Chapter VIII: Part 8

Calista was, as Belle said, "a comfortable Christian," both to herself and others. As some one said about Christiana, in the "Pilgrim's Progress,"—"she never was in Doubting Castle at all."

Probably her vigorous health had something to do with the matter, though I think a great deal more is made of this excuse—"the state of my health"—than is desirable or justifiable. I have known a man impute all his dryness and lack of interest in religious matters to the state of his health, when that same state of health did not hinder him from taking the liveliest interest in the price of stocks or the report of the last ball-game. I have seen a lady sit down contentedly with the same excuse, who was as much occupied with her new dress as though the fate of the Christian Church depended on the decision between a princesse and a polonaise. Besides, what is that religious experience worth which deserts and leaves us in the dark when we need it most? This by the way.

But Calista saved herself a great deal of trouble by the simplicity with which she accepted the gospel. She did not ask herself whether her repentance was deep enough, or her joy high enough, or her motives pure enough. The Saviour said "Come," and she came. He had said, "Be ye holy, for I am holy," and she would try her best to be so to please him, trusting to his promise to help her, and his love to forgive and wash away her offences when she failed.

To be sure, Aunt Priscilla was trying, and even Miss Druett was sometimes sharp and sarcastic, though she had softened much of late. Her future was uncertain, and she was much troubled at the increasing influence of old Jael; but the Lord had expressly said,—

"'In the world ye shall have tribulation,'"

and he had also said,—

"'Be of good cheer, I have overcome the world'" (John 16:33).

Her greatest trouble had arisen from the return of her angry and revengeful feelings about her aunt. This distressed her so much that one night she opened her trouble to her pastor. Mr. Alger listened, and gave her sound and useful advice.

"That is nothing strange," said he. "It is what every one has more or less experience of. Satan is not going to give up any part of his kingdom without a struggle, and there is always a traitor within to help him. What you must do is this, hold no parley with the enemy, no, not for an instant. Every minute of delay makes the work of resistance tenfold harder. Lift your heart at once to the source of all strength. Pray for your enemy as well as for yourself, and then resolutely turn your thoughts from the subject, think of something else, and leave your champion to fight the battle for you.

"'Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord.'

"And I'll tell you what, my dear child, Christians would save themselves a great deal of trouble if they would learn this one lesson,—to control their thoughts, and make them work, so to speak, in harness. I can understand, from the little I know of your family affairs, that your position is a very trying one, but do not give way to fretfulness or despair. Wait on the Lord and be doing good, and fret not thyself in any wise. And, by the by, study well that thirty-seventh Psalm, and you will come to feel as if it were made for you."

Calista obeyed, and found the wisdom of the good minister's advice. She was studying very hard this vacation, with Miss Druett's assistance, who fully approved her plan of qualifying herself for a teacher. She also learned to spin, to please Miss Priscilla, who actually gave her a shilling as a reward when Calista brought her her first skein of smooth fine thread to show what progress she had made. She took great pains with her class of little girls, very few of whom could read, and was gratified with their improvement. She tried hard to read Mitford's "Greece," and persevered through a volume and a half, when she gave it up, and took to "Plutarch's Lives" instead.

Zeke and his wife seemed for the present to have disappeared from the neighborhood. Miss Priscilla was more quiet and reasonable than usual, and, on the whole, it was the most comfortable vacation Calista had known.

But a very great sorrow was about to fall on Calista,—the greatest sorrow she had ever known since the death of her mother.

Miss Druett had been troubled with a cough for two or three years, which cough had grown worse since her apparently slight attack of illness in the summer. Still Calista, in her ignorance, did not think of her being ill. True, she was somewhat thin and languid, but this Calista attributed to the great heat of the weather. Surely she could not be ill when her eyes were so wonderfully bright and she had such a beautiful color in her cheeks.

At last, however, even Calista's eyes were opened. Miss Druett one Sunday evening fainted in church, and, though she revived so as to walk slowly home with the assistance Chloe and Calista, she never went again. The next day she sent for the doctor and Mr. Fabian.

Dr. Elsmore soon finished his examination, and on Miss Druett's demanding to know the truth, he told her that, though she might linger a few days or weeks, there was no recovery possible, and the end might come at any time.

"God's will be done," said Miss Druett. "I should not have a regret but for the child; but she is in his hands, and will be cared for."

Mr. Fabian came, and with him she had quite a long private conversation. Then she seemed to have given up the world altogether, and lay patient and smiling, waiting till the change should come.

Calista, at last awakened to her friend's true condition, staid by her night and day, hardly leaving the room except for her meals and a run in the fresh air now and then, when Miss Druett insisted upon it. She could not think; she dared not give way to grief. Her whole being seemed to be given up to the work of caring for her friend, and making her last days more comfortable.

