Was it an inheritance; or, Nannie Grant. A narrative
Goff, H. N. K. (Harriet Newell Kneeland), 1828-
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N< K. $OFF, Author o/“ The Old Distillery and other Tales. “ Visiting the iniquities of the fathers upon the children to the third and fourth generation.”— Exodus xx., 5. PHILADELPHIA: CLAXTON, REMSEN & HAFFELFINGER. 1876. -pz-"5 .Or5*3 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by Mbs. HARRIET N. K. GOFF, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. Edmund Deacon, Printer, 38 Hudson Street. PREFACE. If this book — the result of earnest and honest effort, shall give courage to one fainting heart ; consolation to one wounded spirit ; nerve to one weary arm ; de- cision to one soul that stands faltering in the path of life; or awaken one individual to a sense of obligation to the generations present or to come, that shall de- clare itself in deeds ; then shall the highest remunera- tion be gratefully acknowledged by The Author. * i % CONTENTS. CHAPTERS. PAGE. I. — Introductions. .... 7 II. — Experience as Educator. . . .25 III. — A Wedding. . . . .35 IV. — Guests, Welcome and Unwelcome. . 44  . .104 VIII.— A Tragedy. . . . .130 IX. — What is Her Place ? . . .149 X. — An Unexpected Calamity. . . 167 XI. — Down to the Valley. . . .182 XII.— Is it Good? 196 XIII. — In the Darkness 216 XIV. — “More Difficult to Cure.” . . 239 XV. — Perseverance and Success. . .266 XVI.— Unequal .Conflicts. . . .283 XVII.— Reunited 314 XVIII.— Released 327 CHAPTEK I. INTRODUCTIONS. IT was Thanksgiving day of the year 18 — , and the Honorable Mrs. Grant had invited all the surviving members of both the Grant and Went- worth families to celebrate the day at her spacious mansion in L , Connecticut. Mrs. Grant was, by blood, a Wentworth. Snow lay deep over and among the hills, and the cold was so severe that many of the strictest church- goers of the village absented themselves from divine service on that morning. The wind whistled down the valley, and the two old elm trees, which always seemed hospitably nodding and beckoning from their positions on either side of Mr. Grant’s front gate, sighed and groaned audibly as they bent their crowns, and, lifting their long, drooping branches, whisked the snow from the leafless jasmine and honey-suckle that intertwined about the windows of the upper story of the house. Dr. Phelps and his wife (the latter was Mrs. Grant’s half-sister) walked directly from the “ meet- ing-house” to the residence of their brother-in-law, 8 Was it an Inheritance f ana were accompanied by their daughter Mary and her husband, the Rev. Mr. Gilbert, of Hartford. They stood stamping the snow from their feet upon the broad, old-fashioned door-steps, when the young- est heir of the Grant and Wentworth blood and estates came bounding around the corner of the house, with a long string of sleigh-bells strapped about his person, and followed by a dashing new sled. “ Uncle Phelps ! oh, uncle ! just see my new sled and bells l” he shouted. “ I’m a splendid horse ! Take care, Sadie, or I shall tip you over !” and he pranced about the wide path, in imitation of a restiff steed. “Ha! ha! that is fine sport,” said the doctor, as he ran down the steps and tucked the blanket more closely about the young girl who sat upon the sled. “What a jingling! Now away, and mind your capers, sir horse. Hud up !” Dr. P was a little above the medium height, broad-chested, and rather broad in his entire form, without corpulence, having a large head, a broad forehead that hung beetling over quick, gray eyes, and a nose decidedly aquiline. He was a strong comba- tant, an original thinker, a skilful physician, and a high-minded, Christian philanthropist. A servant admitted him and his companions, at the summons of the heavy old brass knocker, and group after group followed, hurrying and laughing, under the influence of the tonic atmosphere. They were ushered into the broad hall, up to the warm dressing- Or, Nannie Grant. 9 rooms, where open wood-fires greeted them with a cheery welcome, and thence to the parlor below, where they were cordially received by their host and hostess. Mr. Grant was between forty and fifty years of age, rather stout, and somewhat imposing in personal appearance, though even while exchanging greetings with him, one instinctively felt that to preserve har- mony in intercourse with him, his prejudices must be indulged. His wife, past forty, was a charming, petite beauty, with clear, healthful complexion, merry black eyes, and hair as dark as a raven’s wing, which lay in shining waves about her shapely head, and escaped from her dainty cap in little rollicking ringlets, co- quetted with its pink ribbons, and strayed over the shoulder of her rich velvet bodice. Years and society had given her dignity, but her grace was natural, her wit was quick and sparkling, and her laugh contagious. Mr. Grant was the only son of his parents, and one of his two sisters had, within the past year, fol- lowed their mother to that land from whence the most urgent invitation could not recall them — beyond the dark waters which had hidden the husband and father long years before. So his sister Abbie — now the widow Wilson — and her daughter Julia, who had just arrived from New Hampshire, were the only visiting representatives of his immediate family. All Mrs. Grant’s brothers, three in number, were deceased — Benjamin, near her own age, and two 1* 10 Was it an Inheritance f others, born to her father by a union prior to that with her mother. The first named left no children, and those of the last two excused themselves from accepting the invitation which had been duly mailed to Boston for them. So the company consisted largely of distant rela- tives, but we shall confine our acquaintance to the households already mentioned, and the village pastor. The eleven o’clock stage did not arrive till after noon on that day, on account of the extreme cold and the heavy fall of snow on the previous night ; and as it had brought Mrs. Wilson and her daughter, they were yet in their private room when the last guest arrived. Mrs. Grant stole from the parlor, and tapped gently at the door of the apartment. Though the residence of her sister-in-law seems to us, with our modern facilities for travel, to have been comparatively but at the next door, under the inconveniences and cus- toms of that day she had become quite a stranger among her relatives and former neighbors, never hav- ing visited L since Julia (who was, at the time we write of, fully eighteen years of age) was wrapped in her baby mantle, and, in her little chair, tucked away down in the huge sleigh under the buffalo-robe, se- cure from the cold, but where baby Abby, nestling in mother’s lap, could occasionally beat a tattoo with her tiny feet upon poor Julia’s head. “ Excuse me,” said the hostess, “ but as we dine soon, and you will need introductions, I will escort you down, if you are ready.” Or, Nannie Grant. 11 “ Thank you, sister Nannie,” said Mrs. Wilson. “ Of course the children have all grown beyond my recollection, and Julia is an utter stranger among her relatives.” “ Dear little Julia! But you will soon be quite at home with us all,” and, with a little rippling laugh, Mrs. Grant reached up to pass her arm about the waist of her tall niece. “Dear little Julia!” repeated the young lady. “ Ha ! ha ! How have you lived so long, Auntie, when you are so short ?” The two approached the parlor in easy merriment. “ This is Uncle and Aunt Phelps,” said Mrs. Grant, on entering, “ and as they are uncle and aunt to every young person in the village, Julia will receive them as such.” Mrs. Phelps arrested the eye and attracted the heart at once. Her face was plainer than her sister’s, but strength and sweetness blended there harmoniously. She was also taller and larger than Mrs. Grant, and her soft brown tresses lay straight and smooth about a higher and broader brow; and her neat cap, with its white ribbons, scarcely covered the wealth of their rich braids. A gentle strength pervaded all her movements, but her voice was her chief charm — so tender, affectionate, one might almost say, so full of tears — one, perhaps, where hope had been transplanted, but only to take deeper root in a richer soil. A richness of modula- tion ran through every tone, revealing a deep and 12 Was it an Inheritance f loving nature, whose culture had extended far down into the subsoil. “ Darling Wywy, as you, Julia, used to call Willie, follows the sea,” continued Mrs. Grant ; “ but we are comforted in his absence in knowing that he is a truly trustworthy captain,” and she glanced proudly to- wards her husband. “ Johnny, you know, sleeps in the churchyard, ‘ Not he, but the little body he once wore/ sister Mollie and dear mother said ; but I could never feel quite so indifferent about the body. It seems to me I could never sleep another night if Willie was lost at sea. “ Abbie, your namesake, is also absent. She married Fred Sacket, you know, and last summer they moved away out to Western Pennsylvania, and I suppose they are buried in the woods in some shanty. Fred is one of the finest-looking young men I ever saw, and as kind-hearted as he is handsome. I hope Abbie is happy, but fear she sighs for old associations. “ This is George, our third son, who can speak for himself,” and she presented a tall young man who had just attained his majority. He was of robust constitution, had soft, laughing, and mischievous brown eyes, a slight touch of swagger in his man- ners; apparently a good-natured, jolly sort of boy; a little wayward and contrary, but this mainly through a love of teazing ; evidently averse to rigid rules, by whomsoever administered, and seemed incapable of such administration upon himself. The next was Joseph, about nineteen years of age. 13 Or , Nannie Grant. A slight, elastic frame, even and delicate features, rosy cheeks, blue-gray eyes that were large and full, a broad brow overshadowed by a profusion of brown curls. He was frank, generous, ardent, true as steel, and fond of study — the favorite of all his acquaint- ances. Lucy, just past sixteen, rosy and fresh, was her mother reproduced, with a shade less of impulsiveness. Sarah, now just returned from her sled-ride, was next presented to her aunt and cousin. She was a pale, thoughtful girl, of nearly fourteen years, ordina- rily slow in her thoughts and movements, not mirth- ful, yet often causing mirth by the honest eccentricity of her ideas. Deeply sensitive in her nature, she was affectionate, and generous in unostentatious sacrifice ; given to dreamy abstractions, yet sympathetically re- sponsive to the moods of others, as the needle to the magnet. Though seldom meeting unkindness to her- self with stronger resistance than tears, a strong spirit slumbered in the depths beneath that soft exterior, and, on occasion, sometimes overflowed with a sud- denness and energy that was sweeping as a tornado, and produced a complete though transient transforma- tion of the girl. But only through her benevolence or conscience could she be thus aroused. Seth was about nine years old, large, strong, and healthy, with a clear complexion, large, dark-blue eyes, that deepened to violet and sparkled like stars under the stimulus of fun or mischief ; dark-brown hair that, slightly curling, shaded a forehead in which 14 Was it an Inheritance f a modern phrenologist would have readily detected the source of the “why?” and “how?” which were the standing annoyance of his elders in the household. He was restless and irrepressible — an independent, self-asserting boy, who would not brook control, but preferred to circumvent, rather than defy it. “ And now that I have presented your relatives in the persons of my own family,” said the hostess, “ if you please, I will introduce you to the family of my sister. This is Mary Phelps i that was,1 and her husband, the Rev. Mr. Gilbert ; and I think you will find them quite as agreeable as their prepossessing appearance indicates. This is Thomas Phelps. He is just twenty- two yeark old to-day, and the image of his father in mind and heart, as he is in person, and is so ardently studying for the same profession, that my brother-in- law expects soon to be outdone.” “ Take care,” said Mrs. Wilson, “ or you may de- prive yourself of one of the first requisites of your chosen profession — good health.” “I assure you I am far from being a sick man yet,” he replied ; and, clenching his right fist, he laid her hand upon the iron muscles of that arm, adding, “ here lies the hope of salvation for my brain.” ‘ My nephew, Henry, is still in school, and has not yet announced his plans for the future,” resumed the hostess. “ He is such a dutiful son at twenty years pf age that we can trust while we wait. This is his sister Ruth, and I leave you to become acquainted with her at your leisure.” Or, Nannie Ch'ant. 15 “ The dearest girl of all,” thought Mrs. W , as she kissed her cheek. A fine, firm skin, not remark- ably white; full, clear, gray eyes, shaded by long lashes ; a broad brow, hair and mouth like her mo- ther’s, and her father’s inquisitive and defensive nose. She was of medium height, symmetrical form, with quiet and graceful movements, and, in short, pos- sessed the best points of both her parents. Dinner was soon announced; but, on proceeding to the spacious dining-room, Mrs. Grant suddenly exclaimed, “ Our pastor has not yet arrived /” Mr. Grant signed the guests to be seated, but delayed the repast, while Seth ran out to ascertain the cause of the minister’s tardiness. He soon returned, saying, “ There’s a great crowd of men around Bob Jones’s sleigh in front of the tavern, and Mr. Reynolds has been standing there too ; but when he saw me, he started this way, and is coming now. Here he is.” On entering, the reverend gentleman replied to the inquiring glances that met him, “ It is poor James Russell, who left the tavern last night about half-past nine o’clock, and, when less than half a mile on his way home, evidently laid down by the roadside, and is now frozen to death.” “ Is it possible ?” was the general exclamation. “ This morning,” the minister resumed, “ his wife waded nearly a mile through the deep drifts to Robert Jones’s, and, by his account, had