EPILOGUE
SOME STRAY LEAFLETS FROM AN OLD DIARY OF ALTHEA KNOLLYS, FOUND BY ME INTHE PACKET LEFT IN MY CHARGE BY HER DAUGHTER LUCETTA.
I never thought I should do so foolish a thing as begin a diary. When inmy boarding-school days (which I am very glad to be rid of) I used tosee Meeley Butterworth sit down every night of her life over a littlebook which she called the repository of her daily actions, I thoughtthat if ever I reached that point of imbecility I would deserve to havefewer lovers and more sense, just as she so frequently advised me to.And yet here I am, pencil in hand, jotting down the nothings of themoment, and with every prospect of continuing to do so for two weeks atleast. For (why was I born such a chatterbox!) I have seen my fate, andmust talk to some one about him, if only to myself, nature never havingmeant me to keep silence on any living topic that interests me.
Yes, with lovers in Boston, lovers in New York, and a most determinedsuitor on the other side of our own home-walls in Peekskill, I havefallen victim to the grave face and methodical ways of a person I neednot name, since he is the only gentleman in this whole town, except--ButI won't except anybody. Charles Knollys has no peer here or anywhere,and this I am ready to declare, after only one sight of his face and onelook from his eye, though to no one but you, my secret, non-committalconfidant--for to acknowledge to any human being that my admirationcould be caught, or my heart touched, by a person who had not sued twoyears at my feet, would be to abdicate an ascendency I am so accustomedto I could not see it vanish without pain. Besides, who knows how Ishall feel to-morrow? Meeley Butterworth never shows any hesitation inuttering her opinion either of men or things, but then her opinion neverchanges, whilst mine is a very thistle-down, blowing hither and thithertill I cannot follow its wanderings myself. It is one of my charms,certain fools say, but that is nonsense. If my cheeks lacked color andmy eyes were without sparkle, or even if I were two inches tallerinstead of being the tiniest bit of mortal flesh to be found amongst allthe young ladies of my age in our so-called society, I doubt if thelightness of my mind would meet with the approbation of even the warmestwoman-lovers of this time. As it is, it just passes, and sometimes, asto-night, for instance, when I can hardly see to inscribe these lines onthis page for the vision of two grave, if not quietly reproving eyeswhich float between it and me, I almost wish I had some of Meeley'sresponsible characteristics, instead of being the airiest, merriest, andmost volatile being that ever tried to laugh down the grandeur of thisdreary old house with its century of memories.
Ah! that allusion has given me something to say. This house. What isthere about it except its size to make a stranger like me look backcontinually over her shoulder in going down the long halls, or even whennestling comfortably by the great wood-fire in the immense drawing-room?_I_ am not one of your fanciful ones; but I can no more help doing this,than I can help wishing Judge Knollys lived in a less roomy mansion withfewer echoing corners in its innumerable passages. _I_ like brightnessand cheer, at least in my surroundings. If I must have gloom, or aseriousness which some would call gloom, let me have it in individualswhere there is some prospect of a blithe, careless-hearted little midgeteffecting a change, and not in great towering walls and endless floorswhich no amount of sunshine or laughter could ever render homelike, oreven comfortable.
But there! If one has the man, one must have the home, so I had bettersay no more against the home till I am quite sure I do not want the man.For--Well, well, I am not a fool, but I _did_ hear something just then,a something which makes me tremble yet, though I have spent five goodminutes trilling the gayest songs I know.
I think it is very inconsiderate of the witches to bother thus aharmless mite like myself, who only asks for love, light, and moneyenough to buy a ribbon or a jewel when the fancy takes her, which is notas often as my enemies declare. And now a question! Why are my enemiesalways to be found among the girls, and among the plainest of them too?I never heard a man say anything against me, though I have sometimessurprised a look on their faces (I saw it to-day) which might signifyreproof if it were not accompanied by a smile showing anything butdispleasure.
But this is a digression, as Meeley would say. What I want to do, butwhich I seem to find it very difficult to do, is to tell how I came tobe here, and what I have seen since I came. First, then, to be veryshort about the matter, I am here because the old folks--that is, myfather and Mr. Knollys, have decided Charles and I should know eachother. In thought, I courtesy to the decision; I think we ought to too.For while many other men are handsomer or better known, or have moremoney, alas! than he, he alone has a way of drawing up to one's sidewith an air that captivates the eye and sets the heart trembling, aheart, moreover, that never knew before it could tremble, except in thepresence of great worldly prosperity and beautiful, beautiful things.So, as this experience is new, I am dutifully obliged for the excitementit gives me, and am glad to be here, awesome as the place is, anddestitute of any such pleasures as I have been accustomed to in the gaycities where I have hitherto spent most of my time.
