AT THE PARSONAGE.
Mr. Lyle lived in a pretty white cottage, covered nearly to the roof
with fragrant creeping vines, and standing in the midst of a beautiful
flower-garden.
Here he lived his bachelor life quite alone but for the occasional sight
of the old negro couple that were waiting on him--Aunt Nancy, who did
all his housework, and Uncle Ned, who worked in the garden.
He found the faithful old couple prepared to receive him and his guest.
A tempting repast, combining the attractions of dinner and tea, was
ready to be placed upon the table just as soon as the gentlemen should
have made their toilets after their long journey.
Mr. Lyle led his guest into a fresh, pretty room, with white muslin
curtains at the vine-clad windows and a white dimity spread on the bed,
and white flower enameled cottage furniture completing the appointments.
"This is a room for a pretty girl rather than for a grim miner," said
Victor Hartman, looking admiringly around the little apartment.
"I call it the 'Chamber of Peace,' and that is why I put you in it,"
said Mr. Lyle.
After they had washed and dressed they went down together to the cozy
little dining-room, where they did such justice to the tea-dinner as
made Aunt Nancy's heart crow for joy.
And when that was over they went into the snug little parlor and sat
down to talk over their plans.
It was then that Mr. Lyle informed Victor Hartman that he was doing all
the work of the parish during Dr. Goodwin's hopeless indisposition, and
that he had been doing it for the last twelve months.
"You will succeed him here as rector, I presume?" said Victor.
"I presume so; but I do not like to speak of that," gravely replied Mr.
Lyle.
"No, of course you do not. And I really beg your pardon. I should not
have spoken myself, only in my girl's interests. You see, I felt a
little curious and anxious to know where her future life would be likely
to be passed, and I thought it would be a much happier life if passed
here, near her dear friend Miss Cavendish, that's all," explained
Victor.
"You seem to consider that quite a settled matter," replied Mr. Lyle, a
little incoherently, and blushing like a maiden.
"Yes, of course I consider it all quite settled! You, in your
earnestness, can not conceal your liking for my girl, and she, in her
innocent frankness, does not even try to conceal hers from you. And I
heartily approve the match and am ready to dower the bride," said
Victor.
"But I have not ventured to speak to her yet," stammered Mr. Lyle.
"Then you may do so just as soon as you please," answered Victor.
"And now about Alden," said Mr. Lyle, by way of changing the
conversation.
"Yes, now about Alden. He does not suspect that I am his banker, I
hope?"
"No, indeed! I paid him over the munificent sum you intrusted to me for
him. He feels--well, I may say painfully grateful, and is confident that
he must some time repay you, with interest and compound interest."
"Yes, my boy will certainly repay me, but not in the way he thinks,"
observed Victor, gravely.
"After a week's visiting with his sister at Blue Cliffs, he will go up
to Richmond and select a site for his office and purchase his law
library, though I think he will have to go to Philadelphia to do that."
"Yes, I suppose he will," admitted Hartman.
"What are your own plans about yourself, Victor, if I may be allowed to
ask?" inquired the minister.
"Well, I haven't any. I came on here to see my boy and girl, and settle
them in life as well as I can. I shall stay till I do that anyway. After
that I don't know what I shall do. I do not care about going back to
California. My business there is in the hands of a capable and
trustworthy agent. And somehow I like the old mother State; and now
that you lead me to think about it, perhaps I shall spend the rest of my
life here; but, as I said before, I don't know."
"By the way, dear Victor, you spoke to me with much simple frankness of
my most private personal affairs. May I take the same liberty with you?"
inquired Mr. Lyle, very seriously.
"Why, of course you may, if you call it a liberty, which I don't, you
know!" answered Victor, with a smile.
"Then, my dear Hartman, how about Miss Electra? I was not so absorbed in
my own interests as not to have an eye to yours."
"Ah, Miss Electra! Well, parson, she _was_ my little old acquaintance of
Rat Alley, when I flourished in that fragrant neighborhood as Galley
Vick."
