University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

Let us now go back for a few weeks, and watch Julia's plot
as it progresses. We have learned from Fanny that four
letters arrived from Dr. Lacey; but the fifth she was destined
never to receive. She was expecting it on Tuesday, and
was about going to the post-office, when Julia said, “Fanny,
I feel just like walking this morning; suppose you let me run
round to the office and get your expected letter.”

“Very well,” answered Fanny; “but don't be gone long.”

“I won't,” said Julia gayly. “You sit down by the window,
and when I come round the corner on my return home,
I will hold up your letter, so you will know you have one at
least a minute before I reach home.”

So saying she departed, and Fanny sat down by the
window to await her return. For several days past there
had been a great change in Julia's deportment. She was
very amiable and kind to the household in general and to
Fanny in particular. This was a part of her plan, so that
in the catastrophe which was to follow, she might not be
suspected of foul play.

At first Fanny was surprised at her affectionate advances,
but it was so pleasant to have a sister who would love
her, that she did not ask the reason of so sudden a change

and when Julia very humbly asked forgiveness for all her
former unkindness, the innocent-hearted Fanny burst into
tears, and declared she had nothing to forgive, if her sister
would only continue to love her always. Julia placed a
Judas-like kiss on Fanny's pure brow, and gave a promise
that she would try to be good; but she thought to herself,
“this seeming change will make a favorable impression on
Dr. Lacey, when he hears of it.”

She knew that Fanny was expecting a letter on the Tuesday
morning of which we have spoken, and fearing that by
some means Mr. Dunn might fail of securing it, she determined
to go herself for the mail. When she reached the
post-office, the sinister smile with which Mr. Dunn greeted
her, assured her that he had something for her, and she
readily conjectured that it was Fanny's expected letter.

“Good morning, Mr. Dunn!” said she. “Any thing for
me this morning?”

“Yes, ma'am,” answered Dunn with a very low bow; and
casting a very furtive glance around to make sure that no
one saw him, he drew from his pocket a letter, on which
Julia instantly recognized Dr. Lacey's handwriting. She
took it and placed it in the pocket of her dress.

On her way home, conscience clamored loudly in behalf
of Fanny's rights. It said “Beware, what you do! Give
Fanny her letter. It is a crime to withhold it.” But again
the monitress was stilled, and the crafty girl kept on her
way, firm in her sinful purpose, until she reached the corner
which brought her in sight of the window where Fanny was
impatiently watching for her. The sight of that bright, joyous
face, as it looked from the window, anxious for the expected
sight of her letter, made Julia for a moment waver.
She thought how gentle and loving Fanny had always been
to her, and involuntarily her hand sought the letter which
lay like a crushing weight in her pocket. It was half drawn

from its hiding-place, when the spirit of evil which seemed
ever to follow Julia's footsteps, whispered, “Let it alone.
You have gone too far to retract. You have Dr. Lacey to
win, and it can be done in no other way.”

Julia listened to the tempter, her hand was withdrawn,
and Fanny looked in vain for her letter. A faint sickness
stole over her for a moment, but she thought, “Perhaps
Julia means to tease me. I will appear very unconcerned,
and not ask for it.” So when Julia entered the room, she
found that her sister's attention was suddenly attracted by
something in the street; but Fanny was not accustomed to
dissemble, and the rosy flush on her cheek showed how
anxious she was.

At last Julia said, “Why do you not ask for your letter,
Fanny?”

Oh how eager was the expression of the sweet, pale face
which was instantly turned towards the speaker. Springing
up, she exclaimed, “Oh, Julia, you have got me one? haven't
you? please give it to me.”

“I will to-morrow when it arrives,” said Julia. “It has
probably been delayed.”

Fanny's countenance fell, and she said, “Then you haven't
got me a letter? Oh, I'm so sorry!”

“Never mind, sister,” said Julia. “It will come to-morrow,
and will seem all the better for waiting.”

