The Haunted Homestead. Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

Apollo!" were the words that sprang alive to my lips as I laid my hand upon the soft, white arm of Mathilde and called her attention to this stranger.

      "Hush! he is looking this way," said my companion, blushing and casting down her eyes.

      I knew very well, if he was "looking this way," at whom he must be looking, and so, did not feel Mathilde's embarrassment in again raising my eyes to the "Magnus Apollo." When I did so I perceived that he was in conversation with another gentleman, whom I recognized as Mr. ——, the proprietor of the house. I saw Mr. ——bow and precede the stranger, conducting him to the presence of Mr. Legare, to whom he immediately introduced him. I saw Mr. Legare and the stranger approaching our quarter of the room, and I thought I understood it all.

      I was not mistaken.

      Mr. Legare presented the stranger as "Mr. Howard, of Boston," first to me, whom he favored with a bow, but certainly not with a single glance, and next to Mathilde, whom he almost immediately petitioned to become his partner in the next quadrille.

      Miss Legare bowed a gracious acceptance to his suit.

      The presentation over, Mr. Legare went to rejoin his wife, who could not endure to be left alone.

      Mr. Howard remained standing before us, and soon, by the brilliancy, variety and interest of his conversation, attracted and engaged both his hearers. He was certainly a man of the most distinguished and commanding presence that I had ever seen, and one for whom every hour's acquaintance increased our esteem.

      When the new quadrille formed, with a graceful bow he extended his hand to Mathilde and led her to the head of one of the sets. He danced as well as he conversed. Why should I run into detail? Mathilde's fancy was captivated. They finished the quadrille, and for the remainder of the evening Mr. Howard's attentions, though very devoted, were marked by too much delicacy and good taste to attract notice from any one except her to whom they were directed.

      The impression made upon Mathilde was as yet not sufficiently deep to render her reserved with me upon this subject. Consequently when the ball was over, and we had reached our double-bedded chamber, my friend broke forth in eager exclamations.

      "Did you ever see such a fine-looking person, Agnes? And then his conversation! how brilliant! and how varied! how much he must have traveled! and then how well he dances!"

      "Pshaw!" said I. "'Oh, what a fall was there,' 'from the sublime to the ridiculous!'"

      "Yes, but he does dance well! and let me tell you that very few men can do so! he strikes the nice balance between le grand and la frivole in his manner! And then his name—Howard—la crême de la crême of aristocratic names. Don't you remember Le Lion blanc of the house of Howard?"

      And so she rattled on, talking incessantly of the new acquaintance until we went to bed, and I went to sleep leaving her still talking.

      The next morning, I noticed that Mathilde spent more than usual time and attention upon her toilette. She looked very pretty—when did she not?—in her embroidered cambric morning dress, with no ornament but her jetty ringlets flowing down each side her freshly-blooming face.

      When we went downstairs, there was Mr. Howard waiting in the hall, to offer Mathilde his arm to the breakfast table.

      Afterward at the ladies bowling-alley who but Mr. Howard stood at Mathilde's elbow to hand the balls? Who took her in to dinner? Who made a horseblock of his knee and a stepping-stone of the palm of his hand to lift Mathilde into her saddle? Who attended her in her afternoon ride? In her evening walk? In the duet with the piano accompaniment at night?

      Howard—still Howard!

      Until after several weeks of this association, at last papa opened his eyes and inquired first of himself and next of his host:

      "Who is this Mr. Howard, who is paying such very particular attention to my daughter?"

      "Mr. Howard, sir; Mr. Howard is a very talented young mechanic of Boston," answered the proprietor.

      "A—what?" questioned the astonished old gentleman.

      "A very accomplished young machinist, and mathematical instrument maker, sir, who has realized quite a handsome fortune by his patented improvement in——"

      "The foul fiend!" exclaimed the old aristocrat, throwing up his hands in consternation, as he trotted off.

      His daughter talking, dancing, riding, flirting with a mechanic! Oh! horror, horror, horror!

      The result of this was, that after Mr. Legare's perturbed feelings had become somewhat calmed he called for his bill, settled it, took four places in the morning coach, ordered his servants to pack up, and the next day set out for the South.

      He was very much disturbed; Mrs. Legare said nothing, but poor Mathilde was miserable, having been made to feel that she had unwittingly brought discredit upon herself and all her family.

      Mr. Legare left Mathilde and myself at our school, and with his wife proceeded to Louisiana.

      I soon saw that the warm-hearted young Southern maiden really was, or believed herself to be, the subject of a deep and unhappy attachment; she became reserved to all, even to me, and her health suffered. As weeks grew into months her indisposition increased. One day her emotion broke the bounds of reserve, and throwing herself into my arms, she exclaimed:

      "Oh, Agnes! if Frank would only write to me I should not feel so wretched!"

      "Frank? who is Frank, my love?" I inquired in surprise, for I had never heard this name among our acquaintances.

      She blushed deeply. "Oh! I mean Mr. Howard, you know! Frank Howard."

      "No—I did not know! Has it come to this? and do you call him Frank? And do you, perhaps, correspond with him? Oh, Mathilde, Mathilde, my dear! take care!"

      "Oh! no, no, I do not correspond with him! never have done so! he never even asked me! but after pa got so high with him, he looked mournful and dignified, and took leave of me! Oh! he might write to me."

      "Mathilde, knowing your father's sentiments, he would not, as a man of honor, commence a correspondence with you. But tell me, dear, how far this affair had gone?"

      "Oh! very far indeed; he was going to ask me of papa that very day we left!"

      "Wait, Mathilde! you are so young! if this is anything more serious than a passing fancy on both sides, he will delay until you leave school, and then he will first seek you at your father's house. This is the only course for a man of honor in such a case, you are aware."

      "Um-m! little hope in seeking me at my father's house, with my father's estimate of a mechanic! But I do not the least believe that Frank Howard is a mechanic! He does not look like one!"

      "Nonsense, my dear Mathilde! he is an intelligent Boston mechanic, who has made a valuable invention that has brought him a fortune; that is all about it."

      Still Mathilde's health waned, and at last the principal of our academy wrote to her parents, who came, and finding her condition more precarious than they had anticipated, removed her from school and carried her home. Mathilde could not bring against her friend the same charge that she had brought against her lover; for I requested a frequent correspondence, and faithfully kept up my part of it.

      I remained at Newton for nearly twelve months after Mathilde had left.

      And this time, passed in so great monotony by me, was full of event for Mathilde and those connected with her. In the first place, she accompanied her friends on a short visit to Europe, and returning, entered society at New Orleans with some eclat.

      Then followed for her father a succession of losses, one growing out of another, until his fortune was so reduced as to make it necessary for him to retrench and change his whole style of living.

      Under such circumstances, his pride would not permit him to remain in that part of the country where for so many years he had lived grand seigneur.

      His wife was a Virginian by