"I'll send the carriage for you as soon as I can run home," said Miss f.a.n.n.y. With that she rose to go, and hustled out of the room, but in the hallway she turned and remarked: "Tell Gabriel that he will have to lengthen his suspenders, now that Nan has put on long dresses."

"Oh, no!" protested Mrs. Lumsden. "We mustn't put any such nonsense in Gabriel's head. Nan is for Francis Bethune. If it isn't all arranged it ought to be. Why, the land of Dorrington joins the land that Bethune will fall heir to some day, and it seems natural that the two estates should become one." Gabriel's grandmother had old-fashioned ideas about marriage.

"Oh, I see!" replied Miss f.a.n.n.y with a laugh; "you are so intent on joining the two estates in wedlock that you take no account of the individuals. But brother Pulaski says that for many years to come, the more land a man has the poorer he will become."

"Upon my word, I don't see how that can be," responded Mrs. Lumsden.

This was the first faint whiff of the new order that had come to the nostrils of the dear old lady.

Miss f.a.n.n.y went home, and in no long time Neighbour Tomlin's carriage came to the door. At the last moment, Mrs. Lumsden decided that Gabriel should go with her. "It may be necessary for you to go on an errand. I presume there are servants there, but I don't know whether they are to be depended on."

So Gabriel helped his grandmother into the carriage, climbed in after her, and in a very short time they were at the Gaither Place. The young woman whom Gabriel had seen in Mr. Goodlett's hack was standing in the door, and the little frown on her forehead was more p.r.o.nounced than ever. She was evidently troubled.

"Good-morning," said Mrs. Lumsden. "I have come to see Margaret. Does she receive visitors?"

"My name is Margaret, too," said the young woman, after returning Mrs.

Lumsden's salutation, and bowing to Gabriel. "But of course you came to see my mother. She is upstairs--she would be carried there, though I begged her to take one of the lower rooms. She is in the room in which she was born."

"I know the way very well," said Mrs. Lumsden. She was for starting up the stairway, but the young woman detained her by a gesture and turned to Gabriel.

"Won't you come in?" she inquired. "We are old acquaintances, you know.

Your name is Gabriel--wait!--Gabriel Tolliver. Don't you see how well I know you? Come, we'll help your grandmother up the stairs." This they did--the girl with the firm and practised hand of an expert, and Gabriel with the awkwardness common to young fellows of his age. The young woman led Mrs. Lumsden to her mother's bedside, and presently came back to Gabriel.

"We will go down now, if you please," she said. "My mother is very ill--worse than she has ever been--and you can't imagine how lonely I am. Mother is at home here, while my home, if I have any, is in Louisiana. I suppose you never had any trouble?"

"My mother is dead," he said simply. Margaret reached out her hand and touched him gently on the arm. It was a gesture of impulsive sympathy.

"What is it?" Gabriel asked, thinking she was calling his attention to something she saw or heard.

"Nothing," she said softly. Gabriel understood then, and he could have kicked himself for his stupidity. "Your grandmother is a very beautiful old lady," she remarked after a period of silence.

"She is very good to me," Gabriel replied, at a loss what to say, for he always shrank from praising those near and dear to him. As he sat there, he marvelled at the self-possession of this young woman in the midst of strangers, and with her mother critically ill.

In a little while he heard his grandmother calling him from the head of the stairs. "Gabriel, jump in the carriage and fetch Dr. Dorrington at once. He's at home at this hour."

He did as he was bid, and Nan, who was coming uptown on business of her own, so she said, must needs get in the carriage with her father. The combination was more than Gabriel had bargained for. There was a twinkle in Dr. Dorrington's eye, as he glanced good-humouredly from one to the other, that Gabriel did not like at all. For some reason or other, which he was unable to fathom, the young man was inclined to fight shy of Nan's father; and there was nothing he liked less than to find himself in Dr. Dorrington's company--more especially when Nan was present, too.

Noting the quizzical glances of the physician, Gabriel, like a great b.o.o.by, began to blush, and in another moment, Nan was blushing, too.

"Now, father"--she only called him father when she was angry, or dreadfully in earnest--"Now, father! if you begin your teasing, I'll jump from the carriage. I'll not ride with a grown man who doesn't know how to behave in his daughter's company."

Her father laughed gaily. "Teasing? Why, I wasn't thinking of teasing. I was just going to remark that the weather is very warm for the season, and then I intended to suggest to Gabriel that, as I proposed to get you a blue parasol, he would do well to get him a red one."

"And why should Gabriel get a parasol?" Nan inquired with a show of indignation.

"Why, simply to be in the fashion," her father replied. "I remember the time when you cried for a hat because Gabriel had one; I also remember that once when you were wearing a sun-bonnet, Gabriel borrowed one and wore it--and a pretty figure he cut in it."

"I don't see how you can remember it," said Gabriel laughing and blushing.

"Well, I don't see how in the world I could forget it," Dr. Dorrington responded in tone so solemn that Nan laughed in spite of her uncomfortable feelings.

