Democratic Sentinel, Volume 20, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 April 1896 — TUMBLE-DOWN FARM [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

TUMBLE-DOWN FARM

CHAPTER XX.—(Continued.) Vanity did not care for the soldier’s admiration, which she had soon enough perceived; but the cause of her complete Indifference was beyond Maud Neville’s ken. Vanity was infatuated about Willie Snow; in spite of his misconduct she loved him more than ever. This was silly and weak of Vanity; but consider, reader, how few stories would be written if a few people were not silly and weak; and remember how frail is the heart of woman. Her madness was at least sincere. Vanity thought nothing of the handsome dragoon for whose admiration several girls of rank and fortune were sighing, all because her heart was full of Willie Snow, weak Willie Snow, the man whom she still called her own, and whom she believed had been given to her in a solemn and tender hour beneath the saffron skies, and to the music of the dying evening wind. Mistress Maud Neville was prompted by a humane desire to keep the heart of her brother in safety and to guide his affections aright. This desire frequently possesses active and high-minded matrons, and from it unspeakable benefits accrue to humanity. After one of these morning encounters between grass-plot and balcony, when Vanity had retired—- “ Sit down here, Tom," said Maud, indicating a garden seat: “what a pleasant cigar you are smoking this morning! Now, Master Tim, have you counted up the hearts you have broken since you came down here?’ “Oh, I don’t know about that!” the dragoon replied. “I really don’t give my mind to it—not much, you know, Maudey." “I suppose you will marry, Tom, and I •oppose,” Maud went on, “Arabella Hardcastle will be the woman?” “Can’t say,” Tom replied diffidently. “But, Tom,” Maud said, with an admirable air of surprise, “have you and the Hardcastles fallen out? You did not apeak in this way a few days ago.” At which our dragoon's blush, just receding, broke out most visibly. “In one word,” Maud said, looking him full in the face, “there is a newcomer. I think I can guess.” In this way Maud contrived so skillfully that there and then her brother confessed that he admired Vanity Hardware, and she, like the tactician she was, received the intelligence with perfect composure, not protesting. This only she •aid: “-She is very handsome, good, kind; but then, Tom ” “I know what you mean,” Tom remarked, seeing she hesitated. “Ought we to visit her?” “Well, you see, Tom, we have to ask •nch questions." - “If you had to choose for me, and the choice lay between Arabella and my newcomer ” “Really, Tom, I should not know what to do.” That may seem strange enough, but Maud could not bear the idea of having Arabella Hardcastle for sister-in-law. Her dislike was not a recent affair. Mrs. Hardcastle had brought her up frpm infancy, and had managed to make her, as child, girl and roung woman, cordially guardian. Arabella, too, had always been pitted against Jdaud. But that potent old lady had managed to £angle Tom Pembroke, for Tom was easy lured. * Accordingly, when Tom told his sister that he had really taken a fancy to Vanity Hardware, that sensible and straightforward young woman was in a fix. Perhaps of the two she might have preferred Vanity; but all lady readers will see that there were very grave objections to a marriage with this brave, beautiful, but certainly most nondescript heroine. “Which of the two would it be, Maud?” Tom saw his advantage, and pressed his question. Maud traced a pattern on the gravel with her foot, raised her eyebrows, as if to signify that she was put tn an unfair position; but she made no anwwer. “Of course,” said Tom, "I am now talking on the supposition that I felt such a Mep to be desirable, and also that—Miss Hardware would have roe.” “Oh, Tom, ridiculous! Of course she would?’ “How do yon know? - he rejoined. “I am not so sure of that.” And he spoke so seriously that Maud felt he must have some reason for his thought, and she was greatly astonished. Fancy wealthy, handsome, dashing, goodhumored Tom Pembroke, the prize for an earl's daughter, asking poor and pretty and helpless Vanity Hardware to be his wife! And fancy her saying No! Here would be materials for a novel indeed!