To-morrow came, but with it came no letter, and days
wore on, until at last it was Saturday night. Alone in her
room poor Fanny was weeping bitterly. Was Dr. Lacey
sick or dead? This was the question which she continually
asked herself. A suspicion of his unfaithfulness had not yet
entered her mind. While she was yet weeping, an arm was
thrown affectionately round her, and a voice whispered in
the sweetest possible tones, “Dear sister, do not weep so. If
he were dead, some one would inform you. And now I

think of it, why do you not write to him? There would be
no harm in doing so. Come sit down, and write him a few
lines before dark, and I will take them to the office.”

So Fanny sat down to her writing-desk, and the few lines
proved to be a long letter ere she had finshed. It was a
most touchingly sad letter, and ought to have drawn tears
from Julia, instead of forcing the malicious smile which
played round her mouth while reading her sister's effusion.
It is needless to say that, although Julia went to the post-office,
this letter never did, but was placed in a little box by
the side of two others, which had arrived from Dr. Lacey
that week.

After Julia returned from her walk that evening, she
said, “Fanny, if I were you I would not tell any one that I
did not hear from Dr. Lacey, for you know it's just possible
that he may not be sick, and in that case your best way
would be to seem quite as forgetful of him.”

“Forgetful!” said Fanny, “Why, Julia, what do you
mean? You cannot,— oh no, I know you do not think
Dr. Lacey untrue to me?” And Fanny's large blue eyes
were fixed on her sister with as much earnestness as though
her answer would decide her fate for ever.

“I do not like to think so, any more than you do,” said
Julia. “But Dr. Lacey is now in the gay city of New Orleans,
surrounded by beauty and fashion, and were I his betrothed,
I should not think it strange if he did not remain true to
me.”

Fanny answered slowly, as if speaking were painful to
her, “Oh no, no! he cannot be false,—any thing but that.”

It was a new idea to her, and that night a weight of sadness,
heavier than she had ever known before, filled her
heart. She thought, “I will wait and see if he answers my
letter before I believe him unfaithful.” The next day was
the Sabbath. About church time Julia announced her intentions

of remaining at home on the plea of a violent headache.
Fanny immediately offered to stay with her, but Julia
declined, saying that sooner than both should be absent from
church she would go herself.

Accordingly Julia was left alone. She watched her sister
until she disappeared down the street. Then she arose, and
locking the door, drew from her pocket a small key, and unlocking
a rosewood box, took from it one of Dr. Lacey's
letters. Going to her writing-desk, she sat down, and commenced
imitating his handwriting. She was very skilful in
the art of imitation, and was delighted to find herself rapidly
succeeding in her attempts at counterfeiting. So busily engaged
was she, that she did not heed the lapse of time,
until her sister's footsteps were heard ascending the stairs.
She sprang hastily up, and thrusting her writing materials
into the box, locked it, and had just time to throw herself
upon the sofa, when Fanny knocked at the door. Julia
allowed her to knock twice, and then getting up she unfastened
the door, at the same time yawning and rubbing her
eyes as if just awakened from a sound slumber.

“Why, sister, I woke you up, didn't I?” said Fanny.
“I am sorry.”

“No matter,” answered Julia with another yawn, “I feel
better. My nap has done my head good.”

In the afternoon Fanny again went to church, and Julia
resumed the occupation of the morning. She succeeded so
well, that before church was out, she felt sure that after a
few more attempts she could imitate Dr. Lacey's writing so
exactly as to thoroughly deceive Fanny. “But not yet,”
said she to herself; “I do not wish to test my skill yet. It
is hardly time.”

