on behind, her basket handed up, and away she went. The seats were broad and easy; she felt fresh and neat, grateful for the long, lonely day before her. Happy in a dull way, she still kept thinking of that coat lying at the bottom of her largest trunk, under her cuir silk, the very one she had worn that night. She saw it all the time, wherever she looked, with the stain on the cape, and the two buttons torn off. She had nothing else to remind her of Max; the things he had given her, the things she once had treasured up because he had touched or played with them, his playful notes, even the precious lock of hair had been destroyed; though while they mouldered on the hearth her heart was burning at the stake. She longed to take a new lease of life, to have a fresh start in the world; but that coat! she could not burn it, she could not give it away; so like a hateful incubus it went with her. A few days of staging, boating, and railroading, then she found herself wait ing beside her trunks at the last station for the carriage which was to come for her. Tired and tumbled, but full of curious interest, she watched the people passing in and out, thinking perhaps some of them would be acquaintances before long. As she sat thus, looking prettily sleepy, a gentleman put his head in at the door and glanced around, then withdrew it. There were a numþer of ladies scattered about the room on sofas and chairs, but she fancied his eye dwelt longest on her. Directly, the owner of the head walked in and stood by the stove, warming his hand. He was a tall man, dressed in a black coat, with a large cape. India, dreamily observing him, marked his smooth, small hand, his grand head and colossal shoulders, wondering how he ever grew to be so vast. Stooping carelessly down, he read the name on her trunk, then turned upon her: 'Is this Miss Raynal?' "This is Miss Raynal.' "Then, Miss Raynal, the carriage is ready. I have been waiting for some time.' Taking his arm, she was conducted to the carriage, asking herself all the way if this mighty youth was to be her pupil. His giant arm put her in, and she was condensing her drapery as much as possible, when he gave some directions to the driver, bowed, and vanished like a phantom knight in the gloom. They drove off, through many luminous streets, by many houses looming huge and dark against the wintry sky, and finally stopped before the hugest and darkest. A pleasant boy of thirteen came to lead her in; they went up a flight of steps into a handsome hall, traversing which, they reached a sittingroom, where, before an open fire, sat the head of the household, a widow, very pale, serene, and graceful. Several children tumbled over each other at her feet, and a keen-eyed girl hovered behind her chair. The lady came forward with a sweet, gracious smile, shook hands cordially, and said some commonplaces in a charming way, introduced the children, and got the whole party seated without an awkward interval. After a little conversation, she bade Helen show Miss Raynal to her room, which was on the next story, a pleasant chamber looking out on the street. Helen stood on the rug with her shrewd face turned upon India. She was ugly, inquisitive, affectionate, and impressible, just as other girls are at that age; her eyes seemed unnaturally large, by reason of her being always on the lookout for mysteries and adventures. She watched India with wonder and admiration, for the last teacher was old and sallow, wore her hair in a complication of braids, and dressed badly. Indeed, all Helen's preconceived beliefs in regard to the genus teacher were overthrown at the sight of India's short locks. While the locks were being smoothed, and the collar adjusted, she had laid the warp of a delicious romance, to be filled up when Miss Raynal's trunks were unpacked, her books and photographs laid out. Supper was ready in the course of half an hour, and India, led in by Helen, found the giant of the depot standing at the foot of the table. Mrs. Barnard introduced him as her son, and as he bowed, India saw with a thrill that one empty coat-sleeve was pinned across his breast. The meat was already carved, and he helped them gracefully, but Helen stood by him, and cut up his portion. India saw several tears drop upon the cloth, for Helen always cried when a stranger was by to see Taffy's helplessness. They all, from the mother to the baby, called him Taffy. That struck India strangely, he was such a great, grave, awe-inspiring man; and that empty sleeve made him a little lower than the angels. He had a way when he spoke, which was not often, of bringing the splendor of his dark eye to bear full upon the face of the person addressed, like a Drummond light, making them feel each time the influence of his stern and earnest nature exploring theirs. The upward sweep of his long lash had in it an eloquence of command sufficient to subjugate the noisiest child at table; and, like a surly Englishman, he had but to look towards a dish, and half a dozen hands leaped out to pass it. India went to bed in a state of gloomy dissatisfaction. What chance was there for entire absorption in work, for selfabnegation, in this luxurious house? Why was not Mrs. Barnard haughty and tyrannical? Why were the children so few in number, and so good and teachable in appearance? Why was not her room bare