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Did she whose courage had parted the stormy waters of trouble, and who had come out triumphant, turn a deaf ear to that wail of despair?

Is woman always the bitterest foe of her crushed sister? always the first to throw a stone at her?

No – God be thanked! For the first time Rose was folded to a loving sister's heart, and in the sweet words of Ruth to Naomi, Gertrude said, as she bade Rose good-night,

"Whither thou goest I will go; whither thou lodgest I will lodge; naught but death shall part thee and me."

Was the watchman's midnight cry, "All's well," beneath the window, a prophecy?

CHAPTER XL

"Seems to me that you are nudging a fellow for his ticket every five minutes," said a lantern-jawed looking individual to the railroad conductor, as he roused himself from his nap, and pulled a bit of red pasteboard from his hat-band. "I feel as if my gastronomic region had been scooped out, and rubbed dry with a crash-towel; how long before we stop, hey?"

"Buy some books, sir?" said a young itinerant bookseller to our hungry traveler.

"Have you the 'True guide for travelers to preserve their temper?'" said our friend to the urchin.

The boy looked anxiously over the titles of his little library, and replied, with a shake of the head, "No, sir, I never heard of it."

"Nor I either," responded the hungry growler; "so get about your business; the best book that was ever written can neither be ate nor drank; I'd give a whole library for a glass of brandy and water this minute," and the unhappy man folded his arms over his waistband, and doubled himself up like a hedgehog in the corner.

"I am always sure to get a seat on the sunny side of the cars, and next to an Irish woman," muttered a young lady. "I wonder do the Irish never feed on any thing but rum and onions?"

"Very uncomfortable, these seats," muttered a gentleman who had tried all sorts of positions to accommodate his vertebræ; "the corporation really should attend to it. I will write an article about it in my paper, as soon as I reach home. I will annihilate the whole concern; they ought to remember that editors occasionally travel, and remember which side their bread is buttered. Shade of Franklin! how my bones ache; they shall hear of this in 'The Weekly Scimeter.' It is a downright imposition."

In fact, every body was cross; every body was hungry and begrimed with dust; every body was ready to explode at the next feather's weight of annoyance.

Not every body; there was one dear little girl who found sunshine even there, and ran about extracting honey from what to others were only bitter herbs. Holding on by the seats, she passed up and down the narrow avenue between the benches, peeping with the brightest smile in the world into the faces of the cross passengers, drinking from the little tin-cup at the water-tank, clapping her hands at the sound of the whistle, and touching the sleeve even of the hedgehog gentleman rolled up in the corner. The child's mother sat on the back seat, looking after her as kindly as she was able; but, poor thing, traveling made her sick, and she held her camphor-bottle to her nostrils, and leaned gasping against the window-sill to catch every stray breath of air.

What's that?

Crash goes the window-glass; clouds of scalding steam pour into the cars, which seem to be vibrating in mid-air; benches, baskets, bags, and passengers are all jumbled pell-mell together; every face is blanched with terror.

"Oh, it's nothing, only the cars run off the track – only the engine smashed, and baggage-car a wreck – only the passengers' trunks disemboweled in a muddy brook – only the engineer scalded, and the passengers turned out into a wet meadow in a pelting shower of rain; that's all. Not a son of Adam was to blame for it – of course not," growls the exasperated editor. "Thank Heaven the Superintendent of the road and the Directors were in the forward car and got the first baptism in that muddy brook."

"Zounds!" he exclaimed, pinning up his torn coat-flap, and punching out the crown of his hat; "they shall hear of this in 'The Weekly Scimeter.' Railroad companies should remember that editors sometimes travel."

"May! my little May!" gasped the poor sick woman, recovering herself, and looking about for her child; "where's May?"

Ah, where's May? Folded in His arms who carries the little lambs so safely in his bosom – gone with the smile yet bright on her lip.

Blithe little May!

They take the little lifeless form and bear it across the fields to the nearest farm-house, and the mother falls senseless, with her face to the damp grass – the last tie of her widowed heart broken.

