But, she knew too well that she had been deceived, that he had married her under a false name, and had she not recognised him at the hotel with a lady who was his wife!--She had never told her son the cause of her sudden illness when first at the hotel; and her son had never mentioned the affair of the dying stranger at the dinner-table, thinking his mother still too weak to be disturbed by such shocking calamities. His partner from Montreal wrote; "You had better stay and see about this large fortune at once. Every one is not such a lucky fellow as you." A Mr. Tidal was mentioned as executor of the estate of W. M. Stephens, and our hero prepared at once to call on that gentleman, who received him very friendly, but requested him to call the next day with his mother at the family residence of the deceased, which visit had been particularly desired by the deceased gentleman's widow. Our young gentleman of coa.r.s.e promised to comply with the wish, and was very much surprised when, on returning to his mother, he found her hesitating,--but for a moment only, a second thought, as she promised to accompany him, feeling in her heart that, whatever Mrs. Stephens might wish to see her for, she would certainly not blame her for anything, as all the wrong that had been committed had been committed towards her, but still her heart was heavy when at two o'clock they started in one of those stage coaches of which London has so many. After about two hours' drive they alighted in front of an old-fashioned family mansion, surrounded by well cultivated grounds. The gentleman, Mr. Vidal, on whom young Mr. Merrick had called the day previous, came to the portal to greet them, and begged Mrs.

Merrick to have the kindness to see Mrs. Stephens in her own apartments, as she was in delicate health and very much crushed down through the sudden loss of her husband. A maid who had appeared at the time was ordered to direct Mrs. Merrick to the boudoir of her mistress and, announcing the visitor, withdrew. Mrs. Stephens, attired in deep mourning, looked very pale. On seeing Mrs. Merrick enter, she rose from her chair and holding both hands out to greet the astonished lady, said: "Oh, you wronged, wronged woman," but then tears smothered her words, and it was quite a while before she could speak again. "How can I atone for the wrongs committed on you, but I promised him. His last request was that I would see you and beg your forgiveness for him. He had recognised you at once at the hotel, and he felt his Conscience troubling him very much. But the sight of your son--his son--was too much for him. He felt he could not live to meet the son he had so wronged and the woman he had so loved and so betrayed. He told me all when the blood was streaming and smothered his words. He had married me by the command of his father for my money, but had afterwards learned to love me when he saw I was so devoted to him, but he had not the courage to tell me of you and his child. I often noticed him looking sad, and when I asked him to tell me what was troubling him he would say: 'Don't be so kind to me, I don't deserve it, I am very, very wicked.'"

"We have no children, our first-born, a boy, only lived one hour; the second, a girl, only three days. Since then my health has never been good, but he was so kind, so indulgent with all my weaknesses, that I can hardly realize he was ever unkind to any one. But his father was a stern old man of iron will who made him leave you and marry me for my father's money. All this I could not tell to your son nor to anybody else than to you. Will you tell me you forgive him? I know your heart is pure and good or you would have troubled him while alive. Don't sit so mute, you frighten me; shall I call your son--the servants?"

"No, no, don't call anybody," was her response, "but speak of him, of him you loved, the only one I have ever loved save my child." At the thought of her son she broke out into sobs, and the blessed tears brought balm to her heart. Silence prevailed for a long time, save the sobs of both. At length a knock was heard, and a servant inquired if the ladies wished to take refreshments with the gentlemen. Both would have declined but for appearance sake, and, after bathing their faces, descended to the room where the gentlemen had transacted their business.

On entering Mrs. Stephens approached Willie saying: "I hope you have consented to take, in addition to the name which you bear already, the name of Stephens, which was the last desire of my dear husband and also my sincere wish."

"If my mother consents to a.s.sume that name also I shall, but otherwise I must decline, as I shall never bear any other name than my mother whom I love and honor, and who can, if she prefer, refuse this bequest and need never tell me why. I know she will do all for the best if it combine with honor."

"She will not refuse," was Mr. Vidal's reply; "and now, ladies, I have to beg you to sign those deeds that we are able to congratulate the new lord of the estate."--(All signed).

The end of this story is very short now. Mr. W. Merrick Stephens and mother never returned to Montreal, but are living with Mrs. Stephens (the widow) on the same estate and never has there existed a more perfect harmony and friendship--both trying to make each other happy and those around them. The last I heard from them was the following letter:

LONDON, December 18.

