Taking Boarders

CHAPTER I.

A LADY, past the prime of life, sat thoughtful, as twilight fellduskily around her, in a room furnished with great elegance. Thather thoughts were far from being pleasant, the sober, even sadexpression of her countenance too clearly testified. She was dressedin deep mourning. A faint sigh parted her lips as she looked up, onhearing the door of the apartment in which she was sitting open. Theperson who entered, a tall and beautiful girl, also in mourning,came and sat down by her side, and leaned her head, with a pensive,troubled air, down upon her shoulder.

"We must decide upon something, Edith, and that with as little delayas possible," said the elder of the two ladies, soon after theyounger one entered. This was said in a tone of great despondency.

"Upon what shall we decide, mother?" and the young lady raised herhead from its reclining position, and looked earnestly into the eyesof her parent.

"We must decide to do something by which the family can besustained. Your father's death has left us, unfortunately andunexpectedly, as you already know, with scarcely a thousand dollarsbeyond the furniture of this house, instead of an independence whichwe supposed him to possess. His death was sad and afflictiveenough--more than it seemed I could bear. But to have this added!"

The voice of the speaker sank into a low moan, and was lost in astifled sob.

"But what can we do, mother?" asked Edith, in an earnest tone,after pausing long enough for her mother to regain the control ofher feelings.

"I have thought of but one thing that is at all respectable,"replied the mother.

"What is that?"

"Taking boarders."

"Why, mother!" ejaculated Edith, evincing great surprise, "how canyou think of such a thing?"

"Because driven to do so by the force of circumstances."

"Taking boarders! Keeping a boarding-house! Surely we have not cometo this!"

An expression of distress blended with the look of astonishment inEdith's face.

"There is nothing disgraceful in keeping a boarding-house," returnedthe mother. "A great many very respectable ladies have beencompelled to resort to it as a means of supporting their families."

"But to think of it, mother! To think of your keeping aboarding-house! I cannot bear it."

"Is there any thing else that can be done, Edith?"

"Don't ask me such a question."

"If, then, you cannot think for me, you must try and think with me,my child. Something will have to be done to create an income. Inless than twelve months, every dollar I have will be expended; andthen what are we to do? Now, Edith, is the time for us to look atthe matter earnestly, and to determine the course we will take.There is no use to look away from it. A good house in a centralsituation, large enough for the purpose, can no doubt be obtained;and I think there will be no difficulty about our getting boardersenough to fill it. The income or profit from these will enable usstill to live comfortably, and keep Edward and Ellen at school."

"It is hard," was the only remark Edith made to this.

"It is hard, my daughter; very hard! I have thought and thoughtabout it until my whole mind has been thrown into confusion. But itwill not do to think for ever; there must be action. Can I see wantstealing in upon my children, and sit and fold my hands supinely?No! And to you, Edith, my oldest child, I look for aid and forcounsel. Stand up bravely by my side."

"And you are in earnest in all this?" said Edith, whose mind seemedhardly able to realize the truth of their position. From herearliest days, all the blessings that money could procure had beenfreely scattered around her feet. As she grew up and advancedtowards womanhood, she had moved in the most fashionable circles,and there acquired the habit of estimating people according to theirwealth and social standing, rather than by qualities of mind. In herview, it appeared degrading in a woman to enter upon any kind ofemployment for money; and with the keeper of a boarding-house,particularly, she had always associated something low, vulgar, andungenteel. At the thought of her mother's engaging in such anoccupation, when the suggestion was made her mind instantlyrevolted. It appeared to her as if disgrace would be the inevitableconsequence.

"And you are in earnest in all this?" was an expression mingling herclear conviction of the truth of what at first appeared so strange aproposition, and her astonishment that the necessities of theirsituation were such as to drive them to so humiliating a resource.

"Deeply in earnest," was the mother's reply.

"We are left alone in the world. He who cared for us and providedfor us so liberally has been taken away, and we have nowhere to lookfor aid but to the resources that are in ourselves. These wellapplied, will give us, I feel strongly assured, all that we need.The thing to decide is, what we ought to do. If we choose aright,all will doubtless come out right. To choose aright is, therefore,of the first importance; and to do this, we must not sufferdistorting suggestions nor the appeals of a false pride to influenceour minds in the least. You are my oldest child, Edith; and, assuch, I cannot but look upon you as, to some extent, jointly withme, the guardian of your younger brothers and sisters. True, Miriamis of age, and Henry nearly so; but still you are the eldest--yourmind is more matured, and in your judgment I have the mostconfidence. Try and forget, Edith, all but the fact that, unless wemake an exertion, one home for all cannot be retained. Are youwilling that we should be scattered like leaves in the autumn wind?No! you would consider that one of the greatest calamities thatcould befall us--an evil to prevent which we should use every effortin our power. Do you, not see this clearly?"

"I do, mother," was replied by Edith in a more rational tone ofvoice than that in which she had yet spoken.

"To open a store of any kind would involve five times the exposureof a boarding-house; and, moreover, I know nothing of business."

"Keeping a store? Oh, no! we couldn't do that. Think of the dreadfulexposure!"

"But in taking boarders we only increase our family, and all goes onas usual. To my mind, it is the most genteel thing that we can do.Our style of living will be the same; our waiter and all ourservants will be retained. In fact, to the eye there will be littlechange, and the world need never know how greatly reduced ourcircumstances have become."

This mode of argument tended to reconcile Edith to taking boarders.Something, she saw, had to be done. Opening a store was felt to beout of the question; and as to commencing a school, the thought wasrepulsed at the very first suggestion.

A few friends were consulted on the subject, and all agreed that thebest thing for the widow to do was to take boarders. Each one couldpoint to some lady who had commenced the business with far lessability to make boarders comfortable, and who had yet got along verywell. It was conceded on all hands that it was a very genteelbusiness, and that some of the first ladies had been compelled toresort to it, without being any the less respected. Almost every oneto whom the matter was referred spoke in favour of the thing, andbut a single individual suggested difficulty; but what he said wasnot permitted to have much weight. This individual was a brother ofthe widow, who had always been looked upon as rather eccentric. Hewas a bachelor and without fortune, merely enjoying a moderateincome as book-keeper in the office of an insurance company. Butmore of him hereafter.

CHAPTER II.

MRS. DARLINGTON, the widow we have just introduced to the reader,had five children. Edith, the oldest daughter, was twenty-two yearsof age at the time of her father's death; and Henry, the oldest son,just twenty. Next to Henry was Miriam, eighteen years old. The agesof the two youngest children, Ellen and Edward, were ten and eight.

Mr. Darlington, while living, was a lawyer of distinguished ability,and his talents and reputation at the Philadelphia bar enabled himto accumulate a handsome fortune. Upon this he had lived for someyears in a style of great elegance. About a year before his death,he had been induced to enter into some speculation that promisedgreat results; but he found, when too late to retreat, that he hadbeen greatly deceived. Heavy losses soon followed. In a struggle torecover himself, he became still further involved; and, ere theexpiration of a twelvemonth, saw every thing falling from under him.The trouble brought on by this was the real cause of his death,which was sudden, and resulted from inflammation and congestion ofthe brain.

Henry Darlington, the oldest son, was a young man of promisingtalents. He remained at college until a few months before hisfather's death, when he returned home and commenced the study oflaw, in which he felt ambitious to distinguish himself.

Edith, the oldest daughter, possessed a fine mind, which had beenwell educated. She had some false views of life, natural to herposition; but, apart from this, was a girl of sound sense and greatforce of character. Thus far in life she had not encounteredcircumstances of a nature calculated to develop what was in her. Thetime for that, however, was approaching. Miriam, her sister, was aquiet, gentle, retiring, almost timid girl. She went into companywith reluctance, and then always shrunk as far from observation asit was possible to get; but, like most quiet, retiring persons,there were deep places in her mind and heart. She thought and feltmore than was supposed. All who knew Miriam loved her. Of theyounger children we need not here speak.

Mrs. Darlington knew comparatively nothing of the world beyond herown social circle. She was, perhaps, as little calculated for doingwhat she proposed to do as a woman could well be. She had no habitsof economy, and had. never in her life been called upon to makecalculations of expense in household matters. There was a tendencyto generosity rather than selfishness in her character, and sherarely thought evil of any one. But all that she was need not herebe set forth, for it will appear as our narrative progresses.

Mr. Hiram Ellis, the brother of Mrs. Darlington to whom briefallusion has been made, was not a great favourite in thefamily--although Mr. Darlington understood his good qualities, andvery highly respected him--because he had not much that wasprepossessing in his external appearance, and was thought to be alittle eccentric. Moreover, he was not rich--merely holding theplace of book-keeper in an insurance office, at a moderate salary.But as he had never married, and had only himself to support, hisincome supplied amply all his wants, and left him a small annualsurplus.

After the death of Mr. Darlington, he visited his sister much morefrequently than before. Of the exact condition of her affairs, hewas much better acquainted than she supposed. The anxiety which shefelt, some months after her husband's death, when the result of thesettlement of his estate became known, led her to be rather morecommunicative. After determining to open a boarding-house, she saidto him, on the occasion of his visiting her one evening--

"As it is necessary for me to do something, Hiram, I have concludedto move to a better location, and take a few boarders."

"Don't do any such thing, Margaret," her brother made answer."Taking boarders! It's the last thing of which a woman shouldthink."

"Why do you say that, Hiram?" asked Mrs. Darlington, evincing nolittle surprise at this unexpected reply.

"Because I think that a woman who has a living to make can hardlytry a more doubtful experiment. Not one in ten ever succeeds indoing any thing."

"But why, Hiram? Why? I'm sure a great many ladies get a living inthat way."

"What you will never do, Margaret, mark my words for it. It takes awoman of shrewdness, caution, and knowledge of the world, and onethoroughly versed in household economy, to get along in thispursuit. Even if you possessed all these prerequisites to success,you have just the family that ought not to come in contact withanybody and everybody that find their way into boarding-houses."

"I must do something, Hiram," said Mrs. Darlington, evincingimpatience at the opposition of her brother.

"I perfectly agree with you in that, Margaret," replied Mr. Ellis."The only doubt is as to your choice of occupation. You think thatyour best plan will be to take boarders; while I think you could notfall upon a worse expedient."

"Why do you think so?"

"Have I not just said?"

"What?"

"Why, that, in the first place, it takes a woman of greatshrewdness, caution, and knowledge of the world, and one thoroughlyversed in household economy, to succeed in the business."

"I'm not a fool, Hiram!" exclaimed Mrs. Darlington, losing herself-command.

"Perhaps you may alter your opinion on that head some time withinthe next twelve months," coolly returned Mr. Ellis, rising andbeginning to button up his coat.

"Such language to me, at this time, is cruel!" said Mrs. Darlington,putting her handkerchief to her eyes.

"No," calmly replied her brother, "not cruel, but kind. I wish tosave you from trouble."

"What else can I do?" asked the widow, removing the handkerchieffrom her face.

