POPULAR NOVELS
BY
MRS. MARY J. HOLMES.
TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE.
ENGLISH ORPHANS.
HOMESTEAD ON HILLSIDE.
’LENA RIVERS.
MEADOW BROOK.
DORA DEANE.
COUSIN MAUDE.
MARIAN GREY.
EDITH LYLE.
DAISY THORNTON.
CHATEAU D’OR.
QUEENIE HETHERTON.
BESSIE’S FORTUNE.
MARGUERITE.
DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT.
HUGH WORTHINGTON.
CAMERON PRIDE.
ROSE MATHER.
ETHELYN’S MISTAKE.
MILBANK.
EDNA BROWNING.
WEST LAWN.
MILDRED.
FORREST HOUSE.
MADELINE.
CHRISTMAS STORIES.
GRETCHEN.
DR. HATHERN’S DAUGHTERS. (_New._)
“Mrs. Holmes is a peculiarly pleasant and fascinating writer. Her books
are always entertaining, and she has the rare faculty of enlisting the
sympathy and affections of her readers, and of holding their attention
to her pages with deep and absorbing interest.”
Handsomely bound in cloth. Price, $1.50 each, and sent _free_ by mail on
receipt of price,
BY
G. W. DILLINGHAM, PUBLISHER
SUCCESSOR TO
G. W. CARLETON & CO., New York.
DOCTOR HATHERN’S DAUGHTERS.
_A STORY OF VIRGINIA, IN FOUR PARTS_
BY
MRS. MARY J. HOLMES.
AUTHOR OF
“MARGUERITE,” “TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE,” “MILBANK,” “DARKNESS AND
DAYLIGHT,” “ENGLISH ORPHANS,” “’LENA RIVERS,” “MADELINE,” “MARION GREY,”
“HUGH WORTHINGTON,” “ETHELYN’S MISTAKE,” “EDNA BROWNING,” “BESSIE’S
FORTUNE,” “WEST LAWN,” “GRETCHEN,” ETC.
[Illustration: logo]
NEW YORK.
_G. W. Dillingham, Publisher_,
SUCCESSOR TO G. W. CARLETON & CO.
MDCCCXCV.
COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY
MRS. MARY J. HOLMES.
_All Rights Reserved._
PREFACE.
In a large, old-fashioned Virginia house, shaded with elms and covered
with climbing roses, honeysuckle and Virginia creepers, two women sat
one June morning, discussing the practicability of writing a story in
four parts and calling it “Dr. Hathern’s Daughters.” One of the
daughters was to write the opening chapters, and was to be followed at
intervals by her friend, whose sobriquet was to be “The Author.” The
story has been written and is now given to the public as the joint
production of Annie Hathern and
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
PART I.—LIFE AT THE ELMS.
Page
Preface 7
Chapter
I. The Daughters 9
II. The Boy in Grey and the Boy in Blue 16
III. After the War 31
IV. A Shadow Begins to Fall 45
V. Something Does Turn Up 48
VI. The Shadow Deepens 55
VII. The Coming of the Bride 68
VIII. Mrs. Hathern 76
IX. The Upheaval 88
X. A Suspicion 93
XI. Aunt Martha 98
XII. Norah O’Rourke and Julina 103
XIII. Carl 108
XIV. The Picnic 117
XV. Paul 124
XVI. Little Paul 132
PART II.—FANNY AND JACK.
I. After Five Years 146
II. The Fever 156
III. The Engagement 168
IV. The House that Jack Built 173
V. Seeing the World 180
VI. Furnishing the House that Jack Built 185
VII. The 25th of November 197
VIII. At the Plateau 202
IX. The Letter 210
X. The Effect 229
PART III.—FAN-AND-ANN AND JACK.
I. How Lovering Received the News 239
II. At The Elms 248
III. Jack 262
IV. Christmas at The Elms 275
V. On the Celtic 286
VI. On the Road to London 301
VII. At Morley’s 306
VIII. Changes in Lovering 324
IX. Fanny 338
X. Jack and Annie 353
XI. The House of Mourning 362
XII. Going Home 372
XIII. A Law to Herself 378
XIV. Fanny, or Mrs. Errington 388
XV. The Tenant at the Plateau 403
PART IV.—KATY AND CARL.
I. In the Old World 410
II. Madame 413
III. At Homburg 419
IV. At Monte Carlo 424
V. The Concert 436
VI. Julina 447
VII. Carl and Katy 455
VIII. Conclusion 461
DR. HATHERN’S DAUGHTERS.
PART I—LIFE AT THE ELMS.
CHAPTER I—ANNIE’S STORY.
THE DAUGHTERS.
There are three of us, Fanny and Annie (that is myself) and Katy, who is
our half-sister and several years our junior. Her mother, a blue-eyed,
golden-haired little woman from New Orleans, lived only a year after she
came to us, and just before she died she took my sister’s hand and mine,
and putting one of her baby’s between them, said, “Be kind to her as I
would have been kind to you had I lived. God bless you all.”
We were only nine years old, but we accepted the trust as something
sacred, and little Katy, who inherited all of her mother’s marvelous
beauty and sweetness of disposition, never missed a mother’s love and
care, and was the pet and darling of our household. Fanny and I are
twins,—familiarly known as “Fan-and-Ann,”—and as unlike each other as it
is possible for twins to be. Fan, who always passes for the elder, is
half a head taller than I am, and very beautiful, with a stateliness and
imperiousness of manner which would befit a queen, while I am shy and
reticent and small, and only one has ever called me handsome. But his
opinion is more to me than all the world, and so I am content, although
as a young girl, I used sometimes to envy Fan her beauty, and think I
would rather be known as “the pretty and proud Miss Hathern” than “the
plain and good one,” a distinction often made between us, and one which
I knew made me the more popular of the two.
Our home, which was sometimes called “The Elms,” on account of the great
number of elm trees around it, was in the part of Virginia that felt the
shock of the war the most, and when the thunder of artillery was shaking
the hills around Petersburg and the air was black with shot and shell
and the gutters ran red with human blood, Fanny and I, with little Katy
between us, sat with blanched faces listening to the distant roar,—she
thinking of the cause she had so much at heart and feared was lost, and
I of the thousands of homes made desolate by the dreadful war which, it
seemed to me, need never to have been. As we were southern born we
naturally sympathized with the south,—that is, Fanny did,—while our
father, who was born under the shadow of Bunker Hill, and rarely had any
very decided opinions except for peace and good will everywhere,
scarcely knew on which side he did stand. Both were right and both were
wrong, he said, and he opposed secession with all his might, insisting
that there must be some better method of settling the difficulty than by
plunging the nation into a sea of carnage.
He was for “peace at any price,” and held the flag as a sacred thing,
and at last when war was upon us, he reverently laid away in the garret
the one with which we were wont to celebrate the Fourth of July, and
night and morning prayed for both sides,—not that either might be
victorious, but that they might settle the difficulty amicably and go
home.
My mother, whom I can scarcely remember, was a Charlestonian, who
believed in slavery as a divine institution, and was the kindest and
gentlest of mistresses to the few negroes she brought with her to her
Virginia home. For myself I scarcely knew what I did believe, except as
I was swayed by a stronger spirit than my own, and that spirit was
Fan’s. She was an out and out rebel, as we were called, and lamented
that instead of a girl of thirteen she was not a man to join the first
company of volunteers which went from Lovering. Situated as we were,
near the frontier, we were fair prey for the soldiers on both sides, and
they came upon us like the locusts of Egypt and spoiled us almost as
badly as the Egyptians were spoiled by the Israelites, but from neither
north nor south did we ever suffer a personal indignity. This was
largely owing to our father’s incomparable tact in dealing with them. It
seemed to me that he was always watching for them, and when he came in
from the street, or the gate where he spent a great deal of his time, I
could tell to a certainty whether we were to expect a Federal or a
Confederate before he spoke a word. If it were the latter he came to me
and said, “Annie, there are soldiers in town and if they come here, as
they may, stay in your room until they are gone.” If it were the boys in
blue, he went to Fan, but did not tell her to stay in her room. He knew
she would not if he did, and he would say in his most conciliatory way,
“Daughter, I think there are some Federals in the woods, and if they
come here as they may because the house is large and handy, try and be
civil to them, and don’t be afraid.”
“Afraid!” Fan would answer, with a flash in her black eyes. “Do you
think I would be afraid if the entire northern army stood at our door!”
Then she would hurry off to warn the blacks in the kitchen and see that
the coffee and sugar and tea were hidden away, while father walked down
to the gate to receive the foremost of his unwelcome guests. With a
courtly wave of the hand, which he might have borrowed from kings, he
would say, “What can I do for you to-day? I suppose you are hungry, but
we have been visited so often that we have not much left. Still I think
we can give you something; but, gentlemen, I beg of you not to annoy or
frighten my daughters. They are very young and their mother is dead.”