MY DEAR OLD FRIEND,

Don't be angry that I call you old. I know you are not much older than myself, but it seems you are nearer to me when I address you so. How my life has changed! You used to tell me the evening will be better than the morning How true! She is so good (his wife), both Willie and I cannot help loving and admiring her. She thinks Willie looks like him and has many of his ways. If her health is good next spring we shall all three visit Canada, I think the sea-voyage will do her good. I shall be so proud to introduce her to you, and so glad to see you again who helped and advised me always for the best.

You can write the history of my life it you like. Why did you ask my permission? You well knew I would do more for you if you let me I know you will not say anything to harm us, and I shall forever consider myself in your debt, but you must send us one of your books when out. Willie joins with me in sending his best regards to your husband and children and believe me for ever your grateful friend.

EMMA MERRICK STEPHENS

CHAPTER XIII.

A Tale of Bigamy.

Lillie Malcolm was the daughter of Scotch parents who had emigrated to Montreal about the year 1835. Her father was a schoolmaster, having a private school in the neighborhood of St. Antoine street, and at the time of their arrival in this city Lillie was about the age of ten. The little girl was precocious and talented, and very pretty, and was also, as regards both these characteristics, admired and made much of. As the girl grew older she became a little vain and conceited, her princ.i.p.al aim being to gain the plaudits of the visitors at her father's house for her singing or other performances, which were many and various, the versatility of the girl being remarkable. By the time she was seventeen, Lillie Malcolm became known as the prettiest and most accomplished young lady in the neighborhood, and no church or Sunday-school gathering was complete without a song or recitation by her.

But Lillie aspired somewhat higher than Sunday-school concerts and such circ.u.mspect circles. She longed for an entree into the inner and higher circles of Montreal society where she felt that she could rise above the common level, and take a position in keeping with her education and accomplishments. Unfortunately for the ambitious girl her father, though highly respectable, was very poor, and so altogether debarred from partic.i.p.ating with his family in the round of social pleasures in which the _bon ton_ of Montreal indulge; added to this, he was a strict Presbyterian, and was averse to consenting even when his daughter _did_ receive an invitation to some of the houses of her limited number of acquaintances.

The poor girl fretted and repined at her lot. She could manage the household affairs if required, but her mother or sister invariably attended to that, and so her talents were not brought into requisition; she could speak fluently and, as a clergyman or lawyer, would certainly have distinguished herself, but women were not required or even tolerated as clergymen or lawyers; she would (so she imagined) have made an excellent wife for a fairly rich young man, but the young men did not seem to want wives without money or social rank, and so poor Lillie fretted and fumed, occasionally attending the many brilliant weddings which were celebrated in the fashionable churches, and wondering how it was that so many plain and unattractive girls got husbands, while she was without even a proposal. It is true she had no lack of admirers; these flocked round her like bees in a flower-garden, but few of them were eligible as suitors; and the few who were, although they admired her openly, and paid her great attention, never approached the subject of marriage.

Things went on in this way till Miss Malcolm was twenty-three, when she made the acquaintance of Captain FitzMarshall, an officer of Her Majesty's army, who was stationed in Montreal. FitzMarshall was very highly connected, being the grandson of an English Duke, and was greatly sought after by the belles of Montreal; but he, having met Lillie Malcolm by chance at the house of a mutual acquaintance, vowed that she was the only beauty in Montreal, and was even, marked in his addresses to her. Lillie's heart fluttered with delight at the thought of actually out-doing the acknowledged society belles, and she would have been in ecstasy if she could only have appeared on the arm of her admirer at one of the public a.s.semblies to which he had offered to bring her, but her father would not permit her to enter a circle unfitted for his means and her station, particularly as neither he nor her mother would be present to look after her.

Before the close of FitzMarshall's second year in Canada he had made Lillie Malcolm's heart glad by offering his heart and hand; he also communicated the matter to Mr. Malcolm, but the latter gentleman shook his head dubiously, and asked him if he had consulted his friends in England. When he replied that he had not, the old gentleman gently but firmly informed him that, although he esteemed him highly, yet he would not have his friends say that he had been entrapped into a marriage with one who was socially his inferior, and that, till he had written to his relatives and obtained their consent to his marriage, it would be better for him to discontinue his visits to the house. FitzMarshall pleaded strongly, but the old man was firm, and so the poor love-sick Captain had to content himself with the a.s.surance that, if his friends consented to his marriage (for although a Captain he was only twenty-four), he would be only too happy to confide his daughter to his keeping.

