The words of tender reminiscence, and of fond though rather late
devotion, with which Mrs Keswick had stabbed and gashed the soul of
the poor old gentleman, had at first deranged his senses, and then
driven him into a state of abject despair, but the practical remarks
which succeeded seemed to have a more direful effect upon him. The
idea of the being with the sun-bonnet and the umbrella entering into
his life at Midbranch, tearing down the broad steps which his honored
father had built, cutting a gravelled path across the green turf which
had been the pride of generations, and doing, no man could say what
else, of advice and direction, seemed to strike a chill of terror into
his very bones.

The quick perception of Mrs Keswick told her that it was time to
terminate the interview. "I will not say anything more to you now,
Robert," she said. "Of course you have been surprised at my coming to
you to-day, and accepting your offer of marriage, and you must have
time to quiet your mind, and think it over. I don't doubt your
affection, Robert, and I don't want to hurry you. I am going to stay
here to-night, so that we can have plenty of time to settle everything
comfortably. I'll go now and get one of the servants to show me to a
room where I can take off my things. I'll see you again at dinner."

And, with a smile of antiquated coyness, she left the room.




CHAPTER XXX.


Mr Brandon was not a weak man, nor one very susceptible to outside
influences, but, in the whole course of his life, nothing so
extraordinarily nerve-stirring had occurred to him as this visit of
old Mrs Keswick, endeavoring to appear in the character of the young
creature he had wooed some forty-five years before. For a long time,
Mrs Keswick had been the enemy of himself and his family; and many a
bitter onslaught she had made upon him, both by letter, and by word of
mouth. These he had borne with the utmost bravery and coolness, and
there were times when they even afforded him entertainment. But this
most astounding attack was something against which no man could have
been prepared; and Mr Brandon, suddenly pounced upon in the midst of
his comfortable bachelordom by a malevolent sorceress and hurled back
to the days of his youth, was shown himself kneeling, not at the feet
of a fair young girl, but before a horrible old woman.

This amazing and startling state of affairs was too much for him
immediately to comprehend. It stunned and bewildered him. Such,
indeed, was the effect upon him that the first act of his mind, when
he was left alone, and it began to act, was to ask of itself if there
were really any grounds upon which Mrs Keswick could, with any reason,
take up her position? The absolute absurdity of her position, however,
became more and more evident, as Mr Brandon's mind began to straighten
itself and stand up. And now he grew angry. Anger was a passion with
which he was not at all unfamiliar, and the exercise of it seemed to
do him good. When he had walked up and down his library for a quarter
of an hour, he felt almost like his natural self; and with many nods
of his head and shakes of his fist, he declared that the old woman was
crazy, and that he would bundle her home just as soon as he could.

By dinner-time he had cooled down a good deal, and he resolved to
treat her with the respect due to her age and former condition of
sanity; but to take care that she should not again be alone with him,
and to arrange that she should return to her home that day.

Mrs Keswick came to the table with a smiling face, and wearing a
close-fitting white cap, which looked like a portion of her night
gear, tied under her chin with broad, stiff strings. In this she
appeared to her host as far more hideous than when wearing her
sun-bonnet. Mr Brandon had arranged that two servants should wait upon
the table, so that one of them should always be in the room, but in
his supposition that the presence of a third person would have any
effect upon the expression of Mrs Keswick's fond regard, he was
mistaken. The meal had scarcely begun, when she looked around the room
with wide-open eyes, and exclaimed: "Robert, if we should conclude
to remain here, I think we will have this room re-papered with some
light-colored paper. I like a light dining-room. This is entirely too
dark."

The two servants, one of whom was our old friend, Peggy, actually
stopped short in their duties at this remark; and as for Mr Brandon,
his appetite immediately left him, to return no more during that meal.

He was obliged to make some answer to this speech, and so he briefly
remarked that he had no desire to alter the appearance of his
dining-room, and then hastened to change the conversation by making
some inquiries about that interesting young woman, her niece, who, he
had been informed, was not a married lady, as he had supposed her to
be.

At this intelligence, Peggy dropped two spoons and a fork; she had
never heard it before.

"The late Mrs Null," said Mrs Keswick, "is a young woman who likes to
cut her clothes after her own patterns. They may be becoming to her
when they are made up, or they may not be. But I am inclined to think
she has got a pretty good head on her shoulders, and perhaps she
knows what suits her as well as any of us. I can't say it was easy to
forgive the trick she played on me, her own aunt, and just the same,
in fact, as her mother. But Robert," and as she said this the old lady
laid down her knife and fork, and looked tenderly at Mr Brandon, "I
have determined to forgive everybody, and to overlook everything,
and I do this as much for your sake, dear Robert, as for my own. It
wouldn't do for a couple of our age to be keeping up grudges against
the young people for their ways of getting out of marriages or getting
into them. We will have my niece and her husband here sometimes, won't
we, Robert?"