"Sad accident, ma'am – hope you are not hurt," said the bustling village doctor to a lady who held her handkerchief over her mouth. "Deplorable!" exclaimed the delighted doctor. "My engagements are very pressing in the village – five cases of typhoid fever, two of chicken-pox – hurried up here in the face of promise to a lady, wife of one of our richest men, not to be gone over half an hour, in case she should want me. Ladies can't always tell exactly, you know, ma'am.

"Jaw-bone fractured? I'm somewhat in a hurry. Senator Scott's wife, too, was very unwilling I should leave my office – ;" and the doctor drew out a Lepine watch, as if his moments were so much gold-dust – as if he had not sat in his leathern chair, week in and week out, watching the spiders catch flies, and wishing he were a spider, and the flies were his patients.

"Jaw-bone broke, ma'am?" he asked, again.

"She is not hurt at all, I tell you," growled Mr. Howe, shaking the rain from his hat, as he stood knee-deep in the tall meadow-grass. "She lost her set of false teeth in the collision, and if you jabber at her till the last day you won't catch her to open her mouth till she gets another set."

"Mr. Howe," said that gentleman's wife, in a muffled voice from behind the handkerchief, "how can you?"

"How can I? I can do any thing, Mrs. Howe. Are not our trunks all emptied into that cursed brook? All that French trumpery spoiled for which you have been draining my pocket all the spring to go to Saratoga. Did I want to come on this journey? Don't I hate journeying? Haven't I been obliged to go a whole day at a time with next to nothing on my stomach? Haven't I been poked in the ribs every fifteen minutes for the conductor to amuse himself by snipping off the ends of my railroad tickets? Don't my head feel as if Dodworth's brass band were playing Yankee Doodle inside of it? Refreshments! Yes – what are the refreshments? A rush round a semicircular counter by all sorts of barbarians – bowls of oysters, scalding hot, and ten minutes to swallow them – tea without milk – coffee without sugar – bread without butter, and unmitigated egg – no pepper – no salt – no nothing, and, seventy-five cents to pay; the whole thing is an outrageous humbug; and now here's this collision, and your false teeth gone, not to mention other things."

Another muffled groan from behind the handkerchief.

"I'll have damages, heavy damages – let me see, there is the teeth, $200."

"Good heaven's, Mr. Howe," shrieked his wife – "you don't mean to mention them to the corporation?"

"But I do, though," said John, "you never will be easy till you get another set, and I mean they shall find 'em."

Another groan from behind the handkerchief.

"Passengers, please go through the meadow, and the cow-yard, yonder, and cross the stile to get into the cars beyond," shouted the brakeman.

Down jumped the ladies from their perches on the fences where they had been roosting, like draggled hens in the rain, for the last half hour, and all made a rush for the cow-yard.

"There now, Mrs. Howe – do you hear that? A pretty tramp through that high grass for your skirts and thin gaiter-boots. This is what tourists call the delights of traveling, I suppose – humph."

"We shan't get to – till the middle of the night, I suppose —i. e., provided the conductor concludes not to have another smash-up. There will be no refreshments, of course, to be had, that are good for any thing, at that time o' night; waiters sleepy and surly, and I as hungry as a bear who has had nothing but his claws to eat all winter. Pleasant prospect that. You needn't hold up your skirts Mrs. Howe; there's no dodging that tall grass. Trip to Saratoga! Mr. John Howe and lady – ha – ha! Catch me in such a trap again, Mrs. Howe."

Precisely at two o'clock in the morning, our hungry and jaded travelers arrived at – . A warm cup of tea and some cold chicken, somewhat mollified our hero, and he was just subsiding into that Christian frame of mind common to his sex when their hunger is appeased, when happening to remark to the waiter who stood beside him, that he was glad to find so good a supper so late at night – that worthy unfortunately replied:

"Oh – yes! massa! de cars keep running off de track so often dat we have to keep de food ready all de time, 'cause dere's no knowing, you see, when de travelers will come; and dey is always powerful hungry."

"Do you hear that?" said Mr. Howe to his wife, who was munching, as well as she was able, behind her handkerchief; "and we have got to go back the same road. You may not want that other set of teeth, after all, my dear."