CHAPTER XXL At last the little patient was discharged from her hospital; and, all danger from Infection being over—so the doctor said —Maud Neville was able to thank her benefactress in person. That energetic young matron could not but feel that Tom needed no excuse for being smitten by Vanity Hardware. Maud felt a secret respect for the young actress, and could not but utter her thanks with the sisterly warmth which she desired to express. And yet could Maud have read Vanity’s secret! The actress was possessed with an idea which Maud would certainty have called wicked, if not mean. Her soul was concentrated upon her purpose of wayward affection and merciless revenge. Her calculation was that Nancy’s attractions would be about used up by this time. Vanity judged her just the woman to fatigue a man soon. Willie had known her spell once. She knew exactly how to captivate him. This wicked, reckless purpose made Vanity grave and calm and superior as she talked with Maud Neville. Maud poured out her thanks, praised Vanity’s bravery, and said whatever the occasion suggested. Vanity heard her with an air of condescending interest, as one listens to the thanks of a grateful child. “I am glad I risked it,” she said, speaking to her own heart while appearing to answer Maud. “If I had died I should not have cared. But lam alive!” “Alive!” repeated Maud Neville. “But suppose your beauty had gone!” Vanity shuddered. Then she remembered her own former thought. “If God or Fate had wanted my beauty, It would have been taken. Now I am twice my own.” This was Greek to Maud; but she hsd •omething to say herself. Vanity was •funding at the window, looking into the garden. At a eight of the soldier out•Mte Maud saw a sarcastic anile upon the

lips of the actress, but it vanished quickly. “I am so proud of my brother!” “No wonder,” Vanity replied. “He is a handsome mgn." “Tom is good as well as handsome. O, he has a noble heart! For all his easy, self-indulgent ways, he thinks more of other people than of himself. You may smile,” she continued, with growing im- ; prudence. “I suppose you have guessed that my brother admires you. But let me tell you that- my brother is not the style of man who can fancy one woman and love another!” “He looked twice at me when once would have been enough.” This Vanity said with graceful gayety. “But I vow I did not think he would have told you.” “He did tell me!” cried Maud, eagerly. “That shows what Tom is! But I have not been wise. Tom only just mentioned it to me in passing. Of course you know.” she stroked Vanity's hand, “and you will not be offended with me; there would be many, many things to be thought of be-fore—-before ’’ “Before he married me.” Vanity finished the sentence with charming playfulness. “You really are good-natured!” Maud exclaimed. "It is so good of you to take it in that kind of way. I wished to be straightforward, but you might so easily have taken offense.” “Make yourself easy,” Vanity answered, resuming her amused look. “Your brother will have no need to consider prudence or anything else. I would not marry him if he asked me.” “What!” exclaimed Maud Neville. “Not marry Tim!” “No,” Vanity said cleverly, “for I love somebody else.” “Do tell me—forgive me for asking. Is he handsome?” “Handsome! Oh, more than handsome—to me.” Vanity kept her own secret locked in her breast. The strength of her purpose, the conviction that her wrongs in the past justified her present schemes, enabled her to accept Maud Neville’s congratulations with perfect calmness. Vanity was a law unto herself. But another and mightier hand than her own will was to fashion her future. That very night the smallpox laid her low! Poor Vanity! The doctor had pronounced her safe from all danger; but some inscrutable speck of infection had found its way into her blood; and the face, whose beauty she had an hour before regarded with a thrilj of vindictive pride, was at the mercy of this destructive disease. The whole establishment was upset, and the doctor, in his fresh alarm, insisted that the family should depart. Maud Neville made one bol4 proposal to nurse Vanity herself, but this was sternly forbidden, and Sister Catherine, who happened to be in the neighborhood, declared that she would wait up’on Vanity and see her through the disease. In this manner the fitful life of Vanity Hardware wound its way into the valley of the shadow of death. As the malady progressed Vanity grew delirious. “Willie, Willie!” she murmured, in a voice deep as the note of a nightingale, and just as though she were breathing the words on his breast, “we will be so happy—far away-r-over the sea, living and -laying together. Away, away from this horricT England! Oh, how I hate England!” Sister Catherine knew a great deal of Vanity’s former history. Bistening to these wanderings, Which were repeated with a significant persistency, she gradually discerned the filament of real feeling and intention on which the whole was threaded. “If you live,” she said, speaking aloud, “poor, wandering child, I will try to teach you that there is another love than this!” Vanity heard the words, and answered, still wandering: “O, Willie, it is too late now, “ T am dying, dying—only I here importune Death awhile, until Of many thousand kisses, the poor last I lay upon thy lips.’ ” “O, Father!” the Sister cried, “slay this child’s beauty, and then raise her up to be Thine for evermore!”