"Many things, I was going to say," returned Mr. Ellis. "But, intruth, the choice of employment is not very great. Still, somethingwith a fairer promise than taking boarders may be found."

"If you can point me to some better way, brother," said Mrs.Darlington, "I shall feel greatly indebted to you."

"Almost any thing is better. Suppose you and Edith were to open aschool. Both of you are well--"

"Open a school!" exclaimed Mrs. Darlington, interrupting herbrother, and exhibiting most profound astonishment. "I open aschool! I didn't think you would take advantage of my grief andmisfortune to offer me an insult."

Mr. Ellis buttoned the top button of his coat nervously, as hissister said this, and, partly turning himself towards the door,said--

"Teaching school is a far more useful, and, if you will, morerespectable employment, than keeping a boarding-house. This youought to see at a glance. As a teacher, you would be a minister oftruth to the mind, and have it in your power to bend from evil andlead to good the young immortals committed to your care; while, as aboarding-house keeper, you would merely furnish food for the naturalbody--a use below what you are capable of rendering to society."

But Mrs. Darlington was in no state of mind to feel the force ofsuch an argument. From the thought of a school she shrunk as fromsomething degrading, and turned from it with displeasure.

"Don't mention such a thing to me," said she fretfully, "I will notlisten to the proposition."

"Oh, well, Margaret, as you please," replied her brother, now movingtowards the door. "When you ask my advice, I will give it accordingto my best judgment, and with a sincere desire for your good. If,however, it conflicts with your views, reject it; but, in simplejustice to me, do so in a better spirit than you manifest on thepresent occasion. Good evening!"

Mrs. Darlington was too much disturbed in mind to make a reply, andMr. Hiram Ellis left the room without any attempt on the part of hissister to detain him. On both sides there had been the indulgence ofrather more impatience and intolerance than was commendable.

CHAPTER III.

IN due time, Mrs. Darlington removed to a house in Arch Street, theannual rent of which was six hundred dollars, and there began herexperiment. The expense of a removal, and the cost of the additionalchamber furniture required, exhausted about two hundred dollars ofthe widow's slender stock of money, and caused her, to feel a littletroubled when she noticed the diminution.

She began her new business with two boarders, a gentleman and hiswife by the name of Grimes, who had entered her house on therecommendation of a friend. They were to pay her the sum of eightdollars a week. A young man named Barling, clerk in a wholesaleMarket Street house, came next; and he introduced, soon after, afriend of his, a clerk in the same store, named Mason. They wereroom-mates, and paid three dollars and a half each. Three or fourweeks elapsed before any further additions were made; then anadvertisement brought several applications. One was from a gentlemanwho wanted two rooms for himself and wife, a nurse and fourchildren. He wanted the second story front and back chambers,furnished, and was not willing to pay over sixteen dollars, althoughhis oldest child was twelve and his youngest four years ofage--seven good eaters and two of the best rooms in the house forsixteen dollars!

Mrs. Darlington demurred. The man said--

"Very well, ma'am," in a tone of indifference. "I can find plenty ofaccommodations quite as good as yours for the price I offer. It'sall I pay now." Poor Mrs. Darlington sighed. She had but fifteendollars yet in the house--that is, boarders who paid this amountweekly--and the rent alone amounted to twelve dollars. Sixteendollars, she argued with herself, as she sat with her eyes upon thefloor, would make a great difference in her income; would, in fact,meet all the expenses of the house. Two good rooms would stillremain, and all that she received for these would be so much clearprofit. Such was the hurried conclusion of Mrs. Darlington's mind.

"I suppose I will have to take you," said she, lifting her eyes tothe man's hard features. "But those rooms ought to bring metwenty-four dollars."

"Sixteen is the utmost I will pay," replied the man. In fact, I didthink of offering only fourteen dollars. "But the rooms are fine,and I like them. Sixteen is a liberal price. Your terms areconsiderably above the ordinary range."

The widow sighed again.

If the man heard this sound, it did not touch a single chord offeeling.

"Then it is understood that I am to have your rooms at sixteendollars?" said he.

"Yes, sir. I will take you for that."

"Very well. My name is Scragg. We will be ready to come in on Mondaynext. You can have all prepared for us?"

"Yes, sir."

Scarcely had Mr. Scragg departed, when a gentleman called to know ifMrs. Darlington had a vacant front room in the second story.

"I had this morning; but it is taken," replied the widow.

"Ah! I'm sorry for that."

"Will not a third story front room suit you?" "No. My wife is not invery good health, and wishes a second story room. We pay twelvedollars a week, and would even give more, if necessary, to obtainjust the accommodations we like. The situation of your house pleasesme. I'm sorry that I happen to be too late."

"Will you look at the room?" said Mrs. Darlington, into whose mindcame the desire to break the bad bargain she had just made.

"If you please," returned the man.

And both went up to the large and beautifully furnished chambers.

"Just the thing!" said the man, as he looked around, much pleasedwith the appearance of every thing. "But I understood you to saythat it was taken."

"Why, yes," replied Mrs. Darlington, "I did partly engage it thismorning; but, no doubt, I can arrange with the family to take thetwo rooms above, which will suit them just as well."

"If you can"--

"There'll be no difficulty, I presume. You'll pay twelve dollars aweek?"

"Yes."

"Only yourself and lady?"

"That's all."

"Very well, sir; you can have the room."

"It's a bargain, then. My name is Ring. Our week is up to-day wherewe are; and, if it is agreeable, we will become your gueststo-morrow."

"Perfectly agreeable, Mr. Ring."

The gentleman bowed politely and retired.

Now Mrs. Darlington did not feel very comfortable when she reflectedon what she had done. The rooms in the second story were positivelyengaged to Mr. Scragg, and now one of them was as positively engagedto Mr. Ring. The face of Mr. Scragg she remembered very well. It wasa hard, sinister face, just such a one as we rarely forget becauseof the disagreeable impression it makes. As it came up distinctlybefore the eyes of her mind, she was oppressed with a sense ofcoming trouble. Nor did she feel altogether satisfied with what shehad done--satisfied in her own conscience.

On the next morning, Mr. and Mrs. Ring came and took possession ofthe room previously engaged to Mr. Scragg. They were pleasantpeople, and made a good first impression.

As day after day glided past, Mrs. Darlington felt more and moreuneasy about Mr. Scragg, with whom, she had a decided presentiment,there would be trouble. Had she known where to find him, she wouldhave sent him a note, saying that she had changed her mind about therooms, and could not let him have them. But she was ignorant of hisaddress; and the only thing left for her was to wait until he cameon Monday, and then get over the difficulty in the best waypossible. She and Edith had talked over the matter frequently, andhad come to the determination to offer Mr. Scragg the two chambersin the third story for fourteen dollars.

On Monday morning, Mrs. Darlington was nervous. This was the day onwhich Mr. Scragg and family were to arrive, and she felt that therewould be trouble.

Mr. Ring, and the other gentlemen boarders, left soon afterbreakfast. About ten o'clock, the door-bell rang. Mrs. Darlingtonwas in her room at the time changing her dress. Thinking that thismight be the announcement of Mr. Scragg's arrival, she hurriedthrough her dressing in order to get down to the parlour as quicklyas possible to meet him and the difficulty that was to beencountered; but before she was in a condition to be seen, she hearda man's voice on the stairs, saying--

"Walk up, my dear. The rooms on the second floor are ours."

Then came the noise of many feet in the passage, and the din ofchildren's voices. Mr. Scragg and his family had arrived.

Mrs. Ring was sitting with the morning paper in her hand, when herdoor was flung widely open, and a strange man stepped boldly in,saying, as he did so, to the lady who followed him--

"This is one of the chambers."

Mrs. Ring arose, bowed, and looked at the intruders with surpriseand embarrassment. Just then, four rude children bounded into theroom, spreading themselves around it, and making themselvesperfectly at home.

"There is some mistake, I presume," said Mrs. Scragg, on perceivinga lady in the room, whose manner said plainly enough that they wereout of their place.

"Oh no! no mistake at all," replied Scragg.

"These are the two rooms I engaged."

Just then Mrs. Darlington entered, in manifest excitement.

"Walk down into the parlour, if you please," said she.

"These are our rooms," said Scragg, showing no inclination to vacatethe premises.

"Be kind enough to walk down into the parlour," repeated Mrs.Darlington, whose sense of propriety was outraged by the man'sconduct, and who felt a corresponding degree of indignation.

With some show of reluctance, this invitation was acceded to, andMr. Scragg went muttering down stairs, followed by his brood. Themoment he left the chamber, the door was shut and locked by Mrs.Ring, who was a good deal frightened by so unexpected an intrusion.

"What am I to understand by this, madam?" said Mr. Scragg, fiercely,as soon as they had all reached the parlour, planting his hands uponhis hips as he spoke, drawing himself up, and looking at Mrs.Darlington with a lowering countenance.

"Take a seat, madam," said Mrs. Darlington, addressing the man'swife in a tone of forced composure. She was struggling forself-possession.

The lady sat down.

"Will you be good enough to explain the meaning of all this, madam?"repeated Mr. Scragg.

"The meaning is simply," replied Mrs. Darlington, "that I have letthe front room in the second story to a gentleman and his wife fortwelve dollars a week."

"The deuse you have!" said Mr. Scragg, with a particular exhibitionof gentlemanly indignation.

"And pray, madam, didn't you let both the rooms in the second storyto me for sixteen dollars?"

"I did; but"--

"Oh, very well. That's all I wish to know about it. The rooms wererented to me, and from that day became mine. Please to inform thelady and her husband that I am here with my family, and desire themto vacate the chambers as quickly as possible. I'm a man that knowshis rights, and, knowing, always maintains them."

"You cannot have the rooms, sir. That is out of the question," saidMrs. Darlington, looking both distressed and indignant.

"And I tell you that I will have them!" replied Scragg, angrily.

"Peter! Peter! Don't act so," now interposed Mrs. Scragg. "There'sno use in it."

"Ain't there, indeed? We'll see. Madam"--he addressed Mrs.Darlington--"will you be kind enough to inform the lady andgentleman who now occupy one of our rooms"--

"Mr. Scragg!" said Mrs. Darlington, in whose fainting heart hisoutrageous conduct had awakened something of the right spirit--"Mr.Scragg, I wish you to understand, once for all, that the front roomis taken and now occupied, and that you cannot have it."

"Madam!"

"It's no use for you to waste words, sir! What I say I mean. I haveother rooms in the house very nearly as good, and am willing to takeyou for something less in consideration of this disappointment. Ifthat will meet your views, well; if not, let us have no more wordson the subject."

There was a certain something in Mrs. Darlington's tone of voicethat Scragg understood to mean a fixed purpose. Moreover, his mindcaught at the idea of getting boarded for something less thansixteen dollars a week.

"Where are the rooms?" he asked gruffly.

"The third story chambers."

"Front?"

"Yes."

"I don't want to go to the third story."

"Very well. Then you can have the back chamber down stairs, and thefront chamber above."

"What will be your charge?"

"Fourteen dollars."