hard work to induce him to go and look for c Jim,’ as the men all called him. Mr. Jones thought he had probably remained 16 Was it an Inher itance f at the tavern, on account of the storm, and would ride home with some of the neighbors as they re- turned from church to-day; but Mrs. Russell said the neighbors *would not invite him, and she kneAv he would not ask them; he was too proud. Besides that, she felt sure he had started home last night ; and had it not been that her babe is too young to leave with the children, and another one, two years old, had a touch of the croup, she would have gone to look for him before morning. Her oldest child, they tell me, is but eight years of age, and she has four. Mr. Jones thought her alarm entirely unne- cessary ; but she made such an ado, and seemed re- solved to go herself, and on foot, if he did not at- tempt the search, that he was at last rather compelled to start out. He examined every drift along the way, till at last he found him in the gorge up here, lying close beside the track where the sleighs came down to church, but buried so deeply in snow that people doubtless mistook him for a stone or W.” O The dinner remained untouched for some moments while this dreadful “dispensation” was discussed. “ Poor Mrs. Russell !” said Mrs. Phelps. “ Little indeed can be said or done to comfort her.” “ I wonder if she and her little brood have any- thing in the house to eat,” said Mrs. Grant, as she glanced over her own sumptuously-spread board. “I suppose they are very poor, and I think we ought to send Patrick over after dinner ; shall we not ?” ad- dressing her husband. Or, Nannie Grant. 17 “ Certainly, certainly,” said that gentleman. “ Send whatever you think best.” Dr. Phelps had arisen hastily and joined the crowd about the sleigh in front of the tavern. Every one stood back to let him pass. He looked upon the dead face, and attempted to raise the arm. It was frozen stiff. No chance of remaining life. “ Here is another warning,” said he, “ to those who drink ardent spirits, and it is to you, too, who drink moderately ; for Jim was not long a drunkard.” The doctor turned sadly, and re-entered the house. “This is truly a lamentable affair,” said Parson Reynolds to his clerical brother from Hartford, as the first course was brought in. “Truly, truly,” replied that gentleman. “Is it supposed that illness or fatigue caused the man to lie down so soon? He could scarcely have been overcome by the cold at so short a distance from the Village.” “ Oh, he has been intemperate some two or three years past,” said Mr. Grant, “ and I suppose he had taken too much.” “ That’s it,” said George ; “ no doubt of it.” “Mr. Van Horn said he started out about nine o’clock, but soon returned, and begged him to trust him to a half-pint of whiskey, (he had been drink- ing a little),” added Mr. Reynolds. “ Russell thought the wind was so cold that it was unsafe for him to attempt the walk without something to warm him up. Mr. Yan Horn hesitated, he says, Jim was such 18 Was it an Inheritance f poor pay ; but he begged so hard that he could not deny him, and gave him a half-pint in a bottle.” “ Was there any found in the bottle?” asked Mr. Grant. “ Not a drop. The landlord says he warned him not to take much at a time, but thinks he took it all at once.” “ Half-a-pint ? Why that isn’t much for a man like him to take at a dram. I guess, if the truth was known, he was pretty well corned when he started out, and likely as not he had been sitting around the bar- room all day drinking, but eating nothing.” “ That is it,” said Dr. Phelps. “ The liquor had been raking up all the fuel his breakfast had supplied to his blood, and had burnt it out at fever heat, while in-doors ; and then, with his blood in this exhausted state, the heat and strength-producing elements all consumed, Van Horn gave him a poker to stir the ashes with, and sent him off. The poker proved too heavy, and he laid down and froze to death. If any other man in the village had done that by poor Jim — a doctor or a druggist, for instance — he would have been mobbed before the law could have disposed of him. But here is an ignorant man authorized to dis- pose of a virulent poison, just as the poor, deluded, demented purchaser wishes to procure or use it ! “ Well, the consequence is, there is a frantic woman up there in a hovel, surrounded by four fatherless children that the town must bring up, and who will take their father’s olace, and become the parents of 19 Or, Nannie Grant. another batch of paupers, in all probability ; for a drunkard’s children are rarely healthy either in body or soul ; and if there’s truth in Holy Writ, there’s another soul in perdition. And who is the gainer in the whole affair? Though Jim’s