Mr Brandon straightened himself and remarked: "Mr Croft, whom I have
heard your niece is to marry, will be quite welcome here, with his
wife." Then, putting his napkin on the table, and pushing back his
chair, he said: "Now, madam, you must excuse me, for I have orders to
give to some of my people which I had forgotten until this moment. But
do not let me interfere with your dinner. Pray continue your meal."

Never before had Mr Brandon been known to leave his dinner until he
had finished it, and he was not at all accustomed to give such a poor
reason for his actions as the one he gave now, but it was simply
impossible for him to sit any longer at table, and have that old woman
talk in that shocking manner before the servants.

"Robert," cried Mrs Keswick, as he left the room, "I'll save some
dessert for you, and we'll eat it together."

Mr Brandon's first impulse, when he found himself out of the
dining-room, was to mount his horse and ride away; but there was no
place to which he wished to ride; and he was a man who was very loath
to leave the comforts of his home. "No," he said. "She must go, and
not I." And then he went into his parlor, and strode up and down. As
soon as Mrs Keswick had finished her dinner, he would see her there,
and speak his mind to her. He had determined that he would not again
be alone with her, but, since the presence of others was no restraint
whatever upon her, it had become absolutely necessary that he should
speak with her alone.

It was not long before the Widow Keswick, with a brisk, blithe step,
entered the parlor. "I couldn't eat without you, Robert," she cried,
"and so I really haven't half finished my dinner. Did you have to come
in here to speak to your people?"

Mr Brandon stepped to the door, and closed it. "Madam," he said, "it
will be impossible for me, in the absence of my niece, to entertain
you here to-night, and so it would be prudent for you to start for
home as soon as possible, as the days are short. It would be too much
of a journey for your horse to go back again to-day, and your vehicle
is an open one; therefore I have ordered my carriage to be prepared,
and you may trust my driver to take you safely home, even if it should
be dark before you get there. If you desire it, there is a young
maid-servant here who will go with you."

"Robert," said Mrs Keswick, approaching the old gentleman and gazing
fondly upward at him, "you are so good, and thoughtful, and sweet. But
you need not put yourself to all that trouble for me. I shall stay
here to-night, and in your house, dear Robert, I can take care of
myself a great deal better than any lady could take care of me."

"Madam," exclaimed Mr Brandon, "I want you to stop calling me by my
first name. You have no right to do so, and I won't stand it."

"Robert," said the old lady, looking at him with an air of tender
upbraiding, "you forget that I am yours, now, and forever."

Never, since he had arrived at man's estate, and probably not before,
had Mr Brandon spoken in improper language to a lady, but now it was
all he could do to restrain himself from the ejaculation of an oath,
but he did restrain himself, and only exclaimed: "Confound it, madam,
I cannot stand this! Why do you come here, to drive me crazy with your
senseless ravings?"

"Robert," said Mrs Keswick, very composedly "I do not wonder that my
coming to you and accepting the proposals which you once so heartily
made to me, and from which you have never gone back, should work a
good deal upon your feelings. It is quite natural, and I expected it.
Therefore don't hesitate about speaking out your mind; I shall not be
offended. So that we belong to each other for the rest of our days, I
don't mind what you say now, when it is all new and unexpected to you.
You and I have had many a difference of opinion, Robert, and your
plans were not my plans. But things have turned out as you wished, and
you have what you have always wanted; and with the other good things,
Robert, you can take me." And, as she finished speaking, she held out
both hands to her companion.

With a stamp of his foot, and a kick at a chair which stood in his
way, Mr Brandon precipitately left the room, and slammed the door
after him; and if Peggy had not nimbly sprung to one side, he would
have stumbled over her, and have had a very bad fall for a man of his
age.

It was not ten minutes after this, that, looking out of a window, Mrs
Keswick saw a saddled horse brought into the back yard. She hastened
into the hall, and found Peggy. "Run to Mr Brandon," she said, "and
bid him good-bye for me. I am going up stairs to get ready to go home,
and haven't, time to speak to him, myself, before he starts on his
ride."

At the receipt of this message the heart of Mr Brandon gave a bound
which actually helped him to get into the saddle, but he did not
hesitate in his purpose of instant departure. If he staid, but for
a moment, she might come out to him, and change her mind, so he put
spurs to his horse and galloped away, merely stopping long enough, as
he passed the stables, to give orders that the carriage be prepared
for Mrs Keswick, and taken round to the front.