But there! I am rambling again. I have come to X., as you now see, forgood and sufficient reasons, and while this house is one of consequenceand has been the resort of many notable people, it is a little lonesome,our only neighbor being a young man who has a fine enough appearance,but who has already shown his admiration of me so plainly--of course hewas in the road when I drove up to the house--that I lost all interestin him at once, such a nonsensical liking at first sight being, as Itake it, a tribute only to my audacious little travelling bonnet and thecurl or two which will fall out on my cheek when I move my head abouttoo quickly, as I certainly could not be blamed for doing, in drivinginto a place where I was expected to make myself happy for two weeks.
He, then, is out of these chronicles. When I say his name is ObadiahTrohm, you will probably be duly thankful. But he is not as stiff andbiblical as his name would lead you to expect. On the contrary, he islithe, graceful, and suave to a point which makes Charles Knollys'judicial face a positive relief to the eye and such little understandingas has been accorded me.
I cannot write another word. It is twelve o'clock, and though I have thecosiest room in the house, all chintz and decorated china, I find myselflistening and peering just as I did down-stairs in their great barn of adrawing-room. I wonder if any very dreadful things ever happened in thishouse? I will ask old Mr. Knollys to-morrow, or--or Mr. Charles.
* * * * *
I am sorry I was so inquisitive; for the stories Charles told me--Ithought I had better not trouble the old gentleman--have only served topeople the shadows of this rambling old house with figures of whoseacquaintance I am likely to be more or less shy. One tale in particulargave me the shivers. It was about a mother and daughter who both lovedthe same man (it seems incredible, girls so seldom seeing with the eyesof their mothers), and it was the daughter who married him, while themother, broken-hearted, fled from the wedding and was driven up to thegreat door, here, in a coach, dead. They say that the coach stilltravels the road just before some calamity to the family,--a phantomcoach which floats along in shadow, turning the air about it to mistthat chills the marrow in the bones of the unfortunate who sees it. I amgoing to see it myself some day, the real coach, I mean, in which thistragic event took place. It is still in the stable, Charles tells me. Iwonder if I will have the courage to sit where that poor devoted motherbreathed out her miserable existence. I shall endeavor to do so if onlyto defy the fate which seems to be closing in upon me.
Charles is an able lawyer, but his argument in favor of close bonnets_versus_ bewitching little pokes with a rose or two in front, was veryweak, I thought, to-day. He seemed to think so himself, after a while;for when, as the only means of convincing him of the weakness of thecause he was advocating, I ran up-stairs and put on a poke similar tothe aforesaid, he retracted at once and let the case go by default. Forwhich I, and the poke, made suitable acknowledgments, to the greatamusement of papa Knollys, who was on my
side from the first.
Not much going on to-day. Yet I have never felt merrier. Oh, ye hideous,bare old walls! Won't I make you ring if----
* * * * *
I won't have it! I won't have that smooth, persistent hypocrite pushinghis way into my presence, when my whole heart and attention belong to aman who would love me if he only could get his own leave to do so.Obadiah Trohm has been here to-day, on one pretext or another, threetimes. Once he came to bring some very choice apples--as if I cared forapples! The second time he had a question of great importance, no doubt,to put to Charles, and as Charles was in my company, the whole interviewlasted, let us say, a good half-hour at least. The third time he came,it was to see _me_, which, as it was now evening, meant talk, talk, talkin the great drawing-room, with just a song interpolated now and then,instead of a cosy chat in the window-seat of the pretty Flower Parlor,with only one pair of ears to please and one pair of eyes to watch.Master Trohm was intrusive, and, if no one felt it but myself, it isbecause Charles Knollys has set himself up an ideal of womanhood towhich I am a contradiction. But that will not affect the end. A womanmay be such a contradiction and yet win, if her heart is in the struggleand she has, besides, a certain individuality of her own which appealsto the eye and heart if not to the understanding. I do not despair ofseeing Charles Knollys' forehead taking a very deep frown at sight ofhis handsome and most attentive neighbor. Heigho! why don't I answerMeeley Butterworth's last letter? Am I ashamed to tell her that I haveto limit my effusion to just four pages because I have commenced adiary?
