Then she came to New York and found her grandson Will, who was less her favorite than ever when she heard how sneeringly he spoke of Walter.

From his remarks, she did not expect to meet the latter at the party, but she would find him next day, she said, and when he entered the room she was too much absorbed in her own thoughts to notice him, but when he pa.s.sed her with Jessie she started, for there was in his face a look like her dead daughter.

"Can it be that handsome young man is Ellen's child?" she said, and she waited anxiously till he appeared again.

He stopped before her then, and with a beating heart she listened to what they called him, and then asked who he was.

"It is my boy,-it is," she murmured between her quivering lips, and as soon as she saw that he was free she joined him, as we have seen, and led him to another room.

For a moment she hesitated, as if uncertain what to say, then, as they were left alone, she began:

"My conduct may seem strange to you, but I cannot help it. Twenty-five years ago a sweet girlish voice called me mother, and the face of her who called me thus was much like yours, young man. She left me one summer morning, and our house was like a tomb without her; but she never came back again, and when I saw her next she lay in her coffin. She was too young to be lying there, for she was scarcely twenty. She died with the shadow of my anger resting on her heart, for when I heard she had married one whom the world said was not her equal, I cast her off, I said she was not mine, and from that day to this the worm of remorse has been gnawing at my heart, for I hear continually the dying message they said she left for me: 'Tell mother to love my baby for the sake of the love she once bore me.' I didn't do it. I steeled my proud heart even against the little boy. But I'm yearning for him now,-yearning for that child to hold up my feeble hands,-to guide my trembling feet and smooth my pathway down into the valley which I must tread ere long."

She paused, and covering her face, wept aloud. Glancing hurriedly around, Walter saw that no one was very near, and going up to her, he wound his arm round her, and whispered in her ear:

"My mother's mother,-my grandmother,-I never expected this from you."

Before Mrs. Bellenger could reply, footsteps were heard approaching, and William appeared with Jessie. He had told her of his grandmother's unexpected arrival that morning, and when she expressed a wish to see her, he started in quest of her at once. He knew that he was not a favorite with her, but she surely would like Jessie, and that might make her more lenient toward himself; so he had sought for her everywhere, learning at last from Mrs. Bartow that she had gone off with Walter.

"Upon my word," he thought, "he has commenced his operations soon," and a sudden fear came over him lest Walter should be preferred to himself by the rich old lady.

And this suspicion was not in the least diminished by the position of the parties when he came suddenly upon them.

"He is playing his cards well," he said, involuntarily, while Jessie was conscious of a feeling of pleasure at seeing Walter thus acknowledged by his grandmother.

With a tolerably good grace, Will introduced his companion, his spirits rising when he saw how pleasantly and kindly his grandmother received them both. Once, as they stood together talking, Mrs. Bellenger spoke of Deerwood, where her daughter was buried, and instantly over William's face there flitted the same uneasy look which Mrs. Reeves had seen and imputed to his desire to be with Charlotte.

"Have you heard from Miss Howland recently?" he asked Walter, who replied:

"I heard some three weeks since, and she was then about as usual. She is always feeble in the winter, though I believe they think her worse this season than she has ever been before."

William thought of a letter received a few days before, the contents of which had written the look upon his face which Mrs. Reeves had noticed, and had prompted him to ask the question he did.

"Poor Ellen!" sighed Jessie. "I fear she's not long for this world."

"What did you call her?" Mrs. Bellenger asked, and Walter replied:

"Ellen, my mother's namesake, and my cousin."

"I shall see her," returned the lady, "for I am going to Deerwood by-and-by."

William was going, too, but he would rather not meet his grandmother there, and he said to her, indifferently, as it were:

"When will you go?"

"In two or three weeks," she answered, and satisfied that she would not then interfere with him, he offered Jessie his arm a second time and walked away, hearing little of what was pa.s.sing around him, and caring less, for the words "Oh, William, I am surely dying! Won't you come?"

rang in his ears like a funeral knell.

For a long time Mrs. Bellenger talked with Walter, asking him at last of his father, and if any news had been heard of him.

"It does not matter," she said, when he replied in the negative. "I have outlived all that foolish pride, and love you just the same."

Her words were sweet and soothing to Walter, and he did not care much now even if William did keep Jessie continually at his side, walking frequently past the door where he could see them. Once, as they pa.s.sed, Mrs. Bellenger remarked:

"Miss Graham is a beautiful young woman. Is she engaged to William?"

