University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.

The first three weeks of Julia's stay in New Orleans were,
as we have learned, spent at the house of Dr. Lacey. His
mother was present, and although she readily acknowledged
the uncommon beauty of her fair visitor, yet from the first
she disliked her.

The servants, too, as if adopting the opinion of their mistress,
felt and expressed among themselves an aversion to
the “evil-eyed lady,” as they termed Julia. Aunt Dilsey, in
particular, soon had her own reason for disliking her. The
second day after Julia's arrival, as she was strolling through
the yard, she encountered Andrew Jackson, a bright little
fellow, three years of age, and Aunt Dilsey's only son. Jack,
as he was usually called, was amusing himself by seeing
how far he could spit! Unfortunately he spit too far, and
hit Miss Julia's pink muslin. In an instant her white, slender
fingers were buried in his wool. His screams soon
brought Aunt Dilsey to the rescue. Upon learning the dreadful
crime of which Jack had been guilty, she snatched him
from Julia's grasp, and hurried him into the house without
a word. From that time Dilsey was Julia's sworn enemy,
and Jack was taught to make up faces at her, whenever he
could do so without being discovered.

The servants, however, were too well trained to manifest
any open disrespect, for they knew she was “marster's guest,”
and as such, was entitled to every possible attention.

When first she arrived Dr. Lacey felt exceedingly uncomfortable,
for her presence constantly reminded him of
the past, and his reminiscences of Julia were not particularly
pleasant. Gradually this feeling wore away, for she appeared
greatly changed. There was a softness,—a gentleness, in
her manner, which seemed to Dr. Lacey like Fanny, and
then her voice, too, was so like her sister's, that ere long she
ceased to be disagreeable to him, and instead of avoiding
her society, as at first he had done, he now sought it.

Julia saw her advantage, and determined to follow it up.
Nothing could exceed her extreme amiability, and apparent
sweetness of disposition. Even Mrs. Lacey was partially
deceived, and concluded she had been too hasty in her estimation
of Miss Middleton. Still she watched her son's movements
narrowly, and hoped he had no intentions of making
Julia his wife.

She was in New Orleans three weeks before her uncle's
house was in readiness; but at the end of that time, she, together
with Dr. Lacey, Mabel Mortimer and Florence Woodburn,
were about to exchange the heat and dust of the city,
for a cooler residence near the lake. The day before they
left was hot and sultry, and in the morning Julia sought the
shade of a large vine-wreathed summer-house, which stood
in the garden, near by the tree, under which Rondeau had
buried his master's letter.

One word now about our old friend Rondeau. The
buried letter had cost him a world of trouble. He was constantly
fearful lest he should be detected. Particularly was
he afraid that the author of the letter, failing to receive an
answer, would write again, and thus he might be exposed.

Twice had he dug up the epistle upon occasions when he
fancied some one of his master's letters bore a similar superscription.
In this way, he had become tolerably familiar
with Mr. Miller's handwriting, which was rather peculiar,
being a large, heavy, back hand.

On the morning when Julia was snugly ensconced in
the summer-house, Rondeau returned from the post-office in
great tribulation.

“What's up now?” asked Leffie, whom Rondeau drew
aside, with a dolefully-grave face.

“Nothing's up,” answered Rondeau, “but the letter has
got to come up! I ain't going to feel like I was a whipped
dog any longer. I'll confess all to Marster George, for see,
here's another just like the buried one.” So saying he held
up Mrs. Carrington's letter, on the envelop of which was
Mr. Miller's writing.

Leffie offered no remonstrance, and as Aunt Dilsey just
then screamed for her, Rondeau went alone to the garden
and proceeded to disinter the buried document. 'Twas but
the work of a moment, and could Julia have been cooling
herself in Greenland, as she ought to have been, all would
have ended well. And now I suppose some indignant reader
will say, “Why didn't you put her in Greenland, then, or
some worse place?” but patience, patience, a little longer.
You would have us tell things just as they were, I suppose,
so we must not only suffer Miss Julia to be in the summer
house, but we must also allow her to be a spectator of Rondeau's
proceedings.