Accordingly the young officer took his departure from the house, with the understanding that when the return mail arrived from England he was to call at once, and, if agreeable to his family at home, to be formally betrothed to the fair Elizabeth.

The weeks rolled by as if they were years, and at the expiration of that time FitzMarshall received letters from home, ordering him to obtain leave of absence and to take the next steamer for England. With a heavy heart he disclosed the contents to Mr. Malcolm, who of course expected something of the kind, and told him that he must now discontinue all communication with his daughter. The order came, unfortunately, too late, as the young couple had already met frequently clandestinely and forestalled their expected honey-moon.

However, to England FitzMarshall must go or be disinherited, so, bidding his inamorata to cheer up, that he would soon be back to claim her as his lawful wife, he set sail, and left the poor girl, soon to become a mother alone with her austere father and unsympathetic mother. Weeks went by without a word from him for whom the girl would have laid down her life, and her letters, written we may say with her tears, were returned to her unopened. The truth flashed quickly on the young girl--she was deserted! The aristocratic friends of the young man would never allow him to see her more, and he was weak enough to be put in pupilage. Quickly making up her mind how to act, with indomitable courage she gathered up what little trinkets and jewellery she possessed, she converted them into money which yielded her nearly two hundred dollars (for she had received valuable presents from her lover and some money), and, one evening slipping out quietly, she took the train for Toronto, proceeding from thence to Detroit, where she established herself as the widow of an English officer, prepared to receive pupils in languages and music.

But she was prepared for more than this. Her heart had become thoroughly steeled by the harsh treatment which she considered she had received from her father and others, so she laid herself out to make what capital she could, not only out of her accomplishments but also of her beauty, and with such success that she obtained an elegant establishment at the hands of a wealthy Michigan shipping merchant, the public being led to believe that she had become possessed of an estate in trust for her child (a boy) who was just then born. For several years she lived in this way, always moving along quietly and respectably, when the old gentleman died, leaving her but a few hundred dollars capital, for he had neglected to provide for this contingency, and she, with less forethought than one would imagine, had never considered such a possibility. Mrs. McClintock, as she now called herself, began to think of returning to her old business as a teacher, but there was little necessity, for an old gentleman who had made a fortune as a distiller, an acquaintance of the deceased merchant, soon made excuse for calling upon her, and made undoubted advances to her. It may be that he knew something of his friend's arrangements, or that he only suspected them; however, the widow managed matters so adroitly that he imagined he must have been mistaken, and that the reports he had heard were not true. The house was elegantly and tastefully furnished, the lady was modestly, yet richly attired, the little boy and his nurse lending an air of respectability to the whole establishment only to be out-done by the conversation and demeanor of the lady herself, who was not only the peer, but the superior of any lady among the large circle of the old gentleman's acquaintances. He called about some lessons for his eldest daughter, but was informed that Mrs. McClintock no longer gave lessons; he then suggested that she might recommend a teacher of French, and endeavored to prolong the interview, but the lady sedately answered all his queries with a sad and pensive expression far removed from what he had expected, and rising politely, rang the bell for her servant to show him out.

After a little time, however, the old man returned to the charge. He had bought the terrace in which Mrs. McClintock lived, and called to know what he could do, in the way of repairs, etc. He pressed his suit in various ways, but the widow pretended not to see it at all till she had the old man down on his knees; then she played with him most adroitly, explaining that her lonely position left her open to the tongue of rumor, and that she could not allow him to call so frequently. She played her cards so well that the old man firmly believed she was a modest and retiring widow, and did not the law forbid him, he would have married her. As it was, she led him to hand her the deed of the house she lived in, and to settle a large amount on both herself and his child (a beautiful girl), who was born about a year after his first visit to her house in his capacity of landlord.

Notwithstanding all her precautions Mrs. McClintock was the subject of much gossip in the neighborhood in which she resided, and many were the guesses (many of them wide of the mark) which were made about her past history. But they could only talk vaguely and shrug their shoulders at the mention of the lady's name; for she lived very circ.u.mspectly, had a pew in St. Paul's Church, and stood well with the minister and leading church people; her children too were models of neatness and propriety, and though as unlike as children having _one_ common parent could well be (Jessie being dark and pet.i.te with piercing brown eyes, while Charlie was tall and exceedingly fair), yet they had both the enviable reputation of being the best bred and best behaved children on Jefferson Avenue.

