"Don't disturb me. I am thinking," and as she thought the cold perspiration stood in the palms of her hands and about her mouth, for it was like tearing out her very life, deciding to give William up, and bidding him marry another, even though she knew she could never be his wife.

Jessie Graham was very dear to the poor invalid, as the first and almost only girl friend she had ever known. Jessie had been kind to her, while Mr. Graham had been most kind to them all. Jessie would make William a far more suitable wife than she could. His proud relatives would scoff at her, and perhaps if she should live and marry him he might some day be sorry that he did not take the more brilliant Jessie. But was there any probability that she could live? She wished she knew, and she said to William:

"Do people always get well if they go to Florida?"

"Sometimes, darling, if the disease is not too far advanced," was the answer, and Ellen went back to her reflections.

Her disease was too far advanced, she feared, and if she could not live, why should she wish to trammel William for so short a time, even if there were no Jessie, and would it not be better to give him up at once?

Yes, it would, she said, and just as William began a second time to think she had fallen away to sleep she beckoned him to come near, and in a voice which sounded like the wail of a broken heart, she whispered:

"I have decided, William. You must marry Jessie,-but not till I am dead.

You'll love poor me till then, won't you?" and burying her face in his bosom, she sobbed bitterly. He kissed her tears away; he told her he would not marry Jessie, that she alone should be his wife; and when she answered that it must not be, that at the longest she could live but a short time, he felt in his villainous, selfish heart that he was glad she was so sensible. He had told her no lie, he thought. He had merely supposed a case, and she, taking it for granted, had deliberately given him up. He could not help himself, for had she not virtually refused him?

By such arguments as these did the wicked man seek to quiet his guilty conscience, but when he saw how much it had cost the young girl to say what she had said, he was half tempted to undeceive her, to tell her it was all false, that story of himself and Jessie,-but gold was dearer to him than aught else on earth, and so he did not do it. He merely told her that so long as she lived he should love her the best, but advised her not to talk with Jessie on the subject, as it would only make them both unhappy.

"You may tell your mother that I love you, but I would say nothing of Jessie, who might not like to have the matter talked about, as it is not positively settled yet, at least not enough to proclaim it to the world."

Like a submissive child, Ellen promised compliance with all his wishes, and as the deacon by this time had declared "there was no sense in them two staying in there any longer," he appeared in the door, and thus put an end to the conversation.

All the next day William stayed, improving every opportunity to whisper to Ellen of his love, but the words were almost meaningless to her now.

She knew that she loved him; she believed that he loved her, but there was a barrier between them, and when at night he left her, she was so strangely calm that he felt a pang lest he might have lost a little of her love, which, in spite of his selfishness, was very dear to him.

After he was gone, Ellen told her mother of their mutual love, which never could be consummated, because she must die; but she said nothing of Jessie, and the deluded woman, gazing on her beautiful daughter, prayed that she might live, and so one day grace the halls of the proud Bellengers. After this there often came to the farm-house dainty luxuries for the invalid, and though there was no name, Ellen knew who sent them, and smiling into her mother's face would say:

"Isn't he good to me?"

At last the stormy March had come, and one night a lady stood at the farm-house door, asking if Deacon Marshall lived there.

"I have no claim upon your hospitality," she said, "but a mother has a right to visit her daughter's grave and the home where her daughter died."

It was Mrs. Bellenger, but so changed from the haughty woman who years ago had been there, that the family could scarcely believe it was the same. It is true they had heard from Walter of his grandmother's kindness, and how the effect of that kindness was already beginning to be apparent in the treatment he received from those who before had scarcely noticed him, but they could not understand it until they saw the lady in their midst, affable and friendly to them all, but especially to poor sick Nellie, to whom she attached herself at once.

Very rapidly each grew to liking the other. Mrs. Bellenger, because the gentle invalid bore her daughter's name; and Nellie, because the lady was William's grandmother, and sometimes spoke of him. For many days Mrs. Bellenger lingered, for there was something very soothing in the quiet of the farm-house, and very attractive about the sick girl, who once as they sat together alone, opened her whole heart and told the story of her love.

"It surely is not wrong for me to confide in you," she said, "and I must talk of it to somebody."

Mrs. Bellenger had heretofore distrusted William, but the fact that he had won the love of so pure a being as Ellen Howland changed her feelings toward him, and when the latter said, "He spoke of taking me to Florida," she thought at once that her money should pay the bills, and that she too would go and help her grandson nurse the beautiful young girl back to life and strength. This last she said to Ellen, who answered mournfully:

"It cannot be, for I have given him up to Jessie, whose claim was better than mine," and then she repeated all that William had said to her.

"It doesn't matter," she continued. "I can't live very long, and Jessie has been so kind to me that I want to give her something, and William is the most precious thing I have.

"It hurt me to give him up. But it is best, even if there were no Jessie Graham. His parents are not like you; they might teach him in time to despise me, and I'd rather die now."

Mrs. Bellenger turned away to hide her tears, and could William have seen what was in her heart,-could he have known how easily Ellen's wasted hand could unlock her coffers and give him the money he craved, the proud house of Bellenger would have mourned over a second _mesalliance_.