Thus the days glided away. Nearly two weeks passed,
and there had come no answer to Fanny's letter. She did
not know that regularly,—twice a week, letters had arrived

from New Orleans, and had been handed to Julia by Mr.
Dunn. In the last of these letters, Dr. Lacey complained
because Fanny had neglected writing so long. We will
give the following extract:

Thus wrote the Doctor, and Julia commented on it as
follows: “Yes, you are haunted, and I am glad of it. The
pill is working well; I'll see whether `Sunshine,' as you and
my old fool father call her, will steal away every body's love
from me. I suppose I'm the dark shadow, for father calls
me a spirit of darkness, and yet, perhaps, if he had been more
gentle with me, I might have been better; but now it's too
late.” And the letter was placed in the rosewood box by the
side of its companions.

Slowly but surely the painful conviction fixed itself upon
Fanny's mind that Dr. Lacey was false. It was dreadful to
think so, but there seemed no other alternative, and Fanny's
heart grew sadder, and her step less joyous and elastic, while
her merry laugh was now seldom heard ringing out in its
clear, silvery tones, making the servants stop their work to
listen and exclaim, “How lonesome 'twould be without Miss
Fanny; she's the life of the house, Lor bless her.”

The change was noticed and spoken of by the inmates
of Mrs. Crane's dwelling. Mr. Miller attributed it to a too
close application to books, and recommended her to relax
somewhat in her studies. Fanny had too much of woman's

pride to allow any one except Julia to know the real cause
of her sadness, and was glad to have her languor ascribed to
over exertion. On the night when Kate had found her
weeping, she had involuntarily told her secret, but she went
to Mrs. Miller the next morning, and won from her a promise
not to mention what she had revealed, even to her husband.

Mr. Stanton's presence seemed to divert Fanny's mind,
and the two weeks following his arrival passed away more
pleasantly than she had thought two weeks could pass, uncheered
by a line from Dr. Lacey. At the end of that time
it pleased Julia that Fanny should have a pretended letter
from New Orleans. Several days were spent in preparing it,
but at last it was completed, folded, sealed, and directed.
Mr. Dunn pronounced the deception perfect. He stamped
it with the Frankfort postmark so slightly that one would
as soon have called it “New Orleans” as any thing else.

Fanny was seated in the parlor in company with Stanton,
when Julia suddenly entered the room, and said, “Oh, here
you are, sister. I've looked every where for you. Here is
a letter.”

One glance at the superscription assured her that it was
from Dr. Lacey. A bright, beautiful flush suffused Fanny's
face, which became irradiated with a sudden joy. Asking
Mr. Stanton to excuse her, she went to her room, so as to be
alone when she perused the precious document. After she
was gone, Julia spoke of Dr. Lacey, and asked Stanton if he
ever heard from him. Stanton replied, “While Dr. Lacey
was in college, he spent a part of his vacations at my father's;
but I almost always chanced to be absent at school, and consequently
we are not much acquainted. He did write to
me a few times while I was in college, but our correspondence
gradually ceased, and I have not heard from him in a long

time. I hope he will return to Frankfort, for I should like
to renew our acquaintance.”

This answer gave Julia great relief; she had feared Stanton
might write to Dr. Lacey, and that by some means her
scheme might be ruined. But all was safe, and in a few moments
she arose to go to her room and witness the result of
the letter. Let us go before her, and see the effect for ourselves.

On reaching her apartment, Fanny sat down on the sofa,
while a tremulous nervousness shook her frame. She dreaded
to open the letter, for a strange forboding of evil came
over her. At last the seal was broken, and Fanny's heart
stood still, and a dizziness crept over her as she read. For
the reader's benefit, we will look over her shoulder and read
with her the following:

Alas for Fanny! she did not need to read the letter
twice, for every syllable had burned into her soul, and she
could have repeated each word of the cruel message. This,
then, was the end of all her bright dreams of bliss! She
did not weep, for she could not. The fountain of her tears
seemed dried up. A heavy weight had suddenly fallen on
all her faculties. The objects in the room chased each other
in rapid circles, while Dr. Lacey stood in the distance mocking
her anguish. A faint feeling gathered round her heart.
She uttered a low cry and fell heavily forward.