Whether it was what he said, or the way he said it, or both, his wishes
so far as we were concerned were respected, and neither Fanny nor I ever
came near a boy in blue or a boy in grey that he did not touch his cap
to us, and when Fan’s sharp tongue got the better of her, as it often
did, they only laughed, and told her to “dry up,” a bit of slang she did
not then understand and resented hotly as a Yankee insult. They took our
poultry and eggs and fruit and flour and finally all our negroes, except
Phyllis, who had her bundle made up to go, and then found that her love
for “Ole Mas’r” and the young “misseses” was stronger than her love for
freedom.
On one occasion they took Black Beauty, Fan’s riding pony, but sent it
back within a few hours. This was toward the close of the war, when
Virginia was full of Federal troops, and for one day and night our place
was turned into a kind of barracks by a company whose leader, Col.
Errington, occupied our best room and took his meals with us. He was a
tall, handsome man, with a splendid physique and the most polished
manners I ever saw. But there was a cynical look about his mouth and a
cold, hard expression in his grey eyes, which I did not like, while Fan
detested him. She was then a beautiful girl of nearly seventeen, with a
haughty bearing and frankness of speech which amused the northern
officer, to whom she expressed her mind very freely, not only with
regard to his calling, but also with regard to himself. But he took it
all good-humoredly, and when he went away he kissed his hand to her,
while to me he simply bowed.
“The wretch! How dare he!” Fanny said, with a stamp of her foot.
But she watched him until he disappeared from sight in the woods,
through which there was a short cut in the direction of Petersburg. Most
of his men followed him, but a few stragglers lingered behind for the
sake of whatever they could find in the shape of eatables, and when at
last they departed, Phyllis, who had been doing battle with them over a
quantity of butternuts which she claimed as her special property, came
running to the house with the startling information that “one dem blue
coats done took off Miss Fanny’s pony, who kicked and snorted jes ’s if
he knowed ’twas a fetched Yank who had cotched him.”
Rushing to the door we saw the pony going down the lane, or rather
standing in the lane, for he had planted his forefeet firmly on the
ground, and with mulish obstinacy refused to move. A sharp cut from the
whip, however, brought him to terms, and he went galloping off with his
heels in the air quite as often as upon terra firma. I think Fan
followed him bareheaded for nearly a mile, but all her calls and
entreaties were in vain. Black Beauty was gone, and she cried herself
into a headache which lasted until night, when, just as we were sitting
down to supper, Phyllis came near dropping the hot corn cakes she was
putting upon the table in her surprise and delight as she exclaimed,
“Bress de Lord, dar’s Black Beauty now.”
Looking from the window we saw a soldier in blue leading him toward the
house and trying hard to hold him as he minced and pranced and shook his
head in his delight to be home again. In a moment he was at the open
door where he often came to be fed with sugar or cookies and Fan’s arms
were around his neck and she was talking to him as if he was human and
could understand her, while he whinnied in reply and rubbed his head
against her face.
“Col. Errington sent you this with his compliments,” the soldier said,
handing a note to Fan, which was as follows:
“DEAR MISS HATHERN
“I have just learned of the abduction of your pony, and am very sorry
for the anxiety it must have caused you. I am sure it is yours, as you
ran so far after him, and for that reason I should like to keep him
for myself. But honor compels me to send him back.
“Hoping that you will not add the sin of thieving to my other
enormities and that in the near future we may meet as friends instead
of foes,
“I am, yours very truly,
“GEORGE W. ERRINGTON.”
Fan’s first impulse, after reading this, was to tear it up, but she
changed her mind, and I heard her tell Phyllis to give the soldier some
supper, if he wanted it.
“I suppose the tramp is hungry; they always are,” she said,
apologetically, as her eyes wandered across the orchard to the enclosure
on the hillside where, under the pine trees, our boy in grey was lying,
with a boy in blue beside him.
That night I saw Fan put Col. Errington’s note in a little box on our
dressing bureau, where she kept her few trinkets, but his name was not
mentioned between us until after the fall of Richmond, when Jack
Fullerton, our neighbor, who had been in the war and who knew about
Fan’s pony and the officer, whom he teasingly called Fan’s Yankee,
brought a Washington paper in which we read that Col. Errington, who was
so severely wounded at Petersburg, was recovering rapidly and would soon
be able to be moved into his house on Franklin Square.
“I suppose you are very glad that your gallant Colonel is getting well,”
Jack said, and Fan replied, “Of course I am. Do you think me a murderess
that I want any man to die.”
“I thought at one time you would like to exterminate the entire Federal
army,” Jack said, and Fan replied, “So I would, and I have no love for
them now; but can’t a body change some of his views?”
And, truly, Fan’s views were greatly changed from what they were at the
beginning of the war, to which time I must go back for a little and tell
of the boy in grey and the boy in blue, who brought the change and who,
though dead, have much to do with this story.