to his daughter the first harsh words which had ever passed his lips toward either of his children.
"Go to your room, and don't presume to interfere with me again. I trust I am competent to attend to my own matters!"
Almost convulsively Margaret's arms closed round her father's neck, as she said, "Don't speak so to me, father. You never did before—never would now, but for her. Oh, father, promise me, by the memory of my angel mother, never to see her again. She is a base, designing woman."
Mr. Hamilton unwound his daughter's arms from his neck, and speaking more gently, said, "What proof have you of that assertion? Give me proof, and I promise to do your bidding."
But Mag had no such proof at hand, and she could only reiterate her suspicions, her belief, which, of course, failed to convince the biased man, who, rising, said: "Your mother confided and trusted in her, so why should not you?"
The next moment Margaret was alone. For a long time she wept, and it was not until the eastern horizon began to grow gray in the morning twilight that she laid her head upon her pillow, and forgot in sleep how unhappy she had been. Her words, however, were not without their effect, for when the night came round on which her father was accustomed to pay his weekly visit, he stayed at home, spending the whole evening with his daughters, and appearing really gratified at Margaret's efforts to entertain him. But, alas! the chain of the widow was too firmly thrown around him for a daughter's hand alone to sever the fast-bound links.
When the next Thursday evening came Mag was confined to her room by a sick headache, from which she had been suffering all day. As night approached she frequently asked if her father were below. At last the front door opened, and she heard his step upon the piazza. Starting up, she hurried to the window, while at the same moment Mr. Hamilton paused, and raising his eyes saw the white face of his daughter pressed against the window-pane as she looked imploringly after him; but there was not enough of power in a single look to deter him, and, wafting her a kiss, he turned away. Sadly Margaret watched him until he disappeared down the long hill; then, returning to her couch, she wept bitterly.
Meantime Mrs. Carter, who had been greatly chagrined at the non-appearance of Mr. Hamilton the week before, was now confidently expecting him. He had not yet asked her to be his wife, and the delay somewhat annoyed both herself and Lenora.
"I declare, mother," said Lenora, "I should suppose you might contrive up something to bring matters to a focus. I think it's perfectly ridiculous to see two old crones, who ought to be trotting their grandchildren, cooing and simpering away at each other, and all for nothing, too."
"Can't you be easy awhile longer?" asked Mrs. Carter "hasn't he said everything he can say except 'will you marry me?'"
"A very important question, too," returned Lenora; "and I don't know what business you have to expect anything from him until it is asked."
"Mr. Hamilton is proud," answered Mrs. Carter—"is afraid of doing anything which might possibly lower him. Now, if by any means I could make him believe that I had received an offer from some one fully if not more than his equal, I think it would settle the matter, and I've decided upon the following plan. I'll write a proposal myself, sign old Judge B——'s name to it, and next time Mr. Hamilton comes let him surprise me in reading it. Then, as he is such a dear, long-tried friend, it will be quite proper for me to confide in him, and ask his advice."
Lenora's eyes opened wider, as she exclaimed, "My gracious! who but you would ever have thought of that."
Accordingly the letter was written, sealed, directed, broken open, laughed over, and laid away in the stand drawer.
"Mr. Hamilton, mother," said Lenora, as half an hour afterward she ushered that gentleman into the room. But so wholly absorbed was the black bombazine and linen collar in the contents of an open letter, which she held in her hand, that the words were twice repeated—"Mr. Hamilton, mother"—ere she raised her eyes! Then coming forward with well-feigned confusion, she apologized for not having observed him before, saying she was sure he would excuse her if he knew the contents of her letter. Of course he wanted to know, and of course she didn't want to tell. He was too polite to urge her, and the conversation soon took another channel.
After a time Lenora left the room, and Mrs. Carter, again speaking of the letter, begged to make a confidant of Mr. Hamilton, and ask his advice. He heard the letter read through, and after a moment's silence asked, "Do you like him, Mrs. Carter?"
"Why—no—I don't think I do," said she, "but then the widow's lot is so lonely."
"I know it is," sighed he, while through the keyhole of the opposite door came something which sounded very much like a stifled laugh! It was the hour of Ernest Hamilton's temptation, and but for the remembrance of the sad, white face which had gazed so sorrowfully at him from the window he had fallen. But Maggie's presence seemed with him—her voice whispered in his ear, "Don't do it, father, don't"—and he calmly answered that it would be a good match. But he could not, no he could not advise her to marry him; so he qualified what he had said by asking her not to be in a hurry—to wait awhile. The laugh through the keyhole was changed to a hiss, which Mrs. Carter said must be the wind, although there was not enough stirring to move the rose bushes which grew by the doorstep!
So much was Mr. Hamilton held in thrall by the widow that on his way home he hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry that he had not proposed. If Judge B—— would marry her she surely was good enough for him. Anon, too, he recalled her hesitation about confessing that the judge was indifferent to her. Jealousy crept in and completed what flattery and intrigue had commenced. One week from that night Ernest Hamilton and Luella Carter were engaged, but for appearance's sake their marriage was not to take place until the ensuing autumn.
CHAPTER VI.
RAISING THE WIND.
"Where are you going now?" asked Mrs. Carter of her daughter, as she saw her preparing to go out one afternoon, a few weeks after the engagement.
"Going to raise the wind," was the answer.
"Going to what?" exclaimed Mrs. Carter.
"To raise the wind! Are you deaf?" yelled Lenora.
"Raise the wind!" repeated Mrs. Carter; "what do you mean?"
"Mean what I say," said Lenora; and closing the door after her she left her mother to wonder "what fresh mischief the little torment was at."
But she was only going to make a friendly call on Margaret and Carrie, the latter of whom she had heard was sick.
"Is Miss Hamilton at home?" asked she of the servant girl who answered her ring, and whom she had never seen before.
"Yes, ma'am; walk in the parlor. What name shall I give her if you please?"
"Miss Carter—Lenora Carter;" and the servant girl departed, repeating to herself all the way up the stairs, "Miss Carther—Lenora Carther!"
"Lenora Carter want to see me!" exclaimed Mag, who, together with Kate Kirby, was in her sister's room.