She was greatly surprised when she saw him take from
the cigar-box a much soiled, yellowish-looking letter, and
she could not help feeling that in some way it concerned
herself. Suddenly appearing, she startled Rondeau by saying,
“What are you doing? Whose is that? Give it to
me?”

Rondeau was anxious to conceal from her his long-buried
treasure, and he passed her the other. She took it and recognizing
Mr. Miller's writing, knew also that Rondeau had
given her the wrong one, so she said in a commanding tone,
“What does all this mean? Give me the other one immediately.”

The submissive African, ever obedient to his superiors,
handed her the other letter, and then in a few words told his
story, and announced his intention of confessing all to his
master, at the same time extending his hand to take the letters.
But Julia did not mean he should have them, and she
said, coaxingly, “You have done very wrong, Rondeau, and
your master will undoubtedly be very angry, but I will take
them to him and intercede for you, as you are on the whole
a pretty fine fellow. He'll forgive you for me. I know he
will, but mind, don't you say any thing to him about it until
you've seen me again.”

So saying she returned to the house, and going to her
room, bolted the door. After which, breaking the seal of
the oldest letter, she deliberately read it through, occasionally
uttering a malediction against Mr. Miller, thanking the
good luck which brought it to her hands instead of Dr.
Lacey's and making remarks generally. Said she, “Mighty
good opinion Mr. Quilting-frames has of me (alluding to
Mr. Miller's height), glad I know his mind. A heap of good
the answer to this did him, and his doll wife, too. Hadn't I
better answer it myself? I'd write after this fashion;—
`Mr. Miller,—At first I thought I would treat your letter
with silent contempt, but recently I have concluded to write
and thank you to mind your own business. By order of
George Lacey, Esq.—Julia Middleton, Secretary,'—Yes, that
would serve the meddling old Yankee Dictionary right,”
continued she, and then, as her eye fell upon the remaining letter,

she added, “Yes, I'll read this one too, and see what new
thing I'm guilty of!”

As soon as she broke it open and glanced at the handwriting,
she knew it to be from Mrs. Carrington, “What
now?” said she, “what has Mrs. Carrington got to say about
me?”

A rapid perusal of the letter showed her what Mrs. Carrington
had to say, and she continued her remarks as follows:
“She has described me quite accurately. I didn't
suppose she knew me so well. I wonder who'll write next!
It seems every body is in league against me, but I'm enough
for any body there is in Kentucky; and,” she added, in a
lower tone, “I wouldn't hesitate to try my strength with
Satan himself;” but even then the dark girl trembled as she
thought there was a God, whom none could withstand, and
who, one day, would inevitably overtake her.

Quickly as possible she drove such unpleasant thoughts
from her mind, and then tried to devise the best plan for
managing Mrs. Carrington. “For Mr. Miller's letter,” said
she, “I care nothing. It was written so long ago that he
has ceased expecting an answer, but I well know Mrs. Carrington's
designs, and she will continue to write until she
receives some reply. I have once successfully counterfeited
Dr. Lacey's handwriting, and can do it again. I'll send her
something that will quiet her nerves better than assafœtida!”

This settled, she went in quest of Rondeau, whom she
told, that, as she had expected, his master was very much
displeased, “but,” said she, “after I interceded a while for
you, he said he would forgive you on condition that you
were never guilty of the like again, and never mention
the subject to him in any way, as it makes him angry to
talk about it.” To both these conditions Rondeau readily
agreed, and Julia left him, thinking she was safe in that
quarter.

Several days after, Mrs. Carrington received a letter
which she supposed came from Dr. Lacey. In it she was
coolly requested not to interfere in other people's matters, and
told that any efforts on her part to engraft herself into Dr.
Lacey's good graces by maligning Julia, would be useless,
and only serve to confirm him in his present low opinion of
her, while at the same time, it would increase the high estimation
in which he held Miss Middleton!