"That will do, Peter," said Mrs. Scragg. "Two dollars a week isconsiderable abatement."

"It's something, of course. But I don't like this off and on kind ofbusiness. When I make an agreement, I'm up to the mark, and expectthe same from everybody else. Will you let my wife see the rooms,madam?"

"Certainly," replied Mrs. Darlington, and moved towards the door.Mrs. Scragg followed, and so did all the juvenile Scraggs--thelatter springing up the stairs with the agility of apes and thenoise of a dozen rude schoolboys just freed from the terror of rodand ferule.

The rooms suited Mrs. Scragg very well--at least such was her reportto her husband--and, after some further rudeness on the part of Mr.Scragg, and an effort to beat Mrs. Darlington down to twelve dollarsa week, were taken, and forthwith occupied.

CHAPTER IV.

MRS. DARLINGTON was a woman of refinement herself, and had been usedto the society of refined persons. She was, naturally enough,shocked at the coarseness and brutality of Mr. Scragg, and, ere anhour went by, in despair at the unmannerly rudeness of the children,the oldest a stout, vulgar-looking boy, who went racing andrummaging about the house from the garret to the cellar. For a longtime after her exciting interview with Mr. Scragg, she sat weepingand trembling in her own room, with Edith by her side, who soughtearnestly to comfort and encourage her.

"Oh, Edith!" she sobbed, "to think that we should be humbled tothis!"

"Necessity has forced us into our present unhappy position, mother,"replied Edith. "Let us meet its difficulties with as brave hearts aspossible."

"I shall never be able to treat that dreadful man with even commoncivility," said Mrs. Darlington.

"We have accepted him as our guest, mother, and it will be our dutyto make all as pleasant and comfortable as possible. We will have tobear much, I see--much beyond what I had anticipated."

Mrs. Darlington sighed deeply as she replied--

"Yes, yes, Edith. Ah, the thought makes me miserable!"

"No more of that sweet drawing together in our own dear homecircle," remarked Edith, sadly.

"Henceforth we are to bear the constant presence and intrusion ofstrangers, with whom we have few or no sentiments in common. We openour house and take in the ignorant, the selfish, the vulgar, andfeed them for a certain price! Does not the thought bring a feelingof painful humiliation? What can pay for all this? Ah me! Theanticipation had in it not a glimpse of what we have found in ourbrief experience. Except Mr. and Mrs. Ring, there isn't a lady norgentleman in the house. That Mason is so rudely familiar that Icannot bear to come near him. He's making himself quite intimatewith Henry already, and I don't like to see it."

"Nor do I," replied Mrs. Darlington. "Henry's been out with him twiceto the theatre already."

"I'm afraid of his influence over Henry. He's not the kind of acompanion he ought to choose," said Edith. "And then Mr. Barling iswith Miriam in the parlour almost every evening. He asks her tosing, and she says she doesn't like to refuse."

The mother sighed deeply. While they were conversing, a servant cameto their room to say that Mr. Ring was in the parlour, and wished tospeak with Mrs. Darlington. It was late in the afternoon of the dayon which the Scraggs had made their appearance.

With a presentiment of trouble, Mrs. Darlington went down to theparlour.

"Madam," said Mr. Ring, as soon as she entered, speaking in a firmvoice, "I find that my wife has been grossly insulted by a fellowwhose family you have taken into your house. Now they must leavehere, or we will, and that forthwith."

"I regret extremely," replied Mrs. Darlington, "the unpleasantoccurrence to which you allude; but I do not see how it is possiblefor me to turn these people out of the house."

"Very well, ma'am. Suit yourself about that. You can choose betweenus. Both can't remain."

"If I were to tell this Mr. Scragg to seek another boarding-house,he would insult me," said Mrs. Darlington.

"Strange that you would take such a fellow into your house!"

"My rooms were vacant, and I had to fill them."

"Better to have let them remain vacant. But this is neither here northere. If this fellow remains, we go."

And go they did on the next day. Mrs. Darlington was afraid toapproach Mr. Scragg on the subject. Had she done so, she would havereceived nothing but abuse.

Two weeks afterward, the room vacated by Mr. and Mrs. Ring was takenby a tall, fine-looking man, who wore a pair of handsome whiskersand dressed elegantly. He gave his name as Burton, and agreed to payeight dollars. Mrs. Darlington liked him very much. There was acertain style about him that evidenced good breeding and a knowledgeof the world. What his business was he did not say. He was usuallyin the house as late as ten o'clock in the morning, and rarely camein before twelve at night.

Soon after Mr. Burton became a member of Mrs. Darlington'shousehold, he began to show particular attentions to Miriam, who wasin her nineteenth year, and was, as we have said, a gentle, timid,shrinking girl. Though she did not encourage, she would not rejectthe attentions of the polite and elegant stranger, who had so muchthat was agreeable to say that she insensibly acquired a kind ofprepossession in his favour.

As now constituted, the family of Mrs. Darlington was not sopleasant and harmonious as could have been desired. Mr. Scragg hadalready succeeded in making himself so disagreeable to the otherboarders, that they were scarcely civil to him; and Mrs. Grimes, whowas quite gracious with Mrs. Scragg at first, no longer spoke toher. They had fallen out about some trifle, quarrelled, and then cuteach other's acquaintance. When the breakfast, dinner, or tea bellrang, and the boarders assembled at the table, there was generally,at first, an embarrassing silence. Scragg looked like a bull-dogwaiting for an occasion to bark; Mrs. Scragg sat with her lipsclosely compressed and her head partly turned away, so as to keepher eyes out of the line of vision with Mrs. Grimes's face; whileMrs. Grimes gave an occasional glance of contempt towards the ladywith whom she had had a "tiff." Barling and Mason, observing allthis, and enjoying it, were generally the first to break thereigning silence; and this was usually done by addressing someremark to Scragg, for no other reason, it seemed, than to hear hisgrowling reply. Usually, they succeeded in drawing him into anargument, when they would goad him until he became angry; a speciesof irritation in which they never suffered themselves to indulge. Asfor Mr. Grimes, he was a man of few words. When spoken to, he wouldreply; but he never made conversation. The only man who reallybehaved like a gentleman was Mr. Burton; and the contrast seen inhim naturally prepossessed the family in his favour.

The first three months' experience in taking boarders was enough tomake the heart of Mrs. Darlington sick. All domestic comfort wasgone. From early morning until late at night, she toiled harder thanany servant in the house; and, with all, had a mind pressed downwith care and anxiety. Three times during this period she had beenobliged to change her cook, yet, for all, scarcely a day passed thatshe did not set badly cooked food before her guests. Sometimescertain of the boarders complained, and it generally happened thatrudeness accompanied the complaint. The sense of pain that attendedthis was always most acute, for it was accompanied by deephumiliation and a feeling of helplessness. Moreover, during thesefirst three months, Mr. and Mrs. Grimes had left the house withoutpaying their board for five weeks, thus throwing her into a loss offorty dollars.

At the beginning of this experiment, after completing the furnitureof her house, Mrs. Darlington had about three hundred dollars. Whenthe quarter's bill for rent was paid, she had only a hundred andfifty dollars left. Thus, instead of making any thing by boarders,so far, she had sunk a hundred and fifty dollars. This factdisheartened her dreadfully. Then, the effect upon almost everymember of her family had been bad. Harry was no longer thethoughtful affectionate, innocent-minded young man of former days.Mason and Barling had introduced him into gay company, and,fascinated with a new and more exciting kind of life, he was fastforming associations and acquiring habits of a dangerous character.It was rare that he spent an evening at home; and, instead of beingof any assistance to his mother, was constantly making demands onher for money. The pain all this occasioned Mrs. Darlington was ofthe most distressing character. Since the children of Mr. and Mrs.Scragg came into the house, Edward and Ellen, who had heretoforebeen under the constant care and instruction of their mother, leftalmost entirely to themselves, associated constantly with thesechildren, and learned from them to be rude, vulgar, and, in somethings, even vicious. And Miriam had become apparently so muchinterested in Mr. Burton, who was constantly attentive to her, thatboth Mrs. Darlington and Edith became anxious on her account. Burtonwas entire stranger to them all, and there were many things abouthim that appeared strange, if not wrong.

So much for the experiment of taking boarders, after the lapse of asingle quarter of a year.

CHAPTER V.

ABOUT this time a lady and gentleman, named Marion, called andengaged boarding for themselves and three children. In Mrs. Marionthere was something that won the heart at first sight, and herchildren were as lovely and attractive as herself; but towards herhusband there was a feeling of instant repulsion. Not that he wascoarse or rude in his exterior--that was polished; but there were asensualism and want of principle about him that could be felt.

They had been in the house only a week or two, when their oldestchild, a beautiful boy, was taken ill. He had fever, and complainedof distress in his back and pain in his head. The mother appearedanxious, but the father treated the matter lightly, and said hewould be well again in a few hours.

"I think you'd better call in a doctor," Mrs. Darlington heard themother say, as her husband stood at the chamber door ready to goaway.

"Nonsense, Jane," he replied. "You are easily frightened. There'snothing serious the matter."

"I'm afraid of scarlet fever, Henry," was answered to this.

"Fiddlesticks! You're always afraid of something," was lightly andunkindly returned.

Mrs. Marion said no more, and her husband went away. About half anhour afterwards, as Mrs. Darlington sat in her room, there was alight tap at her door, which was immediately opened, and Mrs. Marionstepped in. Her face was pale, and it was some moments before herquivering lips could articulate.

"Won't you come up and look at my Willy?" she at length said, in atremulous voice.

"Certainly, ma'am," replied Mrs. Darlington, rising immediately."What do you think ails your little boy?"

"I don't know, ma'am; but I'm afraid of scarlet fever--that dreadfuldisease."

Mrs. Darlington went up to the chamber of Mrs. Marion. On the bedlay Willy, his face flushed with fever, and his eyes wearing aglassy lustre.

"Do you feel sick, my dear?" asked Mrs. Darlington, as she laid herhand on his burning forehead.

"Yes, ma'am," replied the child.

"There are you sick?"

"My head aches."

"Is your throat sore?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Very sore?"

"It hurts me so that I can hardly swallow."

"What do you think ails him?" asked the mother, in anxious tones.

"It's hard to say, Mrs. Marion; but, if it were my case, I wouldsend for a doctor. Who is your physician?"

"Dr. M----."

"If you would like to have him called in, I will send the waiter tohis office."

Mrs. Marion looked troubled and alarmed.

"My husband doesn't think it any thing serious," said she. "I wantedhim to go for the doctor."

"Take my advice, and send for a physician," replied Mrs. Darlington.

"If you will send for Dr. M----, I will feel greatly obliged," saidMrs. Marion.

The doctor was sent for immediately. He did not come for two hours,in which time Willy had grown much worse. He looked serious, andanswered all questions evasively. After writing a prescription, hegave a few directions, and said he would call again in the evening.At his second visit, he found his patient much worse; and, on thefollowing morning, pronounced it a case of scarlatina.