When Julia entered the room, she found her sister extended
on the floor, cold and white as a piece of marble,
while the blood was gushing from her nostrils and moistening
the long curls of her hair. Julia's first feeling was one of
intense horror, for fear her sister might be dead, but a touch
assured her that Fanny had only fainted. So she lifted her
up and bearing her to the window, applied the usual restoratives.

As Julia looked on the deathlike face of her young
sister, she murmured, “Had I thought she loved him so well,
never would I have done so wickedly.”

But she made no promise to repair the mischief, and stifled
all the better impulses of her nature, by saying, “It is too
late now; it is too late.” At last Fanny opened her eyes.
Her first thought was for her letter, which was still tightly
clenched in her hand. Passing it to Julia, she said faintly,
“Read it, sister; read it.”

Julia took it, and pretending to read it, burst into a violent
passion, abusing Dr. Lacey for his meanness, and ending
by telling Fanny that she ought to consider herself fortunate
in escaping from so unprincipled a man. Fanny
seemed disturbed to hear evil spoken of Dr. Lacey, so Julia
changed her manner, and said, “I do not wonder you feel
badly, Fanny. You and I can sympathize together now.”

Fanny looked at her sister in some surprise, but at last
answered, “Oh no, you cannot know how I feel. Mr. Wilmot
loved you to the last. Dr. Lacey is not dead, but—”

Here Julia interrupted her, by saying, “I do not mean to
refer to Mr. Wilmot. I was flattered by his attentions, but
I never knew what it was to love, until I saw Dr. Lacey!”

“Dr. Lacey!—You love Dr. Lacey!” said Fanny, and
again she fell back, cold and motionless. A second time
Julia restored her to consciousness, but for an hour she did
not speak or scarcely move. At the end of that time, calling
her sister to her, in a low, subdued tone, she said, “Tell
me all, Julia. I can bear it. I am calm now.”

The traitress kissed her cheek, and taking one of the little
hands in hers, told her how truly she had loved Dr. Lacey,
and how she had struggled against it when she saw that
he loved another. “I have,” said she, “lain awake many a
night, and while you slept sweetly, dreaming, perhaps, of
your lover, I have wept bitter tears because I must go alone

through the cold world, unloved and uncared for. And forgive
me, Fanny, but sometimes I have felt angered at you,
because you seemed to steal everybody's love from me. Our
old father never speaks to me with the same affection which
marks his manner when addressing you.”

“I know it, I know it,” said Fanny. “I wish he would
not do so, but Dr. Lacey—Dr. Lacey—I never thought you
wanted him to love you; if I had—”

“What would you have done?” asked Julia eagerly.

The voice was mournfully low which replied, “I would
have given him up to you. I could not have married one
whom my sister loved.” And then she suddenly added, “It
seems doubtful whether he marries that young lady. If he
should not, he may yet make you his wife.”

“And you, what would you do?” asked Julia.

“Oh, it is impossible for me to marry him now,” said
Fanny; “but if you were happy with him, I would try to be
happy too.”

“God bless you, sweet sister,” said Julia; “but it will
never be.”

Fanny did not reply, and after a moment's silence Julia
said, “Sister, if I were you, I would keep all this a secret,
and even if I were unhappy, I would try to assume a forced
cheerfulness, for fear people would suspect the truth, and call
me lovesick.”

Fanny did not reply to this either. She was trying to
still the painful throbs of her aching heart. Through all the
long, weary hours of that night, she was awake. Sometimes
she would watch the myriad host of stars, as they kept on
their unwearied course through the clear, blue sky, and
would wonder if there was room beyond them, for such as
she, should she die thus early. Then she would muse on
the past days of happiness now for ever gone, and though a
choking sensation was in her throat, not a tear moistened

her cheek. “I shall never weep again,” thought she, “and
why should I? The world shall not know what I suffer. I
will be as gay and merry as ever.” And a fearful laugh
rang through the room as she said, “Yes, how gayly I'll
dance at the wedding. I'll hold my heart so fast that none
shall ever know in how many pieces it is broken.” Thus
she talked on. Delirium was stealing over her, and when
morning broke, the rapid moving of her bright eye, and the
crimson spot which burned on either cheek, showed that
brain fever was doing its work.