Mr. Alger and Mr. Lee came to see her; the former almost daily, and she seemed to enjoy their visits and their prayers, but she was unable to talk much at a time. Calista spent hours in reading the Bible and singing old familiar hymns, to the great but secret annoyance of Miss Priscilla. Miss Priscilla did not, could not, and would not believe that, "Druey" was going to die. It was all nonsense; she was a little unwell, and gave way instead of exerting herself and riding out. She was always thinking about herself and her bad feelings, just as though she, Miss Priscilla, was not a great deal worse. Then, veering round all at once, she declared it was all the fault of old Alger and his Methodistical cant putting gloomy ideas into Druey's head. It was coming home from those meetings in the dew which had brought on her cough; but she would get over it—yes, she would get over it in a few days. Oh, yes, if she wanted wine, she must have it, no doubt. Doctors were always making all the expense they could.

"You can go down and get a bottle of that old Madeira," she said to Chloe; "get anything she fancies or the doctor orders. But it is a great shame; I shall die in the poor-house—I know I shall."

"Well, what hurt will that do you?" asked Chloe, who spoke her mind on all occasions. "The next minute after you are dead, it won't make any odds to you whether you died in a poor-house or a palace."

Miss Priscilla seized her favorite volume of Rousseau's "Confessions," made as if to throw it at the bold speaker, but thought better of it, and contented herself with a threatening look, as usual.

"I really will discharge that woman; she grows more impudent every day," she said to herself as Chloe left the room; but she had said so at least once a month for the last twenty years, and still Chloe staid on.

Miss Druett died peacefully at last, not without warning enough to send for Mr. Alger and Mr. Fabian.

Miss Priscilla refused to believe it at first, then grew angry, then fell to crying, and finally into a fit, which seemed for a time likely to end her life with that of her friend. She really was very ill for several days, and Chloe had her hands full with her.

Meantime old Sally did the work and attended to Calista, who needed such attendance. The strain being taken off, she realized how severe it had been by the fatigue she felt, and for several days after the funeral, she could hardly sit up or occupy herself in anything. She could think of nothing but her departed friend, and, as usually happens in such cases, she was somewhat morbid. She went over and over with all their past intercourse, and while she remembered a hundred acts of kindness and self-sacrifice unmarked at the time, she remembered, too, with acute remorse, many faults on her own side—pert replies, teasing and fretfulness over her lessons.

"Oh, if she would only come back just for a minute! If I could only see her just once more!" is the cry of the bereaved; "but I never can—never in all this world."

Happy they who can take refuge in the thought,—

"But we shall meet again where there is no more parting;—"

And a thousand thousand times more to be pitied than the most desolate Christian on earth is he to whom death ends all—he who with his dead buries his hope.

It was well for Calista that time brought with it the need for exertion. On the fourth day after the funeral Mr. Fabian called, and Calista was sent for down to the parlor. It seemed to her that she could hardly drag herself down the stairs, or attend to anything when she got there; but she made the effort, and was rewarded by feeling better and brighter for the exercise.

Mr. Fabian was very kind and sympathetic, and nearly set Calista's tears flowing again; but she made a great effort to check them, and to give her whole mind to the matter before her.

"I do not know, Miss Calista, whether you are aware that your late friend, Miss Druett, made a will."

"No, sir," said Calista, as Mr. Fabian seemed to expect a reply.

"Did she ever tell you anything about her business matters?"

"Yes, once. She told me she had a house in Philadelphia, and that she had received some money from England, from her father I think she said; but she did not tell me how much, only that she had enough for her old age. Latterly she has bought my clothes and given me a little pocket-money now and then."

"Exactly. I see you know how to make a clear statement. The house in Philadelphia to which you allude was hers only for life. But she has about three thousand dollars invested in good securities, and this property will be yours when you are twenty-one. Try to control your feelings, my dear Miss Stanfield," as Calista's eyes filled. "It is of importance that you should understand these matters. There is also the further sum of seven hundred and twenty dollars and seventy cents," continued Mr. Fabian, taking out his memorandum-book and opening his glasses; "this also belongs to you, with the exception of a legacy of fifty dollars to Mr. Alger, and twenty dollars each to Chloe and David. Her books, pictures, papers, and a few ornaments, are yours; her clothes of every description she leaves to Miss Stanfield."

"I am glad she remembered Mr. Alger," said Calista; "he has been so kind, and so have the servants. I should like to give a little present to Cassius and Sally, Mr. Fabian. They have always been so good to me, and I don't know what we should have done without them since aunt has been sick."

"It shall be attended to," said Mr. Fabian. "I am glad you spoke of it. But now, Calista, we must decide what is to become of you. Where would you like to live? At Miss McPherson's, supposing she has room for you?"

"I should like that best of anything, I think, though Mr. Settson has sometimes spoken of my staying with his daughters. Still, on some accounts I should like the school best."

"Perhaps we may let the matter rest till Mr. Settson returns before coming to any final decision. But what will you do in the mean time?"

"I must stay here, at least till aunt is better," said Calista. "I cannot go away and leave her sick in bed."

"Cannot Chloe attend to her?"

"Hardly, so long as she has all the work of the house to do beside. I do not think, however, that I could go on living with Aunt Priscilla alone when she is about again. I must confess I am afraid of her in her bad moods. And there is another reason why I should not like to stay here alone with her, though I hardly know whether I ought to mention it," said Calista, hesitating.