farm and stock have been transferred to Van Horn’s possession, I cannot think he has been the gainer, when I see how his boys are going on, or observe his own rum-blos- somed countenance.” “ It might not have been amiss if old Van had lent Jim Russell an overcoat, or even kept him all night,” said Joe. “All the overcoats the poor fellow ought to have had this long time, have gone into old Van’s till, for tip.” “ That’s so,” said George. “ It’s a pity a fellow shouldn’t have sense enough to stop drinking when he’s got enough, as he would stop eating.” “Now,” said Mr. Grant, laying down his knife and fork, “ I don’t wonder so much when a man like Jim Russell goes down by drink — becomes a slave to his animal nature — because that is a strong part of his nature in the first place; but when a man like Judge Marshall — an intellectual, cultivated gentle- man, with not only common sense, but uncommon sense, and such a powerful will as all who knew him knew his to be — when such a man capsizes, and lets the animal in him trample on all that is high and noble, I confess I cannot understand it.” “ That is owing to ignorance of physiology,” re- joined the doctor. “ People ever so intelligent upon 20 Was it an Inheritance f other subjects allow themselves to be as ignorant as babes,, of the construction and laws of their own bo- dies. I have watched and studied this subject for years, and it is a fearful fact, that the effect of stimu- lants becomes such a strong habit of the system as sometimes leaves their use no longer a matter of choice. The man has actually chained his own reason. His will is dethroned , and gropes in vain among the ashes of that throne for even the dust of his former diadem. The body becomes so diseased that it actually kills the soul ! ” “Ha! ha! I’m afraid that is scarcely orthodox,” said Mr. Grant.. “ You see the man must be respon- sible, because the Scriptures say, .J No drunkard can inherit the kingdom of God and you cannot sup- pose a man is sent to hell for what he- cannot help ?” “ Every man can help being a drunkard, and ought to help it; but the question is, ‘ When can he help it?’ There is a time when it is, to say the least, almost impossible to help it — a time when he has committed the physical sin, ,or, rather, the sin against his physi- cal nature, that is physically unpardonable, and there remains no more remission of sin in his case. If a man were to cut off his own hand, all the repentance in the world could not restore it. So, when his brain and nervous system have reached a certain point of disorganization, only a miracle can restore it.” A pause ensued, broken at length by the Rev. Mr. Reynolds, who said, “ But the Christian may partake of every good creature of God in moderation, with safety.” Or, Nannie Grant, 21 “ I do not acknowledge this to be a ‘ good creature of God/ and I know of nothing in the revealed Word of God, or of any revealed fact, that gives me leave to infer that the Christian is not subject to the same physical laws as the sinner. If either of us, Mr. Reynolds, puts a hand into the fire, it will be burned, no difference whether we curse or pray. If we take arsenic, we shall be poisoned, as certainly as would a murderer. Alcohol is as truly a poison as arsenic, and if you take either, the grace of God will not in- terfere to annul the consequences.” During all this discussion, and much more that fol- lowed, the repast was also discussed, Mr. Grant and his pastor treating the doctor’s ideas rather lightly as they proceeded, and appearing to think him a little fanatical. At length the host arose, and, taking a delicate little goblet which had been placed beside his plate, and the counterpart of which stood beside that of every guest, and which had been filled with choicest wine, in which he took great pride, he elevated it to the light to bring out its richest glow, and said, “ If we yield to the doctor, that ardent spirits are danger- ous, in this harmless and delightful beverage we may all drink to the memories of the happy past and the hopes of many a reunion in the future.” He raised his glass to his lips, and most of the guests followed his example. “ Stay !” said the doctor, raising his hand. All eyes were upon him, while tears stood in his own and his voice trembled with emotion. 