Victor's Triumph. Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

for what?" naïvely inquired Mary Grey, looking up from her magazine of fashion.

      Every one smiled except Dr. Jones, who condescended to explain that the subject under discussion was whether animals were gifted with reasoning faculties.

      "Oh!" said Mrs. Grey, and returned to her Modes.

      "You needn't read any more on that subject, grandpa; I can answer that question for you, or any other inquirer. All intelligent animals, whether they go upon two feet or four, or upon wings or fins, have reason just in proportion to their intelligence. And all idiotic animals, whether they go upon two feet or four, or wings or fins, lack reason just in proportion to their idiocy. Lor'! why I have seen human creatures at the Idiot Asylum with less intellect than cats. And I have seen some horses with more intelligence than some legislators. You can't generalize on these subjects, grandpa," said Miss Electra, with an air of conviction.

      The Rev. Dr. Jones stared, much as a hen might stare to see her own ducklings take to the water. And then he turned to Emma Cavendish and said:

      "Whether animals have reason or not, my dear, you had some reason for interrupting me. Now what was it?"

      "To ask you to read this, sir," said Miss Cavendish, putting her letter in the hands of her uncle.

      He took it and read it slowly through, muttering from time to time:

      "Dear, dear, how distressing! Bless my soul alive! Well, well, well!"

      And he glanced uneasily at Mary Grey, who fidgeted and flushed under his observation.

      At length he finished and folded the letter and returned it to Miss Cavendish, with the inquiry:

      "Well, my dear, what are you going to do in the premises?"

      "I shall write immediately and ask my aunt to come here and make this her home," answered Emma, promptly.

      At these words Mary Grey started, caught her breath with a gasp, and quickly whirled her chair around so as to bring her back to the light and throw her face in deep shadow.

      "What's the matter with you?" inquired Electra.

      "The light makes my eyes ache; that is all. You know I have not quite got rid of my cold yet," answered the widow in a low, faltering tone that might have attracted the attention of Miss Cavendish had not that young lady's thoughts been engaged with the subject of her letter.

      "You will consult your grandmother before making this important addition to the household, I presume?" inquired the old gentleman.

      "Yes, of course; but I am certain beforehand of my dear grandma's consent and co-operation in such an evident Christian duty," answered Miss Cavendish.

      And then she turned to her young friends, to whom she thought some explanation was due, and she added:

      "I have news in this letter that has much surprised and pained me. It is from my aunt, Mrs. Fanning. She has lost her husband, and has suffered very severe reverses of fortune. She is at this time alone in New York City, and in failing health. I shall write for her to come and live with us. And not to leave her a day in suspense, I shall telegraph from Wendover to-morrow morning."

      "I'm glad she's coming. The more the merrier," said Electra, gayly.

      Mrs. Grey said nothing. She arose as if to leave the room, tottered forward and fell to the floor in a dead swoon.

Chapter VIII.

       Table of Contents

THE SIREN AND THE SAGE.

       Table of Contents

      All started to their feet and rushed to the prostrate woman's assistance.

      She was but a slight creature, and Dr. Jones lifted her easily and laid her on one of the sofas.

      Electra flew upstairs to bring down a bottle of Florida water.

      Emma patted and rubbed her hands.

      Dr. Jones bathed her brow with cold water, sighing and muttering to himself:

      "Poor girl! Poor unfortunate girl!"

      "I take blame to myself," said Emma. "She is evidently much iller than I thought. I ought not to have persuaded her to leave her room so soon after her cold. It is my fault."

      At that instant Electra ran in with the Florida water and dashed a liberal portion of it over the head and face of the fainting woman.

      The shock and the penetrating odor combined to rouse her from insensibility; and with a few gasps she recovered her consciousness; though her face, after one sudden flush, settled into a deadly paleness.

      "My poor dear, how are you?" inquired Emma Cavendish, kindly.

      "Dying, I think; dying, I hope! Let some one help me to my room," she murmured.

      Dr. Jones at once lifted her in his arms and bore her upstairs, preceded by Electra, who flew on before to show the way to Mary Grey's room, and followed by Emma Cavendish, who still blamed herself for the invalid's supposed relapse.

      Dr. Jones laid her on her bed, and was about to leave her to the care of Emma and Electra, when she seized his hand and drew him down to her face and said:

      "I wish to speak to you for a moment now. Send Miss Cavendish and Miss Coroni out of the room for a little while."

      "My dear children, go away for a moment. Mrs. Grey wishes to speak to me alone," said Dr. Jones.

      And Emma and Electra softly retired, with the belief that Mary Grey only wished to consult the minister on religious subjects.

      As soon as the door was closed behind them Mary Grey seized the old man's hand and, fixing her great black eyes fiercely upon him, demanded:

      "Do they suspect?"

      "No; certainly not."

      "Did you drop no word during my swoon that might have led them to suspect?"

      "Not one syllable."

      "I thank you then!" she exclaimed, with a long sigh of relief.

      "But, my child, was that all you wished to talk to me about?"

      "That was all, except this: to beg you still to be silent as the grave in regard to my identity."

      "My child, your words disappoint and grieve me. I did hope that you asked this private interview with the design to consult me about the propriety of making yourself known."

      "Making myself known!" she exclaimed, with a half-suppressed shriek, as she started up upon her elbow and stared at the speaker. "Making myself known!"

      "The opportunity, my dear child, is such an excellent one. And, of course, you know that if Mrs. Fanning comes here—as she must; for there is no other refuge open to her—if she comes and finds you here, discovery is inevitable."

      "But she will not find me here! She shall not! I could not look her in the face. Sooner than do that, I will hurl myself from the turnpike bridge into the Mad River!" she fiercely exclaimed.

      "My child, do not talk so wickedly. It is frightful to hear such things!" cried the old man, shuddering.

      "You will see such things, if you do not mind. I am quite capable of doing what I said, for I am tired and sick of this life of constant dependence, mortification and terror—an insupportable life!" she wildly exclaimed.

      "Because, my poor girl, it is a life of concealment, in constant dread of discovery and the humiliation attending discovery. Change all that and your life will be happier. Trust in those who are nearest to you, and make yourself,