"I think you had better tell me all," said Mr. Fabian. "It shall go no farther, I promise you. What is the reason?"

"It is that Aunt Priscilla is so under the influence of that woman Jael, the old treasure-seeker's wife," said Calista, lowering her voice. "I don't know whether you know anything of her."

"Yes, indeed! But, Calista, is that possible? Why do you think so?"

Calista briefly gave her reasons: "Miss Druett was very much disturbed when she heard these people had appeared again, and said that Aunt Priscilla had had dealings with them before."

"Do you think your aunt can be in her right mind?"

"I don't know. She is very sharp and acute about her business, and looks after everything about the farm. She flies into fearful rages sometimes, but other people do that."

"Very true. But to traffic with those wretches—really Settson ought to attend to it."

"I don't suppose he knows it. I have never spoken of it before. Miss Druett told me aunt was fond of speculation, and had wasted a great deal upon lottery tickets."

"She has made some very successful speculations, too," said Mr. Fabian, rising. "Well, my dear, I have no more business with you this morning. When your aunt is well enough, I must explain matters to her. Now, is there anything I can do for you? Would you not like to put on mourning for your old friend?"

"Yes, indeed I should, Mr. Fabian!" answered Calista, her eyes filling with tears. "I have thought a good deal about it, but could not see my way, for I have no black dresses, and no money."

"Mrs. Fabian suggested the subject to me, and bade me say that if you would send her a pattern-dress, she would take the whole matter off your hands, and see you properly provided. Mrs. Fabian is very thoughtful and considerate," concluded the old gentleman, with a little bow, as if his wife were present. "I hope and trust you will find her a valuable friend."

"I have no doubt I shall, if she will be so kind as to befriend me," said Calista, feeling very grateful to Mrs. Fabian for her consideration in the present instance. "I will get you the dress, if you will wait a moment."

Calista folded up her new sprigged muslin in a small, neat parcel, not without a sigh to the memory of the last time she wore it.

And Mr. Fabian departed, leaving Calista much relieved. She was not left dependent on the grudging bounty of Miss Priscilla, neither would she lose the opportunity of completing her education with Miss McPherson. She was sensible enough to consider that three thousand dollars was not a fortune, and she did not at all relax in her determination to qualify herself for a teacher; but it was pleasant to know she had something of her own.

It was with a curious feeling that all must be a dream that she sought out her mother's purse and put into it the five dollars Mr. Fabian had given her in parting.

Then she kneeled down and asked earnestly for grace to serve her Master in the new state of life to which he seemed pleased to call her. And then, rested and comforted, she went into her aunt's room.

CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.

MR. FABIAN CALLS AGAIN.

MRS. FABIAN was true to her word, and by her exertions, ably seconded by those of Drusella Pine, a very handsome and proper suit of mourning was sent home to Calista on Saturday night, accompanied by a kind little note from Mrs. Fabian, and a present of a black feather fan. Calista was pleased with the present and still more with the note, and she would not have been a girl of sixteen if she had not felt a slight movement of gratified vanity as she looked at herself in the glass and saw how very neat and becoming was the fresh bombazine and crape, and the black cottage bonnet with its plain white border inside.

"Well, you do look like a real lady, Miss Calista," said Chloe, who had assisted at the trying on; "and it does me good to see you wearing decent clothes, as a young lady ought. Did Mrs. Fabian send you any everyday things?"

"Yes, a nice black calico; and she says she will have a black stuff made for me. Isn't she kind?"

"Law, yes! The Fabians are real quality, and know what's what. None of your new-come-up folks they ain't. I heard say something about your going to boarding-school; is that so?"

"Yes; Miss Druett wished it, and Mr. Fabian thinks it best."

"Well, I am glad of it, though what this house will be like without Miss Druett and you, I can't say. But this I will say, it is not the place for you. Miss Priscilla is bewitched by that old Jael, and there's no telling what will come of it. Besides, you ought to be with some one who knows how young ladies ought to behave, and who will take an interest in your education. It's my belief if it hadn't been for Miss Druett, you wouldn't even have learned to read and write."

"I am of the same mind, Chloe. Looking back, I can see how she has befriended me all my life. I don't think I ever thought half enough of her when I had her."

"That's the way we all feel, honey," said Chloe. "It's just so with me. I know I was aggravating lots of times when I needn't have been. Wasn't it a blessed thing that she died such a happy death, and that Mr. Alger could say, as he did, that she died a Christian?"

"Yes, indeed."

"But, honey, I expect you'll have a regular fuss with Miss Priscilla about the will when she comes to know it. She said she meant to see Mr. Fabian, and get the money, just as soon as she was able. I don't think she has a notion of the way things are left, because she said to me that she would put out the money to much better advantage than Miss Druett. I didn't say a word, for I thought, least said soonest mended. I suppose you'll put on your new clothes to-morrow."

"Yes, if I go to church."

"There's another thing you'll have a fuss about, I expect," said Chloe, as she assisted Calista in folding and laying away her new dress and mantle. "I mean your wearing mourning. Miss Priscy hates to see any one in black. She says it is such a waste; but I think it is because she don't like to be reminded of her latter end."