Already, Willy had made a friend in every member of Mrs.Darlington's family, and the announcement of his dangerous illnesswas received with acute pain. Miriam took her place beside Mrs.Marion in the sick chamber, all her sympathies alive, and all herfears awakened; and Edith and her mother gave every attention thattheir other duties in the household would permit.

Rapidly did the disease, which had fixed itself upon the delicateframe of the child, run its fatal course. On the fourth day he diedin the arms of his almost frantic mother.

Though Mrs. Marion had been only a short time in the house, yet shehad already deeply interested the feelings of Mrs. Darlington andher two eldest daughters, who suffered with her in the afflictionalmost as severely as if they had themselves experienced abereavement; and this added to the weight, already painfullyoppressive, that rested upon them.

The nearer contact into which the family of Mrs. Darlington and thebereaved mother were brought by this affliction, discovered to theformer many things that strengthened the repugnance first felttowards Mr. Marion, and awakened still livelier sympathies for hissuffering wife.

One evening, a week after the body of the child was borne out by themourners and laid to moulder in its kindred dust, the voice of Mr.Marion was heard in loud, angry tones. He was alone with his wife intheir chamber. This chamber was next to hat of Edith and Miriam,where they, at the time, happened to be. What he said they could notmake out; but they distinctly heard the voice of Mrs. Marion, andthe words--

"Oh, Henry! don't! don't!" uttered in tones the most agonizing. Theyalso heard the words, "For the sake of our dear, dear Willy!" usedin some appeal.

Both Edith and Miriam were terribly frightened, and sat panting andlooking at each other with pale faces.

All now became silent. Not a sound could be heard in the chambersave an occasional low sob. For half an hour this silence continued.Then the door of the chamber was opened, and Marion went downstairs. The closing of the front door announced his departure fromthe house. Edith and her sister sat listening for some minutes afterMarion had left, but not a movement could they perceive in theadjoining chamber.

"Strange! What can it mean?" at length said Miriam, in a huskywhisper. Edith breathed heavily to relieve the pressure on herbosom, but made no answer.

"He didn't strike her?" said Miriam, her face growing paler as shemade this suggestion.

The moment this was uttered, Edith arose quickly and moved towardsthe door.

"Where are you going?" asked her sister.

"Into Mrs. Marion's room."

"Oh no, don't!" returned Miriam, speaking from some vague fear thatmade her heart shrink.

But Edith did not heed the words. Her light tap at Mrs. Marion'sdoor was not answered. Opening it softly, she stepped within thechamber. On the bed, where she had evidently thrown herself, layMrs. Marion; and, on approaching and bending over her, Edithdiscovered that she was sleeping. On perceiving this, she retired asnoiselessly as she had entered.

Ten, eleven, twelve o'clock came; and yet Mr. Marion had notreturned. An hour later than this, Edith and her sister lay awake,but up to that time he was still away. On the next morning, when thebell rang for breakfast, and the family assembled at the table, theplaces of Mr. and Mrs. Marion were vacant. From their nurse it wasascertained that Mr. Marion had not come home since he went out onthe evening before, and that his wife had not yet arisen. Betweennine and ten o'clock, Mrs. Darlington sent up to know if Mrs. Marionwished any thing, but was answered in the negative. At dinner timeMr. Marion did not make his appearance, and his wife remained in herchamber. Food was sent to her, but it was returned untasted.

During the afternoon, Mrs. Darlington knocked at her door, but thenurse said that Mrs. Marion asked to be excused from seeing her. Atsupper time food was sent again to her room; but, save part of a cupof tea, nothing was tasted. After tea, Mrs. Darlington called againat her room, but the desire to be excused from seeing her wasrepeated. Marion did not return that night.

Nearly a week passed, the husband still remaining away, and not onceduring that time had Mrs. Marion been seen by any member of thefamily. At the end of this period, she sent word to Mrs. Darlingtonthat she would be glad to see her.

When the latter entered her room, she found her lying upon the bed,with a face so pale and grief-stricken, that she could not help anexclamation of painful surprise.

"My dear madam, what has happened?" said she, as she took her hand.

Mrs. Marion was too much overcome by emotion to be able to speak forsome moments. Acquiring self-possession at length, she said, in alow, sad voice--

"My heart is almost broken, Mrs. Darlington. I feel crushed to thevery ground. How shall I speak of what I am suffering?"

Her voice quivered and failed. But in a few moments she recoveredherself again, and said, more calmly--

"I need not tell you that my husband has been absent for a week; hewent away in a moment of anger, vowing that he would never return.Hourly have I waited since, in the hope that he would come back;but, alas! I have thus far received from him neither word nor sign."

Mrs. Marion here gave way to her feelings, and wept bitterly.

"Did he ever leave you before?" asked Mrs. Darlington, as soon asshe had grown calm.

"Once."

"How long did he remain away?"

"More than a year."

"Have you friends?"

"I have no relative but an aunt, who is very poor."

Mrs. Darlington sighed involuntarily. On that very day she had beenseriously examining into her affairs, and the result was aconviction that, under her present range of expenses, she must gobehind-hand with great rapidity. Mr. and Mrs. Marion were to payfourteen dollars a weeks Thus far, nothing had been received fromthem; and now the husband had gone off and left his family on herhands. She could not turn them off, yet how could she bear up underthis additional burden!

All this passed through her mind in a moment, and produced the sighwhich distracted her bosom.

"Do you not know where he has gone?" she asked, seeking to throw asmuch sympathy and interest in her voice as possible, and thus toconceal the pressure upon her own feelings which the intelligencehad occasioned.

Mrs. Marion shook her head. She knew that, in the effort to speak,her voice would fail her.

For nearly the space of a minute there was silence. This was broken,at length, by Mrs. Marion, who again wept violently. As soon as thepassionate burst of feeling was over, Mrs. Darlington said to her ina kind and sympathizing voice--

"Do not grieve so deeply. You are not friendless altogether. Thoughyou have been with us only a short time, we feel an interest in you,and will not"--

The sentence remained unfinished. There was an impulse in Mrs.Darlington's mind to proffer the unhappy woman a home for herselfand children; but a sudden recollection of the embarrassing natureof her own circumstances checked the words on her tongue.

"I cannot remain a burden upon you," quickly answered Mrs. Marion."But where can I go? What shall I do?"

The last few words were spoken half to herself, in a low tone ofdistressing despondency.

"For the present," said Mrs. Darlington, anxious to mitigate, evenin a small degree, the anguish of the unhappy woman's mind, "letthis give you no trouble. Doubtless the way will open before you.After the darkest hour the morning breaks."

Yet, even while Mrs. Darlington sought thus to give comfort, her ownheart felt the weight upon it growing heavier. Scarcely able tostand up in her difficulties alone, here was a new burden laid uponher.

None could have sympathized more deeply with the afflicted motherand deserted wife than did Mrs. Darlington and her family; and nonecould have extended more willingly a helping hand in time of need.But, in sustaining the burden of her support, they felt that theadditional weight was bearing them under.

CHAPTER VI.

THREE months more elapsed. Mrs. Marion was still an inmate of thefamily. Up to this time, not a word had come from her husband, andshe had not been able to pay Mrs. Darlington a single dollar.

Painfully did she feel her dependent situation, although she wastreated with the utmost delicacy and consideration. But all thewidow's means were now exhausted in the payment of the secondquarter's rent, and she found her weekly income reduced tothirty-five dollars, scarcely sufficient to meet the weekly expensefor supplying the table, paying the servants, etc., leaving nothingfor future rent bills, the cost of clothing, and education for theyounger children. With all this, Mrs. Darlington's duties had beengrowing daily more and more severe. Nothing could be trusted toservants that was not, in some way, defectively done, causingrepeated complaints from the boarders. What proved most annoying wasthe bad cooking, to remedy which Mrs. Darlington strove in vain. Oneday the coffee was not fit to drink, and on the next day the steakwould be burnt or broiled as dry as a chip, or the sirloin roasteduntil every particle of juice had evaporated. If hot cakes wereordered for breakfast, ten chances to one that they were not sour;or, if rolls were baked, they would, most likely, be as heavy aslead.

Such mishaps were so frequent, that the guests of Mrs. Darlingtonbecame impatient, and Mr. Scragg, in particular, never let anoccasion for grumbling or insolence pass without fully improving it.

"Is your coal out?" said he, one morning, about this time, as he satat the breakfast table.

Mrs. Darlington understood, by the man's tone and manner, that hemeant to be rude, though she did not comprehend the meaning of thequestion.

"No, sir," she replied, with some dignity of manner. "Why do youask?"

"It struck me," he answered, "that such might be the case. But,perhaps, cook is too lazy to bring it out of the cellar. If she'llsend for me to-morrow morning, I'll bring her up an extrascuttleful, as I particularly like a good cup of hot coffee."

His meaning was now plain. Quick as thought, the blood rushed to theface of Mrs. Darlington.

She had borne so much from this man, and felt towards him such utterdisgust, that she could forbear no longer.

"Mr. Scragg," said she, with marked indignation, "when a gentlemanhas any complaint to make, he does it as a gentleman."

"Madam!" exclaimed Scragg, with a threat in his voice, while hiscoarse face became red with anger.

"When a gentleman has any complaint to make, he does it as agentleman," repeated Mrs. Darlington, with a more particularemphasis than at first.

"I'd thank you to explain yourself," said Scragg, dropping his handsfrom the table, and elevating his person.

"My words convey my meaning plainly enough. But, if you cannotunderstand, I will try to make them clearer. Your conduct is notthat of a gentleman."

Of course, Mr. Scragg asked for no further explanation. Startingfrom the table, he said, looking at Mrs. Scragg--

"Come!"

And Mrs. Scragg arose and followed her indignant spouse.

"Served him right," remarked Burton, in a low voice, bending alittle towards Miriam, who sat near him. "I hope we shall now be ridof the low-bred fellow."

Miriam was too much disturbed to make a reply. All at the table feltmore or less uncomfortable, and soon retired. Ere dinner time, Mr.and Mrs. Scragg, with their whole brood, had left the house, thusreducing the income of Mrs. Darlington from thirty-five totwenty-three dollars a week.

At dinner time, Mrs. Darlington was in bed. The reaction whichfollowed the excitement of the morning, accompanied as it was withthe conviction that, in parting with the Scraggs, insufferable asthey were, she had parted with the very means of sustaining herself,completely prostrated her. During the afternoon, she was better, andwas able to confer with Edith on the desperate nature of theiraffairs.

"What are we to do?" said she to her daughter, breaking thusabruptly a silence which had continued for many minutes. "We have anincome of only twenty-three dollars a week, and that will scarcelysupply the table."

Edith sighed, but did not answer.

"Twenty-three dollars a week," repeated Mrs. Darlington. "What arewe to do?"

"Our rooms will not remain vacant long, I hope," said Edith.

"There is little prospect of filling them that I can see," murmuredMrs. Darlington. "If all our rooms were taken, we might get along."

