Victor's Triumph. Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

this is so sudden, so shocking, so sorrowful, that I almost think it will make me ill! Why must you go, my dear?"

      "Sweet mother—may I call you so?—sweet mother, I will tell you what I did not like to tell dear Emma, for fear it might distress her; she is so sensitive, you know!" murmured the siren, sitting down and tenderly caressing the old lady.

      "Tell me then, my love, tell me anything you like," said Mrs. Cavendish, weeping.

      "Well, you know that dear old lady friend in Charlottesville, of whom I spoke to you a week or so ago?"

      "Ah, yes! The bishop's widow, who is reduced to keeping a student's boarding-house to help support her fifteen children," sighed the ancient dame.

      "Yes, and my dear dead mother's dearest friend. Well, I have heard that she is in a dying condition and desires above all things to see me before she departs. That's what shocked me so severely as to make me quite ill. But I never should forgive myself if by any delay of mine she really should depart without having her last wish gratified. Do you blame me for hurrying away?"

      "No, no, no, my child—my own lovely child! I do not wonder my poor Charley worshiped you, you are so very good! Go, Mary, my darling! But hurry back as soon as possible."

      "Yes, sweet mother, I will. And now, not a word to Emma, or to any one else who might tell her of these distressing circumstances."

      "No, no; certainly not! How thoughtful you are, for one so young, my good child! Bend down and take my blessing."

      Mary Grey bowed her head.

      The venerable lady placed her withered hands upon the bent head, raised her eyes to heaven, and solemnly invoked a blessing on the traitress.

      And then Mary Grey arose, kissed her in silence, and left the room.

      And thus they parted.

      In the hall below she had to part with Emma and Electra.

      "We hope you will return to us very soon, dear Mrs. Grey," said Emma Cavendish, as she kissed her good-bye.

      "I hope so too, my dear," answered the widow.

      "But you will scarcely get back before I return to school, so ours must be a very long good-bye," said Electra, as she also kissed the "parting guest."

      "'Tis true, 'tis pity," said Mrs. Grey, between a smile and a sigh.

      Dr. Jones then handed her into the carriage, and followed and took a seat by her side, for he was to attend her to the station and see her off on her journey.

Chapter IX.

       Table of Contents

EMMA'S VICTORY.

       Table of Contents

      When Emma Cavendish turned back into the house she went up into the old lady's room with the intention of breaking to her the news of Katherine Fanning's widowhood and destitution, and of her own desire to invite her to come and live at Blue Cliffs.

      She found Mrs. Cavendish just finishing her nice breakfast with Aunt Moll in attendance upon her.

      "Here, take away the service now," said the old lady, putting down her empty coffee-cup. "And now, Emma, I am very glad you have come. I feel quite low about parting with Mary. What an angel she is!"

      "Cheer up, grandma! We shall have another addition to our family circle soon," said Emma, pleasantly.

      "Who is coming, my dear?" inquired Mrs. Cavendish, with all the curiosity of a recluse.

      "Oh, another lady!" slowly answered Miss Cavendish, to give Aunt Moll time to get out of the room with her breakfast tray.

      And when the old woman had shut the door behind her, Emma said:

      "Dear grandma, you will be very much surprised to hear who it is that is coming."

      And when Mrs. Cavendish looked up surprised indeed, as well as somewhat alarmed, Emma began and told her of the letter she had received from Mrs. Fanning; of her widowhood and destitution, and of her recent arrival in New York.

      "All this is very distressing, my dear Emma, but you see in it only the natural consequences of a low marriage," said the old aristocrat.

      "But the marriage is broken by death, dear grandma, and the error is atoned for by much suffering," said Emma, gently.

      "Well, my dear, what does the poor woman want us to do?" inquired Mrs. Cavendish.

      "She asks nothing, grandma. She simply writes to me, her sister's child—"

      "Her half-sister's child!" haughtily interrupted the old lady.

      "It is the same thing, grandma. Her half-sister's child, and her only living relative—"

      "Her only living relative?" again interrupted the old lady. "Where is her own misguided daughter?"

      "Supposed to be dead, dear grandma. Certainly dead to her," said Emma, sadly.

      "Well, go on, child; go on."

      "She writes to me, I say, and tells me of her situation—widowed, childless, homeless and utterly destitute in a strange city; but she asks nothing—suggests nothing."

      "Well, and what would you do—you, her only living relative?" inquired the ancient dame in a tone approaching sarcasm.

      "I would restore to her all that she has lost, if I could. I would give her back husband, daughter, home and competence," said Emma.

      "But you can't do it any more than you can give her back her lost caste," interrupted the old lady.

      Emma felt discouraged but did not yield her point.

      "No, dear grandma," she answered, sorrowfully, "I can not give her back her husband, her child, or her wealth; but I can give my mother's suffering sister a home and a friend."

      Madam Cavendish lowered her gold-rimmed spectacles from her cap frills to her eyes, placed her lace-mittened hands on the arms of her chair and looked straight and steadily into the face of her granddaughter.

      It was extremely disheartening, and Emma dropped her eyes before that severe gaze and bowed her head meekly.

      But Emma, though she was the young girl, was in the right; and Madam Cavendish, though she was an ancient and venerable dame, was in the wrong.

      Emma knew this quite well, and in the argument that ensued she lovingly, respectfully, yet unflinchingly, maintained her point.

      At length Madam Cavendish yielded, saying, scornfully: "Well, my dear, it is more your affair than mine. Invite her here if you will. I wash my hands of it. Only don't ask me to be intimate with the inn-keeper's widow; for I won't. And that's all about it."

      "My dear grandma, you shall never see or hear of her, if you do not like to do so. You seldom leave your two rooms. And she shall never enter either unless you send for her," answered Emma.

      "So be it then, my dear. And now let me go to sleep. I always want to go to sleep after an argument," said Madam Cavendish, closing her eyes and sinking back in her arm-chair.

      Emma Cavendish stooped and kissed her, and then left the room.

      In fifteen minutes after she had written and dispatched to the office at Wendover a telegram to this effect: