University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

Mr. Wilmot's death occurred on Tuesday morning, and the
following Thursday was appointed for his burial. It was
the 1st of September, and a bright, beautiful day; but its
sunlight fell on many aching hearts, for though he who lay
in his low coffin, so cold and still, was a “stranger in a
strange land,” there were many whose tears fell like summer
rain for one who had thus early passed away. He had,
during his lifetime, been a member of the Episcopal church,
and his funeral services were to take place in Ascension
Church.

The house was filled to overflowing. Mrs. Middleton,
Mr. Miller, Dr. Lacey and Fanny, occupied the front seat as
principal mourners for the deceased. Many searching eyes
were bent upon the fair young girl, whose white forehead
gleamed from under the folds of her veil, and whose eyelids,
wet with tears, drooped heavily upon her pale cheek.
Madam Rumor had been busy with her thousand tongues,
and the scene at the death-bed had been told and re-told in
twenty different forms, until at last it had become settled
that on Fanny's part there was some secret attachment, or
she never would have evinced so much interest in Mr. Wilmot.
She, however, was ignorant of all this, and sat there,
wholly unconscious of the interest she was exciting.

Julia was not there. She had again defied her mother's
commands, and resisted all Fanny's entreaties, that she
would go to the funeral.

“You ought to see Mr. Wilmot,” said Fanny. “He
looks so calm, so peaceful, and,” she added in a low voice,
“so forgiving.”

“So forgiving!” quickly repeated Julia. “I wonder
what he has to forgive. If I had continued to love him,
'twould not have saved his life.”

Fanny sighed, and turned away from the hard-hearted
girl, who was left alone with her thoughts during all the
long hours of that day. But to do her justice, we must say,
that after her mother and sister were gone, a feeling of sadness
stole over her; her stony heart somewhat softened, and
in the solitude of her chamber, she wept for a long time;
but whether for Mr. Wilmot's death, her own conduct towards
him, or the circumstances which surrounded her, none
can tell.

Let us now return to Frankfort, and go back for a few
moments in our story. Just as the funeral procession had
left the house, and was proceeding towards the church, the
steamboat Diana, which plies between Cincinnati and Frankfort,
appeared round a bend in the river. She was loaded
with passengers, who were all on the look-out, as they neared
the landing-place. Just at that moment, the tolling bell
rang out on the air. Its tones fell sadly on the ear of a tall,
beautiful girl, who was impatiently pacing the deck, and
looking anxiously in the direction of the city. The knell
was repeated, and she murmured, “Oh, what if that should
be for Richard!” The thought overpowered her, and sitting
down on a seat near her, she burst into tears.

“Can I do any thing for you?” said the Captain, who at
that moment passed by her.

“Nothing, except to land me in Frankfort as soon as

possible,” said the young lady, whom the reader will readily
suppose was Kate Wilmot.

“Are you in a great hurry?” asked the Captain.

“Yes sir,” returned Kate. “My brother is dangerously
sick, and I am anxious to get to him.”

“Where does your brother live?” asked the Captain.

“He boards with Mrs. Williams, on Elm street,” answered
Kate.

“Then,” said the Captain, “if you will show me your
baggage, I will see that it is sent there, for you probably
will not wish to waste time in looking after it when we
land.”

Kate thanked him for his kindness; and when they
reached the shore, the kind-hearted man called one of his
boatmen, and ordered him to show Miss Wilmot the way to
Mrs. Williams' residence. As Kate approached the house,
she noticed the air of desertion about it, and her heart sank
for fear her brother might be dead. Running hastily up the
steps, she rang the bell, which was answered by a female
domestic, who was too old and too infirm to attend the funeral.
Kate accosted her, by saying, “Does Mr. Wilmot
board here?”

The old lady replied by lifting up her hands, and exclaiming,
while the tears coursed their way down her furrowed
cheeks, “Lord bless me, if this isn't poor young
marster's sister.”

“Yes, yes,” said Kate, impatiently, “I am his sister.
But tell me, is he dead? Am I too late?”