and ugly? She had left home to escape comforts and caresses; she had thought by bearing bodily crosses to forget the spiritual; but this was a palace of ease and pleasure. She fell asleep on the hope that the school-room would be a dreary place of martyrdom, and that Mrs. Barnard would try to force on her some pet system of education. But when, after breakfast next morning, Mrs. Barnard led the way into the study, she found it a spacious apartment, carpeted, papered, and curtained in the neatest style, with pretty desks for the children, and a round table for the teacher's books and work; not even a gloomy air-tight was there to shade the picture, but a glorious coal fire roared in the grate. It was a dark, rainy morning. Mrs. Barnard looped the curtains higher, and sat down by one of the desks. The children had not yet appeared, and India resigned herself to a lecture, though her patroness looked any thing but strong-minded, in her calico wrapper, the firelight dancing on her delicate, wasted face and chestnut hair. 'How young you are, Miss Raynal, to have come so far alone! How could your mother give you up? ?' 'I have no mother,' said India with a sudden rushing in her veins. I am an orphan, living with an aunt. I am older, too, than you think twenty-one next birthday.' 'That is not so very old; but you will not find me interfering in your department. The children will tell you about their studies, and you must exercise your own judgment in giving them new ones. All I ask of you is to teach them what is pure and good and earnest. These things are unlearned at school; that is why I keep them at home.' 'Indeed I will try,' said India simply. 'When I decided to teach, I resolved to devote myself body and soul to my charges.' 'Is this your first essay?' 'Well,' said Mrs. Barnard, 'I do not object to that. I believe in young things, young hearts, young resolves,' and smiling she went away. Somehow India's thoughts turned to a new channel; ambitious longings after goodness, purity, earnestness, took the place of restless cravings for change. With her hand pressed tightly on her eyes, she sat resolving and resolving, till the children came in. 'My child, you should be at home.' Oh! no,' said India, starting up with a blush; 'I am very well.' 'Then what has happened to change you so ?? but the little ones shrank away as if they thought a touch might hurt him; the mother turned pale; Helen's eyes filled. Would they never learn to smile in the presence of that empty sleeve? But India saw nothing shocking in it; so he had to turn to her with laugh and jest. Accidental meetings on step or porch or hall, after-dinner talks, and spells of friendly silence in the firelight, do more towards making people acquainted than years of parlor-intercourse. Thus they made friends, one with the other. One evening India sat reading in the school-room, while the children were 'Nothing new. I shall get over it shouting in the yard below, and she, soon.' 'But can I help you in no way?' 'Yes; pat my head sometimes,' she said laughing. 'That is easily done,' and with a series of pats she went away. India was right. She rallied after a while, was hungry again, took long walks with Helen, and saw a good deal of company. Occasionally, instead of going up-stairs, she appeared in the family-room after school, and sat there helping Mrs. Barnard to sew, or playing with the children. The keys would be left with her when the mistress went visiting; and finally she came to be so blended with the household that their interests were identical, and their plans common property. She was more an elder sister than a hired agent, more a companion than a governess. Her letters home became cheerful; she gave up reading 'Love and Duty,' and found herself, one gay April morning, scribbling unconsciously on the back of her class-book: 6 THE errant dreams that failed, The one-armed Titan came and went; now and then he stumbled in among the work-baskets and babies, and made an heroic effort to be genial and cheerful; with her book turned to catch the feeble light, followed Paul Fane's fortunes. The door opened, and Taffy's tall form darkened the way. in.' 'Ah!' she said; 'is it you? Come 'I have something to show you,' he said, sitting down beside her. You love all Kentuckians?' 'No indeed! but the Unionists are in the majority.' 'Here's a letter and a picture from a Kentuckian in the rebel army.' India started. It seemed to her the breeze, before so balmy, grew damp and chill as it sighed in through the window. 'He was a friend of mine took my arm off at Shiloh, and then took me prisoner. He was a noble fellow, and one of the handsomest men I ever saw. Bright and fierce and fickle is the South, but how fascinating!' He paused and sighed. Was?' said India trembling. 'Yes, was. He nursed me like a brother-no, a sister; some of his ways were so woman-like; he was so tender and yet so daring. I remember how he came into the tent one day, carrying a little blue-flag flower, such as you find in marshy places. He said its perfume was the essence of 'breath of the woods;' that it made him think of home and his playmates. He had the 'No indeed; I never saw her look so bright and beautiful.' After this they all observed how changed she was. Before, she had been bright, wilful, sometimes capricious; now she was so gentle, so patient, her look introverted, her face luminous with such an expression of mingled resignation and high purpose on it, that tired men and women, meeting it on the street, turned for another look. 