CHAPTER XXn. Vanity’s illness might be compared to the course of a river. There was the snatch of delirium when the patient was impetuous and fitful; then came the period pf blindness and silence, as if the stream, sinking down between deep banks, rolled on dark and noiseless to the sea. "Tell me,” she moaned to Sister Catherine one day, after the doctor had gone, "is there any hope?” “Yes, Child,” she answered soothingly; “with care you will recover." “I don’t mean that,” she replied. “Shall I be marked ?” “He fears you will. I don’t wonder if you grieve over that pretty, sweet face. But listen, child; you have to learn to say, ’Not my will, but Thine, be done.’ And you will learn to say it.” “Never,” cried Vanity—“never! Listen, there is a man whom I loved, and who loved me. We had promised ourselves to each other, and a woman came and stole his heart.” “Then he is hers —not yours.” “I meant to win him back,” Vanity continued; “I knew he could not resist me. But now my face is destroyed, and ail is over, and I want to die.” "Thank God, who has given you time for repentance,” the Sister said gravely. “His ways are not our ways. He is leading you by paths you know not.” Two or three hours later Sister Catherine, finding her a little easier, said to her: “Would you like me to tell about a man who—once—wanted to marry me?” There was a strange tremor in that usually calm voice as the Sister spoke. “Do let me hear it,” Vanity said. “We met when he was twenty-five and I twenty-one, and we both were poor. iTe fell in love. I think he really loved me. I know I really loved him. The story is commonplace enough—at least to the ear. After -we had waited five years for a fortune to enable us to marry, he secured a good appointment. My heart was throbbing with bliss w-hen I received a letter from him, written in a style of cold justice and formal honor, which stabbed me to the heart. He had ceased to care for me. I wrote and released him, and when I closed the letter I looked up, and there was my life around me, a desolate wilderness. My strength failed, my face grew aged with anguish, my hair turned whit*. I watched the signs, and was glad of them. I had been well taught, or I might have killed myself. We were living ia the

country, and one Sunday morafag T out for an early walk. Since my eof rows I hud sever gone to church, anti I heard the baUa ringing in the village for an early service. The idea struck me that I would go in and see if there 1 ‘could calm my mind. As I entered the clergyman was reading the sentence. *Come unto Me, all that travail and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.* “Now, let me tell you a fact. As I knelt there it seemed to me that an invisible hand was put into mine. I did truly and actually feel as if a hand clasped me. I looked up. No one was near me. The clergyman was some way off. Then I seemed to hear a voice •saying} ‘Are there no sorrows beside your own? No breaking hearts but yours? No sickness? No hunger? No nakedness?'Then for the first time 1 realized that I was only one in a great fellowship of grief, I was overwhelmed, but with a blessed sorrow now. When the cup came to me I could scarcely hold it. The clergyman saw my agitation, and kindly helped my trembling hand, and I saw my own tears running down into the wine I tasted. But from that moment there was a new life before me. And I have been happy ever since in my own way. People say all sorts of things about religion; I only know what religion has been to me. A new life—a new life when the old one was withered and blasted and dead! AU that was twenty years ago.” “What became of him?" Vanity asked. “He went his way and prospered. He is married now, with tZlarge and happy family.” Courage, energy, tenderness, and rare knowledge of the heart were shown by Sister Catherine. She never lost patience with Vanity; she never shrunk from reproving her reckless notions; and she never lost sight of the method by which-she must lead this wandering child of Nature into the way of peace. Sister Catherine gradually gained ground. She never lost an opportunity, and she read Vanity’s character with rare insight. In of all the sick actress would pour forth in her passionate brokenhearted way, the sister kept repenting that life was love, and that there was a life open to Vanity. At times, with accents of scorn, she would contrast this with Vanity’s old ideal; and at last Vanity fairly confessed that the sister’s conception of life was higher than her own. Vanity’s full heart emptied itself now. “I have been so wild and sinful, and my life is so broken up, and everything has gone to pieces, and there is nothing left! But if you will help me, I will live as you tell me, and not be afraid, and try to do the best I can!” A little incident then sealed Vanity’s resolution. She felt her hand drawn gently toward -the sister, who clasped it fast, after which the sick gin felt tears falling down upon it like rain. And Vanity knew that these were tears of love and joy, and all that the sister had said to her about goodness became a reality in a moment; and from that hour her feet were set upon the way to life.

