"Marion is there!" "Marion!" exclaimed Mr. Rossitur, with quick changes of expression" Marion! At Queechy!—and her husband?” 66 No, sir-a dear little child." "Marion-and her husband-where is he?" Fleda hesitated. 66 I don't know-I don't know whether she knows." 66 Is he dead?" 66 No, sir." Mr. Rossitur put her away, and got up and walked, or strode up and down the little apartment. Fleda dared not look at him, even by the faint glimmer that came from the chimney. But abroad it was perfectly dark—the stars were shining, the only lamps that illumined the poor little street, and for a long time there had been no light in the room but that of the tiny wood fire. Dinah never could be persuaded of the superior cheapness of coal. Fleda came at last to her uncle's side, and putting her arm within his, said How soon will you set off for home, uncle Rolf?" "To-morrow morning." "You must take the boat to Bridgeport now-you know the river is fast." "Yes, I know." "Then I will meet you at the wharf, uncle Rolf-at what o'clock ?" "My dear child," said he, stopping and passing his hand tenderly over her cheek, "are you fit for it to-morrow? You had better stay where you are quietly for a few days—you want rest." "No, I will go home with you," said Fleda, “ and rest there. But hadn't we better let Dinah in, and bid her good-bye? for I ought to be somewhere else to get ready." Dinah was called, and a few kind words spoken, and with a more substantial remembrance, or reward, from Fleda's hand, they left her. Fleda had the support of her uncle's arm till they came within sight of the house, and then he stood and watched her while she went the rest of the way alone. Anything more white and spirit-looking, and more spirit-like in its purity and peacefulness surely did not walk that night. There was music in her ear, and abroad in the star-light, more ethereal than Ariel's; but she knew where it came from-it was the chimes of her heart that were ringing; and never a happier peal, nor ever had the mental atmosphere been more clear for their sounding. Thankfulness-that was the oftenest noteswelling thankfulness for her success-joy for herself and for the dear ones at home-generous delight at having been the instrument of their relief the harmonies of pure affections, without any grating now-the hope, well-grounded she thought, of improvement in her uncle, and better times for them all- -a childlike peace that was at rest with itself and the world— these were mingling and interchanging their music, and again and again, in the midst of it all, faith rang the last chime in heaven. CHAPTER XLIII. "As some lone bird at day's departing hour BOWLES. HAPPILY possessed with the notion that there was some hidden mystery in Fleda's movements, Mrs. Pritchard said not a word about her having gone out, and only spoke in looks her pain at the imprudence of which she had been guilty. But when Fleda asked to have a carriage ordered to take her to the boat in the morning, the good housekeeper could not hold any longer. "Miss Fleda," said she, with a look of very serious remonstrance-I don't know what you're thinking of, but I know you're fixing to kill yourself. You are no more fit to go to Queechy to-morrow than you were to be out till seven o'clock this evening; and if you saw yourself, you wouldn't want me to say any more. There is not the least morsel of colour in your face, and you look as if you had a mind to get rid of your body altogether as fast as you can! You want to be in bed for two days running, now this minute." 66 "Thank you, dear Mrs. Pritchard," said Fleda, smilingyou are very careful of me, but I must go home to-morrow, and go to bed afterwards." The housekeeper looked at her a minute in silence, and then said, "Don't, dear Miss Fleda!" with an energy of entreaty, which brought the tears into Fleda's eyes. But she persisted in desiring the carriage, and Mrs. Pritchard was silenced, observing, however, that she shouldn't wonder if she wasn't able to go, after all. Fleda herself was not without a doubt on the subject before the evening was over. The reaction, complete now, began to make itself felt, and morning settled the question. She was not able even to rise from her bed. The housekeeper was, in a sort, delighted; and Fleda was in L L too passive a mood of body and mind to have any care on the subject. · The agitation of the past days had given way to an absolute quiet, that seemed as if nothing could ever ruffle it again, and this feeling was seconded by the extreme prostration of body. She was a mere child in the hands of her nurse, and had, Mrs. Pritchard said, "if she wouldn't mind her tellingthe sweetest baby-face that ever had so much sense belonging to it." The morning was half spent in dozing slumbers, when Fleda heard a rush of footsteps, much lighter and sprightlier than good Mrs. Pritchard's, coming up the stairs, and pattering along the entry to her room, and with little ceremony, in rushed Florence and Constance Evelyn. They almost smothered Fleda with their delighted caresses, and ran so hard their questions about her looks and her illness, that she was well nigh spared the trouble of answering. "You horrid little creature!" said Constance, “why didn't you come straight to our house? Just think of the injurious suspicions you have exposed us to!-to say nothing of the extent of fiction we have found ourselves obliged to execute. I didn't expect it of you, little Queechy." Fleda kept her pale face quiet on the pillow, and only smiled her incredulous curiosity. "But when did you come back, Fleda ?" said Miss Evelyn. "We should never have known a breath about your being here," Constance went on. "We were sitting last night, in peaceful unconsciousness of there being any neglected calls upon our friendship in the vicinity, when Mr. Carleton came in and asked for you. Imagine our horror! We said you had gone out early in the afternoon, and had not returned." 