* * * * *
I declare I begin to regard it a misfortune to have dimples. I neverhave regarded it so before when I have seen man after man succumb tothem, but _now_ they have become my bane, for they attract two admirers,just at the time they should attract but one, and it is upon the wrongman they flash the oftenest; why, I leave it to all true lovers toexplain. As a consequence, Master Trohm is beginning to assume an air ofsuperiority, and Charles, who may not believe in dimples, but who onthat very account, perhaps, seems to be always on the lookout for them,shrinks more or less into the background, as is not becoming in a manwith so many claims to respect, if not to love. _I_ want to feel thateach one of these precious fourteen days contains all that it can ofdelight and satisfaction, and how can I when Obadiah--oh, the charmingand romantic name!--holds my crewels, instead of Charles, and whisperswords which, coming from other lips, would do more than waken mydimples!
But if I must have a suitor, just when a suitor is not wanted, let me atleast make him useful. Charles shall read his own heart in this man'spassion.
* * * * *
I don't know why, but I have taken a dislike to the Flower Parlor. Itnow vies with the great drawing-room in my disregard. Yesterday, incrossing it, I felt a chill, so sudden and so penetrating, that Iirresistibly thought of the old saying, "Some one is walking over mygrave." _My grave!_ where lies it, and why should I feel the shudder ofit now? Am I destined to an early death? The bounding life in my veinssays no. But I never again shall like that room. It has made me think.
* * * * *
I have not only sat in the old coach, but I had (let me drop the wordsslowly, they are so precious) I--I have had--a _kiss_--given me there.Charles gave me this kiss; he could not help it. I was sitting on theseat in front, in a sort of mock mirth he was endeavoring to frown upon,when suddenly I glanced up and our eyes met, and--He says it was thesauciness of my dimples (oh, those old dimples! they seem to have stoodme in good stead after all); but I say it was my sincere affection whichdrew him, for he stooped like a man forgetful of everything in the wholewide world but the little trembling, panting being before him, and gaveme one of those caresses which seals a woman's fate forever, and mademe, the feather-brained and thoughtless coquette, a slave to thislarge-minded and true-hearted man for all my life hereafter.
Why I should be so happy over this event is beyond my understanding.That he should be in the seventh heaven of delight is only to beexpected, but that I should find myself tripping through this gloomy oldhouse like one treading on air is a mystery, to the elucidation of whichI can only give my dimples. My reason can make nothing out of it. I, whothought of nothing short of a grand establishment in Boston, money,servants, and a husband who would love me blindly whatever my faults,have given my troth--you will say my lips, but the one means theother--to a man who will never be known outside of his own county, neverbe rich, never be blind even, for he frowns upon me as often as hesmiles, and, worst of all, who lives in a house so vast and so full oftragic suggestion that it might well awaken doleful anticipations inmuch more serious-minded persons than myself.
And yet I am happy, so happy that I have even attempted to make theacquaintance of the grim old portraits and weak pastels which line thewalls of many of these bedrooms. Old Mr. Knollys caught me courtesyingjust now before one of these ancestral beauties, whose face seemed tohold a faint prophecy of my own, and perceiving by my blushes that thiswas something more than a mere childish freak on my part, he chucked meunder the chin and laughingly asked, how long it was likely to be beforehe might have the honor of adding my pretty face to the collection.Which should have made me indignant, only I am not in an indignant moodjust now.
* * * * *
Why have I been so foolish? Why did I not let my over-fond neighbor knowfrom the beginning that I detested him, instead of--But what have I doneanyway? A smile, a nod, a laughing word mean nothing. When one has eyeswhich persist in dancing in spite of one's every effort to keep themdemure, men who become fools are apt to call one a coquette, when alittle good sense would teach them that the woman who smiles always hassome other way of showing her regard to the man she really favors. Icould not help being on merry terms with Mr. Trohm, if only to hide theeffect another's presence has on me. But he thinks otherwise, and to-dayI had ample reason for seeing why his good looks and easy manners haveinvariably awakened distrust in me rather than admiration. Master Trohmis vindictive, and I should be afraid of him, if I had not observed inhim the presence of another passion which will soon engross all hisattention and make him forget me as soon as ever I become Charles' wife.Money is his idol, and as fortune seems to favor him, he will soon behappy in the mere pleasure of accumulation. But this is not relatingwhat happened to-day.
We were walking in the shrubbery (by _we_ I naturally mean Charles andmyself), and he was saying things which made me at the same time happyand a bit serious, when I suddenly felt myself under the spell of somebaleful influence that filled me with a dismay I could neitherunderstand nor escape from.