After that Mrs. Carrington troubled Dr. Lacey with no
more letters, but busied herself in anticipating the capture
of a wealthy gentleman, who, Ashton told her, was, in the
course of two or three months, coming on from Charleston,
South Carolina.

The scene now changes from Dr. Lacey's to the “Indian
Nest,” on the lake shore. 'Twas a charming spot, and looked
as if intended only for the habitation of the pure and innocent.
Yet even there, was crafty ambition and base deceit.
Julia was there, eagerly seeking to wind her coils securely
around her long watched-for prey. To all eyes but her own
she seemed not likely to succeed, for though Dr. Lacey admired
her, and possibly treated her with more attention than
he did either Mabel or Florence, yet his heart still turned to
Fanny, and for hours he would sit, talking to Julia of her
sister, while she schooled herself to answer all his questions
without one sign of impatience.

Occasionally she would speak to Dr. Lacey of his cousin,
young Stanton, and would tell how much pleasure Fanny
seemed to take in his society. But this produced no effect,
for Dr. Lacey had learned from Stanton himself of his approaching
marriage with Miss Ashton. Then Julia pulled
another string and expatiated so largely upon Frank Cameron's
sayings and doings, that Dr. Lacey became really uneasy,
for recently he had thought seriously of again writing
to Fanny, and now he determined to do so.

Without knowing it, Julia was herself the means of causing
this determination to be carried into effect. One night
she and Dr. Lacey had been strolling for more than an hour
through the many delightful walks in the garden, which lay
upon the lake shore. To her great satisfaction, they were
entirely alone, for Mr. Middleton and Florence were engaged
in their favorite game of chess, while Mabel was eagerly
listening to Ashton, who was relating to her some of his
India adventures. Mabel had good sense enough to know
that her efforts to win Dr. Lacey would be useless, and rather
reluctantly she had given him up. Now her eyes grew
brighter and her heart beat faster whenever Ashton approached.
But, fair Mabel, your hopes are all in vain.

As we have before said, Julia was delighted at having
Dr. Lacey thus to herself, and she resolved to increase the
favorable impression she knew she had already made upon
him. Most admirably was her part played. Fanny herself
could not have been more gentle and agreeable, than was
Julia, as, together with Dr. Lacey, she traversed the broad
walks of the garden. Sweet and soothing were the words
she poured into his ear, occasionally administering a little
well-timed flattery, and wishing, as she had once done before
to another individual in similar circumstances, that Dr.
Lacey had been her brother. He did not, like Mr. Wilmot,
follow up this wish by a proposition that as he was not her
brother, she should accept him for a husband, but he pressed
the hand, which, with seeming unconsciousness, had been
placed on his, and said, “God knows how ardently I once
hoped to be your brother, Julia.”

“And would you then have loved me?” said Julia, “me,
whom few have ever loved, because they did not know me;
say, would you have loved me as a sister?”

The face of her who awaited Dr. Lacey's answer was very
beautiful, while tears moistened the long eyelashes, which
veiled the large, bright eyes, and the tones of her voice, now
more like Fanny's than ever, thrilled his every nerve. What
wonder then, that his lips for the first time touched the
polished brow of the tempter, as he said, “It would be no
hard task, Julia, to love you with more than a brother's
love.”

“One more well aimed blow,” thought Julia, “and I
shall have him at my feet;” but she was mistaken. Between
herself and Dr. Lacey there rose the image of one, the remembrance
of whom had a power to prevent the utterance
of words, which otherwise might have been spoken.

Abruptly changing the conversation, he drew her rather
reluctantly towards the house, which they reached, just in
time to hear Florence exclaim as she scattered the chess
men over the floor, “Why, Uncle Billy Middleton, what do
you mean? Put yourself up to be played for, and then
beat me; shame, shame.”

“What is all this about?” asked Dr. Lacey, having
some inkling of the truth.

“Why,” answered Florence, “you see, Mr. Middleton
has conceived a fatherly affection for me, and as he is rather
rusty in such matters, he could think of no better way of
proposing, than to put himself up as a prize, and tell me if
I beat him in playing chess, he would be mine, or in other
words, make me Mrs. Billy Middleton.”