"I don't know," returned Edith to this, speaking thoughtfully. "Isometimes think that our expenses are too great for us to make anything, even if our rooms were filled. Six hundred dollars is a largerent for us to pay."

"We've sunk three hundred dollars in six months. That is certain,"said Mrs. Darlington.

"And our furniture has suffered to an extent almost equivalent,"added her daughter.

"Oh, do not speak of that! The thought makes me sick. Our handsomeFrench china dinner set, which cost us a hundred and fifty dollars,is completely ruined. Half of the plates are broken, and there isscarcely a piece of it not injured or defaced. My heart aches to seethe destruction going on around us."

"I was in Mr. Scragg's room to-day," said Edith.

"Well, what of it?" asked her mother.

"It would make you sick in earnest to look in there. You know thebeautiful bowl and pitcher that were in her chamber?"

"Yes."

"Both handle and spout are off of the pitcher."

"Edith!"

"And the bowl is cracked from the rim to the centre. Then theelegant rosewood washstand is completely ruined. Two knobs are offof the dressing-bureau, the veneering stripped from the edge of oneof the drawers, and the whole surface marked over in a thousandlines. It looks as if the children had amused themselves by the hourin scratching it with pins. Three chairs are broken. And the newcarpet we put on the floor looks as if it had been used for tenyears. Moreover, every thing is in a most filthy condition. It isshocking."

Mrs. Darlington fairly groaned at this intelligence.

"But where is it all to lead, Edith?" she asked, arousing herselffrom a kind of stupor into which her mind had fallen. "We cannot goon as we are now going."

"We must reduce our expenses, if possible."

"But how are we to reduce them? We cannot send away the cook."

"No. Of course not."

"Nor our chambermaid."

"No. But cannot we dispense with the waiter?"

"Who will attend the table, go to market, and do the dozen otherthings now required of him?"

"We can get our marketing sent home."

"But the waiting oh the table. Who will do that?"

"Half a dollar a week extra to the chambermaid will secure thatservice from her."

"But she has enough to do besides waiting on the table," objectedMrs. Darlington.

"Miriam and I will help more through the house than we have yetdone. Three dollars a week and the waiter's board will be saving agood deal."

Mrs. Darlington sighed heavily, and then said--

"To think what I have borne from that Scragg and his family,ignorant, low-bred, vulgar people, with whom we have no socialaffinity whatever, who occupy a level far below us, and who yet puton airs and treat us as if we were only their servants! I could bearhis insolence no longer. Ah, to what mortifications are we notsubjected in our present position! How little dreamed I of all this,when I decided to open a boarding-house! But, Edith, to come back towhat we were conversing about, it would be something to save theexpense of our waiter; but what are three or four dollars a week,when we are going behind hand at the rate of twenty?"

"If Mrs. Marion"--

Edith checked herself, and did not say what was in her mind. Mrs.Darlington was silent, sighed again heavily, and then said--

"Yes; if it wasn't for the expense of keeping Mrs. Marion. And shehas no claim upon us."

"None but the claim of humanity," said Edith.

"If we were able to pay that claim," remarked Mrs. Darlington.

"True."

"But we are not. Such being the case, are we justified in any longeroffering her a home?"

"Where will she go? What will she do?" said Edith.

"Where will we go? What will we do, unless there is a change in ourfavour?" asked Mrs. Darlington.

"Alas, I cannot tell! When we are weak, small things are felt as aburden. The expense of keeping Mrs. Marion and her two children isnot very great. Still, it is an expense that we are unable to meet.But how can we tell her to go?"

"I cannot take my children's bread and distribute it to others,"replied Mrs. Darlington, with much feeling. My first duty is tothem."

"Poor woman! My heart aches for her," said Edith. "She looks so paleand heart-broken, feels so keenly her state of dependence, and triesso in every possible way to make the pressure of her presence in ourfamily as light as possible, that the very thought of turning herfrom our door seems to involve cruelty."

"All that, Edith, I feel most sensibly. Ah me! into what a straitare we driven!"

"How many times have I wished that we had never commenced thisbusiness!" said Edith. "It has brought us nothing but trouble fromthe beginning; and, unless my fears are idle, some worse troublesare yet before us."

"Of what kind?"

"Henry did not come home until after two o'clock this morning."

"What!" exclaimed the mother in painful surprise.

"I sat up for him. Knowing that he had gone out with Mr. Barling,and, finding that he had not returned by eleven o'clock, I could notgo to bed. I said nothing to Miriam, but sat up alone. It was nearlyhalf past two when he came home in company with Barling. Both, I amsorry to say, were so much intoxicated, that they could scarcelymake their way up stairs."

"Oh, Edith!" exclaimed the stricken mother, hiding her face in herhands, and weeping aloud.

Miriam entered the room at this moment, and, seeing her mother intears, and Edith looking the very image of distress, begged to knowthe cause of their trouble. Little was said to her then; but Edith,when she was alone with her soon after, fully explained thedesperate condition of their affairs. Hitherto they had, out ofregard for Miriam, concealed from her the nature of the difficultiesthat were closing around them.

"I dreamed not of this," said Miriam, in a voice of anguish. "Mypoor mother! What pain she must suffer! No wonder that hercountenance is so often sad. But, Edith, cannot we do something?"

Ever thus, to the mind of the sweet girl, when the troubles ofothers were mentioned to her, came, first, the desire to affordrelief.

"We can do nothing," replied Edith, "at present, unless it be toassist through the house, so that the chambermaid can attend thedoor, wait on the table, and do other things now required of thewaiter."

"And let him go?"

"Yes."

"I am willing to do all in my power, Edith," said Miriam. "But, ifmother has lost so much already, will she not lose still more if shecontinue to go on as she is now going?"

"She hopes to fill all her rooms; then she thinks that she will beable to make something."

"This has been her hope from the first," replied Miriam.

"Yes; and thus far it has been a vain hope."

"Three hundred dollars lost already," sighed Miriam, "our beautifulfurniture ruined, and all domestic happiness destroyed! Ah me! Whereis all going to end? Uncle Hiram was right when he objected tomother's taking boarders, and said that it was the worst thing shecould attempt to do. I wish we had taken his advice. Willingly wouldI give music lessons or work with my hands for an income, to savemother from the suffering and labour she has now to bear."

"The worst is," said Edith, following out her own thoughts ratherthan replying to her sister, "now that all our money is gone, debtwill follow. How is the next quarter's rent to be paid?"

"A hundred aid fifty dollars?"

"Yes. How can we pay that?"

"Oh dear!" sighed Miriam. What are we to do? How dark all looks!"

"If there is not some change," said Edith, "by the close of anothersix months, every thing we have will be sold for debt."

"Dreadful!" ejaculated Miriam, "dreadful!"

For a long time the sisters conferred together, but no gleam oflight arose in their minds. All the future remained shrouded indarkness.

CHAPTER VII.

THE man named Burton, to whom reference has been made as beingparticularly attentive to Miriam, was really charmed with thebeautiful young girl. But the affection of a man such as he wascomes to its object as a blight instead of a blessing. Miriam, whileshe did not repel his attentions, for his manner towards her wasever polite and respectful, felt, nevertheless, an instinctiverepugnance towards him, and when she could keep out of his waywithout seeming to avoid him, she generally did so.

A few evenings after the conversation held with Edith, as given inthe last chapter, Burton, in passing from the dining room, said toMiriam,--

"Come. I want you to play for me some of those beautiful airs in DonGiovanni."

"Indeed you must excuse me Mr. Burton," replied Miriam. I don't feellike playing to-night."

"Can't excuse you, indeed," said Burton, smiling pleasantly, and, atthe same time, taking Miriam's hand, which she quickly withdrew fromhis touch. The contact sent an unpleasant thrill along her nerves."So come. I must have some music to-night."

Miriam yielded to the request, although she felt in no mood fortouching the piano. After playing several pieces, she lifted herhands from the instrument, and, turning away from it, said,--

"There, Mr. Burton, you must really excuse me. I cannot playto-night."

"Excuse you! Certainly. And for the pleasure you have given me,accept my thanks," replied Mr. Burton. There was a change in histone of voice which Miriam did not comprehend. "And now," he added,in a low voice, bending to her ear, "come and sit down with me onthe sofa. I have something particular that I wish to say."

Miriam did as she was desired, not dreaming of what was in the mindof Burton.

"Miriam," said he, after a pause, "do not be startled nor surprisedat what I am going to say."

But his words and manner both startled her, and she was aboutrising, when he took her hand and gently detained her.

"Nay, Miriam," said he, "you must hear what I wish to speak. Fromthe day I entered this house, you have interested me deeply.Admiration was followed quickly by profound respect; and to thissucceeded a warmer sentiment."

A deep crimson instantly mantled the face of Miriam, and her eyefell to the floor.

"Can you, my dear young lady," continued Mr. Burton, "reciprocatethe feeling I have expressed?"

"Oh, sir! Excuse me!" said Miriam, so soon as she could recover herdisordered thoughts. And she made another effort to rise, but wasstill detained by Burton.

"Stay! stay!" said he. "Hear all that I wish to utter. I am rich"--

But, ere he could speak another word, Miriam sprang from the sofa,and, bounding from the room, flew rather than walked up the stairs.The instant she entered her own room she closed and locked the door,and then, falling upon the bed, gave vent to a flood of tears. Along time passed before her spirit regained its former composure;and then, when her thought turned towards Mr. Burton, sheexperienced an inward shudder.

Of what had occurred, she breathed not a syllable to Edith when shejoined her in the chamber to retire for the night.

"How my heart aches for mother!" sighed Edith, as she came in. "Ihave been trying to encourage her; but words are of no avail. 'Whereis all to end?' she asks; and I cannot answer the question. Oh dear!What is to become of us? At the rate we are going on now, everything must soon be lost. To think of what we have sacrificed and arestill sacrificing, yet all to no purpose. Every comfort is gone.Strangers, who have no sympathy with us, have come into our house;and mother is compelled to bear all manner of indignities frompeople who are in every way her inferiors. Yet, for all, we arelosing instead of gaining. Ah me! No wonder she is heart-sick andutterly discouraged. How could it be otherwise?"

Miriam heard and felt every word; but she made no answer. Thought,however, was busy, and remained busy long after sleep had broughtback to the troubled heart of Edith its even pulsations.

"I am rich." These words of Mr. Burton were constantly recurring toher mind. It was in vain that she turned from the idea presentedwith them: it grew more and more distinct each moment. Yes, therewas a way of relief opened for her mother, of safety for the family,and Miriam saw it plainly, yet shuddered as she looked, and closedher eyes, like one about to leap from a fearful height.

Hour after hour Miriam lay awake, pondering the new aspect whichthings had assumed, and gazing down the fearful abyss into which, ina spirit of self-devotion, she was seeking to find the courage toleap.

"I am rich." Ever and anon these words sounded in her ears. As thewife of Burton, she could at once lift her mother out of her presentunhappy situation. Thus, before the hour of midnight came and went,she thought. He had offered her his hand. She might accept theoffer, on condition of his settling an income upon her mother.

