"Oh no, Sir! it is the rheumatism; she has a spell every winter," said Charty, in her simple, quiet manner, and hurried from the room. "Oh, charming rusticity!" murmured the invalid "why, she's a perfect little beauty! an angel fledged in sand and red-brown shanties. Upon my word, I'm glad her mother is incapacitated. I shall have something to think of in this dull place, where the very sun looks blocky, and the color of the soil smutches every thing. To be sure the little goddess of this Cape Sahara turned statue-pale and cold when I laughed at her queer name-she's a quick-sighted little witch, and I must mind my P's, Q's, and all the other letters down to Zed, as she would say. Guy Sommers, it's for your advantage to be an interesting invalid as long as you can. Down in the dingy kitchen, its low ceiling shutting in a clouded atmosphere of various steams, Charty flung herself, her lip quivering, her cheeks almost purple-red. "Why, Charty, child, what is the matter ?" Mrs. Spangler put down the horn-handled knife, also the bread with its heart of coarse, red wheat, and its surface of crisp crust, moving to the end of the table where Charty sat. cap on its accustomed peg, asked after the sick man, drew up a chair blackened by age though not weakened through infirmity, and standing reverently at the head of his family, called for the blessing of God on his humble household, fare. As for Charty she at length summoned courage to mount the stairs again and get the breakfast-things; but this time the white kerchief was pinned about her fair neck, and the glossy curls hung in their rich abundance over the pretty temples. Guy had been studying his part. His manners were as courteous, as reverential as if she were the finest lady in the land. languor of illness imparted a dreamy softness to his countenance, and the eyes seemed lazily floating like pearls with purple tints in a sea of liquid crystal. He was not even familiar as one might be with his nurse. In a melodious accent the homely name Charty fell from his lips: it was "Miss Charty, will you please favor-or may I trouble you-it is really asking too much-Oh, I thank you, I thank you!"-almost an excess of grateful enthusiasm. The At last she was rather happy when she thought of it. Like a sweet air that lingers and shapes itself in beauty out of every memory, the words "I'm as good as he is, I guess ;" and a short, dwelt in her mind. She was less in the kitchen, sharp sob followed. "Why, Charty, what did he say to you?" "He laughed at me, mother-he sneered; I won't be laughed at, nor sneered at, no not by a king! I hate him; he's no gentleman." "He shall leave the house, Charty, if he insulted you." "Oh no, no, mother! Not that; I don't suppose he intended to wound my feelings, but he smiled in such a way at my name-my poor, homely name. I wish it had been any thing but Charity:" and a few tears followed. and began to study the shape of her fingers, the softness of her complexion, with unwonted assiduity. In her dreams the good ship Clyde melted away like a phantom, and the dark face of true and tender Neale Conrade grew as a shadow on her deck; she pictured it no longer gazing with loving eyes Capeward, dwelling with quick beating heart upon her fair words to him; she even grew impatient if she found the matter troubling her mind. Fair, fickle, false Charty Spangler! Her mother had given her much of the money devoted to the board of the stranger-" for the poor girl must grow foot-sore," she said to herself. "He seems to want so much more tending and fussing than he used ter," she added; "but that's always the way when folks are gittin' well "I s'pose I'm foolish," half sobbed poor Char--they're so partickler. It's enough to wear ty, thinking again of the almost girlish face and Charty clean out." the white hands-white, slender, and waxen— lying outside on the home-spun quilt. "Maybe he couldn't help it. Charity does sound strange, even to me-Charty is so much more natural." "Well, I must try to hobble up myself, I s'pose; it won't do for you to feel this way every time you tend him," sighed Mrs. Spangler. "I say he sha'n't stay here if he acted in any way unbecoming. He was uncommon pleasant with me, though," added the good woman in a softened tone. "No, mother, I must get over being so foolishly sensitive. He spoke so prettily of every thing-sent his regards to you-said he was sorry you were sick; but somehow I felt badly, you know, and every thing worried me-has for two or three days. I'll try and not be so ridiculous." "I dar' say, Charty, he liked you very much, for every body does, if it's I that tell