As the children grew up they were sent to school, and both, though of different temperament, were distinguished for their superior ability.

Jessie was quick at anything requiring an amount of ready talent and acute comprehension, such as Arithmetic, Geometry, and Modern Languages, but Charlie excelled in Cla.s.sics and what are generally considered the heavier sciences, and was particularly talented as regards music.

He would sit for hours playing the exquisite _Lieder Ohne worte_ of Mendelssohn, while Jessie would shrug her shoulders if asked to play, and call on her brother, saying she could not bear "that nasty practising." In spite, however, of her neglect of this accomplishment (for which she had great natural talent), Jessie McClintock was in great demand in society, and notwithstanding the equivocal position held by her mother (for although not openly expressed there was a general feeling that all was not right with that lady), the young people were asked everywhere, and their mother kept them carefully in the _very best_ circles, for which their natural talents and excellent education eminently fitted them.

The children, who had seen a gentleman supposed to be their father come at intervals and then disappear, naturally were inquisitive, and from an early age were taught that their father was a captain on an Atlantic Steamer, and of course was frequently away from home. As the children grew up the story told by them concerning that gentleman did not coincide with that of the mother, who had always pretended that her husband was dead, so it was thought advisable for her to remove to Montreal (her parents having long since died), and a.s.sume the role of a gra.s.s widow whose husband seldom got off his ship, and then but for a short time, coming generally at night and remaining indoors during his brief stay. Mrs. McClintock bought a house in University street, and rarely went out; her children, however, went to the best schools, and, having made acquaintances, soon began to go out in the best society as they had done in Detroit. Charlie soon became entered as a Law Student in the McGill University, and Jessie had a visiting governess engaged to finish her, a resident young lady, for obvious reasons, being considered out of place. Jessie grew up a beautiful young lady, and was the acknowledged belle in many a drawing room; Charlie went little into society, being engaged in prosecuting his studies in the University, applying himself so a.s.siduously that in a few years he graduated with honors, carrying off a gold medal.

The people who lived opposite Mrs. McClintock on University street were curious to know all about that lady's proceedings, and set a watch on all her movements. They discovered that at times a carriage was driven hastily up to the door, generally late at night, from which an elderly gentleman alighted and entered the house; but, although on the alert, they were never able to make out his features or even his general appearance, so quickly was the door of the house opened and closed behind him. Yet even this discovery was hailed with delight by the gossips; and as after each visit Jessie appeared with a new watch, locket, brooch, or other trinket (sent, she said, from England by her father), the tongue of evil report wagged freely, and was not at all times strictly confined to the truth.

Mrs. McClintock was much annoyed when she learnt (from a sympathizing friend) of the reports which her neighbors were circulating concerning her; and, as she knew their eyes were constantly upon her house, she managed to invite the clergyman and his wife, with a few others whom she had met in church circles, to dinner, and manifested such an interest in the sewing society that the princ.i.p.al ladies of the congregation called on her in succession; and although they never got beyond an interchange of formal visits, yet it served to puzzle the gossips in the streets, and one or two who had "forgotten" to call on Mrs. McClintock when she first came to the locality paid her a formal visit; their shaky position in society being secured by the fact that all the best people called there, including the Bishop and clergy, and so _of course_ there could be nothing wrong. For all this plausible reasoning they inwardly believed that there was "something wrong," and many of those who called did so mainly under the apprehension that they would discover something, or read in the countenance of their notorious neighbor something that would give a clue to her past or present career.

But those who called from curiosity were sadly disappointed. The house was neat and well-ordered, yet not extravagantly furnished; those who met the children were astonished at their appearance and apparent good breeding, while the hostess received them with the cool courtesy of an English gentlewoman. The callers went away puzzled more completely than ever, and to add to their mortification the lady _did not return one of their calls_, shewing thereby that she did not care for their acquaintance. Thus their imaginary condescension was the means of their being snubbed by one whom they considered scarcely fit to be allowed to inhabit the same street.

When Jessie was nineteen her Mother gave a large party, inviting most of the young lady's school friends, also a number of Charlie's fellow-students, besides the Rector of the church and his wife and a few of the neighbors who had always been friendly to Mrs. McClintock, although having their own ideas regarding her pretensions. All went merry as a marriage bell, and they beguiled the time with music, whist, bezique, and like recreative amus.e.m.e.nts, after which supper was announced, and the party sat down to a spread such as few of them had ever been partakers before, and all served in the most elegant style.