“And who beat?” asked Julia.

“Why, Mr. Middleton was ill-mannered enough to win,”
said Florence, “but then, it was such fun to see how desperately
he played, for fear I should get him! Now, Dr. Lacey,

I suppose you have been proposing to Julia in the real old,
orthodox way, but that is too common. You must sit down
at the chess board and let Julia play for you,” and she pushed
them both towards the chairs, which she and Mr. Middleton
had just vacated.

Julia did not refuse, but Dr. Lacey, freeing himself from
Florence, said, “Excuse me to-night, Miss Woodburn. Perhaps
at some other time I will comply with your request,”
then bowing, he left the verandah and went to his own
room.

When there he strove to recall the events of the evening,
and the words he had involuntarily spoken to Julia. “Why
is it,” said he, “that I feel so uneasy whenever I am alone
with her? Is it that I love her and am afraid I shall tell her
so? No, that cannot be. I do not love her; and yet, next
to Fanny, she is more agreeable to me than any one else.”

Memories of other days came thronging about him, and
he then resolved again to write, and beseech Fanny at least
to grant him her second love, even if her first, best affections
had been given to another.

“Suppose she refuse you,” seemed whispered in his
ear.

It must have been some evil spirit, which prompted the
reply, “Then I will marry Julia, as being next and nearest
to Fanny.” His resolution once taken, he proceeded to
carry it into effect. The letter was written, and over Dr.
Lacey came a sense of relief,—a feeling that he had escaped
from something, he knew not what. But she, who was
upon his track, was more wily, more crafty, than any thing
he had ever imagined.

This time, however, her interference was not necessary,
for early next morning, a carriage drew up in front of the
Indian Nest. From it sprang Lida Gibson, who had recently
returned from New-York. She was full of talk, and within

an hour after her arrival, the story of Fanny's engagement
with Frank Cameron had been repeated in Dr. Lacey's
hearing, at least three times.

“It must be true,” said Lida, “for every one said so, and
their actions proclaimed it, if nothing more; besides, Mr.
Cameron's sister Gertrude herself told me it was so.”

“I am not surprised,” said Julia and her uncle both.

For Julia's opinion Dr. Lacey possibly might not have
cared, but when Mr. Middleton too added his testimony, the
matter was settled. The letter was not sent.

During the day Lida wondered much why Dr. Lacey
stayed so closely in his room. “I should think he would
roast in there,” said she. “I do wonder what he is about.”

“I fancy,” answered Florence, “that he still loves Fanny,
and now that she is engaged, he is staying alone until he
gets his rebellious heart tied up.”

When Lida afterwards learned the truth, she expressed
a wish that her tongue might have been cut out, ere she
had been the bearer of news which caused so much trouble.

While Dr. Lacey was securely bolted in his room, nerving
himself to bear this fresh disappointment, and striving
to drive each thought of Fanny from him, Julia too was
alone, and busily engaged. What pains she took to rub and
soil those tiny sheets of paper, until they assumed a worn
and crumpled look. Then dipping her finger in the silver
goblet at her side, what perfect tear blots she made, and how
she exulted over the probable success of her morning's work.
When it was finished, she placed it in her portfolio, and
waited for a favorable opportunity.

It came not that day, however, for save at meal time
Dr. Lacey made not his appearance. To Mr. Middleton's
inquiries concerning the reason of his seclusion, he replied,
“that he was busy with important matters;” but his abstracted
manner led Mr. Middleton to believe what he had long

suspected, viz., that Dr. Lacey's heart was wholly centered
upon Fanny, and that the news of her coming marriage was
the cause of his unhappiness.