This the tempter whispered in her ears, and she hearkened, inexquisite pain, to the suggestion.

When Edith awoke on the next morning, Miriam slept soundly by herside; but Edith, observed that her face was pale and troubled, andthat tears were on her cheeks. At breakfast time, she did not appearat the table; and when her mother sent to her room she returned foranswer that she was not very well. The whole of the day she spent inher chamber, and, during all the time, was struggling against theinstinctive repulsion felt towards the man who had made her an offerof marriage.

At supper time, she reappeared at the table with a calm, yet sadface. As she was passing from the dining room after tea, Burton cameto her side and whispered--

"Can I have a word with you in the parlour, Miriam?"

The young girl neither looked up nor spoke, but moved along by hisside, and descended with him to the parlour, where they were alone.

"Miriam," said Burton, as he placed himself by her side on the sofa,"have you thought seriously of what I said last evening? Can youreciprocate the ardent sentiments I expressed?"

"Oh, sir!" returned Miriam, looking up artlessly in his face, "I amtoo young to listen to words like these."

"You are a woman, Miriam," replied Burton, earnestly--"a lovelywoman, with a heart overflowing with pure affections. Deeply haveyou interested my feelings from the first; and now I ask you to bemine. As I was going to say last evening, I am rich, and willsurround you with every comfort and elegance that money can obtain.Dearest Miriam, say that you will accept the hand I now offer you."

"My mother will never consent," said the trembling girl, after along pause.

"Your mother is in trouble. I have long seen that," remarked Mr.Burton, "and have long wanted to advise and befriend her. Put it inmy power to do so, and then ask for her what you will."

This was touching the right key, and Burton saw it in a moment.

"Yes, you have said truly," replied Miriam; "my mother is in greattrouble. Ah! what would I not do for her relief?"

"Ask for your mother what you will, Miriam," said Burton.

The maiden's eyes were upon the floor, and the rapid heaving of herbosom showed that her thoughts were busy in earnest debate. Atlength, looking up, she said--

"Will you lift her out of her present embarrassed position, andsettle upon her an income sufficient for herself and family?"

"I will," was the prompt answer. "And now, my dear Miriam, name thesum you wish her to receive."

Another long silence followed.

"Ah, sir!" at length said the maiden, "in what a strange,humiliating position am I placed!"

"Do not speak thus, Miriam. I understand all better than words canutter it. Will an income of two thousand dollars a year suffice?"

"It is more than I could ask."

"Enough. The moment you are mine, that sum will be settled on yourmother."

Miriam arose up quickly, as Burton said this, murmuring--

"Let me have a few days for reflection," and, ere he could preventher, glided from the room.

CHAPTER VIII.

Two weeks more went by, and the pressure upon Mrs. Darlington washeavier and heavier. Her income was below her table expenses andservant-hire, and all her reserve fund being exhausted, she felt theextremity of her circumstances more than at any time before. To bearlonger the extra weight of poor, deserted Mrs. Marion and her twochildren was felt to be impossible. With painful reluctance did Mrs.Darlington slowly make up her mind to say to Mrs. Marion that shemust seek another home; and for this purpose she one day waited uponher in her room. As tenderly and as delicately as possible did sheapproach the subject. A word or two only had she said, when Mrs.Marion, with tears upon her face, replied,--

"Pardon me that I have so long remained a burden upon you. Had Iknown where to go, or what to do, I would not have added my weightto the heavy ones you have had to bear. Daily have I lived in hopethat my husband would return. But my heart is sick with hopedeferred. It is time now that I began the work of self-dependence."

"Where can you go?" asked Mrs. Darlington.

"I know not," sadly returned Mrs. Marion. "My only relative is apoor aunt, with scarcely the ability to support herself. But I willsee her to-day. Perhaps she can advise me what to do."

When Mrs. Marion returned from this visit to her aunt, she lookedvery sad. Mrs. Darlington was in the passage as she came in; but shepassed her without speaking, and hurried up to her chamber. Neitherat tea time on that evening nor at breakfast time on the nextmorning did she appear, though food for herself and children wassent to her room. Deeply did Mrs. Darlington and her daughterssuffer on account of the step they were compelled to take, but sternnecessity left them no alternative. During the day, Mrs. Marion wentout again for an hour or two, and when she came back she announcedthat she would leave on the next day. She looked even sadder thanbefore. Some inquiries as to where she was going were made, but sheevaded them. On the day following, a carriage came for her, and sheparted with her kind friends, uttering the warmest expressions ofgratitude.

"I have turned her from the house!" said Mrs. Darlington, in a toneof deep regret, as she closed the door upon the poor creature. "Howwould I like my own child treated thus?"

For the rest of the day she was so unhappy, owing to thiscircumstance, that she could scarcely attend to any thing.

"Do you know where Mrs. Marion went when she left our house?" saidEdith to her mother, about two weeks afterwards. There was atroubled look in Edith's face as she asked this question.

"No. Where is she?"

"At Blockley."

"What!"

"In the Alms-house!"

"Edith!"

"It is too true. I have just learned that when she left here, it wasto take up her abode among paupers. She had no other home."

Mrs. Darlington clasped her hands together, and was about givingexpression to her feelings, when a domestic came in and said thatMr. Ellis was in the parlour, and wished to see her immediately.

"Where is Miriam?" asked the brother, in a quick voice, the momentMrs. Darlington entered the parlour, where he awaited her.

"She's in her room, I believe. Why do you ask?"

"Are you certain? Go up, Edith, quickly, and see."

The manner of Mr. Ellis was so excited that Edith did not pause tohear more, but flew up stairs. In a few moments she returned, sayingthat her sister was not there, and that, moreover, on looking intoher drawers, she found them nearly empty.

"Then it was her!" exclaimed Mr. Ellis.

"Where is she? Where did you see her?" eagerly asked both mother andsister, their faces becoming as pale as ashes.

"I saw her in a carriage with a notorious gambler and scoundrelnamed Burton. There was a trunk on behind, and they were drivingtowards the wharf. It is ten minutes before the boat starts for NewYork, and I may save her yet!"

And, with these words, Mr. Ellis turned abruptly away, and hurriedfrom the house. So paralyzed were both Mrs. Darlington and Edith bythis dreadful announcement, that neither of them had for a time thepower of utterance. Then both, as by a common impulse, arose andwent up to the chamber where Miriam slept. Almost the first thingthat met the eyes of Mrs. Darlington was a letter, partly concealedby a book on the mantel-piece. It was addressed to her. On breakingthe seal, she read--

"MY DEAR, DEAR MOTHER: I shall be away from you only a little while;and, when I return, I will come with relief for all your presenttroubles. Do not blame me, dear mother! What I have done is for yoursake. It almost broke my heart to see you so pressed down andmiserable. And, then, there was no light ahead. Mr. Burton, who hasgreat wealth, offered me his hand. Only on condition of a handsomesettlement upon you would I accept of it. Forgive me that I haveacted without consultation. I deemed it best. In a little while, Iwill be back to throw myself into your arms, and then to lift youout of your many troubles. How purely and tenderly I love you,mother, dear mother! I need not say. It is from this love that I amnow acting. Take courage, mother. Be comforted. We shall yet behappy. Farewell, for a little while. In a few days I will be withyou again.

"MIRIAM."

As Mrs. Darlington read the last sentence of this letter, Henry, herson, who had not been home since he went out at breakfast-time, camehurriedly into the room, and, in an excited manner, said--

"Mother, I want ten dollars!"

The face of the young man was flushed, and his eyes unsteady. It wasplain, at a glance, that he had been drinking.

Mrs. Darlington looked at him for a moment, and then, before Edithhad seen the contents of Miriam's letter, placed it in his hands.

"What does this mean?" he exclaimed, after running his eyes over ithurriedly. "Miriam gone off with that Burton!"

The letter dropped upon the floor, and Henry clasped his handstogether with a gesture of pain.

"Who is Mr. Burton? What do you know of him?" asked Edith.

"I know him to be a man of the vilest character, and a gambler intothe bargain! Rich! Gracious heaven!"

And the young man struck his hands against his forehead, and glancedwildly from his pale-faced mother to his paler sister.

"And you knew the character of this man, Henry!" said Mrs.Darlington. There was a smiting rebuke in her tone. "You knew him,and did not make the first effort to protect your young, confiding,devoted sister! Henry Darlington, the blood of her murderedhappiness will never be washed from the skirts of your garments!"

"Mother! mother!" exclaimed the young man, putting up his hands toenforce the deprecation in his voice, "do not speak so, or I will gobeside myself! But where is she? When did she go? I will fly inpursuit. It may not yet be too late."

"Your Uncle Hiram saw her in a carriage with Mr. Burton, on theirway, as he supposed, to the steamboat landing. He has gone tointercept them, if possible."

Henry drew his watch from his pocket, and, as he glanced at thetime, sank into a chair, murmuring, in a low voice of anguish--

"It is too late!"

CHAPTER IX.

WHEN Mr. Ellis left the house of his sister, he called a carriagethat happened to be going by, and reached the wharf at Walnut streetin time. to spring on board of the steamboat just as the plank wasdrawn in at the gangway. He then passed along the boat until he cameto the ladies' cabin, which he entered. Almost the first persons hesaw were Burton and his niece. The eyes of Miriam rested upon him atthe same moment, and she drew her veil quickly, hoping that she wasnot recognised. Hiram Ellis did not hesitate a moment, but, walkingup to where Miriam sat, stooped to her ear, and said, in a low,anxious voice--

"Miriam, are you married yet?"

Miriam did not reply.

"Speak, child. Are you married?"

"No," came in a half audible murmur.

"Thank God! thank God!" fell in low accents from the lips of Mr.Ellis.

"Who are you, sir?" now spoke up Burton, whom surprise had till nowkept silent. There was a fiery gleam in his eyes.

"The uncle of this dear girl, and one who knows you well," wasanswered, in a stern voice. "Knows you to be unworthy to touch eventhe hem of her garment."

A dark scowl lowered upon the face of Burton. But Mr. Ellis returnedhis looks of anger glance for glance. Miriam was in terror at thisunexpected scene, and trembled like an aspen. Instinctively sheshrank towards her uncle.

Two or three persons, who sat near, were attracted by the excitementvisible in the manner of all three, although they heard nothing thatwas said. Burton saw that they were observed, and, bending towardsMr. Ellis, said--

"This, sir, is no place for a scene. A hundred eyes will soon beupon us."

"More than one pair of which," replied Mr. Ellis, promptly, "willrecognise in you a noted gambler, who has at least one wife living,if no more."

As if stung by a serpent, Burton started to his feet and retiredfrom the cabin.

"Oh, uncle! can what you say of this man be true?" asked Miriam,with a blanching face.

"Too true, my dear child! too true! He is one of the worst of men.Thank God that you have escaped the snare of the fowler!"

"Yes, thank God! thank God!" came trembling from the lips of themaiden.