The viands having been thoroughly discussed, the Rector rose and proposed the health of the young lady in whose honor they were then a.s.sembled, and in a highly moral speech wished her many happy returns, and all the joys this world (and also the next) can afford. The toast was honored with acclamation, and then one of the guests stood up and proposed "the health of Captain and Mrs. McClintock."

A damper was thrown suddenly on the whole company. Every one seemed to feel embarra.s.sed, and though no one dared to look at his neighbor, and the toast was immediately drank by all, yet there came a peculiar feeling over each person present, as if some spiritualistic influence were at work restraining their speech and laughter, aye and even forbidding them to breathe freely.

For a time the silence remained unbroken. At length Mrs. McClintock motioned to Jessie to rise, thus giving the signal for a general departure to the drawing-room. Here the music was again brought into requisition, and a few of the young people enjoyed themselves with a game of casino, but the hilarity of the early part of the evening was conspicuously absent, those a.s.sembled taking an early leave and departing homeward. The gentleman who had unwittingly worked on the feelings of the remainder of the guests felt that there was something oppressive in the atmosphere, and tried to elicit an explanation from a neighbor; but he could get no reply excepting a tongue thrust into that gentleman's cheek as much as to say--"You've put your foot in it, old fellow," and a significant squeeze of the left arm near the elbow. He had essayed a solo of the harp, and, unfortunately had struck the one cord [not chord] which was out of tune.

Mrs. McClintock preserved an even demeanor throughout the entire evening; indeed, it is questionable if one of the whole party (the young people excepted) there, was one so fully self-possessed; and she had such command over her facial muscles that she bid her guests adieu with a smile as gracious as that with which she had received them. She gave no more parties, however, but, confined herself to inviting a few of her most intimate acquaintances to tea or an informal dinner, to which they were ever ready to accept an invitation; as, whatever might be the antecedents of the McClintocks, they were certainly refined and elegant people, and _kept the best table in the city_. In time the old gentleman went the way of all flesh, leaving Mrs. M. independent in every respect.

She continued to pa.s.s for some time as a gra.s.s widow, but after a few months she coolly inserted in the Montreal fit papers the following:--"At Calcutta, on the 18th ult., Captain Charles McClintock, in the 56th year of his age." Then she went into deep mourning, the children also dressing in mourning and refusing to go into society for a time. In about eighteen months after they donned their ordinary attire, and, as many of those now forming the circle known as the "upper ten"

did not know, and others did not care to remember, anything concerning their past history, they were received with open arms, being young, accomplished, and, best of all, tolerably wealthy.

Jessie is now married to a wealthy dry goods merchant, and one of the leaders of fashionable society. Charlie is making headway as a lawyer, but, having an independent allowance, does not exert himself very much. The old lady lives pretty much to herself, and, it is said, not unfrequently takes a gla.s.s of Curacoa or Moraschino to drown unpleasant reflections. Let us, however, before sitting in judgment upon her, put ourselves in her place, and consider if we would have done half as well (morally) under the circ.u.mstances. Although a disobedient daughter, she has proved herself a true wife till shamefully deserted, and a self-denying and tender-hearted mother, who, though giving herself up to shame for their sake, kept her children from every breath of even scandalous report, and placed them as well-educated and respectable members of society. At such a one let only he who is without guilt among us cast a stone.

CHAPTER XIV.

The Unfortunate Sailor.

Among the many thousand pretty girls that might be seen any fine afternoon walking down the shady side of Buchanan Street, Glasgow, few would be found possessing more attractive features and pleasing expression than Agnes Malcolm. Not that she was the most beautiful girl in Glasgow, for Agnes was hardly what one would call a beauty; but there was a something in her face that made it particularly attractive, and caused every pa.s.ser-by involuntarily to turn and look after her, although, were the pedestrian cross-questioned as to what he found to admire in the young lady, he would have been puzzled what to reply.

Agnes had regular features, good hazel eyes, but not unusually bright ones, a high intellectual forehead, and tresses of a light auburn hue; her cheeks were soft as peaches and as delicately tinted, and when she smiled, which was often, she displayed a complete set of teeth for which no dentist had ever received a fee. Her sister Alice was the acknowledged belle of the circle in which the Malcolm family revolved, and was already of a much more decided type, but Agnes had a frank, lovable expression of countenance that brightened everywhere she went like a sunbeam, and although she was not particularly witty (being indeed rather reserved and shy in her manner), yet she had such a sweet voice, and talked so naturally and with such a lack of affectation, that it was a pleasure to hold converse with her.

