University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
WHAT ROVER FOUND.

Unmindful of the sleet beating upon his uncovered head,
Hugh hastened to the spot, where the noble brute was
licking a baby face, which he had ferreted out from beneath
the shawl wrapped so carefully around it to shield
it from the cold, for instead of one there were two in that
drift of snow — a mother and her child! Dead the former
seemed, for the white cheek which Hugh touched was
cold as stone, and with a sickening feeling the young man
leaned against the gate-post and tried to assure himself
that what he saw was a mere fancy of the brain. But it
was terribly real. That stiffened form lying there so still,
hugging that sleeping child so closely to its bosom, was
no delusion, and his mother's voice, calling to know what
he was doing, brought Hugh back at last to a consciousness
that he must act immediately.

“Mother,” he screamed, “send a servant here, quick,
or let Ad come herself. There's a woman dead, I fear. I
can carry her well enough, but Ad must come for the
child.”

“The what?” gasped Mrs. Worthington, who, terrified
beyond measure at the mention of a dead woman, was
doubly so at hearing of a child. “A child,” she repeated,
“whose child?” while 'Lina, shrinking back from the

keen blast, refused to obey, and so the mother, throwing
her cloak around her, joined the group by the gate.

Carefully Hugh lifted the light figure in his arms and
bore it to the house, where 'Lina, whose curiosity had overercome
her selfishness, met him on the piazza and led the
way to the sitting-room, asking innumerable questions as
to how he found her and who she was.

Hugh made no reply save an order that the lounge
should be brought near the fire and a pillow from his
mother's bed. “From mine, then,” he added, as he saw
the anxious look in his mother's face, and guessed that
she shrank from having her own snowy pillow come in
contact with the wet, limpid figure he was depositing upon
the lounge. It was a slight, girlish form, and the long
brown hair, loosened from its confinement, fell in rich profusion
over the pillow which 'Lina brought half reluctantly,
eyeing askance the insensible object before her, and
daintily holding back her dress lest it should come in contact
with the child her mother had deposited upon the
floor, where it lay crying lustily, unnoticed save by Rover,
who, quite as awkward as his master would have been
in like circumstances, seemed trying to amuse and protect
it, interposing his shaggy proportions between that and
the fire when once it showed a disposition to creep that
way.

“Do one of you do something,” Hugh said, as he saw
how indisposed both his mother and sister were to help,
the former being too much frightened and the latter too
indignant to act.

The idea of a strange woman being thrust upon them
in this way was highly displeasing to Miss 'Lina, who
haughtily drew back from the little one when it stretched
its arms out toward her, while its pretty lip quivered and
the tears dropped over its rounded cheek. To her it was
nothing but an intruder, a brat, and so she steeled her
heart against its touching appeal, and turned her back upon

it, leaving for Rover the kindly office of soothing the
infant.

Meantime Hugh, with all a woman's tenderness, had
done for the now reviving stranger what he could, and as
his mother began to collect her scattered senses and evince
some interest in the matter, he withdrew to call the negroes,
judging it prudent to remain away awhile, as his
presence might be an intrusion. From the first he had
felt sure that the individual thrown upon his charity was
not a low, vulgar person, as his sister seemed to think.
He had not yet seen her face distinctly, for it lay in the
shadow, but the long, flowing hair, the delicate hands, the
white neck, of which he had caught a glimpse as his
mother unfastened the stiffened dress, all these had made
an impression, and involuntarily repeating to himself,
“Poor girl,” he strode a second time across the drifts
which lay in his back yard and was soon pounding at old
Chloe's cabin door, bidding her and Hannah dress at once
and come immediately to the house.

“They will need hot water most likely,” he thought
and returning to the kitchen he built the fire himself and
then sat down to wait until such time as it was proper for
him to appear again in the sitting-room, where a strange
scene was enacting.

The change of atmosphere and the restoratives applied
had done their work, and Mrs. Worthington saw that the
long eyelashes began to tremble, while a faint color stole
into the hitherto colorless cheeks, and at last the large,
brown eyes unclosed and looked into hers with an expression
so mournful, that a thrill of yearning tenderness for
the desolate young creature shot through her heart, and
bending down she said, kindly, “Are you better now?”

