"Well, then," said Mabel, more gayly, "go on,"

"This f.a.n.n.y Middleton," said Florence, "looks just as you would imagine a bright angel to look."

How Dr. Lacey blessed her for these words.

"But," continued Florence, "there is a singularly sad expression on her marble face."

"I never observed it," thought Dr. Lacey.

"What makes her sad?" asked Lida.

"That is a mystery to me," answered Florence. "Report says that she loved a Mr. Wilmot, who was engaged to her sister."

"Engaged to her sister!" repeated Mabel. "How strange! But won't it make trouble?"

"It cannot," said Florence. "Mr. Wilmot is dead, and it is whispered that f.a.n.n.y's heart was buried with him. I should not be surprised if it were so, for f.a.n.n.y has the saddest face I ever saw. It made me want to cry when I looked at her. I should have pitied her more, however, had she not been so well cared for by a Mr. Stanton, of New York."

Large drops of perspiration stood thickly on Dr. Lacey's forehead, and his hands, convulsively clasped, were pressed against his heart; still he did not lose a syllable as Florence continued, "I did not blame her for liking Stanton, for he would break half your hearts and turn the rest of you crazy."

"But the sister," asked all the young ladies, "how was she affected to think f.a.n.n.y loved her betrothed?"

"Oh, that sister!" said Florence. "You ought to see her! She is beautiful beyond anything I can describe. She eclipsed everything and everybody."

"And she is as agreeable as handsome?" asked Mabel, whose fears were aroused that Julia might be the rival, instead of f.a.n.n.y.

Florence replied, "I was told that she was formerly very pa.s.sionate, so much so that her father nicknamed her Tempest. Within a few months she has entirely changed, and is now very amiable; but I like f.a.n.n.y's looks the best."

"But Dr. Lacey-what had he to do with f.a.n.n.y?" asked Lida.

"It was said they were engaged; but I do not think they are. In fact, I know they are not, from what f.a.n.n.y said herself; for she a.s.sured me that Dr. Lacey was nothing to her more than a common acquaintance; and the sad but sweet smile which broke over her face whenever she raised, her soft blue eyes to Stanton's animated countenance confirmed what she said."

"So, Mabel, you can have the doctor after all," said Lida. "You know you used to say that it was all settled, for your parents and his had arranged it."

Dr. Lacey waited for no more. He knew of a back stairway down which he could escape into the open air un.o.bserved. In a moment he stood alone in Mr. Mortimer's garden, but the evening breeze, although it cooled his brow, failed to calm his excited feelings. Suddenly it occurred to him that his absence from Mr. Mortimer's would excite attention in those who saw him enter, so he made a desperate effort to be calm, and retracing his steps, was soon in the drawing room with Mabel Mortimer on his arm, much to that young lady's satisfaction.

As they pa.s.sed near a group of girls, in the center of which stood Florence Woodburn, Mabel suddenly said, "Oh, Dr. Lacey, let me introduce you to cousin Florence. She has just come from Frankfort and knows some of your acquaintances there."

So saying, she drew him toward Florence, who had all the evening been waiting for an introduction to him. Dr. Lacey rather wished to avoid making Florence's acquaintance, fearing that she might say something to him of f.a.n.n.y. But there was no escape, and he greeted Florence with a smile and a bow, which, to use her own words, "nearly drove every idea from her head."

Once during the evening he found himself standing with Florence, alone, near an open window. Florence improved her opportunity, and raising her bewitching hazel eyes to the doctor's face, said, "Why do you not ask me about your Kentucky friends, Dr. Lacey?"

Had Florence observed her companion closely, she would have noticed the pallor which for an instant overspread his face. It pa.s.sed away, and he replied with an a.s.sumed gayety, "How should I know that we have any acquaintances in common in Frankfort?"

Before Florence had time to reply, Mabel joined them. She was unwilling to risk a tete-a-tete between the doctor and her fascinating cousin, and as soon as she found them standing alone she went up to them. Her example was followed by several other young ladies, among whom was Lida Gibson, who began by saying, "Doctor, do you know that Miss Florence has told us all about your love affairs, and also described the Golden Fairy? Now, why didn't you fall in love with her sister? Florence says she is far more beautiful."

Dr. Lacey answered calmly, "What reason has Miss Woodburn to think I am in love with either."

"No reason," said Mabel, quickly; "neither does she think you are in love with her either."

"Dear me," said Lida. "Of course you do not wish me to think so, and we all know why; but never mind frowning so dreadfully, Mabel; I won't tell!"

and the mischievous girl glided away, laughing to think that she had succeeded so well in teasing Mabel Mortimer.

After a moment, Dr. Lacey turned to Florence and said "It seems you saw Julia Middleton. Do you not think her very handsome?"