"You say Margaret Gaither has a daughter, Gabriel?" said Dr. Dorrington, suddenly growing serious, much to the relief of the others. "And about Nan's age? Well, you will have to go in with me, daughter, and see her.

If her mother is seriously ill, it will be a great comfort to her to have near her some one of her own age."

Nan made a pretty little mouth at this command, to show that she didn't relish it, but otherwise she made no objection. Indeed, as matters fell out, it became almost her duty to go in to Margaret Bridalbin; for when the carriage reached the house, the young girl was standing at the gate.

"Is this Dr. Dorrington? Well, you are to go up at once. They are constantly calling to know if you have come. I don't know how my dearest is--I dread to know. Oh, I am sure you will do what you can." There was an appeal in the girl's voice that went straight to the heart of the physician.

"You may make your mind easy on that score, my dear," said Dr.

Dorrington, laying his hand lightly on her shoulder. There was something helpful and hopeful in the very tone of his voice. "This is my daughter Nan," he added.

Margaret turned to Nan, who was lagging behind somewhat shyly. "Will you please come in?--you and Gabriel Tolliver. It is very lonely here, and everything is so still and quiet. My name is Margaret Bridalbin," she said. She took Nan's hand, and looked into her eyes as if searching for sympathy. And she must have found it there, for she drew Nan toward her and kissed her.

That settled it for Nan. "My name is Nan Dorrington," she said, swallowing a lump in her throat, "and I hope we shall be very good friends."

"We are sure to be," replied the other, with emphasis. "I always know at once."

They went into the dim parlour, and Nan and Margaret sat with their arms entwined around each other. "Gabriel told me yesterday that you were a young girl," Nan remarked.

"I am seventeen," replied the other.

"Only seventeen! Why, I am seventeen, and yet I seem to be a mere child by the side of you. You talk and act just as a grown woman does."

"That is because I have never a.s.sociated with children of my own age. I have always been thrown with older persons. And then my mother has been ill a long, long time, and I have been compelled to do a great deal of thinking. I know of nothing more disagreeable than to have to think. Do you dislike poor folks?"

"No, I don't," replied Nan, snuggling up to Margaret. "Some of my very bestest friends are poor."

Margaret smiled at the childish adjective, and placed her cheek against Nan's for a moment. "I'm glad you don't dislike poverty," she said, "for we are very poor."

"When it comes to that," Nan responded, "everybody around here is poor--everybody except Grandfather Clopton and Mr. Tomlin. They have money, but I don't know where they get it. Nonny says that some folks have only to dream of money, and when they wake in the morning they find it under their pillows."

Dr. Dorrington came downstairs at this moment. "Your mother is very much better than she was awhile ago," he said to Margaret. "She never should have made so long a journey. She has wasted in that way strength enough to have kept her alive for six months."

"I begged and implored her not to undertake it," the daughter explained, "but nothing would move her. Even when she needed nourishing food, she refused to buy it; she was saving it to bring her home."

"Well, she is here, now, and we'll do the best we can. Gabriel, will you run over, and ask f.a.n.n.y Tomlin to come? And if Neighbour Tomlin is there tell him I want to see him on some important business."

It was very clear to Gabriel from all this that there was small hope for the poor lady above. She might be better than she was when the doctor arrived, but there was no ray of hope to be gathered from Dr.

Dorrington's countenance.

Pulaski Tomlin and his sister responded to the summons at once; and with Gabriel's grandmother holding her hand, the poor lady had an interview with Pulaski Tomlin. But she never saw his face nor he hers. The large screen was carried upstairs from the dining-room, and placed in front of the bed; and near the door a chair was placed for Pulaski Tomlin. It was the heart's desire of the dying lady that Neighbour Tomlin should become the guardian of her daughter. He was deeply affected when told of her wishes, but before consenting to accept the responsibility, asked to see the daughter, and went to the parlour, where she was sitting with Nan and Gabriel. When he came in Nan ran and kissed him as she never failed to do, for, though his face on one side was so scarred and drawn that the sight of it sometimes shocked strangers, those who knew him well, found his wounded countenance singularly attractive.

"This is Margaret," he said, taking the girl's hand. "Come into the light, my dear, where you may see me as I am. Your mother has expressed a wish that I should become your guardian. As an old and very dear friend of mine, she has the right to make the request. I am willing and more than willing to meet her wishes, but first I must have your consent."

They went into the hallway, which was flooded with light. "Are you the Mr. Tomlin of whom I have heard my mother speak?" Margaret asked, fixing her clear eyes on his face; and when he had answered in the affirmative--"I wonder that she asked you, after what she has told me.

She certainly has no claims on you."

"Ah, my dear, that is where you are wrong," he insisted. "I feel that every one in this world has claims on me, especially those who were my friends in old times. It is I who made a mistake, and not your mother; and I should be glad to rectify that mistake now, as far as I can, by carrying out her wishes. You know, of course, that she is very ill; will you go up and speak with her?"

"No, not now; not when there are so many strangers there," Margaret replied, and stood looking at him with almost childish wonder.