“Yes, thank you. Where is Willie?” was the low response,
the tone of the voice thrilling Mrs. Worthington
with an undefinable emotion. Even 'Lina started, it was
so low, so sweet, so musical, and coming near she answered

`If it's the baby you mean, he is here, playing with
our dog, Rover.”

There was a look of gratitude in the brown eyes, while
the white lips moved slowly, and Mrs. Worthington caught
the whispered words of thanksgiving that baby Willie
was safe.

“Where am I? she said next, and is he here? Is this
his house?”

“Whose house?” Mrs. Worthington asked. Whom
are you looking for?”

The girl did not answer at once, and when she did her
mind seemed wandering.

“I waited so long,” she said, “and watched from morning
till dark, but he never came again, only the letter
which broke my heart. Willie was a wee baby then, and
I almost hated him for awhile, but he wasn't to blame.
I wasn't to blame. Our Father in Heaven knew I wasn't
and after I went to him and told him all about it, and
asked him to care for Adah, the first terrible pain was over
and love for Willie came back with a hope that the letter
might be false. I'm glad God gave me Willie now, even
if he did take his father from me.”

Mrs. Worthington and her daughter exchanged curious
glances of wonder, and the latter abruptly asked,

“Where is Willie's father?”

“I don't know,” came in a wailing sob from the depths
of the pillow where the face for a moment hid itself from
view.

“Where did you come from?” was the next question,
put in a tone so cold and harsh that the young girl looked
up in some alarm, and answered meekly,

“From New York, ma'am. It's a great ways off, and I
thought I'd never get here, but every body was so kind to
me and Willie, and the driver said if 'twan't so late, and
he so many passengers, he'd drive across the fields. He
pointed out the way and I came on alone. I saw the light

off on the hill and tried to hurry, but the snow blinded me
so bad and Willie was so heavy, that I fell down by the
gate, and guess I went to sleep, for I remember dreaming
that the angels were watching over me, and covering
Willie with the snow to keep him warm.”

The color had faded now from Mrs. Worthington's face,
for a terrible suspicion of she scarcely knew what had darted
across her mind, and very timidly she asked again,

“Whom did you hope to find?”

“Mr. Worthington. Does he live here?” was the frank
reply; whereupon 'Lina, with crimsoning cheek, drew herself
up haughtily, exclaiming,

“I knew it. I've thought so ever since Hugh came home
from New York.”

In her joy at having, as she supposed, found something
tangible against her provoking brother — some weapon
with which to ward off his offensive attacks upon her own
deceit and want of truth — 'Lina forgot that she had never
seen much of him until several months after his return
from New York, at which time she had become, from necessity,
a member of his household and dependent upon
his bounty. 'Lina was unreasonable, and without stopping
to consider the effect her remarks would have upon the
young girl, she was about to commence a tirade of abuse,
when the mother interposed, and with an air of greater
authority than she generally assumed toward her imperious
daughter, bade her keep silence while she questioned
the stranger, gazing wonderingly from one to the other,
as if uncertain what they meant.

Mrs. Worthington had no such feelings for the girl as
'Lina entertained. If she were anything to Hugh, and the
circumstances thus far favored that belief, then she was
something to Hugh's mother, and the kind heart of the
matron went out toward her even more strongly than it
had done at first.

“It will be easier to talk with you,” she said, leaning
forward, “if I knew what to call you.”

“Adah,” was the response, and the brown eyes, swimming
with tears, sought the face of the questioner with a
wistful eagerness.

“Adah, you say. Well, then, Adah, why have you
come to my son on such a night as this, and what is he to
you?”

“Are you his mother?” and Adah started up. “I did
not know he had one. “Oh, I'm so glad. And you'll be
kind to me, who never had a mother?”

A person who never had a mother was an anomaly to
Mrs. Worthington, whose powers of comprehension were
not the clearest imaginable.

“Never had a mother!” she repeated. “How can that
be?”

A smile flitted for a moment across Adah's pale face,
and then she answered,

“I never knew a mother's care, I mean. There is some
mystery which I could not fathom, only sometimes there
comes up visions of a cottage with water near, and there's
a lady there with voice and eyes like yours, and somebody
is teaching me to walk — somebody who calls me little
sister, though I've never seen him since. Then there is
confusion, a rolling of wheels, and a hum of some great
city, and that's all I know of mother.”

