The New Penelope, and Other Stories and Poems. Frances Fuller Victor

California, as times were then—"

      Mrs. Greyfield groaned.

      "And that you, if there, would do very well until I could come for you. I could not suspect that you would avail yourself of the privilege of widowhood within so short a time, if ever."

      "Oh!" ejaculated my listener, with irrepressible impatience.

      I read on without appearing to observe the interruption.

      "To tell the truth, I had not thought of myself as dead, and that is probably where I made the greatest mistake. It did not occur to me, that you were thinking of yourself as a widow; therefore, I did not realize the risk. But when the news came of your death, if it were really you, as I finally made up my mind it must be—"

      An indignant gesture, accompanied by a sob, expressed Mrs. Greyfield's state of feeling on this head.

      "I fell into a state of confirmed melancholy, reproaching myself severely for not having searched the continent over before stopping to dig gold! though it was for you I was digging it, and our dear boy, whom I believed alive and well, somewhere, until I received Mr. Seabrook's letter.

      "My dear Anna, I come now to that which will try your feelings; but you must keep in view that I have the same occasion for complaint. Having made a comfortable fortune, and feeling miserable about you and the boy, I concluded to return to the Atlantic States, to visit my old home. While there I met a lovely and excellent girl, who consented to be my wife, and I was married the second time. We had one child, a girl, now eighteen years of age; and then my wife died. I mourned her sincerely, but not more so than I had mourned you.

      "At last, after all these years, news came of you from a reliable source. The very man to whose charge I committed you when I expected to die, returned to the States, and from him I heard of your arrival in Oregon, your marriage, and your subsequent divorce. Painful as this last news was to my feelings, I set out immediately for California (I had learned from him that you were probably in this State), and commenced inquiries. An advertisement of mine met Benton's eye only two days ago, and you may imagine my pleasure at the discovery of my only and dear son, so long lost to me. He is a fine, manly fellow, and good; for which I have to thank you, of course."

      "You see, he appropriates Benton at once. Never so much as 'by your leave.' But Benton will not quit me to follow this new-found father," Mrs. Greyfield said, with much feeling.

      "He may not be put to the test of a choice. You have a proposition to consider," I replied. "Let me read it."

      "No, no! Yet, read it; what do I care? Go on."

      "My daughter, Nellie, is the very picture of her mother, and as sweet and good as one could desire. Benton seems to be delighted with her for a sister. And now that the young folks have taken such a fancy to each other, there is something that I wish to propose to you. It cannot be expected, after all that has passed, and with the lapse of so many years, we could meet as if nothing had come between us—"

      "Who suffered all this to come between us?" cried Mrs. Greyfield, much agitated.

      "But I trust we can meet as friends, dear friends, and that possibly in time we may be re-united, as much for our own sakes, as the children's."

      "Oh, how can I ever forgive him? Does it not seem to you that if Mr. Greyfield had done his duty, all this terrible trouble and illegal marrying would have been avoided? Do you think a man should consider anything in this world before his wife and children, or fail of doing his utmost in any circumstances for them? How else is marriage superior to any illicit relation, if its duties are not sacred and not to be set aside for anything? I could never have done as he has done, blameless as he thinks himself."

      The condition of Mrs. Greyfield's mind was such that no answer was written or attempted that day nor the next. She sent a brief dispatch to Benton, asking him to come home, and come alone. I wished to go away, thinking she would prefer being left quite to herself under the circumstances, but she insisted on my remaining until something had been decided on about the meeting between her and Mr. Greyfield. Benton came home as requested, and the subject was canvassed in all its bearings. The decision arrived at was, that an invitation should be sent to Mr. Greyfield and daughter to visit Mrs. Greyfield for a fortnight. Everything beyond that was left entirely to the future. When all was arranged, I took my leave, promising and being promised frequent letters.

      The last time I was at Mrs. Greyfield's, I found there only herself and her daughter Nellie.

      "I have adopted her," she said, "with her father's consent. She is a charming girl, and I could not bear to leave her motherless. Benton is very much attached to his father. They are off on a mountaineering expedition at present, but I hope they will come home before you go away."

      "Are you not going to tell me," I asked, "how you finally settled matters between Mr. Greyfield and yourself."

      "He is a very persistent suitor," she replied, smiling, "I can hardly tell what to do with him."

      "You do not want to break bark over his head?" I said, laughing.

      "No; but I do almost wish that since he had stayed away so long he had never come back. I had got used to my own quiet, old-maid ways. I was done, or thought I was done, with passion and romance; and now to be tossed about in this way, on the billows of doubt—to love and not to love—to feel revengeful and forgiving—to think one way in the morning and another way by noon, is very tiresome. I really do not know what to do with him."