As this could not proceed from Charles, I turned to look about me, whenI encountered the eyes of Obadiah Trohm, who was leaning on the fenceseparating his grounds from those of Mr. Knollys, looking directly atus. If I flinched at this surveillance, it was but the naturalexpression of my indignation. His face wore a look calculated tofrighten any one, and though he did not respond to the gesture I madehim, I felt that my only chance of escaping a scene was to induceCharles to leave me before he should see what I saw in the loweringcountenance of his intrusive neighbor. As the situation demandedself-possession and the exercise of a ready wit, and as these arequalities in which I am not altogether deficient, I succeeded incarrying out my intention sooner even than I expected. Charles hurriedfrom my presence at the first word, and proceeded towards the housewithout seeing Trohm, and I, quivering with dread, turned towards theman whom I felt, rather than saw, approaching me.
He met me with a look I shall never forget. I have had lovers--too manyof them,--and this is not the first man I have been compelled to meetwith rebuff and disdain, but never in the whole course of my none tooextended existence have I been confronted by such passion or overwhelmedwith such bitter recrimination. He seemed like a man beside himself, yethe was quiet, too quiet, and while his voice did not rise above awhisper, an
d he approached no nearer than the demands of courtesyrequired, he produced so terrifying an effect upon me that I longed tocry for help, and would have done so, but that my throat closed withfright, and I could only gurgle forth a remonstrance, too faint even forhim to hear.
"You have played with a man's best feelings," he said. "You have led meto believe that I had only to speak to have you for my own. Are yousimply foolish, or are you wicked? Did you care for me at all, or was itonly your wish to increase the number of men in your train? This one"(here his hand pointed quiveringly towards the house) "has enjoyed ahappiness denied me. His hand has touched yours, his lips--" Here hiswords became almost unintelligible till his purpose gave him strength,and he cried: "But notwithstanding this, notwithstanding any vows youmay have exchanged, I have claims upon you that I will not yield. I whohave loved no woman before you, will have such a hand in your fate thatyou will never be able to separate yourself from the influence I shallexert over you. I will not intrude between you and your lover; I willnot affect dislike or disturb your outer life with any vain display ofmy hatred or my passion, but I will work upon your secret thoughts, andcreate a slowly increasing dread in the inner sanctuary of your hearttill you wish you had called up the deadliest of serpents in yourpathway rather than the latent fury of Obadiah Trohm. You are a girlnow; when you are married and become a mother, you will understand me.For the present I leave you. The shadow of this old house which hasnever seen much happiness within it will soon rest upon your thoughtlesshead. What that will not do, your own inherent weakness will. The womanwho trifles with a strong man's heart has a flaw in her nature whichwill work out her own destruction in time. I can afford to let you enjoyyour prospective honeymoon in peace. Afterwards--" He cast a threateninglook towards the decaying structure behind me, and was silent. But thatsilence did not unloose my tongue. I was absolutely speechless.
"Ten brides have crossed yonder threshold," he presently went on in alow musing tone freighted with horrible fatality. "One--and she was thegirl whose mother was driven up to these doors dead--lived to take hergrandchildren on her knees. The rest died early, and most of themunhappily. Oh, I have studied the traditions of your future home! _You_will live, but of all the brides who have triumphed in the honorablename of Knollys, you will lead the saddest life and meet the gloomiestend notwithstanding you stand before me now, with loose locks flying inthe wind, and a heart so gay that even my despair can barely pale theroses on your cheek."
This was the raving of a madman. I recognized it as such, and took alittle heart. How could he see into my future? How could he prophesyevil to one over whom he will have no control? to one watched over andbeloved by a man like Charles? He is a dreamer, a fanatic. His talkabout the flaw in my nature is nonsense, and as for the fate loweringover my head, in the shadows falling from the toppling old house inwhich I am likely to take up my abode--that is only frenzy, and I wouldbe unworthy of happiness to heed it. As I realized this, my indignationgrew, and, uttering a few contemptuous words, I was hurrying away whenhe stopped me with a final warning.
"Wait!" he said, "women like you cannot keep either their joys or theirmiseries to themselves. But I advise you not to take Charles Knollysinto your confidence. If you do, a duel will follow, and if I have notthe legal acumen of your intended, I have an eye and a hand before whichhe must fall, if our passions come to an issue. So beware! never whileyou live betray what has passed between us at this interview, unless theweariness of a misplaced affection should come to you, and with it thedesire to be rid of your husband."