Next morning's sun rose clear and bright, but it brought
a day which Dr. Lacey long, long remembered, and which
Julia, in the bitterness of her heart, cursed many and many
a time. In the early part of the morning, Dr. Lacey wandered
down to a small arbor, which stood at the foot of the
garden. He had not been there long before Julia, too,
came tripping down the walk, with her portfolio and drawing
pencil. So absorbed was she in her own thoughts that
she of course did not see Dr. Lacey until she had entered
the arbor; then, with a most becoming blush and start, she
said, “Pray pardon me for disturbing you. I had no idea
you were here.”

Dr. Lacey, of course, insisted upon her staying. She
knew he would, and sitting down, she busied herself in looking
over the contents of her portfolio. Suddenly she heaved
a deep sigh, and Dr. Lacey looked up just in time to see her
wipe something from her eyes, or pretend to, which must
have been tears. At the same time she hastily thrust a
paper back into her portfolio, which she immediately shut.

“What is the matter?” asked Dr. Lacey. For whom
was that sigh, and those tears?”

“For poor Fan,” answered Julia. “I have accidentally
found a part of an old journal, which she kept while Mr.
Wilmot was living.”

“May I see it?” asked Dr. Lacey.

Julia seemed at first reluctant, but finally replied, “Perhaps
it will be as well to let you do so, for you may then
judge more kindly of Fanny;” and she placed in his hands
the soiled sheets of paper, which we saw in her room.

Leaning back, she watched him while he read. As we
have as much right to read Fanny's journal as Dr. Lacey,
we will here give a few brief extracts:—

April—“Cease your wild beatings, my heart. Mr. Wilmot
is promised to Julia. He will never be mine, but nought
can prevent my loving him; aye, for ever and ever.”

August 1st. “I do not believe I am indifferent to Mr.
Wilmot, but he will be true to his vows,—he will wed Julia;
and this doctor that bothers me so, what of him? Why, he
is wealthy, and high, and handsome,—but I do not love
him; and yet, if he offers himself I shall say yes, for, as Mrs.
Carrington says, `he is a great catch.”'

Sept. 5th. “Mr. Wilmot is dead, and with him died
my poor, poor heart. Had he lived, he possibly might have
turned to me, for Julia knew how much I loved him. Dear,
generous Julia, how I wish Dr. Lacey would love her, for she
is more worthy of him than I am.”

Jan. 1st. “Heigh ho, I'm engaged to Dr. Lacey! Who
would think it! Now am I happy? Oh no.—Out in the
graveyard lies one who could have made me happy. Ought
I thus to deceive Dr. Lacey? Why, yes; if he is satisfied,
it is well enough. I am ambitious, and if I can't marry for
love, I will for money. And then he's given me so beautiful
a piano. Oh, I hope he'll send me more presents after
he gets home!”

Jan. 15th. “Dr. Lacey has gone, and Ifeel relieved!
But just think of it,—Julia loves him devotedly. I wish he
knew it. She has always loved him and tries to make me
do the same. She read me a sermon to-day two hours long
about my duty. Fudge on my duty! As long as I can
make Joshua and Dr. Lacey think I'm all sunshine, it's no
matter if my love is all moonshine.”

This journal was interspersed here and there with tears,
and was so exact an imitation of Fanny's writing that Dr.
Lacey was completely duped. He however wondered that
Julia should show it to him. She had foreseen this, and as
he was reading the last few lines, she was looking over her
portfolio. Suddenly springing up she snatched the paper
from his hands, saying, “Oh, what have I done? I've shown
you the wrong part of the journal. I did not mean you to
see this. What shall I do? You'll hate Fanny and despise
me.”

“Why despise you?” asked Dr. Lacey.

“Because,” replied Julia, “you will dislike me for the
foolish thing, which Fan wrote about me. I could not
help her writing it.”

“And is it true?” asked Dr. Lacey,

“Oh, you must not ask me that—I can't tell,—I shan't
tell,”—and seizing her portfolio, Julia darted off towards the
house, thinking possibly she should be pursued. But she
was not.

During the reading of the journal Dr. Lacey's heart
seemed to go through a benumbing process, which rendered
it perfectly palsied. No emotion either of love or anger did
he feel towards Fanny. She was nought to him.