“But your father? What do you know of him?” said
Mrs. Worthington, and instantly a shadow stole into the
sweet young face, as Adah replied, “Nothing definite.”

“And Hugh? Where did you meet him? And what
is he to you?”

“The only friend I've got in the wide world. May I
see him, please?”

“First tell what he is to you and to this child,”
'Lina rejoined, her black eyes flashing with a gleam, before
which the brown eyes for an instant quailed; then
as if something of a like spirit were called to life in her
bosom, Adah answered calmly,

“Your brother might not like me to tell. I must see
him first — see him alone.”

“One thing more,” and 'Lina held back her mother,
who was starting in quest of Hugh, “are you a wife?”

“Don't, 'Lina,” Mrs. Worthington whispered, as she
saw the look of agony pass over Adah's face. “Don't
worry her so; deal kindly by the fallen.”

“I am not fallen!” came passionately from the quivering
lips. “I'm as true a woman as either of you —
look!” and she pointed to the golden band encircling the
third finger.

'Lina was satisfied, and needed no further explanations.
To her, it was plain as daylight. Two years before Hugh
had gone to New York on business connected with his
late uncle's affairs, and in an unguarded moment had married
some poor girl, whose pretty face had pleased his fancy.
Tiring of her, as of course he would, he had deserted
her, keeping his marriage a secret, and she had followed
him to Spring Bank. These were the facts as 'Lina read
them, and though she despised her brother for it, she was
more than half glad. Hugh could never taunt her again
with double dealing, for wouldn't she pay him back if he
did, with his neglected, disowned wife and child? She
knew they were his, and it was a resemblance to Hugh,
which she had noticed from the first in Willie's face.
How glad 'Lina was to have this hold upon her brother,
and how eagerly she went in quest of him, keeping back
old Chloe and Hannah until she had witnessed his humiliation.

Somewhat impatient of the long delay, Hugh sat in the
dingy kitchen, watching the tallow candle spluttering in
its iron socket, and wondering who it was he had rescued
from the snow, when 'Lina appeared, and with an air of
injured dignity, bade him follow her.

“What's up now that Ad looks so solemn like?” was
Hugh's mental comment as he took his way to the room

where, in a half reclining position Adah lay, her large,
bright eyes fixed eagerly upon the door through which
he entered, and a bright flush upon her cheek called up
by the suspicions to which she had been subjected.

Perhaps they might be true. She did not know. Nobody
knew or could tell her unless it were Hugh, and she
waited for him so anxiously, starting when she heard a
manly step and knew that he was coming. For an instant
she scanned his face curiously to assure herself that
it was he, then with an imploring cry as if for him to
save her from some dreaded evil she stretched her little
hands toward him and sobbed, “Mr. Worthington, was it
true? Was it a real thing, or only sheer mockery, as his
letter said? George, George Hastings, you know,” and
shedding back from her white face the wealth of flowing
hair, Adah waited for the answer, which did not come at
once. In utter amazement Hugh gazed upon the stranger,
and then with an interjection of astonishment, exclaimed,

“Adah, Adah Hastings, why are you here?”

In the tone of his voice surprise was mingled with disapprobation,
the latter of which Adah detected at once,
and as if it had crushed out the last lingering hope, she
covered her face with her hands and sobbed piteously,

“Don't you turn against me, or I'll surely die, and I've
come so far to find you.”

By this time Hugh was himself again. His rapid,
quick-seeing mind had taken in both the past and the
present, and turning to his mother and sister, he said,

“Leave us alone for a time. I will call you when you
are needed and, Ad, remember, no listening by the door,”
he continued, as he saw how disappointed 'Lina seemed.

Rather reluctantly Mrs. Worthington and her daughter
left the room, and Hugh was alone with Adah, whose
face was still hidden in her hands, and whose body shook
with strong emotion. Deliberately turning the key in the
lock, Hugh advanced to her side, and kneeling by the

couch, said, kindly, “I am more pained to see you here
than I can well express. Why did you come, and where
is —?”

The name was lost to 'Lina, listening outside, in spite
of her brother's injunction. Neither could she understand
the passionate, inaudible response. She only knew
that sobs and tears were mingled with it, that there was
a rustling of paper, which Adah bade Hugh read, asking
if it were true. This was all 'Lina could hear, and muttering
to herself, “It does not sound much like man and
and wife,” she rather unwillingly quitted her position, and
and Hugh was really alone with Adah.