"No, no! oh, no!" and in the voice Mrs. Bellenger learned all she wished to know.

"Pardon me," she continued, taking Walter's hand, "pardon the liberty, but you love Jessie Graham," and her mild eyes look gently into his.

"Hopelessly," he answered, and his grandmother rejoined:

"Not hopelessly, my child; for as one woman can read another, so I saw upon her face that which told me she cared only for you. Be patient and wait," and with another pleasant smile she arose, saying to him, laughingly: "I am going to acknowledge you now. You say they do not know that my blood is flowing in your veins," and she pa.s.sed again into the crowd, who fell back at her approach, for by this time every body knew who she was, and numerous were the surmises as to what kept her so long with young Marshall.

The matter was soon explained, for she only needed to say to those about her, "This is my grandson,-my daughter Ellen's child," for the news to spread rapidly, reaching at last to Mrs. Reeves, still seated on her throne. Greatly she wondered how it could be, and why William had not told her before; then, as she remembered her investigations with regard to the Bellengers, she added what was wanting to complete the tale, leaving out the robbery, and merely saying that Mr. Marshall's poverty had been the chief objection to his marriage with Miss Ellen Bellenger.

This she did because she knew that, with his grandmother for a prop, Walter could not be trampled down, and she meant to be the first to hold him up.

In the midst of a group of ladies, to whom she was enumerating Jessie's many virtues, Mrs. Bartow heard the news, and answered very carelessly:

"Why, I knew that long ago. Mr. Marshall is a fine young man," and as she spoke, she wondered if he would share with William in his grandmother's property.

"Even if he does," she thought, "William will have the most, for his father is very wealthy,-then there is the name of Bellenger, which is something," and having thus balanced the two, and found the heavier weight in William's favor, she looked after him, as he led Jessie away to the dancing-room, with a most benignant expression, particularly as she saw that Mrs. Reeves was looking at him too.

"I wonder what she thinks now about his wishing to be with Charlotte?"

she thought, and she longed for the moment when she could pay the lady for her ill-natured remarks.

By this time Mrs. Bellenger had returned to her seat by Mrs. Reeves, and thinking this a favorable opportunity, Mrs. Bartow took her stand near them and began:

"By the way, Mrs. Reeves, did you ever know any one in Leicester, Ma.s.sachusetts, by the name of Marshall-Debby Marshall, I mean?"

Mrs. Reeves started, with a look upon her face as if that which she had long feared and greatly dreaded had come upon her at last. Then, resuming her composure, she repeated the name:

"Debby Marshall?-Debby Marshall? I certainly do not number her among my acquaintances."

"I knew it must be a mistake," returned Mrs. Bartow, "particularly as she was malicious enough to say that your father was a tin peddler."

"A tin peddler!" gasped Mrs. Reeves, making a furious attack upon her smelling salts. "I believe I'm going to faint. The idea! It's perfectly preposterous! Where is this mischief-maker?" and the black eyes flashed round the room, as if in search of the offending Aunt Debby.

"Pray don't distress yourself," said the delighted Mrs. Bartow. "Of course it isn't true, and if it were, it's safe with me. I met this woman last summer in Deerwood, when I went down for Jessie. I chanced to mention your name, as I frequently do when away from you, and this Debby, who is an old maid, seventy at least, said she used to know a factory girl,-Charlotty Ann Gregory, of about her age, who married a man by the name of Reeves, a storekeeper, she called him. It's a remarkable coincidence, isn't it, that there should be two Charlotte Ann Gregorys, with sister Lizzies, and that both should marry merchants of the same name and come to New York. But nothing is strange now-a-days, so don't let it worry you. This old Debby is famous for knowing everybody's history."

Like a drowning man, Mrs. Reeves caught at this last remark. If Debby Marshall knew everybody's history, she of course knew Mrs. Bartow's, and the disconcerted lady hastened to ask:

"Where did you say she lived?"

"In Deerwood, with her brother, Deacon Amos Marshall, about half a mile from the village," returned the unsuspecting Mrs. Bartow.

Silently Mrs. Reeves wrote the information upon the tablets of her memory, and then, in a low voice of entreaty, said to her friend:

"You know it is all false, as well as you know that there are, in this city, envious people who would delight in just such scandal, and I trust you will not repeat it."