And how did the knowledge that Julia loved him affect
him? Answer, any man, whether your wounded pride is
never soothed by woman's sympathy, and love, come in what
garb it may. And in Dr. Lacey's case, it was a being of wondrous
beauty, who knew well what she was about and had
marked each inch of ground ere she trod upon it. What
marvel then that Dr. Lacey turned towards her. You
would have done so; aye, perchance, sooner than he did.

That evening after supper, as Dr. Lacey was walking
upon the verandah, Florence approached him, saying, “Come,

Dr. Lacey, now fulfil your promise of playing with Julia,”
at the same time leading him towards the place where her
companions were seated. “Now,” said she, placing the
chess board in his hands, “I am mistress of ceremonies.
We will have a fair understanding. If Julia beats, you shall
be hers; if you beat, Mabel and Lida shall draw cuts for
you. Do you agree to it?”

“Certainly,” was Dr. Lacey's reply, at the same time
seating himself opposite Julia, who gave him a look of
searching inquiry. He understood her and in a low tone
answered, “I am in earnest. Do your best.”

And she did do her best. With one strong effort of
the will, she concentrated all her energies upon that game,
which she felt would decide her fate. Dr. Lacey, too, as if
resolved to conquer, played most skilfully. The bystanders
for a time looked on, and as Lida noticed the livid hue of
Julia's face, she said, “Pray, Julia, don't burst a bloodvessel,
for may be Dr. Lacey will have you, even if you do not
beat.”

But the ear she addressed was deaf save to the quiet
sound of the chess men. The contest was long and severe.
Nine, ten, eleven, struck the little clock in the hall. One
by one the spectators stole away. Florence's parting words
were, “If Dr. Lacey beats, be sure and wake us, Julia, so
Mabel and Lida can draw cuts.”

And now they were alone. Once and only once Julia
glanced at the face of her antagonist. It was white and colorless
as her own hand, which wandered steadily over the chess
board. The final spell was upon him and he seemed striving
hard to shake it off. 'Twas all in vain. The little clock
struck the hour of midnight. The game was ended. Julia
had won! Dr. Lacey was checkmated!

With one hand he rapidly swept the board of its occupants,
while the other he extended towards Julia, saying,

“Take it.—'Tis all I can offer, for you well know I have
no heart to give. My hand and name you have won,—they
are yours.”

A person less intriguing or determined than Julia, would
have scorned to receive a hand so coldly offered. But not
so with her. She did not expect any protestations of love,
for she knew he felt none. Yet she was hardly satisfied,
and resolved upon one movement more ere she accepted
what she felt was reluctantly given.

“You are mistaken in me,” said she, “if you think I
will play for a husband, and then expect him to comply
with the terms, unless he chooses to do so.”

Dr. Lacey replied, “When I consented to play, I knew
what I was about, and I know, too, that you love me. I
cannot say the same to you in return, but you are far from
being indifferent to me. When I first knew you, I disliked
you, for I believed you to be passionate, jealous, and designing,
nor do I think my opinion of you then was wrong; but
you are changed, very much changed. Continue to be what
you are now, and we may be happy, for I may learn to love
you, but never as fondly, as madly, as I loved your sister;
aye, as I could love her again; but enough of this. She
was false; she deceived me, and now I will wed you.”

And what said Julia to all this? Why, she sat bolt upright,
listening attentively while Dr. Lacey expressed his former
and present opinion of her. When he had finished, she
ventured to acknowledge her love for him; said she had always
loved him, and that as his wife she would try to make
him happy. Perhaps she was sincere in this, for she did
love Dr. Lacey as well as her selfish nature would suffer her
to love any one, and she had resolved, if she ever married
him, to do all in her power, to atone, if possible, for the past.

A half hour longer they conversed of the future, and

arranged the plan, which Julia next day wrote to her sister.
At last Dr. Lacey exclaimed, “Come, Julia, you must go
now; it is getting late, for see,”—pointing to the little clock;
—but as if astonished at what it had heard, the clock had
stopped!