"Sh – sh – sh – " said that lady, treading not very gently on his corns under the table – "are you mad, Mr. Howe?"

"Yes," muttered her husband – "stark, staring mad, I have been mad all day – mad ever since I started on this journey; and I shall continue mad till I get back to St. John's Square and my old arm-chair and slippers;" and long after the light was extinguished, Mr. Howe was muttering in his sleep, "I'll have damages – let me see, there's $200 for the teeth."

From that journey Mr. Howe dated his final and triumphant Declaration of Domestic Independence. The spell of Mrs. Howe's cabalistic whisper was broken. Mr. Howe had a counter-spell. Mrs. Howe's day was over. Mr. Howe could smoke up stairs and down stairs, and in my lady's chamber; he could brush his coat in the best parlor; put his booted feet on the sofa, and read his political newspaper as long as he pleased. The word "damages," arrested Mrs. Howe in her wildest flights, and brought her to his feet, like a shot pigeon.

CHAPTER XLI

A knock at the door – it was Chloe, with her gay bandanna, and shining teeth, and eyeballs. She had come to take Charley out, ostensibly "for an airing," but in fact to make a public exhibition of him, for, in her eyes, he was the very perfection of childish beauty.

"He's tired, missis, stayin' in de house," said Chloe, as Charley crept toward the door, "let me take him out a bit;" and Chloe raised him from the floor, and tied his cap down over his bright curls, stoutly resisting all Rose's attempts to cover his massive white shoulders, promising to protect them from the sun's rays, with her old-fashioned parasol.

Rose smiled, as Chloe sauntered off down the street with her pretty charge; Charley's dimpled hand making ineffectual attempts to gain possession of the floating ends of her gay-colored head-dress.

And well might Chloe be proud of him; she had been nurse to many a fair southern child in her day, but never a cherub like Charley. One and another stopped to look at him. Mothers who had lost their little ones, fathers in whose far-absent homes crowed some cherished baby-pet, and blessed little children, with more love than their little hearts could carry, stopped, and asked "to kiss the baby."

Chloe was in a halo of glory. It was such a pity that missis was not rich, that she might be Charley's nurse. She was sure she was not, because her clothes and Charley's, though nice, had been so carefully repaired, and then Chloe fell to romancing about it.

"Chloe?"

"Oh, missis, is that you? Berry glad to see you," said the negress, with a not ungraceful courtesy, as she tried to keep out of the way of the lady's prancing horses.

"Whose lovely baby is that?" asked the old lady, putting on her glasses, "hand him to me, Chloe."

The old lady seemed to be strangely moved as Chloe sat him on her knee, and tears chased each other down her face.

"He is so like, Chloe, so like my poor dear boy at his age; just such eyes, just such a forehead, just such beautiful shoulders – poor Vincent! Whose child is it, Chloe?" asked the old lady, as she untied the baby's cap, and pushed back the curls from his forehead.

"He belongs to a northern lady I have been nursing, missis. She is berry handsome, too."

"I can't spare him, yet," said the old lady, as Chloe held out her arms for him. "I can not let him go; see, he likes me," said she, delightedly, as Charley, with one of his caressing little ways, laid his head down on her shoulder. "He is my dear Vincent back again. Get in, Chloe, I'll drive you where you want to go. I can not give up the child yet."

The gay, prancing horses, with their flowing tails and manes, the silver-mounted harness, and the bright buttons of the liveried coachman, sent a brighter sparkle to the baby's eyes, and a richer glow to his cheeks. He crowed, and laughed, and clapped his little hands, till wearied with pleasure, and lulled by the rapid motion of the carriage, his little limbs relaxed, and he fell asleep.

What is so lovely as a sleeping babe?

The evening star gemming the edge of a sunset cloud? the bent lily too heavy with dew to chime its silver bells to the night wind? the closed rose-bud whose fragrant heart waits for the warm sun-ray to kiss open its loveliness?