22 Was it an Inheritance f ct My dear brother, said he, a I respond most heart- ily to yonr concluding sentiment. No one present clings more fondly to those memories than I do, no one appreciates the social pleasures of the present hour more than myself, no one prays more fervently than I do that we may see all these faces ” (a tender glance resting on each individual, especially the younger ones) “ often and often again assem- bled around our Thanksgiving tables ; but, my dear brother, it is because I wish so earnestly that this may be so, that I must decline to drink this toast in wine. ‘ Wine is a mocker/ ‘ and whoso is deceived thereby is not wise? How shall we be sure that we shall not be deceived if we listen to the voice of the mocker ? I said every man can help being a drunk- ard, and ought to help it ; but the question is when and how can he help it ? I say, upon my honor as a Christian man, and my knowledge as a professional man, there is a time when it is possible to help it, and there is a time, liable to reach every one, who by mod- erate drinking, invites that doom, when it is physically impossible, and, therefore, morally impossible, except by an intervention well-nigh, if not quite equal to, a miracle ; and if we presume upon God’s especial in- terference in our behalf, i He will laugh at our calam- ity and mock when our fear cometh.’ Where is that turning-point? No MAN knows till he has passed it. Shall we sip till we have intimations that we have passed it, and then attempt to row up the stream, whose shore we now think it requires 23 Or, Nannie Grant. too much effort to reach ? Wine is a mocker ! It will deceive ! it will mislead its victim till the Rubicon is passed ! Oh, let us be wise, and turn our backs upon the syren while we may !” Saying which he sipped from a goblet of water that stood before him, and all except Mr. Grant, as by one impulse, followed him. The host was evidently chagrined that his fa- vorite wine remained untasted by his guests ; but his son George, soon after leaving the dining-room, slipped back again, and tipped off his glass at a draught. Ruth Phelps entered just as he was returning the empty goblet to the table. Her great penetrating eyes met his with an expression of sad surprise that made the color mount to his temples ; but he affected an air of bravado, commenced whistling softly, and sauntered out on to u the stoop.” Of all his cousins Ruth was his favorite, and she possessed an influence over him that no one else could command ; perhaps because she never seemed to attempt any. Dr. Phelps had spoken with great earnestness and such fervor as none of those present had ever before seen him exhibit. All were impressed with his evi- dent conviction of the truth of what he uttered, though the subject and the arguments for total absti- nence were new to them ; for though the doctor had long been investigating the subject, his conclusions had been but recently attained, and never before so decidedly expressed. The evening passed pleasantly, enlivened by con- versation, songs, games, and even the contra-dance 24 Wa$ it an Inheritance f and cotillion ; but, as all things must, it had an end, and just at twelve o'clock the last reluctant foot left the door, and the family and their more permanent guests retired to their several apartments. Whether the reasoning of Dr. Phelps or that of Mr. Grant was the wisest, the history of those present, as we shall endeavor to delineate it in the following pages, must illustrate and decide. Host and hostess congratulated themselves and each other upon the success of the entertainment, but we can scarcely conceive the anguish and accusations that must have displaced their gratification and compla- cency, could they have seen the black, impending cloud above their best-beloved, charged, by their own acts, with the blasting thunderbolt which they were pow- erless to control. Or, Nannie Grant 25 CHAPTER II. EXPERIENCE AS EDUCATOR. S the object of this narrative is to portray the -jLJl. the origin, and some of the ramifications, rela- tions, and culminations of certain wide-spread mental and physical conditions, let us go back to the genera- tion preceding that to which our heroine belongs; and thus, by learning some of their antecedents, be the better prepared to understand her and her asso- ciates. Captain Ross, the father of Mrs. Phelps, followed the sea, and there met his death. His ship was spoken near the Gulf of Mexico, and never seen afterwards. Mollie, his only child, was born four months after his young wife bade him adieu, and was nearly five years old when her mother became the wife of Judge Wentworth, a widower of three years standing, and the father of two sons, aged ten and thirteen years, respectively. Mrs. Ross was an estimable woman, of highly re- ligious nature, and whose early affliction wrought a remarkably refining and elevating influence upon her entire character. She possessed, in large measure, what the people of New England call “ faculty,” and Western people 26 Was it an Inheritance f call “ knack,” and had, in widowhood, succeeded in securing a comfortable and respectable maintenance for herself and child, though the possessions left her by Captain Ross were