"Oh, Miss Irene! I am so glad you are better. I prayed for you all the time while you were so very ill."

"Thank you. Sit down, and tell me about the sick."

"They are all better, I believe, ma'am, except Mrs. Davis. She was wishing yesterday that she could see you again."

"I shall go there in a day or two. You are walking pretty well without your crutches. Have you resumed your work."

"I shall begin again to-morrow."

"It need not interfere with your studies. The nights are very long now, and you can accomplish a great deal if you feel disposed to do so. I think it possible I can obtain a situation for your father as carpenter on a plantation in the country, if he will promise to abstain from drinking. I have heard that he was a very good mechanic, and in the country he would not meet with such constant temptation. Do you suppose that he will be willing to leave town?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am! I think so. If you please, Miss Irene, I should be so glad if you would talk to him, and persuade him to take the pledge before he starts. I believe he would join the Temperance society if you asked him to do it. Oh! then I should have some heart to work."

"You and your mother must try to influence him and in a few days I will talk to him. In the meantime I will see about the situation, which is a very desirable one. Brighter days will soon come, I trust."

He took his cap from the carpet, rose, and looked at her with swimming eyes.

"Oh, Miss Irene! I wish I could tell you all I feel. I thank you more than I can ever express, and so does mother."

"You have finished your book, I see; don't you want another? Nellie will show you the library, and on the lower book-shelf, on the right-hand side of the door, you will find a large volume in leather binding--'Plutarch.'

Take it with you, and read it carefully. Good-bye. I shall come down to the Row to-morrow or next day."

CHAPTER XXV

RECONCILED

"Well, Irene, what is your decision about the party at Mrs. Churchill's to-night?"

"I will go with you, father, if it is a matter of so much interest to you, though, as I told you yesterday, I should prefer declining the invitation as far as I am concerned."

"It is full time for you to go into society again. You have moped at home long enough."

"'Moped' is scarcely the right word, father."

"It matters little what you call it, the fact is the same. You have shut yourself in till you have grown to look like a totally different woman.

Indeed, Irene, I won't permit it any longer; you must come out into the world once more. I am, sick of your black looks; let me see you in colours to-night."

"Will not pure white content you, father?"

"No, I am tired of it. Wear something bright."

"I have a favour to ask at your hands, father, will you give me that large beautiful vacant lot with the old willow tree, on the corner of Pine Street and Huntingdon Avenue, opposite the court-house?"

"Upon my word! I must say you are very modest in your request! What the deuce do you want with it?"

"I know that I am asking a good deal, sir; but I want it as a site for an orphan asylum. Will you give it to me?"

"No! I'll be hanged if I do! Are you going entirely deranged? What business have you with asylums, I should like to know? Put all of that ridiculous stuff out of your head. Here is something for which I sent to Europe. Eric selected it in Paris, and it arrived yesterday. Wear it to-night."

He drew a velvet case from his pocket and laid it before her. Touching the spring, the lid flew open, and on the blue satin lining lay the blazing coils of a magnificent diamond necklace and bracelets.

"How beautiful! how splendidly beautiful!"

She bent over the flashing ma.s.s in silent admiration for some time, examining the delicate setting, then looked up at her father.

"What did they cost?"

"Why do you want to know that?"

"I am pardonably curious on the subject."

"Well, then, I was silly enough to give seven thousand dollars for them."

"And what was the value of that lot I asked for?"

"Five thousand dollars."

"Father, these diamonds are the finest I ever saw. They are superbly beautiful; a queen might be proud of them, and I thank you most earnestly for such a gorgeous present; but if you will not be offended, I will be candid with you--I would a thousand times rather have the lot than the jewels."

The expression of blank astonishment with which these words were received would have been ludicrous but for the ominous thickening of his brows.

She laid her fingers on his arm, but he shook off the touch, and, scowling sullenly, s.n.a.t.c.hed the velvet case from her hand.

He went to town, and she met him no more till she was attired for the party. Standing before the mirror in her own room she arranged the flowers in her hair, and, when the leaves were disposed to suit her fastidious taste, she took up a pearl set which he had given her years before, intending to wear it. But just then raising her eyes, she saw her father's image reflected in the gla.s.s. Without turning she put up her arms, and, laying her head back on his shoulder, said eagerly--

"My dear, dear father, do let us be reconciled."

Clouds and moodiness melted from his handsome features as he bent over her an instant, kissing her fondly; then his hands pa.s.sed swiftly over her neck, an icy shower fell upon it, and she was clothed with light.

"My beautiful child, wear your diamonds as a seal of peace. I can't let you have the Pine Street lot--I want it for a different purpose; but I will give you three acres on the edge of town, near the depot, for your asylum whim. It is a better location every way for your project."

"Thank you, father. Oh! thank you more than words can express."

She turned her lips to one of the hands still lingering on her shoulder.

"Irene, look at yourself. Diana of Ephesus! what a blaze of glory!"

Two days before the marriage of Charles Harris and Maria Henderson had been celebrated with considerable pomp, and the party to-night was given in honour of the event by Mrs. Churchill, a widowed sister of Judge Harris.

She had spent several years in Paris superintending the education of a daughter, whom she had recently brought home to reside near her uncle, and dazzle all W---- with her accomplishments.

At ten o'clock there stood beneath the gas-lights in her elegant parlour a human fleshy ant.i.thesis, upon which all eyes were riveted--Salome Churchill--a dark imperious beauty, of the Cleopatra type, with very full crimson lips, pa.s.sionate or pouting as occasion demanded; brilliant black eyes that, like August days, burned dewless and unclouded, a steady blaze; thick, shining, black hair elaborately curled, and a rich tropical complexion, clear and glowing as the warm blood that pulsed through her rounded graceful form. She wore a fleecy fabric, topaz-coloured, with black lace tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs; yellow roses gemmed her hair, and topaz and ruby ornaments clasped her throat and arms. An Eastern queen she looked, exacting universal homage, and full of fiery jealousy whenever her eyes fell upon one who stood just opposite. Irene's dress was an airy blue _tulle_, flounced to the waist, and without tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, save the violet and clematis cl.u.s.ters. Never had her rare beauty been more resplendent--more dazzlingly chilly; it seemed the glitter of an arctic ice-berg lit by some low midnight sun, and turn whither she would fascinated groups followed her steps. Salome's reputation as a brilliant _belle_ had become extended since Irene's long seclusion, yet to-night, on the reappearance of the latter, it was apparent to even the most obtuse that she had resumed her sway--the matchless cynosure of that social system. Fully conscious of the intense admiration she excited, she moved slowly from room to room, smiling once or twice when she met her father's proud look of fond triumph fixed upon her.

Leaning against the window to rest, while Charles Harris went in search of a gla.s.s of water, she heard Aubrey's name p.r.o.nounced by some one on the gallery.

"Well, the very latest report is that, after all, Aubrey never fancied Grace Harris, as the quidnuncs a.s.serted--never addressed her, or anybody else--but is now, sure enough, about to bear off _belle_ Salome, the new prize, right in the face of twenty rivals. I should really like to hear of something which that man could not do, if he set himself to work in earnest. I wonder whether it ever occurs to him that he once stood behind Jacob Watson's counter?"