Never was Hugh in so awkward a position before, or so
uncertain how to act. The sight of that sobbing, trembling,
wretched creature, had perfectly unmanned him,
making him almost as much a woman as herself. Sitting
down by her side, he laid her poor aching head upon his
own broad bosom, and pushing back her long, bright hair,
tried to soothe her into quiet, while he candidly confessed
that he feared the letter was true. It had occurred to
him at the time, he said, that all was not right, but he had
no suspicion that it could be so bad as it now seemed or
he would have felled to the floor every participant in the
cruel farce, which had so darkened Adah's life. It was a
dastardly act, he said, pressing closer to him the light
form quivering with anguish. He knew how innocent
she was, and he held her in his arms as he would once
have held the Golden Haired had she come to him with
a tale of woe.

“Let me see that letter again,” he said, and taking the
crumpled sheet, stained with Adah's tears, he turned it to
the light and read once more the cruel lines, in which
there was still much of love and pity for the poor, helpless
thing, to whom they were addressed.

“You will surely find friends who will care for you,
until the time when I may come to really make you
mine.”

Hugh repeated these words twice, aloud, his lip curling
with contempt for the man who could so coolly thrust upon
others a charge which should have been so sacred; and
his heart, throbbing with the noble resolve, that the confidence
she had placed in him by coming there, should not
be abused, for he would be true to the trust, and care for
poor, little, half-crazed Adah, moaning so piteously beside
him, and as he read the last line, saying eagerly,

“He speaks of coming back. Do you think he ever
will? or could I find him if I should try? I thought of
starting once, but it was so far; and there was Willie.
Oh, if he could see Willie! Mr. Worthington, do you
believe he loves me one bit?” and in the eyes there was
a look as if the poor creature were famishing for the love
whose existence she was questioning.

Hugh did not understand the nature of a love which
could so deliberately abandon one like Adah. It was not
such love as he had cherished for the Golden Haired,
but men were not alike; and so he said, at last, that the
letter contained many assurances of affection, and pleadings
for forgiveness for the great wrong committed.

“It seems family pride has something to do with it. I
wonder where his people live, or who they are? Did he
never tell you?”

“No;” and Adah shook her head mournfully. “There
was something strange about it. He never gave me the
slightest clue. He only told how proud they were, and
how they would spurn a poor girl like me; and said, we
must keep it a secret until he had won them over. If I
could only find them!”

“Would you go to them?” Hugh asked quickly; and
Adah answered,

“Sometimes I've thought I would. I'd brave his proud
mother — I'd lay Willie in her lap. I'd tell her whose he
was, and then I'd go away and die. They could not harm
my Willie!” and the young girl mother glanced proudly

at her sleeping boy. Then, after a pause, she continued,
“Once, Mr. Worthington, when my brain was all on fire,
I went down to the river, and said I'd end my wretched
life, but God, who was watching me, held me back. He
cooled my scorching head — he eased the pain, and on
the very spot where I meant to jump, I kneeled down and
said, `Our Father.' No other words would come, only
these, `Lead us not into temptation.' Wasn't it kind in
God to save me?”

There was a radiant expression in the sweet face as Adah
said this, but it quickly passed away and was succeeded
by one of deep concern, when Hugh abruptly asked,

“Do you believe in God?”

“Oh, Mr. Worthington. Don't you? You do, you
must, you will,” and Adah shrank away from him as from
a monster.

The action reminded him of the Golden Haired, when
on the deck of the St. Helena he had asked her a similar-question,
and anxious further to probe the opinion of the
girl beside him, he continued,

“If, as you think, there is a God who knew and saw
when you were about to drown yourself, why didn't he
prevent the cruel wrong to you? Why did he suffer
it?”

“What He does we know not now, but we shall know
hereafter,” Adah said, reverently, adding, “If George had
feared God, he would not have left me so; but he didn't,
and perhaps he says there is no God — but you don't,
Mr. Worthington. Your face don't look like it. Tell me
you believe,” and in her eagerness Adah grasped his arm
beseechingly.

