Chapter I

There is nothing specially attractive about Scarborough--a town which nestles among green hills near the foot of the Blue Ridge,--except its salubrious and delightful climate, which has long drawn summer visitors from the lower malarial country; but if it had been as beautiful as Naples or as far-famed as Venice, it could not have wakened more loving delight than that which shone in Helen Morley's eyes as she drew near it. For that deeply-rooted attachment to familiar scenes--to those aspects of nature on which the eyes first opened, and which to the child are like the face of another mother--was as strong in her as it is in most people of affectionate character. For several miles before the train reached Scarborough, she was calling Marion's attention to one familiar landmark after another; and when finally they stopped at the station on the outskirts of the town, her eagerness knew no bounds.

"Come, Marion; here we are!" she cried, springing up hastily. But at that moment the car was burst open by a tall young man, who entered, followed by two small boys, upon all three of whom, as it seemed to Marion, Helen, with a glad little cry, precipitated herself. There were embraces, kisses, inquiries for a moment; then the young man turned and held out his hand, saying, "This is Miss Lynde, I am sure?"

"Yes," said Helen, turning her flushed, smiling face. "And this is my cousin, Frank Morley, Marion. And here is my brother Harry, who has almost grown to be a man since I went away; and here is little Jock."

Marion shook hands with all these new acquaintances; the boys seized bags and baskets, and the young man led the way from the car and assisted them to the platform outside, near which a large open carriage was standing, with a broadly-smiling ebony coachman, whom Helen greeted warmly. Then her cousin told her that she had better drive home at once. "I shall stay and attend to the trunks, and will see you later," he said.

So Helen, Marion, and the boys were bundled into the carriage, and drove away through the streets of Scarborough,--Helen explaining that her home was at the opposite end of the town from the station. "Indeed we are quite in the county," she said: "and I like it much better than living in town."

"Who would wish to live in a town like this!" asked Marion, eying disdainfully the rural-looking streets through which they were passing. "I like the overflowing life, the roar and fret of a great city; but places of this kind seem to me made only to put people to sleep, mentally as well as physically."

"Oh, Scarborough is a very nice place when you know it!" said Helen, in arms at once for her birth-place. "And I assure you people are not asleep in it, by any means."

"These young gentlemen certainly look wide awake," resumed Marion, regarding the two boys, who were in turn regarding her with large and solemn eyes. "And so looked your cousin--very wide awake indeed."

"Oh, Frank is a delightful boy!" exclaimed Helen; "and I am very fond of him."

"I am glad to hear it," said Marion. "I hope you will be fond enough of him to keep him away from me; for if I abhor anything, it is a boy--I mean" (with a glance at the two young faces before her) "a boy who fancies himself a man."

"Frank is twenty years old," observed Harry, who, being himself barely ten, naturally regarded this as a venerable age.

"So I imagined," replied Marion; "and twenty is not my favorite age--for a man. Jock's age suits me better. Jock, how old are you?"

Jock replied that he was seven; but at this point an exclamation from Helen cut the conversation short; for now they were rapidly approaching a house situated in the midst of large grounds on the outskirts of the town,--a shade-embowered dwelling, on the broad veranda of which flitting forms were to be seen, as the carriage paused a moment for the gate to be opened. Helen stood up and eagerly waved her handkerchief; then they drove in, swept around a large circle and drew up before an open door, from which poured a troop of eager welcomers of all ages and colors.

It seemed to Marion a babel of sound which ensued--kisses, welcomes, hand-shakings, questions,--then she was swept along by the tide into the cool, garnished house, and thence on to a bowery chamber, where she was left for a little while to herself: since Helen was, after all, the grand object of the ovation, and it was into Helen's room that the loyal crowd gathered, who had merely given to Marion that cordial welcome which no stranger ever failed to receive on a Southern threshold.

Only Helen's mother--who, having been twice married, was now Mrs. Dalton--lingered behind with the young stranger, and looked earnestly into the fair face, as if seeking a likeness.

"You are very little like your mother, my dear," she said at last; "though you have her eyes. Alice was beautiful, but it was a gentle beauty; while you--well, I think you must be altogether a Lynde."

"I know that I am very like the Lyndes," Marion answered. "I have a miniature of my father, which I can see myself that I resemble."

"He was a very handsome man," said Mrs. Dalton, "and daring--ah! it was no wonder that he was among the first to rush into the war, and among the first to be killed! My child, you do not know how my heart has yearned over you during all these years, how happy I was to hear of your being at the convent with Helen, and now how glad I am to see you under my own roof. I want you to feel that you are like a daughter of the house."

"You are very kind," replied Marion, touched by the evident sincerity of the words. "I am glad, too, to know at last some of my mother's kindred."

"I can't help wishing that you looked more like her," said Mrs. Dalton, returning wistfully to that point. "She was very lovely--though you--I suppose I need not tell you what _you_ are. My dear"--and suddenly the elder woman stooped to kiss the younger--"I am sorry for you."