of it. He ain't used to country-folks, perhaps, and our good old-fashioned Bible-names sounds outlandish to him. There comes par; set the coffee on, Charty." In hobbled the old Captain, his nose and cheeks bitten red by the frosty air. He hung his woolen Charty looked as if she were wearing well, however. Never before was seen so fervid a sparkle in her bright eye; never so gentle a smile on her sweet lips. Love had brought all his graces and showered them upon her. Wrapped in his mantle, there was a softness about the outlines of her figure that was never visible before. ("Folks" thought it was because the girl had such beautiful new dresses.) Crowned with his golden tiara, her brown locks received a splendor that seemed at times to drop showers of amber and gleams of paler light. Her manner became strangely winning, so that her old father, her old mother, felt new joy in her presence, gloried in her more splendid beauty, and in their aged hearts knelt down and worshiped her. So the stranger of a day had stolen the bloom and freshness of a memory that had been for years growing in her soul-as if it were but the froth and sparkle of wine, he had blown it away. One afternoon, when the spring sun, warmer and redder in its flush, as if it had come from a land of flowers, burst in at all the windows, it brightened up the pale, beautiful face of Guy Sommers. Guy had thrown himself back in the large lounging-chair, and for a moment a shadow that was born of some anguished thought darkened his brow. "I am doing wrong-I know I am. I am a cursed coward, a scheming villain; and yet I know not how to stop. The weakness of an irresolute will was ever mine-and-oh! Charty, poor little wild-flower! how have I done by you! I dare not undeceive you; I can not lose youHark! it is her step!" He did not lift the languid head-the soft curls grown during his illness lay like clouds of corn-silk clinging to the bright blue covering of the enormous chair. His whole face grew new with a strange fire, a passionate flame playing and quivering through every feature. Charty entered. She, too, came sailing through the intense yellow light, herself a sunbeam; and his breath grew shorter as she drew near him. "Well, Charty, have you considered ?" dark, sailor-face was now as a canvas cut from its frame and turned to the wall. The picture might be reversed some time. II. "I don't believe it! I won't believe it!" said Captain Gross, stoutly. "It's true, father; Jerry came home with it last night." "I tell you she was in Conf'rence meetin'; didn't I see her there myself?" "Yes; but, father, that was just the way 'twas done. She slipped out somewhere about eighthurried to the wharf-jumped into a boat-he was aboard-and off they went together. Old Miss Spangler, and Cap'n too, didn't know nothing about it till to-day. They thought she'd gone to set up with Miss Brown-she that's dying with consumption. I expect it's a house of mournin' at old Cap'n Spangler's to-day." "The Lord have mercy!" cried Captain Gross, his great chest heaving with unrestrained sobs; “Cap'n's the dearest friend I've got; but I wouldn't see him now for a million. Oh, pity, pity!" and groaning with heart-felt sorrow, the A fond, proud smile it was that fell upon her old man leaned forward, burying his face in a as she nestled close to his feet. "I want to look at those faces again." He placed a small box in her hands. From it she drew out two jeweled cases and opened them. The one was the transcript of a haughty face, framed in curls of purple-black; the other that of an elegant woman, fair even in the dead ripeness of age, with eyes like Guy's own, and light, satiny hair. Rich lace hung over the brow and the neck in folds, and the brocaded silk wore a lustre as if the loom and not the artist had produced it. "And these are your sister and your grandmother. How very proud they look!" said Charty, sorrowfully. "What would they think of a poor little country-girl like me?" Again a spasm passed over the brow of Guy Sommers. "Think? why, that you are a Cape jasmine," he said, playfully, her innocent, upward glance disturbing the phantoms that played, cloud-like, over his countenance-"a pretty flower springing up in the sand, and all the more to be prized for its rareness and beauty. They'll think of you as you deserve, my pet bird-my pink rose. Trust me when I tell you so." "But Guy, dear Guy, it has made me so wretched to think how imperative it is, as you say, for me to leave my home clandestinely. I believe we can dwell upon a terrible thought till it loses half its horror, for when you first spoke to me of it I shuddered