limited. Judge Wentworth was a man of comparative wealth, and, upon his second marriage, the property left by Captain Ross, being of the kind legally de- nominated “ personal,” fell into his hands. A friend suggested to the widow that the little estate should be settled upon her child, prior to her marriage; but she promptly repelled the idea. “ I would not trust my happiness in the hands of a man to whose honor I could not trust my property ,” she said;, and trusted both to the care of the highly re- spected, judge, who, although accounted an honorable man ambng his peers, as husband , soon disposed of her salable property, even without her consent or knowledge, and always gave but grudgingly for Mollie’s necessities. When Mrs. Wentworth intimated that an equivo- lent to the captain’s property was due his child, he replied : “ If there is any property on the premises to which she can lay claim, it can be recovered at law ; not otherwise.” As a step-mother, she was all to her husband’s sons that any but an own mother could have been ; but her labors of love were unavailing to win them to the noble standard of manhood she desired them to attain. Of John, the elder, we need only say that he was his father’s namesake, became a man of average 7 o 27 Or , Nannie Grant. ability, and a successful manufacturer of cloths, an occupation then just commencing to pass from the hands of the wives and daughters at the domestic hearths. The second son, James, was the superior of his brother in intellect, was comely in person, command- ing in figure, inflexible in will, revengeful in disposi- tion. Not the least evidence of affection was ever visible between this father and his sons ; yet the influence James exerted over the judge was surprising ; espe- cially in consideration of the superiority of the latter, both in years and ability ; and the son did not fail to use this power for his own interest. Years sped on, and Mollie- ,Ross became a woman. James Wentworth had the good judgment to discern in her what appeared to him an assemblage of all wo- manly virtues, and sought to possess himself of them by making her his wife. She failed to find her ideal in him ; and had too true a nature to deceive him, when she became aware of his sentiments ; but his dominative disposition could not yield to her decision. He persisted in his atten- tions and addresses, till her life, at her mother’s house, became so uncomfortable that she secured a position as teacher of a small school in an adjoining State, and removed herself from his vicinity, even at the cost of a painful separation from the society of her mother, whose health appeared to be slowly declining. But even there he followed her, their family relations being 28 Was it an Inheritance? such as made it most difficult to effectually repulse him. When at length, after months of persistent persecu- tion in this wise, he ascertained that her affections were given to another, all the revengefulness of his disposition was aroused, and he resolved to blight her happiness if possible. Nannie Wentworth was eight years the junior of her half-sister — a wide interval to divide the sympa- thies of two sisters ; impassable in early life to the younger, but always capable of bridgement from the older’s side. Nannie had slept in Mollie’s arms ever since she left those of her mother; and every childish or maidenly joy or grief of hers was shared by her older sister; though, alas! many a sorrow had her heart known that the younger could never understand. These she had confided to her mother, till warned by unmistakable symptoms that the disquietudes borne by that dear one must be lightened, or her sympa- thetic heart would cease to throb. Reminded almost hourly of her dependence, Mollie painfully realized that the position of a daughter, which she nominally occupied in her step-father’s house, was no reality, and never felt the welcome so ostentatiously displayed in the presence of strangers ; hence an earnest desire for self-maintenance early took possession of her. Industrious by nature, and gifted with taste and the power of construction well-nigh amounting to Or, Nannie Grant 29 genius, and endowed with an aptness for teaching, she early managed, with tact and economy, to clothe her- self in a style becoming the society in which she moved, though a full day at her needle brought her but twenty-five cents , and a hard week’s work in the school-room but seventy-five cents . Though her mother’s delicate health made her nimble fingers in- dispensable to the household’s comfort, that fact was never recognized or recompensed by the judge, after Mollie had reached her sixteenth year. During the first summer of “ district-school ” teach- ing in Massachusetts, she made the acquaintance