'Here's the letter, but you can't see to read it, and a photograph; a brother officer put that in the envelope after he was dead. Take them with you. I like to tell you about it. My mother could not bear to hear it, she is so sensitive when she thinks of this hideous stump.' He waited for a response, but she was school-day was over; Helen wept in still. 'He thinks of me, he says, because he made me suffer so; he has no other regret in looking back; he has given his all to the Southern cause-he has given more than life. Then he goes on to say it is hard to die in a dirty tent, to close one's eyes on a strip of canvas instead of a dear face; but then he is glad to die anywhere, and is grateful that it is a wound and not disease that takes him off; prays that I may find it easier to live and harder to die than he has, and will and would give his most precious thing to restore my arm to me.' 'Excuse me,' said India rising; 'the supper-bell will ring in a moment. I must go up-stairs.' As she passed him, her hand dropped on his lame shoulder with a gesture of acceptance, protection, affection. Puzzled and startled, he caught the hand, but, cold and clammy, it slipped from his fingers, and she was gone. The supper-bell rang, but she did not appear. Helen went up to call her, but returned directly, saying Miss India did not wish any supper. Her five months wearing to a close, she said she must go home; she would not hear of staying longer. The last some remote corner; Rupert leaned disconsolately over the back gate and whistled a mournful strain. Their teacher remained sitting by one of the desks in a musing attitude, her chin in the palm of her hand, her eyes fixed on vacancy. Taffy's step was heard in the hall; he came in, drew up a chair, and sat down. 'You will not stay?' She smiled, and shook her head. 'What makes you so sad? Why do you wear such a look of unearthly beauty?' 'You are very complimentary, Mr. Barnard.' 'I shall come in here very often, sit in this chair, and think of you.' 'Will you? How pleasant!' 'And you - will you remember me?' 'You are too vast to be forgotten.' 'Poor Max! I wish you could have given me back my arm!' India turned white. 'Do you shrink from deformity?' 'I should think, with your perfect physique, you would. I used to. I re joiced in my length and strength. What horror seized me when I woke from delirium, and found my good left arm gone!' She, with her chin still propped by her hand, was scratching the varnish with a broken slate-pencil. world of devotion in the look she gave me as she went out, and yet she did not shrink or falter.' Going to his room, some time next day, he passed her door. It was just ajar. He stopped involuntarily as his eye caught the mirror, plainly visible 'India Raynal, you know I love through the opening; reflected in it you!' 'Nobody ever told me so.' was India's figure, clad in a loose wrapper, with an open trunk before her. She 'I would tell you so, had Max sent was taking out various articles, and lay me back my arm.' 'I am not what you think me.' 'What are you?' ing them beside her on the carpet. She lifted a heavy blue something, shook it out, held it before her at arm's length. 'I began teaching in a freak. I have It was a soldier's coat-he saw it as a home, and means.' 'That settles the matter,' he said, turning away his agitated face.. 'What matter?' clearly as he saw her face with a great stain on the cape, and two buttons torn away. She let it fall, clasped her hands, raised her eyes as if in prayer; 'Had you been poor and lonely, you then, with a storm of sobs, hid her face, might have thought of me; but covered the coat with fervid kisses, murmured: India raised her clear eyes, and smiled like the angel of hope. 'O Max! Max! My Max! my dar 'You do not think this limp sleeve ling!' such a dreadful sight?' He stood frozen in his place. She 'I think it the dearest thing about raised her eyes to the mirror and you.' met his wondering, reproachful glance, sprang up with a shriek, and rushed towards the door. He hastily turned and went into his own room. Directly there came a message. Mr. Barnard wanted to see Miss India in the school-room. She snatched the first dress she saw- -it happened to be the cuir silk — put it on, bathed her face, passed the comb through her curls, and - 'When you go home, may I come to went down. He stood, grandly tall, see you?' 'It is a dangerous place for an exsoldier; there are guerrilla raids every day.' 'Have you no other objection?' 'None other.' Here a voice was heard calling ‘India!' in the hall. She rose, and again, as she went by, laid her hand on his shoulder tenderly, smiling down upon him as his mother, or a guardian-spirit, might have done. 'Strange creature!' he mused, when she had gone. 'Can she love me, and yet so cold and calm? There was a looking upon her like Abdiel the Faithful on a fallen angel. 'India, you have deceived me!' 'You let me think last night that you cared for me.' 'I do care for you.' 'But what did I see up-stairs just now?' 'You saw me weeping for the dead, for one who bequeathed you his most precious possession.' 'That was India.' 'My Max was your lover?' |