from head to foot, and it was not possible for me to consent. NowGod forgive me--oh! no-it's no use-I can't leave them-I must not be willing." Guy saw that he had gained his point. He stroked the glistening hair, though the long white fingers trembled; he murmured in her car-the phantom-ship had quite passed from the sea of her treacherous memory-the fine, huge bandana handkerchief. His daughter, meantime, tied a moon-faced baby in its straw chair and glanced with sad eyes toward her father, over whom great waves of sorrow seemed to surge, for he was certainly weeping. The whole town was in trouble. Every fireplace was a convention, and young and old discussed the matter with pale faces and frightened eyes. "Why, what has she done, suppose she has gone away?" asked a little sunny-haired lassie of fifteen." "She has done such a terrible thing that if you were to meet her here to-morrow you should not so much as look at her," said her stern, Puritan mother. "You must never take her name on your lips. She has ruined herself, broken the hearts of her parents, and disgraced us all, for who did not love and care for Charty Spangler? Oh, Anne, may we see you in your grave rather than left to that terrible sin!-that's my prayer, the prayer of your mother." The child shrank away in terror from those cold eyes and the lowering brow of the Deacon's wife; went by herself to muse and wonder what this sad thing might be. At Alas for the aged Captain and the old wife! A winter more piercing, more desolating than that which heaped snows about their dwelling lay within their home, about their hearts. first, they would not believe the girl had gone. Their Charty-their beautiful, loving child--the only rose in their garden-maddening thought! could she leave them for a stranger? No, no; it was a cruel mistake of the messenger-it was all a delusion-Charty would come back. She had gone to a neighbor's—had overslept herself; they should see her soon; and the old Captain took his walking-stick and hobbled to the door; out past the ghostly bushes, just gather ing a few shreds of raiment from the sun, that | outstretched as if eager to fold those gray, bowed hung palely over the pastures, brightening not deepening the faint blue of the sky; down into the road, where, when a neighbor met him, the pitying look of the face, the quiet, measured shake of the hand, almost broke his heart. Home again went the old bowed head, and "It's too true, mother, our child's left us!" burst from his lips prolonged in sob and groan, while she fell back ghastly and stiff. Well, some neighbors came in because they must. The desolating storm swept every hope away, and left the old people wrecks upon the slow tide of life. They were bowed to the very earth. They could not bear the gaze of any living soul, they said; so their seat in the old Cape Meeting-house was never occupied. How many, as they glanced toward it, thought of the almost angel-face that used to look up over the rude moulding and smile at every thing in sight, even at the grim countenance of Elder Seekless, with the ghostly bands hanging under his heavy chin. They spoke of her now with contempt and loathing; they had no words of pity. To them she was a sinner above all others; an outcast from every good thing. Not so with the two poor souls who bowed themselves night and morning in prayer for the erring child, as two slow years went by. "If she'd come back, John-if she'd only come back, we'd love her again, wouldn't we, John? She's our only child, you know; spared to us after so much tribulation, after so many sorrows. Oh! John, we'd welcome her; we'd take care of her, wouldn't we?" "I wonder who else would?" the trembling voice responded, while heavy tears rolled down the hollows worn by years and grief. "Yes, I wonder who else would if we wouldn't ?" heads; but it still seemed so wan, so spirit-like, that one could almost see the fire through it. Long it wavered there-the head drooping-the frame shivering-and then a great sob sounded"Father!