The woman replied, “Not too late to see him, if you're
right spry. They've carried him to the church.”

“Where? What church?” asked Kate, wildly.

“Right yender; that ar brick house, with the tall
steeple.”

Kate waited for no more, but darted off in the direction

of the church. Meanwhile the services were ended, and the
friends of the deceased were taking their last leave of him.
Mrs. Middleton and Mr. Miller stood on one side of the
coffin, while Dr. Lacey and Fanny were on the other.
Fanny gazed long and earnestly upon the face of her teacher,
as if she would stamp his likeness with daguerreian accuracy
upon her heart.

She was turning sadly away, when a noise at the door
caused all eyes to be directed that way, A pale, lovely face
was seen looking anxiously in, and then a slight female
figure advanced through the crowd, which gave way for her
to pass. She passed up the aisle till she reached the coffin,
then bursting into a flood of tears, she wrung her hands,
exclaiming, “My brother, oh my precious brother—are you
indeed dead?” She then imprinted kiss after kiss upon the
cold lips of him, who never before disregarded her caresses;
and as the full force of her loss came over her, she uttered
a low, piercing cry of anguish, and fell fainting into the
arms of Mr. Miller, who recognized in her beautiful features
the original of the picture which Mr. Wilmot had shown
him a few months before.

He bore her out into the open air, where he was instantly
surrounded by half a dozen ladies, each insisting that
the fair stranger should be taken to her house. First among
these was Mrs. Crane, who saw by a glance at Kate that
her presence would not be derogatory to any house, so she
determined to have her taken to her own dwelling, and
urged her claim so hard, that Mr. Miller at last consented,
thinking that Mrs. Williams must be wearied with the
recent illness of Mr. Wilmot.

Accordingly, when Kate was again restored to consciousness,
she found herself in an elegantly furnished room,
with a gaily dressed, handsome lady sitting by her. This
was Mrs. Carrington, whose delicate nerves would not suffer

her to attend a funeral. On seeing Kate move, she spoke to
her, and asked if she felt better.

“Yes, much better,” said Kate; “but where am I?
What has happened?” And then as the recollection of
what had occurred came over her, she burst into tears, and
said, “My brother—they have buried him, I suppose, and I
cannot see him again.”

Mrs. Carrington answered, “I think they have not gone
to the cemetery yet. I will dispatch a servant, and ask
them to delay the burial a few moments, if you desire it.”

Kate thanked her; but at that moment a messenger
came from Mr. Miller. He had anticipated Kate's wishes,
and sent word that a carriage was waiting to convey her to
the church, where she could have another opportunity of
seeing her brother. Mrs. Carrington felt constrained to offer
to accompany her, and the two proceeded to the church,
and thence to the cemetery.

Although Mrs. Carrington had not visited Mr. Wilmot
during his illness, she was by no means ignorant of Fanny's
attentions. She had taken great pains to comment upon
them in Dr. Lacey's presence, saying, that “she had often
suspected Fanny of possessing a more than ordinary affection
for Mr. Wilmot, and she had sometimes thought her
affection returned. For her part, she did not blame Julia
for absenting herself from him, for she had probably discovered
his preference for her sister.” Her object in doing
this was to make Dr. Lacey think less favorably of Fanny,
for with her practised eye, she had discovered that for no
other female did he feel such an interest as for “Little
Fanny Middleton,” as she always termed her.

At the grave, she noticed Fanny's pale face and swollen
eyes, and found occasion to say to her, loud enough for Dr.
Lacey to hear, “I am astonished, Fanny, to see you show to
the world how much you loved your sister's betrothed!”