Fortune smiled upon Mrs. Hardcastle. She had got Tom Pembroke into her hands, which was a great matter. The designing old lady invited the young soldier •to her house when Vanity was attacked with smallpox, and he accepted the invitation. Maud in her excitement offering no objection. The Nevilles took refuge in a furnished house near to their own, which by good luck was vacant for a few weeks. Each day they dined with Mrs. Hardcastle, and in this way that dame was supplied with a variety of engines for forcing u way into Tom Pembroke’s heart. This was the smile of Fortune. But Fortune frowned even while she smiled. Mrs. Hardcastle perceived that Tom Pembroke was grown cautious. He politely shunned too frequent intercourse with Arabella. Mrs. Hardcastle, feeling positive that Maud had warned him, was excessively irate; but, with worldly prudence, she repressed her anger, and was not more disagreeable with Maud Neville than usual. She saw that the advantage lay on her side, and doubted not but that Tom Pembroke would be her son-in-law before the year was out. On the Ist of December the Nevilles were back in their home. They had a family luncheon party, and the weather was so mild that they strolled out upon the lawn. Mrs. Hardcastle and Arabella and Tom Pembroke were there; and the old lady hoped that at last her grand scheme was about to be crowned with success. It was pleasant •strolling on that well-kept lawn. Suddenly two figures rounded the evergreen shrubbery; one was Sister Catherine; the other, though closely veiled, they all immediately knew to be Vanity Hardware. Tom Pembroke turned quite pale, and trembled; old Mrs. Hardcastle bustled off another way, and Maud Neville went to meet her visitor. “I have brought this child to-see you,” tste sister said. ‘‘She is going away with me next week.” Maud Neville came up to Vanity and caught her hands; so full was she of What the girl had done, and what she had lost, that her tears flowed too fast for speech. “Oh, Vanity, what can I say to you, my brave child? What can I say to.you? If it were one’s own loss, one might say: ‘God’s will be done!’ How can 1 say it for you?” “Maud,” .Sister Catherine said, “God’s ways are .not our ways. Look here.” Gently as a mother lifts a new-born infant’s veil she raised the covering from Vanity’s face, and there was all the beauty untouched, enhanced, it seemed, by the lingering pallor of her illness, and still ‘more by the tears with which her eyes had filled in reply to Maud Neville’s sympathy. She looked so lovely, so sweet, ■so chastened, that she might have sat for a picture of the Madonna. “Oh, thank God!” warm-hearted Maud Neville called out, hardly knowing what she said. “Why did.you not tell me before? But you were right; the surprise is best. Oh, Vanity, I must be the first to kies you!” Which she did, then .gently holding Vanity back.a little, she looked at her. “Not a trace,” she cried, exulting, “not a trace!” “There you are wrong,” 'Vanity replied, a gleam of the old vivacity playing over her tears; “there is one mark.” . She showed the place on her left cheek --one tiny pit; and with yet another glimpse of her old self, said: “Look here!” And when she smiled the . mark melted away into the daintiest dimple in the world, and she looked prettier than ever. CHAPTER XXIV. After this Tom Pembroke fell in love with Vanity Hardware, head over ears, as plain folk say. Augustus Neville knew it. His sister Maud knew it. And the redoubtable Mrs. Hardcastle knew it. And thus, to make what was in action a long story appear in narrative as a very short story indeed, Tom Pembroke made up his mind to ask Vanity Hardware to marry him. He concealed nothing. He consulted Maud, he consulted Augustus; the two advised together, as husband and wife will. What motives led them to so surprising a decision we need not inquire. Both said, Ask her. As Vanity was a guest in the house of the Nevilles, and an orphan without a protector, they all agreed that to take her by surprise would be