Unable to account for the powerful magnetism by which she was drawn to the beautiful child, the old lady sat, without speaking, passing her fingers over his ivory arm, and gazing upon the rich glow of his cheek, the perfect outline of his limbs, and the shining curls of his clustering hair.

"Is this baby's mother a widow, Chloe?" she asked, at length.

"I think so, missis – I don't know – I ax no questions."

"Is she wealthy?"

"Lor', bless you, no, missis; her clothes all mended berry carful."

"I wish I had this baby," said the old lady, half musingly, as she again looked at Charley.

"Oh, Lor', missis, she lub him like her life – 't ain't no use, I tink."

The old lady seemed scarcely to hear Chloe's answer, but sat looking at Charley.

"It would be a great comfort to me," she continued. "Where does his mother live, Chloe?"

"In – street," answered the negress.

"That is close by, I will drive you to the door, and you must ask leave to bring him to see me, Chloe;" and impressing a kiss on the face of the sleeping child, she resigned him to his nurse.

Rose sat rocking to and fro in her small parlor, in a loose muslin wrapper, and little lace cap, languid from the excitement of the previous day, thinking of Gertrude, and wishing she had but a tithe of that indomitable energy to which obstacles only served as stimulants; and then Gertrude was talented, what had she but her pretty face? and that, alas! had brought her only misery!

"Come in," said Rose, in answer to a slight tap on the door.

"Ah, sit down, Gertrude. Chloe has just carried Charley away, and I am quite alone."

"I must make a sketch of that ebony Venus, some day," said Gertrude.

"I confess," said she, as she seated herself in Rose's little rocking-chair, "to a strong penchant for the African. His welling sympathies, his rollicksome nature, and his punctilious observance of etiquette in his intercourse with his fellows, both amuse and interest me.

"Your genuine African has dancing in his heels, cooking at his fingers' ends, music on his lips, and a trust in Providence for the supply of his future wants equaled only by the birds of the air.

"He dances and prays with a will, nor thinks the two inconsistent, as they are not. You should have gone with me, Rose, to an African church not long since. I had grown weary of fine churches, and superfine ministers, and congregations so polished that they had the coldness as well as the smoothness of marble. I wearied of tasseled prayer-books, with gilt clasps, and all the mummeries which modern religionists seem to have substituted for true worship.

"So I wandered out into the by-streets and poor places to find nature, rough and uncultivated though it might be. A tumble-down looking church, set among some old tenement-houses, caught my eye. Bareheaded children were hanging round the door, scarcely kept in abeyance by a venerable-looking negro sexton in the porch, with grizzled locks and white neckerchief, whose admonitory shakes of the head habit had evidently made second nature, as he bestowed them promiscuously, right and left, till service was closed.

"I entered and took my seat among the audience. No surly pew occupant placed a forbidding hand on the pew door. Seats, hymn-books, crickets, and fans were at my disposal. The hymn was found for me. I found myself (minus 'a voice') joining in the hearty chorus. Who could help it? 'God save the King' and the Marseillaise were tame in comparison. Every body sang. It was infectious. The bent old negress, with her cracked voice, her broad shouldered, muscular son, her sweet-voiced mulatto daughter, and her chubby little grandchild, with swelling chest, to whom Sunday was neither a bugbear nor a bore. And such hearty singing! – sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow, but to my ear music, because it was soul, not cold science.

"It was communion-Sabbath, and so I went up to the chancel and knelt side by side with my dusky friends. The clergyman was a white man, and it was millennial to see his loving hand of blessing laid on those dusky brows. This is as it should be, said I – this is worship; and as we retired to make room for other communicants, the clergyman himself stepped forward to assist to the chancel a gray old negress, of fourscore years, whose tottering steps were even then at the grave's brink. I went home happy, for I had not fed on husks.

"Ah! visitors? Then I must run," said Gertrude, springing up at a rap on the door.

"It is Chloe, I fancy," said Rose.

"Well, good-by," said she, stooping to kiss Charley, whom she passed on the threshhold, "I must back to my easel. Ah! it is the locket you want, not me, you rogue," said she to Charley, as she disengaged a chain from her neck, and threw it over the child's, "mercenary, like the rest of your sex."