"Then if it annoys her, I won't wear it in the house while I stay here. Shall I unpin the veil from the bonnet?"

"Oh yes, and lay it smooth in the same folds. A crape veil will last a long time if one is careful of it. And do the same by your shawl. Some ladies' things always look as if they had been kept under the bed, because they don't take care of them when they take them off. Now what would you like for your supper, honey?"

"Just what you have. I would as soon have bread and milk as anything, only I should like some tea."

"I hope it ain't wicked," muttered Chloe, as she descended the stairs, "but if Miss Priscy was obliged to stay in bed the rest of her life, I'd willingly take all the trouble of waiting on her for the sake of the comfort there would be down stairs."

It rained hard on Sunday morning, but cleared up at noon; and at three o'clock Calista thought she might venture to go to her Sunday-school. She asked Chloe's advice.

"Oh yes, go, honey; it will do you all the good in the world. I'll take care of Miss Priscy, never fear."

Calista dressed herself in her new mourning and went out. As she was passing her aunt's door, she heard a peremptory voice call,—

"Is that you, Calista?"

"Yes, ma'am. Do you want anything? Shall I send Chloe?"

"No. Come here, I want to speak to you."

Now Calista had worn her black print dress all the morning, and Miss Priscilla had made no remark. Calista took this as a tacit acquiescence, and was rejoicing that the matter had settled itself so easily. But she was mistaken in her reckoning. The fact was, Miss Priscilla had not noticed the dress at all.

"Where are you going?" was the first question. And then, with an ominous flash of the eyes, "What is that you have on?"

"My new mourning, aunt. Mrs. Fabian got it for me and sent it home last night."

"Oh, she did? She is very obliging, I am sure," said Miss Priscilla, in her bitterest sarcastic tone. "Pray did she pay for them?"

"No, aunt," answered Calista, with an inward prayer for grace, for she saw that a conflict was impending. "Mr. Fabian paid for them out of Miss Druett's money that she left me."

"That she left you!" Miss Priscilla repeated slowly, as though she could hardly believe her ears. "What do you mean?"

"Mr. Fabian will tell you all about it, aunt," said Calista, retreating a little. "He is Miss Druett's executor, and has the management of all her affairs. I would rather not talk about it to-day."

"Do you mean to say that Druey has gone and left the money she had from England to 'you?'" asked Miss Priscilla, sitting up in bed.

"Please wait till to-morrow, aunt," said Calista, determined not to have a dispute on Sunday. "Mr. Fabian will tell you all about it." And she left the room, followed by a string of vituperation which she did not stop to listen to.

She met her class and had a pleasant time with them. The little girls were full of sympathy, every one was kind to her, and she came home feeling refreshed and comforted.

Chloe met her at the door.

"Don't go near your aunt," said she. "She is in one of her tantrums. I've set your supper out in the sitting-room, and when you've eaten it, if you don't go to meeting again, you had better sit in the front parlor. There's some nice books in there that used to be your grandma's, and I'll bring you in a light by and by."

"I don't think I will go to meeting, Chloe. I feel rather tired with my walk. It is strange I should mind such a thing when I have walked to town all my life."

"You're worn out, honey; that is just what it is," said Chloe. "You ain't made of cast iron more than any one else. Eat your supper, and take care of your new frock. Milk spots black worse than anything."

Calista took the advice given her, and then retreated to the front parlor. She had never examined the little cupboards by the chimney. Indeed, they had usually been kept locked, but now they were open, and Calista eagerly looked over their contents. There were a few very early specimens of the Annuals—a species of literature which seems to have wholly died out; but the books mostly consisted of sets of the "Spectator" and "Rambler," and religious books of which there were a good many and of high character—Thomas à Kempis, Taylor's "Holy Living," "The Whole Duty of Man," Law's "Serious Call," and the like. Calista took down the last, and was soon fascinated, as any person of taste must be, by the exquisite style, the wit, and solid excellence of the matter.

She read till it was too dark to see, and then sat watching the fireflies, which spangled everything, and the moon, which just touched the higher clouds with silver. She tried to keep her thoughts on other things, but the questions would rise, "What was she to do? Was it her duty to stay on where she was? Could she possibly live with Aunt Priscilla?"

"But I am borrowing trouble," she said to herself at last. "My aunt gave up all care of me to Miss Druett, and she said Mr. Fabian was my guardian and would decide for me, so, of course, he will settle all that. I wouldn't be him when he calls to-morrow. I don't think aunt need grudge me my little fortune. Surely she has enough. I heard Mr. Fabian and that other gentleman say that the estate had increased in value tenfold. But I will not think of business to-night—so there!"

And drawing nearer to her the candle Chloe had brought, she applied herself once more to the "Serious Call." She read on, more and more interested, till a sudden rustle caused her to turn round. Some one was at the window, that was certain; some one who disappeared in a moment. She went to the window and looked out. There was nothing to be seen, but as she drew together and barred the shutters, she heard a low hollow laugh or chuckle, which she knew too well.