For nearly two weeks Mrs. Bellenger remained in Deerwood, and then, promising to come again ere long, returned to the city, where rumor was already busy with the marriage which the world said was soon to take place between William Bellenger and the beautiful Miss Graham.

CHAPTER X.-A DISCLOSURE.

Much surprise was expressed, and a good deal of interest manifested, when it was known that the handsome house up-town which had recently been bought by a stranger it was said, and elegantly furnished, was the property of Mrs. Bellenger, who, not long after her return from Deerwood, took possession of it, and made it also the home of Walter Marshall. The latter was now courted and admired as a most "delightful young man," and probably the princ.i.p.al heir of the rich old lady, who did not hesitate to show how greatly she preferred him to her other grandson, William. Even Mrs. Reeves was especially gracious to him now, saying she believed him quite as good a match as Mr. Bellenger, who was welcome to Jessie Graham if he wanted her. And it would seem that he did, for almost every evening found him at her side, while Walter frequently met them in the street, or heard of them at various places of amus.e.m.e.nt.

Still Jessie was very kind to him whenever he called upon her, unless William chanced to be present, and then she seemed to take delight in annoying him, by devoting herself almost entirely to one whom he at last believed was really his rival. This opinion he expressed one day to his grandmother, who had come to the same conclusion, and who as gently as possible repeated to him all that Ellen had told her. It was the first intimation Walter had received that William Bellenger had pretended to care for his cousin, and it affected him deeply.

"The wretch!" he exclaimed. "He won Ellen's love only to cast it from him at his will, for he never thought of making her his wife."

Then, as his own gloomy future arose before him, he groaned aloud, for he never knew before how dear Jessie was to him.

"It may not be so," his grandmother said, laying her hand upon his head.

"I cannot quite think Jessie would prefer him to you, and she has known you always, too. Suppose you talk with her upon the subject. It will not make the matter worse."

"Grandmother," said Walter, "I have promised never to speak of love to Jessie Graham until I am freed from the taint my father's misfortune has fastened upon my name, and as there is no hope that this will ever be, I must live on and see her given to another. Were my rival anybody but William, I could bear it better, for I want Jessie to be happy, and I believe him to be-a villain, and I would far rather that Jessie would die than be his bride."

Walter was very much excited, and as the atmosphere of the room seemed oppressive, he seized his hat and rushed out into the street, meeting by the way William and Jessie. They were walking very slowly, and apparently so absorbed with themselves, that neither observed him till just as he was pa.s.sing, when Jessie looked up and called after him:

"Are you never coming to see me again?"

"I don't know,-perhaps not," was the cool answer, and Walter hastened on, while William, who never let an opportunity pa.s.s for a sly insinuation against his cousin, asked Jessie if she had not observed how consequential Walter had grown since his grandmother took him up and pushed him into society. "Everybody is laughing about it," said he, "but that is the way with people of his cla.s.s. They cannot bear prosperity."

"I think Walter has too much good sense," Jessie replied, "to be lifted up by the attentions of those who used to slight him, but who notice him now just because Mrs. Bellenger likes him. There's Mrs. Reeves, for instance,-it's perfectly sickening to hear her talk about 'dear Mr.

Marshall,' when she used to speak of him as 'that poor young man in Mr.

Graham's employ.' Charlotte always liked him."

This last was not very agreeable to Will, for in case he failed to secure Jessie, Charlotte was his next choice.

Money he must have, and soon too, for there was a heavy burden on his mind, and unless that burden was lifted disgrace was sure to follow.

Twice recently he had written to his father for money and received the same answer:

"I have nothing for you; go to your grandmother, who has plenty."

Once he had asked Mrs. Bellenger for a hundred dollars; but she had said that "a young man in perfect health ought to have some occupation, and as he had none he had no right to live as expensively as he did."

Several times he had borrowed of Walter, making an excuse that he had forgotten his purse, or "that the old man's remittances had not come,"

but never remembering to pay or mention it again. In this state of affairs it was quite natural that he should be looking about for something to ease his mind and fill his pocket at the same time. A rich wife could do this, and as Jessie and Charlotte both were rich, one of them must come to the rescue. Jessie's remark about Charlotte disturbed him, and as he had not of late paid her much attention, he resolved to call upon her as soon as he had seen Jessie to her own door.

Meanwhile Walter had gone to his office, where he found upon the desk a letter in his grandfather's handwriting, and hastily breaking the seal, he read, that he must come quickly if he would see his cousin alive. The letter inclosed a note for Jessie, and Walter was requested to give it to her so that she might come with him.

"Poor Ellen talks of Jessie and Mrs. Bellenger all the time," the deacon wrote, "and perhaps your grandmother would not mind coming too. She seemed to take kindly to the child."

Not a word was said of William, for Ellen would not allow her mother to send for him.

"It would only make him feel badly," she said, "and I would save him from unnecessary pain." So she hushed her longing to see him again and asked only for Jessie.

"I will go to-morrow morning," Walter thought, and as Mr. Graham was absent for a day or two he was thinking of taking the note to Jessie himself, when William came suddenly upon him.

"Well, old fellow," said he, "what's up now? Your face is long as a gravestone."