This remark had no effect upon Fanny, except causing
her to look at Mrs. Carrington in surprise, and to wonder
what she meant. With Dr. Lacey it was different. Imperceptibly,
“Little Fanny Middleton” had won a place in his
heart, which no other one had ever possessed. At first he
admired her for her frank, confiding nature, and afterwards
he learned to love her for the many lovely traits
of her character. He had thought it perfectly natural that
she should feel a great interest in Mr. Wilmot, who was for
so long a time a member of her father's family; but the
wrong construction which was put upon her motives, annoyed
him, and even made him fearful that her heart might
be more interested in Mr. Wilmot than he was willing to believe.
As he stood by the open grave, into which the cold
earth was heavily falling, there rested upon his brow a deeper
shade of sadness than was occasioned by the mere death
of his friend. Mrs. Carrington observed it, and resolved to
follow up the train of thought which she saw was awakened
in his mind.

After the burial, Kate returned to Mrs. Crane's, where
she was treated with every possible attention which politeness
or sympathy could dictate. A few days after the funeral,
she one evening casually asked, “If that fair, delicate-looking
girl at her brother's grave, were not Miss
Middleton?”

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Carrington. “Did you not think
from her manner that she was a sincere mourner?”

Kate was about to reply, when Dr. Lacey prevented her,
by saying, “Pardon me, Mrs. Carrington; but I think you
have given Miss Wilmot a wrong impression. She doubtless
thinks it was Miss Julia Middleton.”

“Yes,” said Kate; “I did think it was Miss Julia. Was
I mistaken?”

Dr. Lacey replied, “That it was Fanny—Julia's

younger sister;” and then he told how faithfully she had
watched over Mr. Wilmot during his illness. Of Julia, he
said nothing; and although Kate wished very much to know
something concerning her, she determined not to question
Dr. Lacey, but to wait and ask Mr. Miller, who, for some
reason, seemed nearer to her than any other one of the
strangers by whom she was surrounded. He had been
solicited to take charge of the school, which was now destitute
of a teacher, and as the situation pleased him, he
readily accepted the offer, and selected Mrs. Crane's as his
boarding-place. Perhaps one inducement which led him to
do this, was the presence of the beautiful Kate, in whom he
daily became more interested.

Years before, when but a boy in the boarding-school at
Canandaigua, he had often fancied that the time would
come, when he should both see and know the sister whom
Richard Wilmot used to describe in such glowing terms.
Since then, another image had filled his heart, and he had
dreamed of another face—not as fair, perhaps, but quite as
innocent. But now the dream was sadly over, and he had
never thought of the gentle Fanny for a wife, since that
night when, as he supposed, he saw the dark side of her
character. He, however, could not conquer his old partiality,
and always spoke of her in the highest terms. Consequently,
from his description of her, Kate received a very
favorable impression.

He said but little of Julia; but told Kate that he would
take her to Mr. Middleton's the first fine day. He wished
to go there in order to induce Mrs. Middleton to send her
daughters back to school. The next Saturday was fixed
upon for the visit, and at an early hour, Mr. Miller and Kate
were on their way to Mr. Middleton's.

Kate Wilmot was not only very handsome, but was also
very intelligent and agreeable, and by the time their ride

was half completed, Mr. Miller was more than half in love,
and was building air-castles just as he had done months
before, when Fanny was the mistress of them all.

About noon they reached Mr. Middleton's, where they
were received very kindly by Mrs. Middleton, very joyfully
by Fanny, and very coldly by Julia, whose face always
wore a darker frown whenever Mr. Miller was present; but
he apparently did not notice it, and went on conversing
upon different subjects. At last he asked when Mr. Middleton
was expected home.

“I am expecting him every day,” said Mrs. Middleton;
“and,” she added in a lower tone, “I almost dread to have
him come, for I do not know that he has ever heard a word
of Richard's illness and death.”

“Why, have you never written to him?” asked Mr.
Miller.

“Yes,” replied she; “but it is so uncertain as to what
place he is in, or how long he will remain there, that it is
doubtful whether he ever received the letter. We heard
from him a few days ago. He was then in Indiana, and as
he said nothing about Mr. Wilmot, I presume he has not
heard of his death.”