“Yes, Adah, I believe,” Hugh answered, half jestingly,
“but it's such as you that make me believe, and as persons
of your creed think every thing is ordered for good,
so possibly you were permitted to suffer that you might
come here and benefit me. I think I must keep you, until
he is found.”

“No, no,” and the tears flowed at once, “I cannot be a
burthen to you. I have no claim.”

“Why then did you come at all?” Hugh asked, and
Adah answered,

“For a time after I received the letter every thing was
so dark that I didn't realize, and couldn't think of any
thing. But when the landlady hinted those terrible
things, and finally told me I must leave to give place to
a respectable woman, that's just what she said, a respectable
woman, with a child who knew its own father, then I
woke up and tried to think of something, but the more I
tried, the more I couldn't, till at last I prayed so hard one
night, that God would tell me what to do, and suddenly
I remembered you and your good, kind, honest face, just
as it looked when you spoke to me after it was over, and
called me by the new name. Oh, dear, oh, dear,” and
gasping for breath, Adah leaned against Hugh's arm, sobbing
bitterly.

After a moment she grew calm again, and continued,

“I wrote down your name, and where you lived, though
why I did not know, and I forgot where I put it, but as if
God really were helping me I found it in my old port folio,
and something bade me come, for you perhaps would
know if it was true. It was sometime before I could
fully decide to come, and in that time I hardly know how I
lived, or where. George left me money, and sent more,
but it's most gone now. But I must not stay. I can
take care of myself.

“What can you do?” Hugh asked, and Adah replied,
sadly,

“I don't know, but God will find me something. I
never worked much, but I can learn, and I can already
sew neatly, too; besides that, a few days before I decided
to come here, I advertised in the Herald for some
place as governess or ladies' waiting-maid. Perhaps I'll
hear from that.”

“It's hardly possible. Such advertisements are thick
as blackberries,” Hugh said, and then in a few brief
words, he marked out Adah's future course.

George Hastings might or might not return to claim
her, and whether he did or didn't, she must live meantime,
and where so well as at Spring Bank.

“I do not like women much,” he said, but something
makes me like you, pity, I reckon, and I'm going to take
care of you until that scoundrel turns up; then, if you
say so, I'll surrender you to his care, or better yet, I'll
shoot him and keep you to myself. Not as a sweetheart,
or anything of that kind,” he hastened to add, as he saw
the flush on Adah's cheek. “Hugh Worthington has
nothing to do with that species of the animal kingdom,
but as my sister Adah!” and as Hugh repeated that name,
there arose in his great heart an undefinable wish that
the gentle girl beside him had been his sister instead of
the high tempered Adaline, who never tried to conciliate
or understand him, and whom Hugh could not love as
brothers should love sisters.

He knew how impatiently she was waiting now to know
the result of that interview, and just how much opposition
he should meet when he announced his intention of keeping
Adah. But Hugh was master of Spring Bank; his
will was all powerful, and not an entire world could move
him when once he was determined. Still contention was
not agreeable, and he oftentimes yielded a point rather
than dispute. But this time he was firm. Without any
intention of wronging Adah, he still felt as if in some
way he had been instrumental to her ruin, and now when
she came to him for help, he would not cast her off,
though the keeping her would subject him to a multitude
of unpleasant remarks, surmises and suspicions from the
people of Glen's Creek, to say nothing of his mother's
and 'Lina's displeasure. Added to this was another objection,
a serious one, which most men would have

weighed carefully before deciding to burden themselves
with two additional individuals. Though the owner of
Spring Bank, Hugh was far from being rich, and many
were the shifts and self denials he was obliged to make
to meet the increased expense entailed upon him by his
mother and sister. John Stanley had been accounted
wealthy, but at his death there was nothing left, save a
few acres of nearly worn out land, the old dilapidated
house, and a dozen or more negroes. With good management
this was amply sufficient to supply Hugh's limited
wants, and he was looking forward to a life of careless
ease, when his mother from New England wrote, asking
for a home. Hugh did not know then as well as he did
now what it would cost to keep a young lady of his sister's
habits. He only knew that his home was far different
from the New England one he remembered so well,
but such as it was he would share it with his mother and
sister, and so he had bidden them welcome, concealing
from them as far as possible the trouble he oftentimes had
to meet the increased demand for money which their presence
brought. This to a certain extent was the secret of his
patched boots, his threadbare coat and coarse pants, with
which 'Lina so often taunted him, saying he wore them
just to be stingy and mortify her, when in fact necessity
rather than choice was the cause of his shabby appearance.
He had never told her so, however, never said that
the unfashionable coat so offensive to her fastidious vision
was worn that she might be the better clothed and fed.
Yet such was the case, and now he was deliberately adding
to his already heavy burden. But Hugh was capable
of great self sacrifices. He could manage somehow,
and Adah should stay. He would say that she was a
friend whom he had known in New York; that her husband
had deserted her, and in her distress she had come
to him for aid; for the rest he trusted that time and her
own appearance would wear away any unpleasant impressions
which her presence might create.