"Yes, very," answered Florence; "but I liked f.a.n.n.y's looks the best."

A pang shot through Dr. Lacey's heart at the mention of f.a.n.n.y's name, but he continued to inquire concerning his friends in Kentucky. Before the party closed, Florence, Mabel and Lida had each managed to repeat to him all the conversation which he had overheard in the first part of the evening, never once thinking how desolate was the heart which beat beneath the calm manner and gay laugh of him who listened to their thoughtless raillery.

At length the party drew to a close. Dr. Lacey was among the first that left. He longed to be alone with his troubled thoughts. Mechanically bidding Mabel "Good night," he ran down the marble steps, and stepping into his carriage, ordered Claib, the coachman, to drive home as soon as possible. There was no particular necessity for this command, for Claib had been fretting for the last hour about "White folks settin' up all night and keepin' n.i.g.g.e.rs awake. Darned if he didn't run the horses home like Satan, and sleep over next day, too."

With such a driver the horses sped swiftly over the smooth road and in a very few minutes Dr. Lacey was at home, alone in his room. Then the full tide of his sorrow burst forth. He did not weep. He would scorn to do that. But could one have seen him as he hurriedly paced the apartment, he would have said, his was a sorrow which could not vent itself in tears.

Occasionally he would whisper to himself, "My f.a.n.n.y false!-she whom I believed so truthful, so loving, so innocent! And she loves another-one, too, whom it were almost a sin to love. Fool, that I did not see it before, for what but love could have drawn such devotion to him on his deathbed? And yet she a.s.sured me that I was the first, the only one, she had ever loved; and I believed it, and gave her the entire affection of my heart."

Then came a reaction. Resentment toward f.a.n.n.y for thus deceiving him mingling with his grief. But he had loved her too deeply, too truly, to cherish an unkind feeling toward her long. Throwing himself upon the sofa, and burying his face in his hands, he went back in fancy through all the many happy hours he had spent in her society. While doing this sleep descended upon him and in his dreams he saw again his darling f.a.n.n.y, not false and faithless as he had feared, but arrayed in a spotless bridal robe. She stood by his side as his own wedded wife. Was that dream ever realized? We shall see.

CHAPTER XII

THE LETTER THAT WAS NOT DELIVERED

The next morning, Rondeau waited for a long time for his master's usual orders that he should go to the post office, but no such commands came, and as Dr. Lacey had not been heard moving in his room yet, Rondeau concluded to go at all events.

"I know,", said he, "that'll be the first thing he'll tell me to do, and I may as well go on my own hook, as to wait and be sent."

Accordingly he again started for the post office, thinking to himself, "I hope that marster'll get a letter this time, for he don't seem no more like the wide-awake chap he did when he first come from Kentuck, than nothin'. I don't want him to have Miss Mabel nohow; for their n.i.g.g.e.rs say she's awful s.p.u.n.ky."

By the time this soliloquy was ended, he had reached the office. The clerk handed him two letters, both of which Rondeau eyed sharply. On looking at the second, the cavity between the ears widened to an enormous extent, and he gave vent to his joy by uttering aloud, "Crackee, this is just the thing!"

"What's the matter, Rondeau? Can you read writing?" asked the clerk in some surprise.

"No, sir, not but a little," said Rondeau; "but I know this hand write, I reckon."

In a twinkling, he was in the street. "This is a fine morning," thought he. "I've got the right letter this time, so I won't hurry home, for marster ain't goin' to find any fault if I don't git thar till noon."

So the next hour was spent in gossiping with all the blacks which could be found lounging round the streets. Suddenly one of the negroes called out, "Ho, Rondeau! Thar's yer old marster Lace comin'. You'd better cut stick for home, or he'll be in yer har."

Rondeau instantly started for home, where he was greeted by Aunt Dilsey with a torrent of abuse, that good lady rating him soundly for being gone too long. "Warn't he 'shamed to be foolin' away his time? 'Twan't his time nuther, 'twas marster's time. Was that ar fulfillin' of Scripter, which says, 'we must be all eye sarvants,' which means ye must all keep clus where yer marsters can see you?"

How long Aunt Dilsey might have gone expounding Scripture is not known, for Rondeau interrupted her by saying, "Don't scold so, old lady. Marster ain't a-goin' to care for I've got him something this time better than victuals or drink."

"What is it?" said Leffie, coming forward. "Have you got him a letter from Kentuck?"

"I hain't got nothin' else, Miss Leffie Lacey, if you please," said Rondeau, snapping his fingers in her face, and giving Aunt Dilsey's elbow a slight jostle, just enough to spill the oil, with which she was filling a lamp.