66 You didn't say that!" said Fleda, colouring. "And he remarked at some length," said Constance, "upon the importance of young ladies having some attendance when they are out late in the evening, and that you in particular were one of those persons-he didn't say, but he intimated, of a slightly volatile disposition-whom their friends ought not to lose sight of." "But what brought you to town again, Fleda ?” said the elder sister. "What makes you talk so, Constance ?" said Fleda. "I haven't told you the half!" said Constance, demurely. "And then mamma excused herself as well as she could, and Mr. Carleton said, very seriously, that he knew there was a great element of headstrongness in your character: he had remarked it, he said, when you were arguing with Mr. Stackpole." "Constance, be quiet!" said her sister. "Will you tell me, Fleda, what you have come to town for? I am dying with curiosity." "Then it's inordinate curiosity, and ought to be checked, my dear," said Fleda, smiling. "Tell me." "I came to take care of some business that could not very well be attended to at a distance." "Who did you come with ?" "One of our Queechy neighbours that I heard was coming to New York." 66 Wasn't your uncle at home ?" 66 Of course not. If he had been, there would have been no need of my stirring." "But was there nobody else to do it but you?" "Uncle Orrin away, you know; and Charlton down at his post-Fort Hamilton, is it?—I forget which fort—he is fast there." "He is not so very fast," said Constance, "for I see him every now and then in Broadway, shouldering Mr. Thorn instead of a musket; and he has taken up the distressing idea that it is part of his duty to oversee the progress of Florence's worsted-work-(I've made over that horrid thing to her, Fleda) -or else his precision has been struck with the anomaly of blue stars on a white ground, and he is studying that-I don't know which; and so every few nights he rushes over from Governor's Island, or somewhere, to prosecute his inquires. Mamma is quite concerned about him; she says he is wearing himself out.” The mixture of amusement, admiration, and affection, with which the other sister looked at her, and laughed with her, was a pretty thing to see. "But where is your other cousin-Hugh?" said Florence. "He was not well." "Where is your uncle ?" "He will be at home to-day, I expect; and so should I have been-I meant to be there as soon as he was, but I found this morning that I was not well enough to my sorrow." "You were not going alone ?” 66 Oh, no!—a friend of ours was going to-day." 66 I never saw anybody with so many friends," said Florence. "But you are coming to us now, Fleda. How soon are you going to get up?" Oh, by to-morrow," said Fleda, smiling; "but I had better stay where I am the little while I shall be here. I must go home the first minute I can find an opportunity." "But you sha'n't find an opportunity till we've had you,” said Constance. "I'm going to bring a carriage for you this afternoon. I could bear the loss of your friendship, my dear, but not the peril of my own reputation. Mr. Carleton is under the impression that you are suffering from a momentary succession of fainting fits; and if we were to leave you here in an empty house, to come out of them at your leisure, what would he think of us?" What would he think? Oh, world! Is this it! But Fleda was not able to be moved in the afternoon; and it soon appeared that nature would take more revenge than a day's sleep for the rough handling she had had the past week. Fleda could not rise from her bed the next morning; and instead of that, a kind of nondescript nervous fever set in, nowise dangerous, but very wearying. She was, nevertheless, extremely glad of it, for it would serve to explain to all her friends the change of look which had astonished them. They would make it now the token of coming, not of past, evil. The rest she took with her accustomed patience and quietness, thankful for everything, after the anxiety and the relief she had just before known. Dr. Gregory came home from Philadelphia in the height of her attack, and aggravated it for a day or two with the fear of his questioning. But Fleda was surprised at his want of curiosity. He asked her, indeed, what she had come to town for, but her whispered answer of "business," seemed to satisfy him, for he did not inquire what the business was. He did ask her, furthermore, what had made her get sick; but this time he was satisfied more easily still, with a very curious, sweet smile, which was the utmost reply Fleda's wits, at the moment, could frame. "Well, get well," said he, kissing her heartily once or twice, "and I won't quarrel with you about it." The getting well, however, promised to be a leisurely affair. Dr. Gregory stayed two or three days, and then went on to Boston, leaving Fleda in no want of him. Mrs. Pritchard was the tenderest and carefullest of nurses. The Evelyns did everything but nurse her. They sat by her, talked to her, made her laugh, and not seldom made her look sober too, with their wild tales of the world and the world's doings. But they were indeed very affectionate and kind, and Fleda loved them for it. If they wearied her sometimes with their talk, it was a change from the weariness of fever and silence that on the whole was useful. She was quieting herself one morning, as well as she could, in the midst of both, lying with shut eyes against her pillow, and trying to fix her mind on pleasant things, when she heard Mrs. Pritchard open the door and come in. She knew it was |