All this he explained to Adah, who assented tacitly,
thinking within herself that she should not long remain
at Spring Bank, a dependant upon one on whom she had no
claim. She was too weak now, however, to oppose him,
and merely nodding to his suggestions laid her head upon
the arm of the lounge with a low cry that she was sick
and warm. Stepping to the door Hugh turned the key
and summoning the group waiting anxiously in the adjoining
room, bade them come at once, as Mrs. Hastings appeared
to be fainting. Great emphasis he laid upon the
Mrs. and catching it up at once 'Lina repeated, “Mrs.
Hastings! So am I just as much.”

“Ad,” and the eyes which shone so softly on poor Adah
flashed with gleams of fire as Hugh said to his sister,
“no another word against that girl if you wish to remain
here longer. She has been unfortunate.”

“I guessed as much,” sneeringly interrupted 'Lina.

“Silence!” and Hugh's foot came down as it sometimes
did when chiding a refractory negro. “She is as true, yes,
truer than you. He who should have protected her has
basely deserted her. And I shall care for her. See that
a fire is kindled in the west chamber, and go up yourself
when it is made and see that all is comfortable. Do you
understand?” and he gazed sternly at 'Lina, who was too
much astonished to answer, even if she had been so disposed.

That Hugh should take in a beggar from the streets was
bad enough, but to keep her, and worse yet to put her in
the best chamber, where ex-Governor Russ had slept; and
where was nailed down the carpet, brought from New
England — was preposterous, and Hugh was certainly
crazy. But never was man more sane than Hugh; and
seeing her apparently incapable of carrying out his orders,
he himself sent Hannah to build the fire, bidding her, with

all a woman s forethought, be careful that the bed was aired,
and clothes enough put on. “Take a blanket from my
bed, if necessary,” he added, as Hannah, bewildered with
the “carryin's on,” disappeared up the staircase, a long line
of smoke streaming behind her.

When all was ready, Hugh went for Adah, and taking
her in his arms carried her to the upper chamber, where
the fire was burning brightly, casting cheerful shadows
upon the wall. and making Adah smile gratefully, as she
looked up in his face, and murmured,

“God bless you, Mr. Worthington! Adah will pray for
you to-night, when she is alone. It's all that she can do.”

They laid her upon the bed. Hugh himself arranging
her pillows, which no one else appeared inclined to touch.

Family opinion was against her, innocent and beautiful
as she looked lying there — so helpless, so still, with her
long-fringed lashes shading her colorless cheek, and her
little hands folded upon her bosom, as if already she were
breathing the promised prayer for Hugh. Only in Mrs.
Worthington's heart was there a chord of sympathy. She
couldn't help feeling for the desolate stranger; and when,
at her own request, Hannah placed Willie in her lap, ere
laying him by his mother, she gave him an involuntary hug,
and touched her lips to his fat, round cheek. It was the
first kiss given him at Spring Bank, and it was meet that
it should come from her.

“He looks as you did, Hugh, when you were a baby,”
she said, while Chloe rejoined,

“De very spawn of Mar's Hugh, now. I 'tected it de
fust minit. Can't cheat dis chile,” and, with a chuckle,
which she meant to be very expressive, the fat old woman
waddled from the room, followed by Hannah, who
was to sleep there that night, and who must first return
to her cabin to make the necessary preparations for her
vigils.

Hugh and his mother were alone, and turning to her
son, Mrs. Worthington said, gently,

“This is sad business, Hugh; worse than you imagine.
Do you know how folks will talk?”