-mother!" And the shadowy figure sank down, down, as if life were leaving it throb by throb, until, the white hands resting one on each aged shoulder, poor Charty Spangler sank to the very ground. Oh! the cry that went up, wild with anguish but human with love. It was their lost child, her garments crusted with the snow, her fair hair not curling now, but plastered straight to her forehead by the driving storm she had traveled through, and in her large eyes a look of dumb despair. "Can't you speak, Charty? Can't you say a word, dear?" cried the old mother, her broken voice changed by shrill sobs. "The dear lamb! Help me to lift her, John. Don't turn away. She's ours-our own! God gave her, spared her. What is it, mother's blessed ?" she murmured in words of endearment, as if in her heart she were fondling the babe that nineteen years agone lay a helpless, waxen thing over her strong heart. The white lips parted; language hovered over them as a scared bird, then fled affrighted. Presently one tremulous sound echoed along the pale mouth-once so rosy-and though it was like a moan, they shaped it into the word "Hunger!" "Good Heavens, John, she's fainting-hungry! Go quick-get the milk, father-get-any thing-all the food you can find! Mother's blessing!" she fondly cried, tears and sobs almost choking her, while Captain Spangler hobbled away, in his bewilderment opening the cellar door, down which he would have fallen but for the quick cry of his wife. There was no rest for the two poor old people till morning. Then, when the gray-white shadows of the coming dawn clouded the dim rays of the night-lamp, Charty told her sad story. "And you wrote all those letters? We never got one-no, not one;" cried the old mother, dis "And you believed yourself married all this time till the day you started for home?" It was the old father's voice, trembling with love and anguish. It was a cold night in December. The flame of the wood-fire painted uneasy shadows on the white walls-where the smoke had left a background for them-and a strange stillness, almost like the hush of death, reigned through the household. The little parlor closed upon darkness that held no ghost save that of memory.tractedly. In the corner sat the rocker with the tidy hanging over the back. The chairs were left just as she arranged them for the last time, only a chill of winter air hung over all. It was touching to see the poor old couple sitting by the kitchen fire, hand in hand. She had been quite ill, and he, hobbling round as best he could, had tended her lovingly. That the poor Captain's heart was broken any one might perceive by one glance at his sorrowful face. It was literally a transcript of long-concealed agonies held down by a will of iron-the will of the quarter-deck. It was not a shadow of the fire that glided grayly from a crouching posture in the corner, and with ghostly tread, save that it was weak and faltering, trembled to the space behind the chairs of the two old people. There it stood, tangible, yet solemnly and strangely unreal; long drapery falling from two outstretched arms "Before Heaven I did, father!" The old wife sought the eyes of her husband; tears, bitter tears, had brimmed them, and each time-worn cheek was channeled with the waters of their grief. "Father, we never found her in a lie." "No, Gerty, we never did." And overcome by this sweet proof of their child's honesty, they fell forward into each other's arms, gray hairs and tears and sobbing articulations mingling with the low cry that burst from Charty's lips-"Oh, thank God! they do believe me. "Charty Spangler has come home!" The news ran through the town like wild-fire. Shades of blue, green, and yellow diversified | tre, like that we see on the forehead of an innothe cold visages of the Cape women. They cent babe sometimes, made her face more than shook their heads; they clashed their knitting beautiful. She had confessed her whole transneedles; they pursed up their prim mouths, and gression—a sinner not above all others, but terriset their faces as flints Charty-ward. Do not bly sinned against, and wearing the garments of judge them too severely. It was their strong penitence, as a saintly nun wears her shroud, that love of virtue that made them over-just. They she may contemplate that which is beyond death. never reflected that through this humiliation, She did not know the Clyde was in-that its this crushing sorrow, a soul might be saved. | bright flag streamed from the straight mast-or They were like the shore on which they were that Neale had indeed fulfilled his prediction, born, girt in by strong religious prejudices, as and come home Captain Conrade. they by brown, sand-ribbed rocks." "I wonder if she expects any of us to visit her?" "If she does she's mistaken;" answered the good, severe wife of Deacon Dilway, glancing uneasily at her daughter Anne, whose scarlet cheeks betrayed her more womanly knowledge, though averted eye and occupied manner made her seem unconscious. "Anne, child, you remember Charty Spangler ?" "Yes, indeed, I guess I do. How beautiful she was! I used to think she looked like an angel." "But the angels fell once from their high estate and became devils." This her aunt said with not a