"I am sorry for you!" The words lingered on Marion's ear after her aunt's kindly presence had left the room and she stood alone, asking herself why she was so often met in this manner. Why was it that, even with her royal beauty, she had thus far encountered more of pity than of admiration? Why did all eyes that had looked on the sin and sorrow of earth regard her with compassion, and why had she heard so often in her old life that which was her first greeting in the new--"I am sorry for you"?

"Sorry!--for what?" The girl asked herself this with fiery and impatient disdain. What did they all mean? Why did this keynote of unknown misfortune or suffering meet her at every turn, like a shadow flung forward by the unborn future? Why did this refrain always ring in her ears? She was tired of it--so she said to herself with sudden passion,--and she would let the future prove whether or not their pity was misplaced.

She let down her magnificent hair as she thought this, and looked at herself in the mirror out of a burnished cloud. Not, however, as most beautiful women look at the fair image that smiles from those shadowy depths--not with the gratified gaze of self-admiration or the glance of conscious power, but with a criticism severe and stern enough to have banished all loveliness from a less perfect face; with a cool reckoning and appreciation, in which the innocent vanity of girlhood bore no part. And when this scrutiny was ended, the smile that came over her face spoke more of resolution than of pleasure.

She took up a comb then, and began arranging her hair. The task did not occupy her many minutes; for her deft fingers were very quick, and no one had ever accused her of caring for the arts of the toilet. On the contrary, she had always manifested a careless disregard of them, which puzzled her associates, and was by not a few set down to affectation. Now, when she had piled her hair on top of her head like a coronal of red gold, she proceeded to make her simple toilet, with scarcely another glance toward the mirror. It was soon completed, and she had been ready some time when a knock at the door was followed by the appearance of Helen's beaming face.

"So you are dressed?" she said. "I came to show you the way down. I would have come sooner, but, you know, there was so much to say."

"And to hear," added Marion. "I can imagine, though I do not know, what such a home-coming is. And what a lovely home you have, Helen!"

"You have hardly seen it yet," answered Helen. "Come and let me show you all over it."

It was certainly a spacious and pleasant house, built with the stately, honest solidity of the work of former generations, but with many modern additions which served to enhance its picturesqueness and comfort. Marion praised it with a sincerity that delighted Helen; and, having made a thorough exploration, they passed out of the wide lower hall into a veranda, which, as in most Southern houses, was at this hour the place of general rendezvous. Here a pretty dark-eyed girl came forward to meet them.

"I was introduced to you when you arrived, Miss Lynde," she said, "but there was such a hubbub I fancy you did not notice me, and I am glad to welcome you again. I feel as if Helen's cousin must be my cousin too."

"Helen's cousin is much obliged," said Marion. "You are Miss Morley, then?"

"I am the Netta of whom you have doubtless heard. But pray sit down. Are you not tired from your journey?"

"A little. It was so warm and dusty!" answered Marion. "But this seems a perfect place of rest," she added, as she sank on a lounge that had been placed just under the odorous shade of the vines which overran the front of the veranda. "I mean to indulge freely in the luxury of idleness here."

"I hope you will," said Helen. "But I wish that you felt sufficiently rested to come with me into the garden. I should like you to see how lovely it is."

"I wish that I did, but I don't. Pray go yourself, however. You must not let me begin my visit by being a bore to you. Miss Morley, pray take her along."

After some little demur, the two girls complied with her request, and with sincere satisfaction Marion watched them disappear down the garden paths. She was very fond of Helen, she told herself and certainly believed; but, none the less, a very moderate amount of Helen's society sufficed to content, and any more to weary her. Just now she felt particularly wearied, as if both mind and body had been on a strain; and, sinking back on the couch, with the vines breathing their rich perfume over her, she remained so still while the shades of twilight began to gather, that any one who discovered her would have had to look very closely.

This was presently proved; for the silence, which had lasted some time, was broken by a quick step--a step which passed across the veranda and entered the hall, where a ringing and hilarious voice soon made itself heard.

"Where is everybody?" it inquired. "Surely I am late enough! I thought they would all be down by this time."

"They've all been down ever so long, Frank," a child's shrill tones replied. "They are out in the garden--Helen and Netta and Cousin Marion."

"Oh, very good! Come along, Jock, and let us find them," said Mr. Frank Morley. "Has your cousin Paul been here yet?"

"No--not yet."

"Ah, better still! We are before him, then. I shall go and welcome Helen over again, and take a kiss before she can prevent it."

"Then she'll box your ears--I saw her do it once!" cried Jock, in glee. "Oh! yes; I'll come along with you, Frank."

The tall, lithe figure, followed by the smaller one, crossed the veranda again, and strode toward the garden, leaving Marion smiling to herself in her shady nook.

Ten minutes later another step--this time a more sedate one--sounded on the gravel. But keener eyes explored the veranda before their owner entered the house. Consequently they discovered the figure under the vines, and Marion was startled by a quiet voice which said:--

"What! all alone, Helen? I had not hoped for such good fortune--so soon."