A frightful threat which, unfortunately perhaps, has sealed my lips. Oh,why should such monsters live!
* * * * *
I have been all through the house to-day with old Mr. Knollys. Everyroom was opened for my inspection, and I was bidden to choose whichshould be refurnished for my benefit. It was a gruesome trip, from whichI have returned to my own little nook of chintz as to a refuge. Greatrooms which for years have been the abode of spiders, are not much to myliking, but I chose out two which at least have fireplaces in them, andthese are to be made as cheerful as circumstances will permit. I hopewhen I again see them, it will not be by the light of a waning Novemberafternoon, when the few leaves still left to flutter from the treesblow, soggy and wet, against the panes of the solitary windows, or liein sodden masses at the foot of the bare trunks, which cluster sothickly on the lawn as to hide all view of the highroad. I was meant forlaughter and joy, flashing lights, and the splendors of ballrooms. Whyhave I chosen, then, to give up the great world and settle down in thisgrimmest of grim old houses in a none too lively village? I think it isbecause I love Charles Knollys, and so, no matter how my heart sinks inthe dim shadows that haunt every spot I stray into, I will be merry,will think of Charles instead of myself, and so live down the unhappyprophecies uttered by the wretch who, with his venomous words, hasrobbed the future of whatever charm my love was likely to cast upon it.The fact that this man left the town to-day for a lengthy trip abroadshould raise my spirits more than it has. If we were going now, Charlesand I--But why dream of a Paradise whose doors remain closed to you? Itis here our honeymoon is destined to be passed; within these walls andin sight of the bare boughs rattling at this moment against the panes.
I made a misstatement when I said that I had gone into all the rooms ofthe house this afternoon. _I did not enter the Flower Parlor._
* * * * *
I had been married a month and had, as I thought, no further use forthis foolish diary. So one evening when Charles was away, I attempted toburn it.
But when I had flung myself down before the blazing logs of my bedroomfire (I was then young enough to love to crouch for hours on the rug inmy lonely room, seeking for all I delighted in and longed for in theglowing embers), some instinct, or was it a premonition? made mewithhold from destruction a record which coming events might make worthyof preservation. That was five years ago, and to-day I have reopened thesecret drawer in which this simple book has so long lain undisturbed,and am once more penning lines destined perhaps to pass into obliviontogether with the others. Why? I do not know. There is no change in mymarried life. I have no trouble, no anxiety, no reason for dread;yet--Well, well, some women are made for the simple round of domesticduties, and others are as out of place in the nursery and kitchen asbutterflies in a granary. I want just the things Charles cannot give me.I have home, love, children, all that some women most crave, and while Iidolize my husband and know of nothing sweeter than my babies, I yethave spells of such wretched weariness, that it would be a relief to meto be a little less comfortable if only I might enjoy a more brilliantexistence. But Charles is not rich; sometimes I think he is poor, andhowever much I may desire change, I cannot have it. Heigho! and, what isworse, I haven't had a new dress in a year; I who so love dress, andbecome it so well! Why, if it is my lot to go shabby, and tie up mydancing ringlets with faded ribbons, was I made with the figure of afairy and given a temperament which, without any effort on my part,makes me, diminutive as I am, the centre of every group I enter? If Iwere plain, or shy, or even self-contained, I might be happy here, butnow--There! there! I will go kiss little William, and lay Loreen's babyarm about my neck and see if the wicked demons will fly away. Charles istoo busy for me to intrude upon him in that horrid Flower Parlor.
* * * * *
I was never superstitious till I entered this house; but now I believein every sort of thing a sane woman should not. Yesterday, after aneglect of five years, I brought out my diary. To-day I have to recordin it that there was a reason for my doing so. Obadiah Trohm hasreturned home. I saw him this morning leaning over his fence in the sameplace and in very much the same attitude as on that day when hefrightened me so, a month before my wedding.
But he did not frighten me to-day. He merely looked at me very sharplyand with a less offensive admiration than in the early days of our firstacquaintance. At which I made him my b
est courtesy. I was not going toremind him of the past in our new relations, and he, thankful perhapsfor this, took off his hat with a smile I am trying even yet to explainto myself. Then we began to talk. He had travelled everywhere and I hadbeen nowhere; he wore the dress and displayed the manners of the greatworld, while I had only a hungry desire to do the same. As for fashion,I needed all my beauty and the fading sparkle of my old animation toenable me to hold up my head before him.