Just as she had finished speaking, the dogs set up a
great barking, and the negroes uttered the joyful cry of,
“Marster's come! Marster's come!” The family ran to
the door to meet him; but Fanny could not wait for him to
enter the house, neither could she stop to unfasten the gate,
but clearing it with one bound, she was soon in the arms of
her father, who uttered his usual “Ha, ha,” and said, “Well
done, darling; you'll do for a cirkis rider. Are you glad to
see your old pap?”

The blacks then gathered round, and he shook hands
with them all, saying, “How d'ye, boys? How d'ye? Have

you worked right smart since I've been gone? If you have,
you may have a play spell the rest of the arternoon.”

So saying he entered the house, where after greeting his
wife, Julia, and Mr. Miller, he was introduced to “Miss Wilmot.”
He took her hand, and looking at her for a moment,
said, “Wilmot, Wilmot! Are you Dick's sister?”

Kate's eyes filled with tears as she answered, “Yes, sir,
Richard was my brother.”

“Richard was your brother! Great Moses! what does
this mean? And you in black, and crying!” Then looking
at his wife, who was also in tears, he added impatiently,
“What in thun—” but instantly recollecting himself,
he said more gently, “Can't any body tell me what has happened?”
And the old man's cheek paled, and his voice
trembled, as the dread of what might have happened stole
over him.

Fanny at last went up to him, and said softly, “Father,
Mr. Wilmot is dead!”

Mr. Middleton sank into the nearest chair, and covering
his rough face with his hands, wept as freely as a little child.
He had loved Mr. Wilmot with almost a father's love, and
during his absence had not been unmindful of him. Safely
stowed away in his carpet bag, were several costly books,
which he had purchased as a present for Richard. He had
also hoped that as Julia's husband, he would have a good influence
over her, and improve her fractious disposition; and
many were the plans which he had formed, as to what he
would do when Richard was really his son. But now he
was gone for ever. The blow was so sudden, so unexpected,
that for several minutes he was stunned by its force, and
wept on in silence.

At last lifting up his head, he turned to Kate and said,
“You must not think me a silly old fool, child, for Lord
knows old Josh Middleton hain't shed sich tears afore, since

he was a little shaver and cried when they buried up his
dead mother.”

Kate could not reply, but from that time she felt for Mr.
Middleton a respect and esteem which nothing could ever
change.

After Mr. Middleton had become calm, he proceeded to
enumerate to Mr. Miller the many good qualities of Mr.
Wilmot; said he, “He was a capital feller; allus just so.
Lively as a cricket; none of your stuck-up, fiddle-faddle
notions. And then he was such a good boarder,—not a bit
pertikiler what he et; why, he was the greatest kind of a
man—eat corn bread, turnip greens, or any thing!”

At this speech Kate smiled in spite of her tears, and Mr.
Middleton went on; “But he warn't as handsome as his
sister, and I'll be skinned if I ever seen any body that was.
Tempest can't hold a candle to her, for all she feels so crank.
Why, Kit, or Kate, what's yer name, you're as handsome as
a picter!”

Mr. Miller probably thought so too, if the admiring look
which he gave her was any criterion. Mr. Middleton observed
it, and forgetting for a moment the death of his friend,
he slapped Mr. Miller on his shoulder, saying, “I tell you
what, my boy; it's a mighty mean wind that blows nobody
any good fortin. Miss Kate warn't sent to Kentuck for
nothin', and unless you're a bigger loggerhead than I think
you be, you'll try to find out what she come for, and how
long she's goin' to stay.”

Mr. Miller smiled and said, “I hope we shall be able to
keep Miss Wilmot all winter, for the people of Frankfort are
wanting a music teacher, and have solicited her to remain
in that capacity.”