"So that horrid woman has come back," she said to herself. "Mr. Fabian is right. It will never do for me to stay here."

She could not feel very comfortable alone in the great room with its heavy, faded damask hanging, where her one candle made such grim shadows of the old-fashioned furniture. She took her book and candle, and, slipping off her shoes, she crept softly up to her own room and fastened the door, which had no bolt inside, by putting one of her trunks against it. She sat reading a long time, till all was quiet in the house. Then she said her prayers, and going to bed, she fell asleep like a baby.

The next morning, to her utter amazement, she went down stairs to find her aunt dressed, and sitting waiting for her breakfast. Such a thing had not happened for years.

"Why, Aunt Priscilla, how smart you are getting!" she exclaimed pleasantly. "When have you been down to breakfast before?"

"Oh, I am not quite superannuated yet, though you and your Fabians would like to make me so. Yes, you and your Fabians, with your plots and plans," she added, shaking her head. "You will find out, Miss, you poor-house child that I took out of charity that you might turn me out of house and home. Yes, yes! I meant to make you rich at last, but you'll see what you have gained by your plots and plans. You'll see!"

"Indeed, aunt, I have done nothing to injure you," said Calista, gently. "I don't ask anything of you but kind treatment and a little love. Come, aunt, let us be friends for the sake of her that is gone."

Calista's voice trembled, and she drew near to her aunt and bent down as if to kiss her, but Miss Priscilla pushed her off.

"There, go away. If you must make a sentimental fuss, go and see about breakfast; we shall not have it over by the time that old fool gets here."

Breakfast, however, was over and out of the way before the person so politely designated arrived.

Calista was not called to the conference till just at its close. As she entered the room, she heard Miss Priscilla say, in the loftily polite manner which she could assume if she chose:

"I am sorry to have been the cause of your forgetting yourself and being so violent, Mr. Fabian. I had always supposed you to be a person of quite a different stamp. I see now how wise my father was in refusing to sanction your addresses."

"And I see what an idiotic young fool I was ever to have made them," muttered Mr. Fabian, evidently much discomfited. "Be that as it may, madam," he continued, aloud, "I assure you that the will of your late friend is perfectly legal in every respect, and if you dispute it, you will lose your money."

"That remains to be seen, sir. Meantime, my niece remains in my custody. I have brought her up and educated her, and I intend that she shall stay with me till she is of age, and be governed by me in all things."

Calista cast a glance of consternation at her friend.

"Do not be alarmed, my dear," said Mr. Fabian. "You shall remain with this—this 'person' no longer than till I can obtain the proper legal power to take possession of you."

Mr. Fabian pronounced the word "person" with a look and emphasis which gave it all the effect of the most vituperative epithet. "Mr. Settson is expected home to-day, and then we will arrange the whole matter. Do not be afraid; no one shall hurt you."

"No harm is likely to come to her under this roof, whatever might happen anywhere else," said Miss Priscilla. "I have allowed the young person much more liberty than was for her good, to gratify the whims of my late companion and housekeeper, Miss Druett—"

"Oh! So she was your housekeeper!" said Mr. Fabian, taking out his tablets and making a note of the words. "You will please remember these words, Calista. They may be important."

"Of my late companion and friend, as I supposed her," continued Miss Priscilla, without noticing the interruption. "She has been going about to Methodist meetings and other places unfit for any decent young person. I shall permit this no longer; but as to any ill-treatment, I hope my character and that of my family are a guarantee against anything of that kind. I will not detain you any longer. Good-morning!"

Mr. Fabian bowed, and whispered to Calista to keep up good courage.

Miss Priscilla accompanied him to the door with the greatest politeness.

Calista, meantime, fled to her own room and fastened the door as well as she could. She had hardly done so when she heard it locked on the outside. Then she heard her aunt's voice ordering David to get up the chaise and be ready to drive her to Graywich.

"I shall not be at home till to-morrow," she said to Chloe, in unusually gracious accents; "so, if you choose, Chloe, you can go to town and stay with your sister. Indeed, I prefer that you should do so. I shall feel safer if the house is locked up."

"But where is Miss Calista? She can't stay here alone," objected Chloe. "And what about the cows?"

"Miss Calista has gone to town with Mr. Fabian. Did you not see her in the carriage? As to the cows, Davis will see to them."

"Oh!" said Chloe. "Then I guess I'll go over to Sally's. Jubalina is out, helping at Mrs. Whitecar's. And I'll take my new frock along and get Drusella to cut it for me. Hadn't I better take the key to the kitchen door, so's I can come and have things ready for you?"

"No, I prefer to carry all the keys myself. Go and get ready, for I am in a hurry."

No more was said, and Calista began to reflect on her position with some consternation. She did not at all relish the idea of being left locked up in the great empty house without food all night, and besides she had no notion of the lengths to which her aunt might go in her madness, for as such Calista regarded her conduct. She might, however, only mean to break her niece's spirit by hunger and solitude, and thus gain her ends.

"But she will find herself mistaken," thought Calista, proudly; "she does not know with whom she has to do."