little asperity, rocking to and fro, reeling white yarn from the high points of an old pilgrim chair. So when she heard his stop on the path her heart stood still. "Help!" was the cry upon her lips. "Father, mother, I can not see him!" But the old Captain had gone out on his morning walk, and the old mother, singing, "The dearest idol I have known, Whate'er that idol be, Help me to tear it from thy throne with high, wavering voice, sadly broken yet "Charty, my darling! I heard nothing of all this. How sick you have been! Thank God "Human beings may repent, aunty," said that I find you alive. Charty! no word of welgentle Anne. come for me?" "They may!" and bitter was the accent. "I sha'n't countenance her, though, till I know she's thorough. It's proof enough to me of her wickedness that she tries to make people believe that she thought she was married-a likely story. Why didn't she come like the prodigal son, confessing all? Then I'd a had some faith in her. Heaven save us from contamination with what she's likely been! And to think how poor old Cap'n Spangler used to pray the Lord for that girl!" "Hurrah! Clyde's out in the stream!" shouted a tow-headed boy, flinging up his cap, displaying breadth and color that would have thrown a Flemish painter into ecstasies. The women looked at each other. She had covered her face with the thin hands; she was quivering, gasping, dying, it seemed to her. How should she tell him? how gather her failing strength? "Neale, oh don't; don't come any nearer to me. I have deceived-I am unworthy of you. When you know all, you will hate me. Go ask my mother: no, no; that will be killing her anew. Oh! God help me! what shall I do?" He stood there in a mist of doubt and uncertainty that veiled him grayly. His florid cheeks had changed to the hue of ashes. His hand, still outstretched, grew rigid. What did she mean? Was that a posture his future wife should take? Charty-and-shame! he could not couple them together. She saw that in his "He'll hear of it," whispered the Deacon's look which humbled her more than the dread wife. "I of confession-a beauty born of virtue and integrity-a nobility that brought back in wild, hot gushes the pure love of her other life-for she seemed to have endured two separate forms of existence. "The Lord pity him!" echoed her sister. wonder if the miserable creature knows it ?" The miserable creature was but too conscious. She was very weak and ill, and the good mother, strong in Christ, had made home seem as it did Sternly he listened, his arms folded over his before the fall. Charty was placed in the capa- chest to keep down the laboring anguish. cious rocker-she had refused the bed-chair with "And is it for this I have cherished your imstrong shuddering-and drawn near the little win-age so sacredly!" he cried, in a tumult of pasdow rich with sunlighted drops of crystal. The sion. "Charty, I find that I am a proud man, snow had not all gone. Like rounds of frosted very proud. I could not bear the humiliationsweets it lay here and there, its edges melting yes, humiliation-of a fate united to yours. If into dun and green. Afar off the blue horizon it kill me—for I do love you, Charty—God who sparkled with cloud wreaths like silver, and faint has heard my prayers for you, who has seen my suggestions of icy peaks outlined themselves on heart for three years, written all over with your the far horizon. The blood had gone from Char-name, knows that-if it kill me, I must live ty's wan cheeks-a colorless transparency as of without you. Good-by, and Heaven forgive death revivified, yet touched with a certain lus-you, Charty Spangler—I can not." Her mother came in five minutes after he had be my daughter. Yes, and I pity the man or gone came in still singing, "The dearest idol I have known!" stopped, drew her spectacles over her dim eyes— the poor girl lay across the chair as she had fallen -death could not have bleached her face whiter. "The Lord has heard me-my idol is gone!" shrieked the poor woman. Not yet. She lived to read, six months after, in the village paper, that the good ship Clyde was expected to sail for Europe, and Captain Conrade contemplated taking his young wife on the voyage with him. One sigh only told of the past-one spasm darkened the statue-like face. "He could not have found a better wife or a sweeter than Anne Dilway," she murmured, crowding the tears back; "but oh! I wish he had forgiven me." Pale and shining-for in her face was the peace of heaven, God had forgiven her!