of a young lawyer, who won her affections and promise of marriage. Learning of this, James Wentworth took secret and circuitous measures to poison his mind with slanders of the basest sort. Not direct accusa- tions, that might have been refuted, but hints and insidious intimations prejudicial to Mollie’s fair fame. And when Mr. L , the young lawyer referred to, traced the rumors to their true source, they were made to appear so specious and con- clusive, that, failing to comprehend the baseness of such a nature, he mistook it for nobility that would not allow the sacrifice of an unsuspecting stranger, even at the risk of personal humiliation ; for was not the publicity of these things derogatory to the re- spectability of the whole family ? These facts were conveyed to the young girl by a letter, signed by three of her most intimate female friends. How her heart leaped when she saw that the 30 Was it an Inheritance f post-mark was B ; for Mr. L had not writ- ten her in two months ; but the address was in an un- familiar hand. She flew to her room, trembling, and overwhelmed with forebodings of calamity to him, and dropped upon her knees. Still in that attitude, she broke the seal and read, without a change of posi- tion, a sigh or a tear, to the concluding words, which were as follows : “ We would not have written these things to you, dear Mollie, but Mr. L says he has not done so, and he is now, in this short time, paying very marked attention to a girl (we will not say lady) who was far from being your friend last summer ; and we thought if he is still keeping you in suspense, it is just too had. With all our hearts we are “Your true friends, “ Jane, Laura and Caroline.” These were her mother’s relatives, and she had every reason to suppose they were what they professed to be — her true friends. She dropped the sheet, folded her hands tightly across her brow, and gazed wildly about the room, then bowed her head, still covered by her hands, upon the floor. Then rising again, a vacant stare sat on her face, and she pressed her head tighter and tighter, as if to retain her senses. Then suddenly unclench- ing her fingers, and spreading her arms out wildly into the surrounding darkness, — darkness long e’er Or, Nannie Grant. 31 the sun had set, — she cried in the depth of her anguish, “My God! my God! hast thou forsaken me?” She sallied oyer upon the floor, and lay in external quiet, but her soul was tossed and torn by the most exquisite torture. Love, hate, pride, shame, self-love, love of approbation, scorn, contempt, anger, and re- venge held fearful combat. Such struggles come but once to any soul, and are always incomprehensible to many natures. For nearly two hours she lay there so quietly that eight-year-old Nannie tiptoed to her side unheard, and, thinking her asleep, crept softly down-stairs again. Yet amidst all this mental tumult, Faith stood with uplifted finger, waiting her opportunity to say, “All things shall work together for good to those that love the Lord.” At length darkness really settled upon the earth, and Mollie Ross crept from the floor, and gazed out upon the stars, praying — oh, so earnestly ! — for death. A messenger came to ask her assistance at a neigh- bor's house, where an infant, just beginning to taste the honey-laden dew on life's earliest flowers, had been snatched suddenly away and awarded its crown of life eternal. She obeyed the summons, but lagged behind her companions on the way, — so weak and weary, body, heart, and soul, that her anguish seemed an insupportable load — a hidden cross of which no kind Cyrenean might know, or relieve her. 32 Was it an Inheritance? The day had been sultry, and there were at this time threatenings of rain. Down in the woods, at the left, the will-o’-the-wisp was dancing, rising sometimes to the height of the lower branches of full-grown trees, then suddenly dropping again and creeping along the ground, then sailing away back into the depths of the forest, and then floating to the edge bordering the open fields. When they left the Wentworth mansion a goodly portion of the sky was clear, but a small black cloud was soon seen rising from the west. Gradually it spread, and others seemed to spring into existence, and spread themselves over the whole canopy. When the young people reached their destination, not a star was visible, and the low mutterings of thunder had become loud peals, preceded by blinding flashes of lightning. An instantaneous glare, followed quickly by a crash, that shook the house to its foundations, was their in- troduction to the chamber of death. The form of the sweet little infant lay, with folded hands and a serene smile upon its lips, unconscious alike of earthly storm and calm, grief and joy, hope and despair. 