The two servants slept in a room opening from the outer kitchen, and Miss Priscilla watched Chloe so carefully as to prevent her going up stairs at all.

Calista in her prison heard all the doors locked one after another, and the chaise roll away. She tried the door, but it was fast; her room being in the highest part of the house, she could not think for a moment of throwing herself out of the window. She tried the door with all her strength, but it would not yield to her efforts. She was sitting down to rest and compose her thoughts, when she heard a welcome voice under the window call softly—

"Honey, are you there?"

Calista sprang to the window and put her head out.

"Oh, Chloe, is it you? I thought every one had left me."

"Didn't I tell you so?" said Chloe, addressing nobody in particular. "I didn't believe you went away in that carriage. Have you got a string you can let down?"

Calista found a roll of tape in her work-box, and let it down.

Chloe fastened a basket to it.

"There's some dinner for you," said she. "I mistrusted all the time you were here, and so Chloe put you up a nice basket. Now listen to me. You will have to stay where you are till dusk. Nothing will hurt you, and do you pack up all your trunks, and put all your best things in one. Keep up a good heart, honey, and if you hear strange noises and scratching round about dusk, don't you be scared. Cash has got a plan for you in his head. There, good-bye; eat your dinner, keep a good heart, and we'll show Miss Priscy that there is more than one way to the woods, and out of them too."

Calista felt the wisdom of this advice. She made a hearty dinner, and then began to pack up her trunks, putting together in one all her most valuable articles and those she was most likely to need, as Chloe had advised. She had in her possession the new travelling bag she had bought for Miss Druett, and in that she bestowed her dressing things and other small matters. This being finished, she took a book and read for a long time.

It was growing dusk, when, as Chloe had foreboded, she began to hear a distant stir and rustling, and low, cautious voices. She listened intently: something was certainly stirring in the large disused closet, wherein were stowed the old clothes that her aunt had destined for carpet-rags. She opened the door, and as she did so, another door, which she had never suspected, opened in the wooden partition opposite, and the dark, friendly faces of Cassius and Chloe appeared in the opening.

"Here she is, all safe and sound," said Cassius. "Now we must hurry, for I mistrust the old lady may get back to-night, after all. Which trunk do you need most, Missy? For we can't take but one."

Calista indicated the one she wished to take.

"All right," said Chloe. "Now, help me, Cash, and we'll put the others where Miss Priscy won't find them in a month of Sundays."

Calista waited with what patience she could till the trunks were bestowed somewhere in the dark void on which the closet opened.

"That's all right; now for this one. Come along, Missy, and mind your steps. The garret is pretty dark. Shut your eyes a minute, and you'll see better."

Calista followed, wondering more and more. Chloe shut both closet-doors behind them. They passed through the garret and down a short stairway which seemed to wind round the chimney, then through another closet similar to the one up stairs, and Calista found herself in a large bed-room on the second floor, which she recognized as her father's old room.

"All right so far, but I'm glad that trunk wasn't any bigger," said Cassius; "now it's all plain sailing. Shut all the doors behind us, Chloe, and leave everything straight."

They descended to the first floor. Cassius opened a side-door, and it was with a feeling of exultation that Calista found herself in the open air.

"Is it possible she left a door unfastened?" said Calista.

"Not she," returned Cassius. "Young master gave me a key to this door years ago, and I kept it for a kind of keepsake. But let's get on the road, and I'll tell you all about it."

"Won't you take the river road?" asked Chloe. "It's more lonesomer."

"Either road is lonesome enough at this time," answered Cassias; "and I want to get Missy into safe keeping. Have you got anything to put round you, Missy? It is sort of chilly."

"Yes, I took down this old cloak, which was hanging in the closet," said Calista.

"That is my master's old military cloak, which he wore in war times," said Cassius. "He had it on when he was took for death. Some time, Missy, if you don't want it, I should like to have that cloak; but I don't want it in my house just now."

They were soon stowed in the Jersey wagon, which was tied before the gate, and the stout little horse was going over the road at a fine pace, as if he did not mind his load in the least.

"And now, do tell me how you got in?" said Calista. "And what is the story of that closet?"

"Oh, it is all plain enough," answered Cassius. "You see Chloe mistrusted all the time that you didn't go away with Mr. Fabian, because she did not see you go out, and she told me so. So Sally says,—

"'You'd better go and make sure, and take the poor thing something to eat.' For Sally, she can't bear to think of any one's going hungry.

"Says I, 'If she is there, I reckon we can get her out easy enough.'

"You see young master and me, we used to go out night-fishing, and he had a key to the little side-door, and he and I, we built that little staircase round the chimney and through the closets, so I could come down to his room any time. Your grandpa knew it, and thought it was only a frolic. Whether Miss Priscy did or not I don't know. She was away at the time we built it, I remember. When young Master Richard went away, he gave me that key to the side-door, and told me to keep it till he came back. So as nobody ever used the door, I took it away with me when I went, for a kind of keepsake. But it took a sight of oil to make it turn smooth, I can tell you. I little thought what good it was going to do. But I kind of wish you hadn't taken the coat."