-Charty Spangler moved about her mother's dwelling an earth-bound angel. She it was who conquered their fear and softened their pride, leading them almost hand in hand back to the seat in the sanctuary. Intruding herself on no one's notice, she sat, and walked, wrapped in her cold serenity-fearless as unconscious, I was about to say, but she could not be unconscious of the virtuous scrutiny, the haughty forgetfulness, of those who had once spoken her name with pride. At home she moved quietly back and forth-taking the heaviest duties on her slender hands-lavishing all the now pure wealth of her love on the old parents, who spoke of her to each other as a saint, an angel, with reverent whispers. At last the world's great destroyer shook his heavy wings over the household, and the dews of death fell upon it. Then Charty strengthened the trembling hands-held upon her bosom the aged heads-whispered to them of pearly gates-clear rivers of crystal-golden streets and glory. How she seemed to lift the veil from the misty eyes, and point out the shining ones in flowing garments! "The house is yours, Charty. God be with you, my own child. I've never been sorry I prayed for your life. Don't weep, dear; it-it won't be long, you know, and we-we'll watch over you." the woman who can add the anguish-drop of even a cold word to her bitter sorrow." They were very still after that; and there were two to watch till the grave-sod should be lifted. Charty Spangler came back to the house where she was born, alone, after the funeral. She had been pressed by more than one near neighbor to go with them. Those who had looked upon her coldly came forward, took her passive hand, and, striving to speak, burst into tears. The contrition, the forgiveness, were completenothing was withheld. The old old men who had loved her father looked at the willowy figure, so shrouded in black, and tears streamed down their withered cheeks. They saw before them the innocent Christ-redeemed child of God; they remembered the sunny curls, the tender eyes, the prattling accents of the "old Cap'n's darlin'." So, though Charty went home alone, and, throwing herself upon her knees, cried out with uncontrollable anguish because she felt the sorrowful stillness, she bore with her the prayers, the love of many hearts, and imperceptibly they strengthened her. She had accepted her lot. Only twenty-three and the pulses of life throbbed strongly in all her veins. Her father had died at ninety-her mother at seventy; she had no reason to think the threads of her existence might be severed in an undue time, for hers was a long-lived race. Oh, what should she do? how wrap her mind in occupation that it might not beat with resistless longings for a future that might have been so wrapped in joy and beauty? Looking over the paper one June morning, Charty suddenly sprang from her seat, while, involuntarily, her hand covered her heart. The Clyde reported; the Captain bringing home the dead body of his young wife. Oh, those heavy throbs! oh, the sickening desolation that fell over her like a pall! Charty thought of the home soon to be shrouded in mourning. During the sad days that came after the first blow she kept the house, remained isolated and heart-wearied till the Clyde left for a foreign shore; and she had not once seen him, though she had heard of his quiet but deep sorrow. So he was gone again-gone a weary year, and Charty still remained in the little red Cape house. The sombre shadows of her dreary life were beginning to settle down "Her heart is hardened, I'm afeared," mut- upon her. There was no compensation in her tered an old crone. "We," he said; for in another room the old wife's gray hairs glistened under her shroud-cap. A few neighbors were there, and they marveled at Charty's wonderful calm. lot save the love of Heaven. She had kept her beauty, but she no longer valued it—no longer gloried that her eyes were like stars, or her fingers slender and rosy-pointed. More than one good offer she had rejected-she thought to reject all. "Then Heaven grant that we may all have hard hearts," said the pastor, solemnly, who had stood by the dead, and they had not known it. "I tell you, sisters, before high Heaven, that young girl has redeemed herself. She has had no friend but God. You and I, Heaven forgive One morning there came a letter whose superme! have turned unchristianly from her striving; scription filled her with horror. She tore it open, and the fire of hell is cold to the fire of our per- ran a half-crazed glance over the contents. They secution—our unkind unrelenting. From hence- softened her terrible resentment. He was dying forth I am her friend, her father, and she shall—he the betrayer, the profligate, his fortune |