improper. So Maud Neville said she would acquaint Vanity with the sentiments of her brother, and inquire if the proposal would be such as she would entertain. She spoke of her brother with affection and admiration, said a few words about hie position and his income, and then wound up gracefully; “After all, the important question for my brother now is not what his sister thinks of his merits, but how you regard them?” Maud had scarcely looked at Vanity all this time; now raising her eyes, she saw that the actress was pale, agitated, and ready to burst into tears. Somehow this pleased Maud. There was no mere feminine exultation about Vanity, nor any affected confusion. It was real feeling that was expressed in her face. “Will you sit down?” Vanity said; for Maud had come into her guest’s room, and was standing beside her. “Sit here, please. I have a great deal to say to you.” Maud sat down. Vanity walked over to the window, and settling herself on a high ottoman, and resting her face against the pane, said in a tone as of soliloquy: “I wonder how I ought to begin. I like you. I shall speak freely to you.” “Thank you,” Maud said. “You are very kind.” “Fifteen years ago I was a little sickly child, with a dying mother, who was, oh, eo patient and good! Now she has been fifteen years an angel in heaven., And a father—oh, God, forgive me for- 'What I was going to say. Living in concealment and solitude, I met a man who was struck by me and loved me. O, what a time that was! He seemed to me all that heart could wish. He asked me to marry him. I ■warned him that I was not fit for him. He persisted. I yielded. I let my heart go. O, let me not think of that time any more. It was too wild in its daring dreams.” “All the rest I know, Vanity.” “Not all. Not the most dreadful part. Mrs. Neville, for weeks after I was with you my fixed resolution was, at all costs, to win that man’s heart back, to revenge myself on the woman who had robbed me and blasted my future. I lived that iwicked life over and over in my thoughts, and then the smallpox came. I believed that my face w»» fcopejessy disfigured.

And then, after planning suicide twentyfifty times in my frenzy and despair, my heart was changed. Oh, how good Sister Catherine was! I did repent —I believe I did heartily reperit of my wickedness. I saw how-detestable I had become. My old passionate self seemed to separate from me and recede further and further, and every day I despised that image more. Not for all the world would I again be the Vanity Hardware that I was a little while ago. An infatuated, deluded, selfdeluding woman, reckless, wicked, al) for love of a man whom I pity now rather than care for, since my eyes are opened about myself and him. And then I found that my fears had no foundation. My face was uninjured. Thank God, when I discovered that, my resolution did not waver. No; my desire for a new life was more settled than ever.” V anity stopped. Maud did not speak. “Now, Mrs. Neville,” Vanity continued, in a somewhat stern tone, “would you like me for a sister-in-law?” “I have told you,” Maud replied calmly. “Your frankness has not altered my mind.” “But ought not your brother to know all I have now told you?” “No,” Maud said slowly. “I do not see the necessity.” “There is no necessity for him to know. Mts. Neville, tell your brother he is good, kind, amiable—l might have loved him once. But my mind was made up some time ago. I shall never love any man again!” “Vanity!” On a small bracket in a corner of the room was set a statuette, a woman with downcast face and streaming hair, gazing on a cross which She held in her drooping hand. Vanity pointed to it. “Strange that statue should be there. I have looked at it so often. It is the image of my heart.” “Vanity! It has been there for years.” “Speak to it,” said Vanity. “Bid the bosom rise and fall, and the cheeks glow, and the eyes light up. Tell the head to rise. And when the marble obeys you, then bid me love again. For that stone is not so dead to human love as I.”