“Let them talk,” Hugh growled. “It cannot be much
worse than it is now. Nobody cares for Hugh Worthington;
and why should they, when his own mother and sister
are against him, in actions if not in words? — one
sighing when his name is mentioned, as if he really were
the most provoking son that ever was born, and the other
openly berating him as a monster, a clown, a savage, a
scarecrow, and all that. I tell you, mother, there is but
little to encourage me in the kind of life I'm leading
Neither you nor Ad have tried to make anything of me
or have done me any good; but somehow, I feel as if she
would,” and he pointed to the now sleeping Adah. “At
all events, I know it's right to keep her, and I want you
to help me, will you? That is, will you be kind to her;
and when folks speak against her, as they may, will you
stand for her as for your own daughter? She's more like
you than Ad,” and Hugh gazed wonderingly from one to
the other, struck, for the first time, with a resemblance,
fancied or real, between the two.

Mrs. Worthington did not heed this last, so intent was
she on the first of Hugh's remarks. Choking with tears
she said,

“You wrong me, Hugh; I do try to make something
of you. You are a dear child to me, dearer than the other;
but I'm a weak woman, and 'Lina sways me at will.”

A kind word unmanned Hugh at once, and kneeling by
his mother, he put his arms around her, and begging forgiveness
for his harsh words, asked again a mother's care
for Adah.

“Hugh,” and Mrs. Worthington looked him steadily in
the face, “is Adah your wife, or Willie your child?”

“Great guns, mother!” and Hugh started to his feet as

quick as if a bomb shell had exploded at his side. “No!
by all that's sacred, no! Upon my word, you look sorry
instead of glad! Are you sorry, mother, to find me better
than you imagined it possible for a bad boy like me
to be?”

“No, Hugh, not sorry. I was only thinking that I've
sometimes fancied that, as a married man, you might be
happier; and when this woman came so strangely,
and you seemed so interested, I did'nt know, I rather
thought —”

“I know,” and Hugh interrupted her. “You thought
maybe, I raised Ned when I was in New York; and, as a
proof of said resurrection, Mrs. Ned and Ned junior, had
come with their baggage. But it is not so, she does not
belong to me,” and going up to his mother he told her all
he knew of Adah, adding, “Now will you be kind to her
for my sake? and when Ad rides her highest horse, as
she is sure to do, will you smooth her down? Tell her
Adah has as good right here as she, if I choose to keep
her.”

There was a faint remonstrance on Mrs. Worthington's
part, her argument being based upon what folks would
say, and Hugh's inability to take care of many more.

Hugh did not care a picayune for folks, and as for
Adah, if his mother did not wish her there, and he presumed
she did not, he'd get her boarded for the present
with Aunt Eunice, who, like himself, was invincible to
public opinion she needed just such a companion. She'd
be a mother to Adah, and Adah a daughter to her, so
they needn't spend further time in talking, for he was
getting tired.”

Mrs. Worthington was much more easily won over to
Hugh's opinion than 'Lina, who, when told of the arrangement,
raised a perfect hurricane of expostulations and
tears. They'd be a county talk, she said; nobody would
come near them, and she might as well enter a nunnery

at once; besides, hadn't Hugh enough on his hands already
without taking more?

“If my considerate sister really thinks so, hadn't she
better try and help herself a little?” retorted Hugh in a
blaze of anger. “I've only paid two hundred and fifty
dollars for her since she came here, to say nothing of
that bill at Harney's due in January.”

'Lina began to cry, and Hugh, repenting of his harsh
speech as soon as it was uttered, but far too proud to take
it back, strode up and down the room, chafing like a
young lion.

“Come, children, it's after midnight, let us adjourn
until to-morrow,” Mrs. Worthington said, by way of ending
the painful interview, at the same time handing a candle
to Hugh, who took it silently and withdrew, banging
the door behind him with a force which made 'Lina start
and burst into a fresh flood of tears.

“I'm a brute, a savage, was Hugh's not very self complimentary
soliloquy, as he went up the stairs. “What
did I want to twit Ad for? What good did it do, only
to make her mad and bother mother? I wish I could do
better, but I can't. Confound my badness!” and having
by this time reached his own door, Hugh entered his room,
and drawing a chair to the fire always kindled for him
at night, sat down to think.