Chloe marched in with Charley, who, now wide awake, sat perched upon her shoulder, looking as imperial as young Napoleon.

"This yere boy has got to go, missis," said Chloe, still marching round the room, as if treading all objections under foot. "Whar's his frocks and pinafores? My ole missis. Vincent, see him, and take him to ride in her fine carriage, and cry over him, cause she say he so berry like her poor murdered boy."

"De Lor'! missis," exclaimed Chloe, "how white you look! Whar's your salts?"

"Open the window," said Rose, faintly, "the room is too close, Chloe."

"Thar – will you hab some water, missis? you ain't nowise strong yet," said Chloe. "Hadn't you better lie down, missis?"

"No, thank you. What were you saying, Chloe, about Charley?"

"Well, you see, my ole missis. Vincent, she gib me my freedom, you know; good missis, but hab berry bad son; berry handsome, but berry bad; bad for wine, and bad for women; gambled, and ebery ting; broke his ole fadder's heart clean in two, and den got killed hisself by some bad woman.

"Ole missis berry rich now, but her money ain't no comfort, cause she hab to lib all alone. To-day she met me wid Massa Charley here. De Lor', how she did take on! She say he look jess like young Massa Vincent, when he was little piccaninny, and she kiss him, and hold him, and hab such a time ober him, and noting would do but he must go ride in de carriage, and she bring us way home to de door.

"She wants you, missis, to let her hab Charley. I told her you wouldn't, certain," said Chloe, with a scrutinizing glance at Rose, for in truth, Chloe secretly wished, in that African heart of hers, that the matter might be brought about, and that she might be installed nurse for the handsome boy.

"No, of course, you wouldn't, missis; but wouldn't it be a fine thing for you, Massa Charley?" said she, perching him on the edge of her knee, "to ride all de blessed time in dat fine carriage, and one day hab it all yourself, and de house, and de silver, and de money, for missis hab no relations now, no chick, nor child, and you're just handsome enough to do it," said Chloe, with another sly glance at Rose's face. "You're jess born for dat same – dat's a fac – so ole Chloe tinks, yah, yah – jess as well to laff about it, missis," said the cunning Chloe, "no harm in dat, you know; but he took to the ole lady jess as nat'ral, and set up in her lap, just as if he belonged dere in dat carriage; it made ole Chloe laff – yah, yah. Massa Charley, he make his way in de world wid dat handsome face of his'n. Ole Chloe is always stumbling on good luck," said the old negress, laughing, "all for dis," said she, exhibiting an old metal "charm" attached to a string inside her dress. "Good-by – we shall see. I come for you agin, Massa Charley, for my ole missis berry childish, when she wants a ting she will hab it, and de debbel hisself can't help it – yah, yah."

As the door closed on old Chloe's weird figure, Rose almost felt as if her words were prophecies. What if the law of nature should set aside all other law and bring in a verdict for Charley? Should she, regardless of her strong maternal feelings, yield him up? Away from her he would escape the taunt of his birth, and yet how could she school her heart to such a parting. What was wealth and position compared to high moral principle and a pure life? If Vincent's mother knew not how to instill these into her own son, might she not wreck Charley on the same fatal rock? But what wild dream was her brain weaving? She could not, would not deceive Madam Vincent, and then would there not be a revulsion of feeling when the proud old lady knew the truth? for how could Rose mention the great wrong she had suffered, and not wound the doting mother's heart? or how could she yield up Charley to one who would ignore his mother? No, no. She would think no more of it; and yet that Vincent's mother should have petted and fondled, even unconsciously, Vincent's boy – there was comfort in that thought.

"Are you well enough to receive a visitor this morning," asked Doctor Perry, as he entered the room.

"Physicians do not consider it necessary to ask that question," said Rose, with some little embarrassment in her manner. "I have much to thank you for, doctor, and am none the less grateful for your kind attentions, that I was unconscious of them. But how happened it?" asked she, with surprise. "I thought you had left town with Captain Lucas. How did you find us?"