A physician was immediately called, and by the means of
powerful remedies, the progress of the disease was checked,
so that Fanny was seriously ill for only a week. She was
delirious a great part of the time, but Julia was delighted to
find that not one word of Dr. Lacey ever passed her lips.
At the commencement of her illness, her father and mother
were sent for. The old man came quickly, for Fanny was
his idol, and if she should die, he would be bereaved indeed.
With untiring love, he watched by her bedside until the
crisis was passed. He would fan her fevered brow, moisten
her parched lips, chafe her hot, burning hands, smooth her
tumbled pillow, and when at last he succeeded in soothing
her into a troubled slumber, he would sit by her, and gaze
on her wan face with an earnestness which seemed to say
that she was his all of earth, his more than all of heaven.

Julia too was all attention. Nothing tired her, and with
unwearied patience she came and went at her father's bidding,
doing the thousand little offices pertaining to a sick
chamber. For once her father's manner softened toward
her, and the tones of his voice were gentle and his words
kind while speaking to his first-born. Could he have known
what part she had had in causing the illness of his “darling
Sunshine,” all Frankfort would have shaken with the heavy
artillery of oaths and execrations, which would have been

disgorged from his huge lungs, like the eruption of some
long pent-up volcano! But he did not suspect the truth,
and in speaking of Fanny's illness, he said, “It is studyin'
so close, that ailded her. As ever she can bar to be moved,
we will carry her home, and Aunt Katy 'ill nuss her up
quicker.”

Accordingly as soon as the physician pronounced it safe
to move her, she was taken home, and by her mother's assiduous
care, and Aunt Katy's skilful nursing, her physical
health was soon much improved. But no medicine could
reach the plague-spot which preyed upon her heart, and
cast a dark shadow over every feeling of pleasure. As soon
as her health was fully restored, she asked permission to return
to school. At first Mr. Middleton refused, but not long
did he ever withstand any request which “Sunshine” made.
So at last he consented, on condition that she would give up
the study of the Latin, and promise not to apply herself too
closely to any thing. To this Fanny readily agreed, and
in a few days she was again in Frankfort, occupying her
accustomed seat at Mrs. Crane's table and bending over her
task in the old schoolroom, which seemed suddenly illuminated
by her presence.

The school-girls welcomed back their young companion
with many demonstrations of joy, for they said, “the school-room
seemed dark and lonely when she was absent.” Dear
little Fanny! There was love enough left for her in the
hearts of all who knew her, but it did not satisfy. There
was still an aching void, which one love alone could fill, and
that love she thought was lost to her for ever. She was mistaken.

During her illness she thought much of what Julia had
said relative to concealing her disappointment with an assumed
gayety, and she resolved to do so, partly from wounded
pride, and partly from love of her dear old father, who

seemed distressed whenever any thing troubled his “Sunshine.”
When she returned to Frankfort, none but the
most acute observer would have suspected that the sparkling
eye and dancing footstep were the disguise of a desolate,
aching heart, and that the merry laugh and witty repartee
were but the echoes of a knell of sadness, whose deepest
tones were stitled ere they reached the ear of the listener.
In the darkness of night, however, all was changed. The
Sunshine was obscured, and Julia alone knew what anguish
Fanny endured. Still the cruel girl never wavered in her
purpose. “The worst is over,” said she. “She will not die
now, even if she saw him wedded to me.” So she suffered
her sister's cheek to grow paler, and her delicate form thinner,
at the supposed desertion of her lover. Little did Fanny
think that he, whose false-heartedness she deplored, dreamed
each night of his distant dear one, and that each day his
warm heart beat more quickly, because no tidings came from
her.