Mr. Ellis then drew his niece to a part of the cabin where theycould converse without being overheard by other passengers on boardof the boat. To his inquiry into the reasons for so rash an act,Miriam gave her uncle an undisguised account of her mother'sdistressed condition, and touchingly portrayed the anguish of mindwhich had accompanied her reluctant assent to the offer of Burton.

"And all this great sacrifice was on your mother's account?" saidMr. Ellis.

"All! all! He agreed to settle upon her the sum of two thousanddollars a year, if I would become his wife. This would have made thefamily comfortable."

"And you most wretched. Better, a thousand times better, have gonedown to your grave, Miriam, than become the wife of that man. Butfor the providential circumstance of my seeing you in the carriagewith him, all would have been lost. Surely, you could not have feltfor him the least affection."

"Oh, uncle! you can never know what a fearful trial I have passedthrough. Affection! It was, instead, an intense repugnance. But, formy mother's sake, I was prepared to make any sacrifice consistentwith honour."

"Of all others, my dear child," said Mr. Ellis, with much feeling,"a sacrifice of this kind is the worst. It is full of evilconsequences that cannot be enumerated, and scarcely imagined. Youhad no affection for this man, and yet, in the sight of Heaven, youwere going solemnly to vow that you would love and cherish himthrough life!"

A shudder ran through the frame of Miriam, which being perceived byMr. Ellis, he said--

"Well may you shudder, as you stand looking down the awful abyssinto which you were about plunging. You can see no bottom, and youwould have found none. There is no condition in this life, Miriam,so intensely wretched as that of a pure-minded, true-hearted womanunited to a man whom she not only cannot love, but from whom everyinstinct of her better nature turns with disgust. And this wouldhave been your condition. Ah me! in what a fearful evil was thiserror of your mother, in opening a boarding-house, about involvingher child! I begged her not to do so. I tried to show her the follyof such a step. But she would not hear me. And now she is in greattrouble?"

"Oh yes, uncle. All the money she had when she began is spent; andwhat she now receives from boarders but little more than half paysexpenses."

"I knew it would be so. But my word was not regarded. Your mother isno more fitted to keep a boarding-house than a child ten years old.It takes a woman who has been raised in a different school, who hasdifferent habits, and a different character."

"But what can we do, uncle?" said Miriam.

"What are you willing to do?"

"I am willing to do any thing that is right for me to do."

"All employment, Miriam, are honourable so far as they are useful,"said Mr. Ellis, seriously, "though false pride tries to make usthink differently. And, strangely enough, this false pride drivestoo many, in the choice of employments, to the hardest, leasthonourable, and least profitable. hundreds of women resort tokeeping boarders as a means of supporting their families when theymight do it more easily, with less exposure and greater certainty,in teaching, if qualified, fine needle-work, or even in the keepingof a store for the sale of fancy and useful articles. But pursuitsof the latter kind they reject as too far below them, and, in vainlyattempting to keep up a certain appearance, exhaust what littlemeans they have. A breaking up of the family, and a separation ofits members, follow the error in too many cases."

Miriam listened to this in silence. Her uncle paused.

"What can I do to aid my mother?" the young girl asked.

"Could you not give music lessons?"

"I am too young, I fear, for that. Too little skilled in theprinciples of music," replied Miriam.

"If competent, would you object to teach?"

"Oh, no. Most gladly would I enter upon the task, did it promiseeven a small return. How happy would it make me if I could lighten,by my own labour, the burdens that press so heavily upon ourmother!"

"And Edith. How does she feel on this subject?"

"As I do. Willing for any thing; ready for any change from ourpresent condition."

"Take courage, then, my dear child, take courage," said the uncle,in a cheerful voice. "There is light ahead."

"Oh, how distressed my mother will be when she finds I am gone!"sighed Miriam, after a brief silence, in which her thoughts revertedto the fact of her absence from home. "When can we get back again?"

"Not before ten o'clock to-night. We must go on as far as Bristol,and then return by the evening line from New York."

Another deep sigh heaved the troubled bosom of Miriam, as sheuttered, in a low voice, speaking to herself--

"My poor mother! Her heart will be broken!"

CHAPTER X.

MEANWHILE the hours passed with the mother, sister, and brother inthe most agonizing suspense. Henry, who had been drawn away intoevil company by two young men who boarded in the house, wasneglecting his studies, and pressing on towards speedy ruin. Todrinking and association with the vicious, he now added gaming.Little did his mother dream of the perilous ways his feet weretreading. On this occasion he had come in, as has been seen, with ademand for ten dollars. When he left home in the morning, it was incompany with the young man named Barling. Instead of his going tothe office where he was studying, or his companion to his place ofbusiness, they went to a certain public house in Chestnut Street,where they first drank at the bar.

"Shall we go up into the billiard-room?" said Barling, as theyturned from the white marble counter at which they had beendrinking.

"I don't care. Have you time to play a game?" replied Henry.

"Oh, yes. We're not very busy at the store to-day."

So the two young men ascended to the billiard-room, and spent acouple of hours there. Both played very well, and were prettyequally matched.

From the billiard-room, they proceeded to another part of the house,more retired, and there, at the suggestion of Barling, tried a gameat cards for a small stake. Young Darlington was loser at first,but, after a time, regained his losses and made some advance on hisfellow-player. Hours passed in playing and drinking; and finally,Darlington, whose good fortune did not continue, parted with everysixpence.

"Lend me a dollar," said he as the last game went against him.

The dollar was lent, and the playing renewed. Thus it went on, hourafter hour, neither of the young men stopping to eat any thing,though both drank too frequently. At last, Darlington was tendollars in debt to Barling, who, on being asked for another loan,declined any further advances. Stung by the refusal, Henry said tohim, rising as he spoke--

"Do you mean by this that you are afraid I will never return themoney?"

"Oh, no," replied Barling. "But I don't want to play against you anylonger. Your luck is bad."

"I can beat you," said Darlington.

"You hav'n't done it to-day certainly," answered Barling.

"Will you wait here a quarter of an hour?" asked Henry.

"For what?"

"I want to pay you off and begin again. I am going for some money."

"Yes, I'll wait," replied the young man.

"Very well. I'll be back in a few minutes."

It was for this work and for this purpose that Henry Darlington cameto his mother just at the moment the absence of Miriam and herpurpose in leaving had been discovered. The effect of the painfulnews on the young man has already been described. From the time hebecame aware of the fact that Miriam had gone away with Burton forthe purpose of becoming his wife, until ten o'clock at night, he wasin an agony of suspense. As the uncle could not be found at theoffice where he wrote, nor at the house where he boarded, it wasconcluded that he had reached the boat before its departure, andgone on with the fugitives in the train to New York. Nothing wastherefore left for the distressed family but to await his return.

How anxiously passed the hours! At tea time Edith only made herappearance. Henry and his mother remained in the chamber of thelatter. As for the young man, he was cast down and distressed beyondmeasure, vexing his spirit with self-accusations that were but toowell founded.

"Oh, mother!" said he, while they were alone, starting up from wherehe had been sitting with his face buried in his hands--"oh, mother!what evils have come through this opening of our house, forstrangers to enter! Miriam, our sweet, gentle, pure-hearted Miriam,has been lured away by one of the worst of men; and!"--the young manchecked himself a moment or two, and then continued--"and I havebeen drawn away from right paths into those that lead to suredestruction. Mother, I have been in great danger. Until Barling andMason came into our family, I was guiltless of any act that couldawaken a blush of shame upon my cheek. Oh, that I had never metthem!"

"Henry! Henry! what do you mean by this?" exclaimed Mrs. Darlington,in a voice full of anguish.

"I have been standing on the brink of a precipice," replied theyoung man with more calmness. "But a hand has suddenly drawn meaway, and I am trembling at the danger I have escaped. Oh, mother,will you not give up this mode of life? We have none of us beenhappy. I have never felt as if I had a home since it began. Andyou--what a slave have you been! and how unhappy! Can nothing bedone except keeping boarders? Oh, what would I not give for the dearseclusion of a home where no stranger's foot could enter!"

"Some other mode of living must be sought, my son," replied Mrs.Darlington. "Added to all the evils attendant on the present mode,is that of a positive loss instead of a profit. Several hundreddollars have been wasted already, and daily am I going in debt."

"Then, mother, let us change at once," replied the young man. "Itwould be better to shrink together in a single room than to continueas we are. I will seek a clerkship in a store and earn what I can tohelp support the family."

"I can think of nothing now but Miriam!" said Mrs. Darlington. "Oh,if she were back again, safe from the toils that have been thrownaround her, I think I would be the most thankful of mortals! Oh, mychild! my child!"

What could Henry say to comfort his mother? Nothing. And he remainedsilent.

Long after this, Mrs. Darlington, with Henry and Edith, were sittingtogether in painful suspense. No word had been spoken by either forthe space of nearly an hour. The clock struck ten.

"I would give worlds to see my dear, dear child!" murmured Mrs.Darlington.

Just then a carriage drove up to the door and stopped. Henry sprangdown stairs; but neither Edith nor her mother could move from wherethey sat. As the former opened the street door, Miriam stood withher uncle on the threshold. Henry looked at her earnestly andtenderly for an instant, and then, staggering back, leaned againstthe wall for support.

"Where is your mother?" asked Mr. Ellis.

"In her own room," said Henry, in a voice scarcely audible.

Miriam sprang up the stairs with the fleetness of an antelope, and,in a few moments, was sobbing on her mother's bosom.

"Miriam! Miriam!" said Mrs. Darlington, in a thrilling voice, "doyou return the same as when you left?"

"Yes, thank God!" came from the maiden's lips.

"Thank God! thank God!" responded the mother, wildly. "Oh, my child,what a fearful misery you have escaped!"

In a few minutes, the mother and sisters were joined by Henry.

"Where is your uncle?" asked Mrs. Darlington.

"He has gone away; but says that he will see you to-morrow."

Over the remainder of that evening we will here draw a veil.

CHAPTER XI.

ON the next morning, only Mrs. Darlington met her boarders at thebreakfast-table, when she announced to them that she had concludedto close her present business, and seek some new mode of sustainingher family; at the same time, desiring each one to find another homeas early as possible.

At the close of the third day after this, Mrs. Darlington sat downto her evening meal with only her children gathered at the table. Asubdued and tranquil spirit pervaded each bosom, even though a darkveil was drawn against the future. To a long and troubled excitementthere had succeeded a calm. It was good to be once more alone, andthey felt this. "Through what a scene of trial, disorder, andsuffering have we passed!" said Edith. "It seems as if I had justawakened from a dream."

"And such a dream!" sighed Miriam.

"Would that it were but a dream!" said Mrs. Darlington. "But, alas!the wrecks that are around us too surely testify the presence of adevastating storm."

"The storm has passed away, mother," said Edith; "and we will lookfor calmer and brighter skies."

"No bright skies for us, I fear, my children," returned the mother,with a deeper tinge of sadness in her voice.