“By Jove,” said Mr. Middleton, “that's just the thing!
And you have taken Dick's place in school, poor boy—poor
boy, to die so soon!” The tears were again moistening his

immense beard, but this time he hastily brushed them away,
and went on, “Yes, that's a capital idee, and you want me
to patternize you by sending my two gals,—hey? Well, I
reckon I can't do better, if they want to go. Ho! Tempest,—
Sunshine,—what d'ye say? D'ye want to go back to Frankfort
and board at Miss Crane's, 'long of Mr. Miller, Dr. Lacey,
Katy did, and that 'tother infernal Katy didn't, what
fainted spang away at the sight of old Josh? But though
she was so dreadfully skeered, the pooty color didn't leave
her cheek an atom. Lightnin' spikes! let me catch my gals
paintin' and I'll—”

But he was prevented from telling what he'd do by
Fanny, who clapped her hands and said, “Oh father, you
are a dear good man; may we really go?”

“I thought Fanny would be pleased with the idea,” said
Mr. Miller, “and even if she had objected, I was going to
send the Doctor out, and I know he would bring her to terms.”

Fanny blushed, and her father said, “Do you think so?
Well, I'm glad on't. I'd as soon she'd have him as any
body, and she's worthy of him too, for if she can love such
a hideous old clown as I am, she'll stick to such a nice man
as Dr. Lacey through thick and thin. But what do you
say to goin', Tempest?”

Julia had at first thought that nothing could induce her
to become a pupil of Mr. Miller, but his allusion to Dr. Lacey
decided her otherwise. It was necessary that she should go,
for she did not dare trust her sister alone with the Doctor; so
she swallowed her dislike to Mr. Miller, and said she should
be delighted to return to school.

It was settled that they should go during the next week.
This arrangement gave great pleasure to Dr. Lacey, who
found it very lonely in Frankfort without Fanny, and had
several times spoken of returning to New Orleans. But when
he learned that Fanny was coming back, he suddenly changed

his mind, and concluded that Frankfort would be a charming
winter residence. This was laughingly told to Fanny
by Kate, who had learned to love her very much. Julia
she disliked, for she had at last drawn from Mr. Miller the
whole history of her proceedings, and she could but look
upon the false-hearted girl as accessory to her brother's
death.

Julia knew that by the fair Northern beauty, she was
secretly despised, but she did not care, for she had conceived
a great friendship for Mrs. Carrington, whom she often
amused with her remarks about New-York people. Once
she said, “I do wish New-York would die, or stop taking
emetics, and sending the contents of her bilious stomach to
Kentucky in the shape of teachers!”

Mrs. Carrington smiled and said, “I think you prefer
Louisiana emetics, do you not?”

Julia blushed as she answered, “Yes, but what can I do?
There's Mr. Miller ready to back up whatever Fanny does,
and put down whatever I do. I'd thank him to mind his
own business, and stay at his own home!”

Mrs. Carrington did not reply, for she, too, was greatly
annoyed by the presence of Mr. Miller and Kate. The latter
she looked upon as a rival, for she was said by every one
to have the most beautiful face in Frankfort. This greatly
displeased Mrs. Carrington, who, before Kate's arrival, had
been considered the belle of the town, so far as beauty was
concerned. She also felt great contempt for Kate's occupation
as a teacher, and said, “she didn't see why folks should
make such an ado over a poor music teacher.”

Once, in speaking on the subject to Dr. Lacey, she said,
“I am glad I was not born in New-York, for then I should
have been obliged to pick up chips, split wood, dig potatoes,
wash dishes, and teach school!”

Dr. Lacey's reply to this remark was, “I think, Mrs.

Carrington, you will admit that the young ladies who come
here from the North, almost always possess superior education.
Now if they spend much time in splitting wood, and
digging potatoes, I am sure they could not acquire so much
knowledge.”

Mrs. Carrington answered, “Of course you feel interested
in New-Yorkers, for Fanny has taken a great fancy to them,
and whatever she likes, you must of course.”

“Yes, I know Fanny likes our New-York friends very
much,” said Dr. Lacey. “And I think you will allow that
she shows good taste in the choice of her associates.”

“Oh yes, admirable,” returned Mrs. Carrington, “almost
as good taste as some of my acquaintance show in preferring
her.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dr. Lacey.