CHAPTER XXV. When Vanity’s reply was made public in the little circle Augustus Neville expressed frank surprise; worldly old Mrs. Hardcastle exhibited the utmost bewilderment, for she was not afoW to perceive any scheme of self-interest in the young person’s unaccountable behavior; Sister Catherine was sorry for her pretty disciple, and yet pleased with her spirited behavior; Maud felt grieved for Tom’s sake, and Tom himself was quite heart-broken. Sister Catherine took up her residence in a sequestered place on the bonder of Warwickshire. A long rambling street, houses of all sizes on each side, a triangular green at one end, the parish church at the other; postoffice, grocer’s shop, butcher’s shop—with one joint displayed —draper's shop, small brick meeting house; such was the furniture of the village. Taste and quiet luxury appeared everywhere in their little house. Vanity’s bedroom was a marvel of prettuaeM:; and when, with almost childish curiosity, she asked to see the room of her friend, she ■was surprised afresh by the spotless neatness and perfect order of everything. “Vanity,” Sister Catherine said, “I used to dream long, long ago of having a daughter of my own. She is here beside me now.” Now, how did these two women live for the next twelve months? Doing works of mercy—visiting the sick, teaching in the parish schools; attending church daily, making two in a congregation of seven; reading together In summer under the shade of the rectory trees, in winter at the fireside; Vanity studying French to make hefself perfect; learning t» make butter, and to do little bits of cooking, and to housekeep generally. Why, if Miss Vanity Hardware of the Theaters Royal in several provincial towns had been told that such a life was before her, that young lady would have called it by anticipation a true penal servitude. As a matter of fact, she found the time pass most pleasantly, and her own Character and disposition -so changed that she scarcely knew herself. The time was now early autumn. During nine months Vanity had met Tom Pembroke only once. Of course, every woman must be interested in a man who has once truly loved her. During that five minutes’ interview—for that was the length of it—Vanity’s heart fluttered a little. Whatever Tom Pembroke felt he managed to conceal, and his behavior, so Vanity thought, was perfection. One morning Tom Pembroke drove his sister over, and Augustus Neville was to follow in an hour. It was impossible for Vanity not to be pleased with Tom Pembroke. A touch of gravity, perhaps of sadness, did not at all lessen the gracefulness of his manner. A pretty luncheon table was spread for them. Gussy was late, and the moment he entered the room, although he affected cheerfulness, his wife’s practiced eye saw trouble in his face. “Gue,” she called out, “something has happened. One of the children is ill!” Upon this Augustus said: “Tom, I have very serious news for you.” Tom Pembroke rose .and looked at his brother. His manner was surprisingly calm, even fearless, as drawing himself up with a soldier’s air, he asked what had happened. Vanity admired him at that moment. “Redwoods has stopped payment.” Those four words announced Tom Pembroke’s ruin. His entire fortune consisted of bank shares, which were a family inheritance, and had in one form or another been the possession of three generations of Pembrokes. “Redwoods” was one of the old private banks, whose name was accepted as a guarantee of solvency and financial honor. : But Redwoods had closed their front door that morning. The failure was of the worst description. Tom Pembroke was a beggar. It is impossible to deny that the soldier turned pale, but he stood up bravely, only knitting his brows like a man trying to understand the full extent of the disaster. Vanity felt she must watch him. Once more in His soldier fashion he drew himself up, and with a slight proud shake of his head, like a man who would cast misfortune under his feet, he said: “I have had my innings. Seven-and-thirty years of easy life.” Just before they went away that night —perhaps by the merest accident—Tom Pembroke, stepping into the small drawtag room, found Vanity there alone.

“Good-by,” VaaJty said. “I am so sorry for you. It will be dull here to-night.” A Miss Hardware,” he said, for the first time in all that trying day losing his selfpossession, “I once hoped that you—that you—and I never thought the hour would come when I should feel thankful that you refused. Now my misfortunes are mine alone.” Vanity hung her head. He could not see a feature of that downcast face. Only he held her hand lingeringly. “I thought,” said Vanity, almost in a whisper, “that when a man loves us he means to let us share his sorrows as well as his joys.” “Augustus,” said Maud that night when they were in their own room, “how wonderfully Tom keeps up. At dinner he seemed really in good spirits.” “He has no end of courage,” Augustus remarked. “Now, I wonder,” Maud Neville said, drawing off her rings with a thoughtful air, “I wonder had Vanity Hardware anything to say to it?”