"They are bright this hour to what they were a few days since," saidEdith, "and I am sure they will grow brighter. I feel muchencouraged. Where the heart is willing, the way is sure to open.Both Miriam and I are willing to do all in our power, and I am surewe can do much. We have ability to teach others; and the exercise ofthat ability will bring a sure reward. I like Uncle Hiram'ssuggestion very much."

"But the humiliation of soliciting scholars," said the mother.

"To do right is not humiliating," quickly replied Edith.

"It is easy to say this, my child; but can you go to Mrs. Lionel,for instance, with whose family we were so intimate, and solicit herto send Emma and Cordelia to the school you propose to open, withouta smarting sense of humiliation? I am sure you cannot."

Edith communed with her own thoughts for some moments, and thenanswered--

"If I gave way to false pride, mother, this might be so; but I mustovercome what is false and evil. This is as necessary for myhappiness as the external good we seek--nay, far more so. Too manywho have moved in the circle where we have been moving for yearsstrangely enough connect an idea of degradation with the office ofteaching children. But is there on the earth a higher or moreimportant use than instructing the mind and training the heart ofyoung immortals? It has been beautifully and truly said, that 'Earthis the nursery of Heaven.' The teacher, then, is a worker in God'sown garden. Is it not so, mother?"

"You think wisely, my child. God grant that your true thoughts maysustain you in the trials to come!" replied Mrs. Darlington.

The door-bell rang as the family were rising from the tea-table. Thevisitor was Mr. Ellis. He had come to advise with and assist thedistressed mother and her children; and his words were listened towith far more deference than was the case a year before. Nine or tenmonths' experience in keeping a boarding-house had corrected many ofthe false views of Mrs. Darlington, and she was now prepared to makean effort for her family in a different spirit from that exhibitedin the beginning. The plan proposed by her brother--a matter-of-factkind of person--was the taking of a house at a more moderate rent,and opening a school for young children. Many objections and doubtswere urged; but he overruled them all, and obtained, in the end, thecordial consent of every member of the family. During the argumentwhich preceded the final decision of the matter, Mrs. Darlingtonsaid--

"Suppose the girls should not be able to get scholars?"

"Let them see to this beforehand."

"Many may promise to send, and afterwards change their minds."

"Let them," replied the brother. "If, at the end of the first,second, and third years, you have not made your expenses, I willsupply the deficiency."

"You!"

"Yes. The fact is, sister, if you will be guided in some respects bymy judgment, I will stand by you, and see you safely over everydifficulty. Your boarding-house experiment I did not approve. I sawfrom the beginning how it would end, and I wished to see the end asquickly as possible. It has come, and I am glad of it; and, stillfurther, thankful that the disaster has not been greater. If youonly had now the five or six hundred dollars wasted in a vainexperiment during the past year, how much the sum might do for you!But we will not sigh over this. As just said, I will stand by you inthe new experiment, and see that you do not fall again intoembarrassment."

Henry was present at this interview, but remained silent during thewhole time. Since the day of Miriam's departure with Burton, andsafe return, a great change had taken place in the young man. He waslike one starting up from sleep on the brink of a fearful precipice,and standing appalled at the danger he had escaped almost by amiracle. The way in which he had begun to walk he saw to be the wayto sure destruction, and his heart shrunk with shame and trembledwith dismay.

"Henry," said the uncle, after an hour's conversation with hissister and Edith, "I would like to talk with you alone."

Mrs. Darlington and her daughters left the room.

"Henry," said Mr. Ellis, as soon as the rest had withdrawn, "you areold enough to do something to help on. All the burden ought not tocome on Edith and Miriam."

"Only show me what I can do, uncle, and I am ready to put my handsto the work," was Henry's prompt reply.

"It will be years before you can expect an income from yourprofession."

"I know, I know. That is what discourages me."

"I can get you the place of clerk in an insurance office, at asalary of five hundred dollars a year. Will you accept it?"

"Gladly!" The face of the young man brightened as if the sun hadshone upon it suddenly.

"You will have several hours each day, in which to continue your lawreading, and will get admitted to the bar early enough. Keep yourmother and sisters for two or three years, and then they will be ina condition to sustain you until you make a practice in yourprofession."

But to this the mother and sisters, when it was mentioned to them,objected. They were not willing to have Henry's professional studiesinterrupted. That would be a great wrong to him.

"Not a great wrong, but a great good," answered Mr. Ellis. "And Iwill make this plain to you. Henry, as I learn from yourself, hasmade some dangerous associations; and some important change isneeded to help him break away from them. No sphere of life is sosafe for a young man as that which surrounds profitable industrypursued for an end. Temptation rarely finds its way within thissphere. Two or three years devoted to the duties of a clerk, withthe end of aiding in the support of his mother and sisters, will domore to give a right direction to Henry's character--more to makesuccess in after life certain--than any thing else possible now tobe done. The office in which I can get him the situation I speak ofadjoins the one to which I am attached, and I will, therefore, havehim mostly under my own eye. In this new school, the ardency of hisyoung feelings will be duly chastened, and his thoughts turned moreinto elements of usefulness. In a word, sister, it will give himself-dependence, and, in the end, make a man of him."

The force of all this, and more by this suggested, was not onlyseen, but felt, by Mrs. Darlington; and when she found her son readyto accept the offer made to him, she withdrew all opposition.

Steps preliminary to the contemplated change were immediately taken.First of all, Edith waited upon a number of their old friends, whohad young children, and informed them that she was, in connectionwith her sister, about opening a school. Some were surprised, somepleased, and some indifferent at the announcement; but a goodlynumber expressed pleasure at the opportunity it afforded them ofplacing their younger children under the care of teachers in whoseability and character they had so much confidence. Thus was the waymade plain before them.

CHAPTER XII.

A FEW weeks later, and the contemplated change was made. The familyremoved into a moderate-sized house, at a lower rent, and preparedto test the new mode of obtaining a livelihood. A good portion oftheir furniture had been sold, besides three gold watches and somevaluable jewelry belonging to Mrs. Darlington and her two eldestdaughters, in order to make up a sum sufficient to pay off the debtcontracted during the last few months of the boarding-houseexperiment. The real loss sustained by the widow in this experimentfell little short of a thousand dollars.

"How many scholars have you now?" asked Mrs. Darlington of Edith,two months after the school was opened, as they sat at tea oneevening, each member of the family wearing a cheerful face.

"Twenty," replied Edith. "We received two new ones to-day. Mrs.Wilmot came and entered two of her children; and she said that Mrs.Armond was going to send her Florence so soon as her quarter expiredin the school she is now attending."

"How much will you receive from your present number of scholars?"inquired Henry.

"I made the estimate to-day," returned Edith, "and find that thebills will come to something like a hundred and twenty-five dollarsa quarter."

"Five hundred dollars a year," said Henry; "and my five hundredadded to that will make a thousand. Can't we live on a thousanddollars, mother?"

"We may, by the closest economy."

"Our school will increase," remarked Edith; and every increase willadd to our income. Oh! it looks so much brighter ahead! and we haveso much real comfort in the present! What a scene of trial have wepassed through!"

"How I ever bore up under it is more than I can now tell," said Mrs.Darlington, with an involuntary shudder. "And the toil, andsuffering, and danger through which we have come! I cannot besufficiently thankful that we are safe from the dreadful ordeal, andwith so few marks of the fire upon us."

A silence followed this, in which two hearts, at least, werehumbled, yet thankful, in their self-communion--the hearts of Henryand Miriam. Through what perilous ways had they come! How near hadthey been to shipwreck!

"Poor Mrs. Marion!" said Edith, breaking the silence, at length."How often I think of her! And the thought brings a feeling ofcondemnation. Was it right for us to thrust her forth as we did?"

"Can she still be in?"

"Oh no, no!" spoke up Henry, interrupting his mother. I forgot totell you that I met her and her husband on the street to-day."

"Are you certain?"

"Oh yes."

"Did you speak to them?"

"No. They saw me, but instantly averted their faces. Mrs. Marionlooked very pale, as if she had been sick."

"Poor woman! She has had heart-sickness enough," said Mrs.Darlington. "I shall never forgive myself for turning her out of thehouse. If I had known where she was going!"

"But we did not know that, mother," said Edith.

"We knew that she had neither friends nor a home," replied themother. "Ah me! when our own troubles press heavily upon us, we loseour sympathy for others!"

"It was not so in this case," remarked Edith. "Deeply did wesympathize with Mrs. Marion. But we could not bear the weightwithout going under ourselves."

"I don't know, I don't know," said Mrs. Darlington, half to herself."We might have kept up with her a little longer. But I am glad frommy heart that her husband has come back. If he will be kind to hiswife, I will forgive all his indebtedness to me."

A few weeks subsequent to this time, as Miriam sat reading themorning paper, she came upon a brief account of the arrest, in NewOrleans, of a "noted gambler," as it said, named Burton, on thecharge of bigamy. The paper dropped to the floor, and Miriam, withclasped hands and eyes instantly overflowing with tears, lookedupward, and murmured her thanks to Heaven.

"What an escape!" fell tremblingly from her lips, as she arose andwent to her room to hold communion with her own thoughts.

Three years have passed, and what has been the result of the widow'snew experiment? The school prospered from the beginning. The spiritwith which Edith and Miriam went to work made success certain.Parents who sent their children were so much pleased with theprogress they made, that they spoke of the new school to theirfriends, and thus gave it a reputation, that, ere a year hadelapsed, crowded the rooms of the sisters. Mrs. Darlington was awoman who had herself received a superior education. Seeing that thenumber of scholars increased rapidly, and made the pressure on herdaughters too great, she gave a portion of her time each day to theinstruction of certain classes, and soon became much interested inthe work. From that time she associated herself in the school withEdith and Miriam.

Three years, as we said, have passed, and now the profits on theschool are more than sufficient to meet all expenses. Henry has lefthis clerkship, and is a member of the bar. Of course he has littleor no practice--only a few months having elapsed since hisadmission; but his mother and sisters are fully able to sustain himuntil he could sustain himself.

"How much better this is than keeping boarders!" said Edith, as shesat conversing with her mother and uncle about the prospects of theschool.

"And how much more useful and honourable!" remarked Mr. Ellis. "Inthe one case, you fed only the body, but now you are dispensing foodto the immortal mind. You are moreover independent in your ownhouse. When the day's work is done, you come together as one family,and shut out the intruding world."

"Yes, it is better, far better," replied Mrs. Darlington. "Ah, thatfirst mistake of mine was a sad one!"

"Yet out of it has come good," said Mr. Ellis. "That painfulexperience corrected many false views, and gave to all yourcharacters a new and higher impulse. It is through disappointment,trial, and suffering, that we grow wise here; and true wisdom isworth the highest price we are ever called upon to pay for it."

Yes, it is so. Through fiery trials are we purified. At times, inour suffering, we feel as if every good thing in us was about beingconsumed. But this never happens. No good in our characters is everlost in affliction or trouble; and we come out of these states ofpain wiser and better than when we entered them, and more fitted andmore willing to act usefully our part in the world.

THE END.

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