"No!" exclaimed Mr. Lyle, opening his eyes wide with astonishment.
"Yes," quietly answered Victor Hartman. "And it is a wonder that you,
who know the family so well, do not know this episode in its history."
"How was I to know, my friend, when no one ever told me? I suppose that
few or none but the family know anything about it."
"I suppose you are right," said Victor. "Well, you see, she recognized
me, as surely as I did her, at first sight. We had an explanation as we
walked out to the University that day."
"But how came the granddaughter of Dr. Beresford Jones ever to have had
such a miserable childhood?"
"Well, you see, there was a disobedient daughter, a runaway marriage, a
profligate husband, and the consequences--poverty, destitution, early
death, and an orphan child left among beggars and thieves! Her
grandfather found her at last and took her under his guardianship. That
is the whole story in brief."
"Well, well, well!" mused Mr. Lyle, with his head on his breast; then,
raising it, he went back to the previous question: "But what about Miss
Electra?"
"I have just told you about her," replied Victor.
"Oh, yes, I know! You have told me something about her, but you haven't
told me all. Take me into your confidence, Victor."
"What do you mean?" inquired Hartman, in some embarrassment.
"Why, that you and your little old acquaintance seem to be very fond of
each other."
Victor laughed in an embarrassed manner, and then said: "Do you know
that when we were in Rat Alley, and she was a tiny child and I was a
lad, there was a promise of marriage between us?"
"That was funny too! Well, what about it?"
"Nothing. Only, if I dared, I would, some day, remind her of it."
"Do, Victor! Believe me, she will not affect to have forgotten it," said
Mr. Lyle, earnestly.
"Ah, but when I think of all I have passed through I dare not ask a
beautiful and happy girl to unite her bright life with my blackened one!
I dare not," said Hartman, very sadly.
"Nonsense, Victor! You are morbid on that subject. Yours is a nobly
redeemed life," said Mr. Lyle, solemnly.
"But--my past!" sighed Victor.
"She had a dark past too poor child! But no more of that. In both your
cases
"'Let the dead past bury its dead!
Live--live in the living present,
Heart within and God o'erhead!'
And now it is time to retire, dear Victor. We keep early hours here,"
said Mr. Lyle, as he reached down the Bible from its shelf, preparatory
to commencing evening service.
Then they read the Word together, and offered up their prayers and
thanksgivings together, and retired, strengthened.
This week, to which Alden Lytton's holiday visit to Blue Cliffs was
limited, was passed by the young people in a succession of innocent
entertainments.
First there was a garden-party and dance at Blue Cliff Hall, at which
all the young friends and acquaintances of Miss Cavendish assisted,
which the Rev. Dr. Jones and the Rev. Mr. Lyle endorsed by their
presence, and in which even Victor Hartman forgot, for the time being,
his own dark antecedents.
Next Mr. Lyle himself opened his bachelor heart and bachelor home to the
young folks by giving them a tea-party, which delighted the hearts of
Aunt Nancy and Uncle Ned, who both declared that this looked something
_like_ life.
But the third and greatest event of the week took place on Friday
evening, when Dr. Beresford Jones gave a great house-warming party, on
the occasion of his carrying home his granddaughter and sole heiress,
Electra Coroni.
Not only all our own young friends, including the reverend clergy and
the California miner, but all the neighborhood and all the county were
there.
And they kept up the festivities all day and well into the night.
Emma Cavendish and Laura Lytton remained with Electra for a few days
only, for Alden Lytton was to leave the neighborhood for Richmond on the
Monday morning following the party at Beresford Manors.
And during all this time no word was heard of Mary Grey.
That baleful woman had heard all that had passed at Charlottesville and
at Wendover, and her vain and jealous spirit was filled with such
mortification and rage that she was now hiding herself and deeply
plotting the ruin of those who had been her best friends and
benefactors.