"I don't think she'll miss it," said Calista. "She gave it to me with a parcel of other old clothes to cut into carpet-rags, a long while ago, and she has never asked for the things since. Anyhow, I can send it back to her if she wants it."

"Yes, we'll fix that easy enough," said Chloe. "Here we come."

"I guess we'd better drive right to Mr. Fabian's, hadn't we?" asked Cassius.

"Oh, yes, yes, Cassius. How shall I ever pay you?"

"Bless you, Missy, don't think about that. Who's got a right to help you if I haven't, I should like to know?"

The sound of wheels on the carriage-drive brought Mr. Fabian to the door of his handsome, stately old house, and great was his amazement when Cassius stopped his horse, and helped out first Calista and then Chloe.

"Calista, is this you? What does it mean?"

"Oh, Mr. Fabian, won't you please take me in, and take care of me?" said Calista, her voice quivering with the excitement she had been repressing all day.

"Of course I will, and very glad I am to see you," said the old gentleman, grasping the hand held out. "Mrs. Fabian, will you come here?"

Mrs. Fabian appeared, stately and beautiful, in her black satin and lace cap,—for old ladies were old ladies in those days.

"Now, what is the story?" said Mr. Fabian.

Cassius told it in a few words.

"What an abominable shame!" said Mrs. Fabian. "The child might have lost her senses, poor dear. I never heard of anything more cruel."

The kind words, and the epithet which she had so often heard from her lost friend, finished the break down which had been for some time impending, and Calista burst into a fit of hysterical crying.

"There, there, she is quite overdone," said Mrs. Fabian, folding Calista in her motherly arms. "We will get her to bed, and Chloe and Cassius shall have their supper and feed the horse. Perhaps, Chloe, as your mistress is not coming back to-night, you had better stay. There is plenty of room for you."

Chloe had calculated on this invitation, and accepted it without scruple.

Cassius declined, with many low bows. He must get home and see to his cows, and so on.

Mr. Fabian followed him to the door and said something, of which only the conclusion was audible: "Keep your own counsel, and if you get into trouble, I'll stand by you."

He pressed something into Cassius's hand, which glittered yellow in the lamplight.

Cassius bowed, and disappeared in the darkness, and his horse was heard trotting away.

Meantime, Calista had been conveyed up stairs to the most beautiful bed-room she had ever seen, where she was speedily undressed and put to bed. Presently appeared Chloe with an inviting tray, and when it was plain that Calista was too tired to eat, she was tucked up, exhorted to sleep as late as she pleased in the morning, and finally left to her repose.

CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.

MISS PRISCILLA.

IT was just as well that Cassius did not take the river road, for had he done so, he would have met Miss Priscilla at his own gate.

Miss Priscilla had allowed herself to act in a passion, and, she had not gone three miles from home before her mind misgave her. She had almost a mind to make a pretence of having left something and turn back. But she was not quite cool yet, and she did very much want to see Mr. Anderson, the lawyer in Graywich, about "that infamous will of Druey's"—so she called it in her own mind.

Mr. Anderson gave her no particular comfort. He was an honest man, and, moreover, he had once had to collect a bill of Miss Priscilla, and he had not forgotten (though she had) the way he had been treated on that occasion. He strongly advised Miss Priscilla not to go to law about the matter.

"These few thousand dollars are nothing to you," he said. "If you go to law, your servants and your niece will be very sharply examined, and things may come to light which may be very unpleasant."

Miss Priscilla winced.

"There is another consideration," pursued the lawyer, as gently and politely as if Miss Priscilla was a mouse and he the cat which was playing with her. "I suppose there is no doubt that your father, General Stanfield, made a second will, though it was never found. But after what has passed, Settson and Fabian will leave no stone unturned to discover it, and they are likely enough to succeed. Under such circumstances, would it not be better to conciliate the regard of the young lady,—who, from all I hear from my nieces, her schoolmates, is a very amiable, engaging young person,—and make a friend of her?"

"I tell you there was no second will—nothing of the sort," said Miss Priscilla, in great agitation. "The whole property is mine—house and all; and that money is rightfully mine."

"There you are mistaken, as I think," said Mr. Anderson, politely.

"Then you won't undertake the case?" said Miss Priscilla, in deep disappointment.

"Under the circumstances, I must be excused," said Mr. Anderson; "and my parting advice to you is to let matters rest where they are, and to endeavor to make a friend of the young lady. The time is short, my dear madam—the time is short; and both you and myself are rapidly approaching that station where no earthly riches are of any avail. I should be happy to invite you to dinner, but my wife and daughter are away, and I am taking my own meals at a neighbor's house. Good-morning!"

And Miss Priscilla found herself bowed out of the office with great politeness. She had counted on keeping herself, her horse, and her servant at Mr. Anderson's expense; but now she must go to the tavern, for the horse, at least, must have his dinner.

There was now no object in her remaining all night, and the more she thought of it, the more vexed she was with herself for the course she had taken. How should she manage when she came home? The servants would be certain to find out that Calista had been shut up in the empty house all day, and, what was worse, they would be sure to tell of it, for they were both on Calista's side.