"No," said the doctor, "I was unexpectedly detained by business. The morning of the day you were taken ill, happening to pass, I saw you accidentally at the window, and resolved to call that very evening. It happened quite opportunely, you see."

"Yes – thank you; I think I had become overpowered with the heat and fatigue."

"I was apprehensive of brain fever," said the doctor; "you talked so incoherently."

Rose's face instantly became suffused, and the doctor added kindly:

"Whatever I may have heard, is of course, safe with me, Rose."

"No one else heard?" she asked.

"No one. Your landlady is too deaf, and Chloe seemed absorbed in taking care of Charley, and preparing your medicines."

"Rose," said the doctor, "if my possession of your secret distresses you, suppose I give you one in exchange: I had, and have, no business in New Orleans, save to watch over you and yours. Every weary footstep of yours, my eye has tracked; nay, do not be angry with me, for how could love like mine abandon your helplessness in this great strange city? I am not about to weary you by a repetition of what you have already heard, or distress you by alluding to what you unconsciously revealed. I know that your heart is cold and benumbed; but Rose, it is not dead. You say you are grateful to me for what, after all, was mere selfishness on my part, for my greatest happiness was, though unseen, to be near you. I will be satisfied with that gratitude. Will you not accept for life, my services on those terms?" and the doctor drew his chair nearer to Rose, and took her hand in his own.

"You know not what you ask," mournfully replied Rose. "You are deceiving yourself. You think that in time, gratitude will ripen into a warmer feeling. I feel that this can never be. My heart has lost its spring; it is capable only of a calm, sisterly feeling, and the intensity of your love for me would lead you after awhile to weary of, and reject this; you would be a prey to chagrin and disappointment. How can I bring such a misery on the heart to whose kindness I owe so much?"

"Rose, you do not know me," said the doctor, passionately. "Do not judge me by other men. As far as my own happiness is concerned, I fearlessly encounter the risk."

"Then," said Rose, thoughtfully, "there would be dark days when even your society would be irksome to me, when solitude alone could restore the tension of my mind."

"I should respect those days," replied her lover; "I would never intrude upon their sacredness; I would never love you the less for their recurrence."

"Then," said the ingenuous Rose, blushing as she spoke, "the sin which the world wrongly imputes to me will never be forgiven of earth. As your wife I must appear in society; how would you bear the whisper of malice? the sneer of envy? – no, no!" said Rose, while tears stole down her face; "I must meet this alone."

"Rose, you shall not choose!" said the doctor, passionately. "I must stand between you and all this; I declare to you that I will never leave you. If you refuse me the right to protect you legally, I will still watch over you at a distance; – but oh Rose, dear Rose, do not deny me. I have no relations whose averted faces you need fear; my parents are dead. I had a sister once; but whether living or dead I know not. There are none to interfere between us; let us be all the world to each other.

"Charley! plead for me," said the doctor, as he raised the beautiful child in his arms; "who shall pilot your little bark safely? This little hand is all too fragile," and he took that of Rose tenderly in his own – "Nay, do not answer me now; I am selfish so to distress you," said he, as Rose made an ineffectual attempt to speak; – "think of it, dear Rose, and let your answer be kindly; oh, trust me, Rose."

As he stooped to place Charley on the floor, the locket which the child had around his neck became separated from the chain to which it was attached, and, striking upon the floor, touched a spring which opened the lid; under it was a miniature. The doctor gazed at it as if spell-bound.

"Where did you get this, Rose? Surely it can not be yours," and a deadly paleness overspread his face.

"It belongs to a lady who boards here," said Rose, "and who transferred it from her neck to Charley's this morning. Has it any interest for you?"

"What is her name? let me see her!" said the doctor, still looking at the picture.

"Her name? Gertrude Dean," said Rose.

"Dean?" repeated the doctor, looking disappointed, "Dean? Rose, that is a picture of my own father."

While they were speaking, Gertrude tapped on the door. "My locket, dear Rose; I hope 'tis not lost."

Turning suddenly, her eye fell upon the doctor. With a wild cry of joy she flew into his arms, exclaiming, "My brother! my own long-lost Walter!"