“Why, I mean,” said Mrs. Carrington, “that I am
puzzled to know what attraction such a simple-minded girl
as Fanny can have for a person of your intelligence.”

Dr. Lacey bit his lip, but forcing down his anger said,
“She possesses the same attraction which every guileless,
innocent person has.”

“Guileless and innocent,” repeated Mrs. Carrington;
“rather call her artful and designing. Depend upon it, Doctor,
you have only seen the bright side of her disposition. You
should see her in her room, and know how much trouble
her sister has with her!”

She might have said more, but Dr. Lacey stopped her
by saying rather warmly, “Mrs. Carrington, you shall not
talk so about Fanny; I know you do not like her, and consequently,
whatever you can say of her, will have no effect
upon me.”

So saying he quitted the apartment, leaving Mrs. Carrington
to her own reflections. They were not very pleasant,
for Dr. Lacey's manner had said as plainly as words could

say, that she had better mind her own business, and she
began to think so herself, for she muttered, “After all, what
is it to me if he does like Fanny? I am bound fast, but oh,
if I were free, I'd compass heaven and earth to secure him!”
Her wish to be free was realized sooner than she anticipated.

That afternoon when the Sea Gull came up from Louisville,
it brought home her husband, wearied, worn out, and
sick. He took his bed, and never left his room again till
strong men carried him out, and laid him down to sleep in
the silent graveyard. The close of his life was calm and
peaceful, for he had early chosen the better part, and he
looked upon the grave, as but a stepping-stone from earth
to heaven.

His life was a dreary pilgrimage, for though he possessed
for his young, giddy wife, a strong, ardent affection, he
had long known that 'twas not returned, and he felt that
she would be happier if he were dead. She however paid
him as much attention during his illness, as the gay life she
led would allow, but she was often away, and night after
night was he left alone with his Bible and his God, while
she was in the midst of some fashionable amusement. Her
neglect was, however, partly made up to him by the kind
care of Fanny, who gave him all the time she could possibly
spare from her school duties. Mrs. Carrington found it
very convenient to call upon her, whenever she wished to be
absent, and hour after hour the fair young girl sat by the
sick man's bedside, employed either with her needle, her
books, or drawing. Mr. Carrington was a fine scholar, and
gave her much assistance in her studies.

When he grew too weak to read, she would read to him
from the Bible, stopping occasionally, while he explained
some obscure passage, or endeavored to impress on her mind
some solemn truth. Thus were the seeds of righteousness

sown, which afterwards sprang up and bore fruit unto everlasting
life.

At last, the chilling dews came upon his forehead, his
eye grew dim with the mists of death, and then he laid his
cold, white hand on Fanny's head, and prayed most earnestly
that Heaven's choicest blessings, both here and hereafter,
might descend upon one who had so kindly smoothed his
dark pathway down to the valley of death. A few words
of affectionate farewell to his wife, and he was gone. His
crushed, aching heart had ceased to beat, and in a few days
the green sod was growing above his early grave.

Fanny begged so earnestly to have him buried by the
side of Mr. Wilmot, that Mrs. Carrington finally consented,
and the two, who had never seen each other on earth, now
lay peacefully side by side. When the spring time came,
the same fair hands planted flowers over the graves of her
brothers, as she loved to call the two men, each of whom
had blessed her with his dying breath. Thither would she
often go with Dr. Lacey, who was each day learning to love
her more and more.

Mrs. Carrington contented herself with having a few
hysterical fits, shedding a few tears, dressing herself in an
expensive suit of mourning, and erecting to the memory of
her husband a magnificent monument. When Mr. Middleton
saw the latter, he said, “Why the plague can't Dick
have as good a grave stun as that young Lieutenant? He
desarves it jest as much;” so out came his purse, and when
Mrs. Carrington went next to visit the costly marble at her
husband's grave, she was chagrined to see by its side a still
more splendid one. But there was no help for it, so she had
to endure in silence, consoling herself with thinking how becomingly
she would dress, and how many conquests she
would make, when the term of her mourning should have
expired!