A few days after Fanny's return there came cards of invitation
for a large party at the residence of a Mr. C—.
The evening was propitious, and at the usual hour Mrs.
C—'s parlors were filled with the beauty and fashion of
the city. Among all the belles, who that evening graced
the brilliantly lighted drawing-rooms, none was so much
admired as Julia Middleton, who appeared dressed in a rich
crimson velvet robe, tastefully trimmed with ermine. Magnificent
bracelets, which had cost her father almost as many
oaths as dollars, glittered on her white rounded arms. Her
snowy neck, which was also uncovered, was without ornament.
Her glossy hair, dark as night, was arranged in the
most becoming manner.

At the time Mr. Middleton had given Julia her bracelets,
he had presented Fanny with a bandeau of pearls. But
Julia found it an easy task to persuade her sister that pearls

were not becoming to her style of beauty; so on the evening
of the party they gleamed amid the heavy braids of Julia's
hair. Wherever she went she was followed by a train of
admirers, who little thought that that soft smile and beautiful
face concealed a heart as hard as the flinty rock.

Contrary to all the rules of propriety, the heartless Mrs.
Carrington was there, dealing out her fascinating smiles and
bland words. She had thrown aside her mourning for the
occasion and was arrayed in a dress of black velvet. An
elegant lace bertha covered her white, beautiful neck, while
one of her fair arms was clasped by a diamond bracelet. To
this bracelet was attached a small locket, which contained
the daguerreotype of him, upon whose quiet grave the suns
of scarce five months had risen and set. Amid that brilliant
scene she had no thought for the dead, but others wondered
much that he should be so soon forgotten. She was
attended by Raymond, who scarcely left her side during the
whole evening, although she made several ineffectual attempts
to shake him off, for she did not care to be too much
noticed by a “poor Yankee schoolmaster.”

Henry Ashton was also there, but his attention was
wholly engrossed by the bright eyes and sunny face of Florence
Woodburn, who had recently returned from Philadelphia,
where she had been attending school for the last two
years. Florence was the only daughter of the Mr. Woodburn,
who was mentioned in the first chapter of this narrative.
Her father lived several miles from the city, but she
had friends in town and spent much of her time there. She
was very handsome and very agreeable, and as she would
probably be quite an heiress, her appearance in the fashionable
world created a great sensation.

During the evening, as she was standing by Ashton and
commenting upon Julia's wondrous beauty, she asked

“Where is the younger Miss Middleton? Is she as handsome
as her sister?”

Ashton replied, “She is not called half as beautiful, but
she is much more amiable; but see, there she comes,” continued
he, as Fanny entered the room leaning on Stanton's
arm.

She was so pale that her skin seemed almost transparent,
but the excitement of the evening brought a bright glow to
her cheek which greatly enhanced her loveliness. She was
simply attired in a plain white muslin, low at the neck, which
was veiled by the soft curls of her silken hair. Her arms
were encircled by a plain band of gold, and a white, half
opened rosebud, was fastened to the bosom of her dress.

As she entered the room many admiring eyes were turned
towards her, and Miss Woodburn exclaimed, “Oh, how
lovely she is! Her sister seems more like the flashing diamond,
while Fanny's beauty is like the soft lustre of the
pearl. But tell me,” she continued, “is she not engaged to
a Dr. Lacey of New Orleans?”

“Yes, or that is, it was so rumored,” answered Ashton,
“but he has gone home, and since then I have heard nothing
of it. Young Stanton seems very attentive. I should not
wonder if something grew out of it.”

“Always making matches, Mr. Ashton,” said Mrs. Carrington,
who for a moment rid herself of Raymond and now
came near Ashton and Florence. She had heard them
speak of Dr. Lacey and Fanny, and as she knew Florence
was soon going to New Orleans, she wished to give her a
little Frankfort gossip to take with her.