But as for liking him, I did not. I could admire his appearance, but hehimself attracted me no more than when he had words of angry fury on histongue. He is a gentleman, and one who has seen the world, but in otherways he is no more to be compared with my Charles than his pert newhouse, built in his absence, with the grand old structure with whosefatality he once threatened me.
I do not think he wants to threaten me with disaster now. Time closessuch wounds as his very effectually. I wish we had some of his money.
* * * * *
I have always heard that the wives of the Knollys, whatever theirmisfortune, have always loved their husbands. I do not think I am anyexception to the rule. When Charles has leisure to give me an hour fromhis musty old books, the place here seems lively enough, and thechildren's voices do not sound so shrill. But these hours are soinfrequent. If it were not for Mr. Trohm's journal (Did I mention thathe had lent me a journal of his travels?) I should often eat my heartout with loneliness. I am beginning to like the man better as I followhim from city to city of the old world. If he had ever mentioned me inits pages, I would not read another line in it, but he seems to haveexpended both his love and spite when he bade me farewell in the gardenunderlying these bleak old walls.
* * * * *
I am becoming as well acquainted with Mr. Trohm's handwriting as with myown. I read and read and read in his journal, and only stop when thedreaded midnight hour comes with its ghostly suggestions and theunaccountable noises which make this old dwelling so uncanny. Charlesoften finds me curled up over this book, and when he does he sighs. Why?
* * * * *
I have been teaching Loreen to dance. Oh, how merry it has made me! Ithink I will be happier now. We have the large upper hall to take stepsin, and when she makes a misstep we laugh, and that is a good sound tohear in this old place. If I could only have a little money to buy her afresh frock and some ribbons, I would feel perfectly satisfied; but I dobelieve Charles is getting poorer and poorer every day; the place costsso much to keep up, he says, and when his father died there were debtsto be paid which leaves us, his innocent inheritors, very straitened.Master Trohm has no such difficulties. He has money enough. But I don'tlike the man for all that, polite as he is to us all. He seems to quiteadore Loreen, and as to William, he pets him till I feel almostuncomfortable at times.
* * * * *
What shall I do? I am invited to New York, _I_, and Charles says I maygo, too--only I have nothing to wear. Oh, for some money! a littlemoney! it is my right to have some money; but Charles tells me he canonly spare enough to pay my expenses, that my Sunday frock looks verywell, and that, even if it did not, I am pretty enough to do withoutfine clothes, and other nonsense like that,--sweet enough, but totallywithout point, in fact. If I am pretty, all the more I need a littlefinery to set me off, and, besides, to go to New York withoutmoney--why, I should be perfectly miserable. Charles himself ought torealize this, and be willing to sell his old books before he would letme go into this whirl of temptation without a dollar to spend. As hedon't, I must devise some plan of my own for obtaining a little money,for I won't give up my trip--the first offered me since I wasmarried,--and neither will I go away and come back without a gift for mytwo girls, who have grown to womanhood without a jewel to adorn them ora silk dress to make them look like gentlemen's children. But how getmoney without Charles knowing it? Mr. Trohm is such a good friend, hemight lend me a little, but I don't know how to ask him withoutrecalling to his mind certain words long since forgotten by him perhaps,but never to be forgotten by me, feather-brained as many people thinkme. Is there any one else?
* * * * *
I wonder if some things are as wicked as people say they are. I----
* * * * *
Here the diary breaks off abruptly. But we know what followed. Theforgery, the discovery of it by her suave but secret enemy, hisunnatural revenge, and the never-dying enmity which led to the tragicevents it has been my unhappy fortune to relate at such length. PoorAlthea! with thy name I write _finis_ to these pages. May the dust lielightly on thy breast under the shadow of the Flower Parlor, throughwhich thy footsteps passed with such dread in the old days of thyyouthful beauty and innocence!
THE END
WORKS BY Anna Katharine Green
The Leavenworth Case. A Strange Disappearance. The Sword of Damocles. Hand and Ring. The Mill Mystery. Behind Closed Doors. Cynthia Wakeham's Money. Marked "Personal." Miss Hurd: An Enigma. Dr. Izard. That Affair Next Door. Lost Man's Lane. Agatha Webb. The Old Stone House. The Doctor, His Wife, and the Clock. X. Y. Z. A Detective Story. 7 to 12. A Detective Story. The Defence of the Bride. Risifi's Daughter. A Drama.
Lost Man's Lane: A Second Episode in the Life of Amelia Butterworth Page 42