than two whole weeks, and when Richard asked the cause of it she answered that she did not know, and, indeed, she could not to herself define the reason of her staying so long from a place where she wished so much to be, unless it were that she had not quite recovered from the shock it gave her to know that Arthur had once been engaged, even though he had wearied of the engagement.

It seemed to her that he had built between them a barrier which she determined he should be the first to cross. So she studiously avoided him, and thus unconsciously plunged him deeper and deeper into the mire, where he was already foundering. Her apparent indifference only increased the ardor of his affection, and though he struggled against it as against a deadly sin, he could not overcome it, and at last urged on by Nina, who begged so hard for Miggie, he resolved upon going to Collingwood and taking Nina with him.

It was a warm, pleasant afternoon in May, and Nina had never looked more beautiful than when seated in the open carriage, and on her way to Collingwood, talking incessantly of Miggie, whom she espied long before they reached the house. It was a most joyful meeting between the two young girls, Nina clinging to Edith as if fearful of losing her again, if by chance she should release her hold.

Arthur did not tell Edith how much he had missed her, but Nina did, and when she saw the color deepen on Edith's cheeks she added, "You love him, don't you, Miggie?"

"I love every body, I hope," returned the blushing Edith, as she led her guests into the room where Richard was sitting.

At sight of the blind man Nina started, and clasping her hands together, stood regarding him fixedly, while a look of perplexity deepened upon her face.

"Speak to her, Edith," whispered Arthur, but ere Edith could comply with his request, Nina's lips parted and she said, "YOU DID DO IT, DIDN'T YOU?"

"Whose voice was that?" and Richard started forward.

It's Nina, Mr. Harrington; pretty Nina Bernard; and Edith came to the rescue.

"She has a sweet, familiar voice," said Richard, "Come to me, little one, will you?"

He evidently thought her a child, for in her statement Edith had not mentioned her age, and Richard had somehow received the impression that she was very young. It suited Nina to be thus addressed, and she went readily to Richard, who pressed her soft, warm hands, and then telling her playfully that he wished to know how she looked, pa.s.sed his own hand slowly over her face and hair, caressing the latter and twining one of the curls around his fingers; then, winding his arm about her slender waist, he asked how old she was.

"FIFTEEN YEARS AND A HALF," was her prompt reply.'

Richard never thought of doubting her word. She was very slight indeed. "A little morsel," he called her, and as neither Arthur nor Edith corrected the mistake, he was suffered to think of Nina Bernard as one, who, were she rational, would be a mere school- girl yet.

She puzzled him greatly, and more than once he started at some peculiar intonation of her voice.

"Little Snowdrop," he said, at last, "it seems to me I have known you all my life. Look at me, and say if we have met before?"

Edith was too intent upon Nina's answer to notice Arthur, and she failed to see the spasm of pain and fear which pa.s.sed over his face, leaving it paler than its wont. Bending over Nina he waited like Edith while she scanned Richard curiously, and then replied, "Never, UNLESS YOU ARE THE ONE THAT DID IT--are you?"

"Did what?" asked Richard, and while Nina hesitated, Arthur replied, "She has a fancy that somebody made her crazy."

"Not I, oh, no, not I, poor little dove. I did not do it, sure,"

and Richard smoothed the yellow curls resting on his knee.

"Who was it, then?" persisted Nina. "He was tall, like you, and dark and handsome, wasn't he Arthur? You know--you were there?"

and she turned appealingly to the young man, whose heart beat so loudly as to be plainly audible to himself.

"It was Charlie Hudson, perhaps," suggested Edith, and Arthur mentally blessed her for a remark which turned the channel of Nina's thoughts, and set her to telling Richard how Charlie cried when he saw her through the iron bars, wearing that queer-looking gown.

"I danced for him with all my might," she said, "and sang so loud, for I thought it would make him laugh as it did the folks around me, but he only cried the harder. What made him?" and she looked up wistfully in Richard's face. "YOU are crying, too!" she exclaimed. "Everybody cries where I am. Why do they? I wish they wouldn't. I'm good to-day--there, please don't, Mr. Big-man, THAT DID DO IT,"? and raising her waxen hand she brushed away the tear trembling on Richard's long eyelashes.

Edith now sought to divert her by asking if she were fond of music, and would like to hear her play,

"Nina'll play," returned the little maiden, and going to the piano she dashed off a wild, impa.s.sioned, mixed-up impromptu, resembling now the soft notes of the lute or the plaintive sob of the winter wind, and then swelling into a full, rich, harmonious melody, which made the blood chill in Edith's veins, and caused both Richard and Arthur to hold their breath.

This music ceased, and rising from the stool Nina expressed a desire to go home, insisting that Edith should go with her and stay all night.

"I want to sleep with my arms around your neck just like you used to do," she said; and when Arthur, too, joined in the request, Edith answered that she would if Richard were willing.

"And sleep with a lunatic,--is it quite safe?" he asked.