“Oh, Mrs. Carrington,” said Mr. Ashton, bowing politely.
“Allow me to introduce Miss Woodburn. We were just
talking of the probability of Miss Fanny's being engaged to
Dr. Lacey. Perhaps you can enlighten us somewhat.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Carrington, “I assure you I know but

little about the matter. It is rather uncertain whom Miss
Fanny likes or dislikes. It is currently reported that she
was in love with a Mr. Wilmot, who died, and who was
known to be engaged to her sister. Since then Dr. Lacey
has flirted with her, but whether seriously or not, I cannot
tell; I should rather think not, however, for Mr. Stanton now
seems to be the favored one.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Ashton, “I never supposed Fanny was
so much of a coquette.”

“Neither do I think she is,” said Florence, whose heart
warmed towards Fanny as soon as she saw her.

“Perhaps she is not,” said Mrs. Carrington. “Fanny is
very young yet, but when fully matured will perhaps make
a noble woman, but she has not the solidity of her sister,
who tries hard to keep her from assuming the appearance
of a flirt.” Then turning to Florence, she said, “I believe
you are soon going to New Orleans?”

“Yes, madam,” answered Florence.

“You will probably meet Dr. Lacey there,” continued
Mrs. Carrington. “Perhaps you had better say nothing to
him about Fanny's flirtation with Stanton, for he would
hardly believe it.”

Florence merely nodded, thinking to herself that she
should do as she chose about it. From the first she had
been attracted towards Fanny. There was something in her
face and in the expression of her eye, which interested Florence.
It seemed to her that Fanny would gladly have left
that scene of gayety, and going out by herself, would have
poured out her soul in tears. She earnestly desired an introduction,
and at last it was obtained. There seemed to be
some secret magnet which attracted these two young girls
towards each other, for in a few moments they were arm in
arm talking familiarly upon different topics as though they
had been acquainted a lifetime.

Florence was a warm-hearted, affectionate girl, and after
a time she said, “Miss Middleton, I am going to New Orleans
soon. I believe you have an acquaintance there. If I see
him, what shall I tell him?”

Fanny's voice trembled slightly as she answered, “Tell
whom?”

“Oh, Miss Middleton,” said Florence laughing gayly,
“how that blush becomes you! Tell whom? Why, who
should it be but Dr. Lacey, whom every body except Mrs.
Carrington says is engaged to you.”

The fire shot from Fanny's eyes, but one look at the open
face at her side assured her, and she answered, “I am not
answerable for what the world please to say of me.”

“I am to consider the report true, then,” persisted Florence.

A momentary struggle took place in Fanny's mind. Love
and resentment strove for the mastery. The latter conquered,
and the voice was calm and decided which replied, “I assure
you, Miss Woodburn, that Dr. Lacey bears no relation to me
except that of a common acquaintance.”

“Indeed,” said Florence. “I am sorry, for I was anticipating
much pleasure in describing Dr. Lacey's intended
lady to the New Orleans girls.

Fanny did not answer, and as Stanton just then approached,
and asked her to go to the music-room, she took
his arm readily, glad to escape from so painful a conversation.

“She is a strange girl,” thought Florence, “and yet I
know I should love her. I wonder what makes her so sad.
Can it be that she really loved that Mr. Wilmot? At any
rate I am sorry for her, and hope she will marry Mr. Stanton,
who seems much pleased with her.”

Thus was an impression left on Florence's mind, which
was productive of much mischief. At a late hour the company

dispersed. Fanny returned home, weary and sick at
heart. Her conversation with Florence had awakened painful
reminiscences of the past, and the gray daylight was beginning
to streak the eastern horizon ere her heavy eyelids
closed in slumber. In a few days Florence Woodburn departed
for New Orleans, where her mother's brother resided.
We will take passage with her and pay a visit to Dr. Lacey
in his southern home.