Mr. Malcolm, the girl's father, had been Captain of an ocean steamer running between Glasgow and Baltimore and adjacent ports, he had gone down in the good ship Cyclops, or rather the _bad ship_ Cyclops, for she proved herself to be utterly unseaworthy, and foundered on her first trip out, Mrs. Malcolm, being near her confinement at the time, was taken prematurely ill, and, although she rallied for a time, she never got fairly well again, and finally followed her husband to the grave, leaving the two girls to the care of a married sister of their late father, who, having educated them as became their station, was at the time of which my narrative treats debating whether she would send them out to earn their living, or, keeping them a little longer, bring them out in the hope of getting them married.

Alice saved her all further deliberation by announcing in her careless, happy style that she had engaged to marry a young ship chandler who had frequently came to the house, but had paid so much attention to _both_ the young ladies that it was difficult to tell which, if any, of them he was going to marry. Having made up his mind, however, he did not wish to delay matters, so, as Alice was only too happy to start an establishment of her own immediately, he gave notice at the kirk for the following week, and the wedding was celebrated amidst much rejoicing. Alice was glad to get a husband, and to be independent of her aunt. Mr. Taylor, her husband, was delighted to get such a beautiful and accomplished bride, and the old lady, Alice's aunt, was heartily glad to get rid of them both, so that never was rejoicing more universal.

But poor Agnes was not so elated. She did not mind her sister being preferred by Mr. Taylor, for she did not want Mr. Taylor, and besides Alice was two years her senior, and it was to be expected that she would be married first. It was her position at home that made her feel miserable. Whereas the work had been divided between the two girls, it now was supposed to be done by one; moreover, Mrs. Whitcher, Agnes's aunt, began to bully her more than ever, wondering _aloud_ why she could not get a husband as her sister had done, after so much money had been spent on her education, and so forth.

Agnes could have had her choice not of one, but of _ten husbands_, had she wished to do as her sister had done and taken the first eligible man who offered. But the idea of marrying for an establishment never entered her unsophisticated brain, and, as she had not yet met her _beau ideal_ of a husband, she waited patiently, bearing the scoffs and jeers of her unsympathetic aunt without a murmur, and giving in return for her daily bread labor that in any other establishment would have yielded her no small remuneration, had any time in the past two years paid attention to Agnes Malcolm, was a young man named George Fairfield, second mate of the ship "Glenalpine," a good looking young fellow about twenty-three years old, who was the son of respectable English parents residing at Liverpool. Agnes, though rather partial to the young man, had paid a deaf ear to his addresses, not caring to marry a man unless she could give him her whole heart, but after her sister had gone, and she was left in utter loneliness, the rude but honest sympathy and love of the handsome sailor went to her heart, and she consented to marry him on his return from his next trip.

George Fairfield went off as happy as if he had been suddenly appointed Port Admiral. He felt not the ground he walked on, so light was his heart and also his tread as he stepped home with his eyes fixed on the stars, but his mind picturing that happy scene which had been all too short. He whistled a bar or two of "Love's Young Dream" as he stepped gaily along, hoping to receive orders to sail on the morrow; not, as he tried to explain to his lady-love, that he was anxious to get away from her, but because he wished to be soon back again, when, receiving a berth as first mate, he would be in a position to claim her as his bride. The ship did not sail for a week, and when it did George would have pleaded for one day more in spite of his previous hurry to be off, however, there was no help for it, "For men must work and women must weep, though storms be sudden and waters deep," and so Mr. George took his position at the taffrail, and contented himself with flying a blue handkerchief over the stern of the vessel till the forms on sh.o.r.e were no longer visible. Agnes returned to her every day occupation as household drudge, sad at losing her lover, yet not so sad as she would have been had she really given, him her whole heart unconstrainedly; she shed a few tears as the vessel left the quay, then turning homewards she mentally counted the weeks which were to elapse ere she should again see the tapering masts of the "Glenalpine." She made her preparations for her wedding methodically and without excitement, and, following her suitor's instructions, bought furniture according to her taste for the little cottage he had rented in antic.i.p.ation of his exalted rank as first officer of a clipper.