To do Miss Priscilla justice, she was not without better feelings. She remembered that Calista had really seemed glad to see her down stairs, and she thought, too, how she had rejected the child's offer of friendship.

"The child!"

Yes, that was what Druey had always called her—Druey, who had stood by her through evil report and unkindness, and to whom she had solemnly given over the care of Calista. Suppose that when she got home she should find Calista dead, or scared into insanity! Miss Priscilla was as angry at herself as she had been at Calista. She thought matters over, and decided, with a great pang, that she would give up the contest, let the will be proved, and say no more about it. She had counted on Miss Druett's ready money to carry on her schemes with Jael and her husband, but then she could sell out some bank-stock.

Then another cold misgiving crossed her mind. She had already let these people have two or three hundred dollars. Suppose they should be robbing and cheating her all the time! But she could not and would not believe that. No, the treasure was there, and she would have it! She would coax Calista to join with her: Calista was always lucky in finding things! Yes, that would be the best plan.

That Calista should refuse to be governed or coaxed, that she should feel any lasting resentment for the way she had been treated, never entered Miss Priscilla's head.

Full of these thoughts, she stopped at Cassius's gate and called for Chloe. Instead of Chloe, came out old Sally. Was ever anything so unlucky! Cassius had been obliged to drive into town, and Chloe had gone with him and expected to spend the night with Mrs. Fabian's Miranda. Cassius would most likely stay to meeting, seeing he was there, and so would not come home till late.

This was worse and worse. Then Chloe would find out that Calista had not gone away with Mr. Fabian. And what was she to do for supper? David declared he could not and would not drive Jeff another step, and the farm horses were away off down in the pasture. But then there was Calista! No doubt the poor child was hungry enough by this time, and for once she might get just what she liked for supper.

It was not without an uncomfortable feeling that Miss Priscy ascended the stairs to the attic story, and, unlocking the door, called—

"Calista!"

Then, as no answer came, "Calista, child, take the things away from the door and let me come in; I want to speak to you! Don't be afraid. I am not angry, though you have been a naughty girl. Come, let me in!"

Still no answer. Exerting her strength, Miss Priscilla pushed away the heavy chair which Calista had left standing against the door, and entered.

The room was empty. Everything was in its usual state, except that Calista's trunks were gone.

Much alarmed, she searched the house over, but every door was locked and every window fastened. Calista was nowhere to be seen.

Leaving her to her own reflections, we will follow the fortunes of our heroine.

Calista's sleep was broken and restless till near morning, but then she fell asleep and did not wake till near ten o'clock.

When she did wake, she lay for some time in a half-dreamy state, enjoying the softness of her bed and the luxurious prettiness of her room, so different from the one she had so long inhabited. She found a real pleasure in the pretty carpet, the easy chair with its bright chintz, the Indian paper on the walls covered with processions of camels and elephants, with wonderful birds and beasts, and men still more wonderful. Presently her eyes fell upon the old army cloak carelessly thrown over a chair, and like a flash came to her mind the words of Cassius—

"He had it on when he was struck with death!"

She sprang out of bed, seized the coat, and felt in all the pockets. There was nothing in any of them, but as she turned them out, she found in the inside breast pocket a long rip. She put in her hand and pulled out a folded paper carefully wrapped round with red tape, but not sealed.

She gave one glance at it, and another out of the window. Mr. Settson's house was open, and so was the office. Clearly the family were at home.

She waited no longer than to dress herself, and then, without seeing or thinking of any one, she put on her hat, and, with the paper in her hand, ran across to the office. There was no one in the outer room. She knocked at the door of the inner office, and then, without waiting for a reply, she opened it and went in.

There sat Mr. Settson and Mr. Fabian, with an elderly man whom she had never seen before.

"Calista!" exclaimed both the gentlemen in surprise.

And Mr. Fabian's voice had a shade of displeasure as he added,—

"My dear, what has brought you here?"

"This!" answered Calista, holding up her prize. "Mr. Settson, will you please tell me what I have found?"

Mr. Settson set down his snuff-box, and glancing at the outside of the document, he opened it with eager haste. He looked it through, glanced at the end, and then struck his hand on the table with a force which made the ink jump out of the inkstand and the snuff out of the box, and caused the office cat to utter a remonstrating mew.

"The very thing!" said he. "We have it at last. Fabian, Williams, look here!"

They both rose and looked over his shoulder with eager curiosity.

"That is it, Mr. Settson," said the elderly man, whom Mr. Settson called Williams; "that is the signature I witnessed, and the other signature is that of young Mr. John Blair, at that time studying in our office. I have heard he was living somewhere west—in Detroit, I believe. That is Mr. Durant's handwriting. The old gentleman gave him instructions how to draw the will, and he came in next day and signed it. I heard it read over to him myself."

"But what in the world possessed him to go to a lawyer who was an entire stranger, and in an obscure place like that?"

"I think it was because he was not very well. I remember he said something about his heart troubling him."

"Where did you find the will, Calista?" asked Mr. Settson.

Calista described the way it had come into her possession.