As he rode through the cool air of that fine November afternoon, the
spirits of Mr Brandon rose. He felt a serene satisfaction in assuring
himself that, although he had been very angry, indeed, with Mrs
Keswick, on account of her most unheard of and outrageous conduct, yet
he had not allowed his indignation to burst out against her in any way
of which he would afterward be ashamed. Some hasty words had escaped
him, but they were of no importance, and, under the circumstances, no
one could have avoided speaking them. But, when he had addressed her
at any length, he had spoken dispassionately and practically, and she,
being at bottom a practical woman, had seen the sense of his advice,
and had gone home comfortably in his carriage. Whether she took her
insane fancies home with her, or dropped them on the road, it mattered
very little to him, so that he never saw her again; and he did not
intend to see her again. If she came again to his house, he would
leave it and not return until she had gone; but he had no reason to
suppose that he would be forced into any such exceedingly disagreeable
action as this. He did not believe she would ever come back. For,
unless she were really crazy--crazy--and in that case she ought to be
put in the lunatic asylum--she could not keep up, for any length of
time, the extraordinary and outrageous delusion that he would be
willing to renew the feelings that he had entertained for her in her
youth.

Mr Brandon rode until nearly dark, for it took a good while to free
his mind from the effects of the excitements and torments of that day.
But, when he entered the house and took his seat in his library chair
by the fire, he had almost regained his usual composed and well
satisfied frame of mind.

Then, through the quietly opened door, came Mrs Keswick, and
stealthily stepping towards him in the fitful light of the blazing
logs, she put her hand on his arm and said: "Dear Robert, how glad I
am to see you back!"

The next morning, about ten o'clock, Mrs Keswick sent her eighteenth
or twentieth message to Mr Brandon, who had shut himself up in his
room since a little before supper-time on the previous evening. The
message was sent by Peggy, and she was instructed to shout it outside
of her master's door until he took notice of it. Its purport was that
it was necessary that Mrs Keswick should go home to-day, and that her
horse was harnessed and she was now ready to go, but that she could
not think of leaving until she had seen Mr Brandon again. She would
therefore wait until he was ready to come down.

Mr Brandon looked out of the window and saw the spring-wagon at the
outside of the broad stile, with Plez standing at the sorrel's head.
He remembered that the venerable demon had said, at the first, that
she intended to stay but one night, and he could but believe that she
was now really going. Knowing her as he did, however, he was very well
aware that if she had said she would not leave until she had seen him,
she would stay in his house for a year, unless he sooner went down to
her; therefore he opened his door, and slowly and feebly descended the
stairs.

"My dear, dear Robert!" exclaimed Mrs Keswick, totally regardless of
the fact that Peggy was standing at the front door with her valise in
her hand, and that there was another servant in the hall, "how pale,
and haggard, and worn you look! You must be quite unwell, and I don't
know but that I ought to stay here and take care of you."

At these words a look of agony passed over the old man's face, but he
said nothing.

"But I am afraid I cannot stay any longer this time," continued the
Widow Keswick, "for my niece would not know what had become of me, and
there are things at home that I must attend to; but I will come again.
Don't think I intend to desert you, dear Robert. You shall see me soon
again. But while I am gone," she said, turning to the two servants, "I
want you maids to take good care of your master. You must do it for
his sake, for he has always been kind to you, but I also want you
to do it for my sake. Don't you forget that. And now, dear Robert,
good-bye." As she spoke, she extended her hand towards the old
gentleman.

Without a word, but with a good deal of apparent reluctance, he took
the long, bony hand in his, and probably, would have instantly dropped
it again, had not Mrs Keswick given him a most hearty clutch, and a
vigorous and long-continued shake.

"It is hard, dear Robert," she said, "for us to part, with nothing but
a hand-shake, but there are people about, and this will have to
do." And then, after urging him to take good care of his health, so
valuable to them both, and assuring him that he would soon see her
again, she gave his hand a final shake, and left him. Accompanied by
Peggy, she went out to the spring-wagon and clambered into it. It
almost surpasses belief that Mr Brandon, a Virginia gentleman of the
old school, should have stood in his hall, and have seen an old lady
leave his house and get into a vehicle, without accompanying and
assisting her; but such was the case on this occasion. He seemed to
have forgotten his traditions, and to have lost his impulses. He
simply stood where the Widow Keswick had left him, and gazed at her.

When she was seated, and ready to start, the old lady turned towards
him, called out to him in a cheery voice: "Good-bye, Robert!" and
kissed her hand to him.

Mrs Keswick slowly drove away, and Mr Brandon stood at his hall
door, gazing after her until she was entirely out of sight. Then he
ejaculated: "The Devil's daughter!" and went into his library.

"I wonders," said Peggy when she returned to the kitchen, "how you
all's gwine to like habin dat ole Miss Keswick libin h'yar as you
all's mistiss."

"Who's gwine to hab her?" growled Aunt Judy.

"You all is," sturdily retorted Peggy. "Dar ain't no use tryin' to git
out ob dat. Dat old Miss Keswick done gone an' kunjered Mahs' Robert,
an' dey's boun' to git mar'ed. I done heered all 'bout it, an' she's
comin' h'yar to lib wid Mahs' Robert. But dat don' make no dif'rence
to me. I's gwine to lib wid Mahs' Junius an' Miss Rob in New York, I
is. But I's mighty sorry for you all."

"You Peggy," shouted the irate Aunt Judy, "shut up wid your fool talk!
When Mahs' Robert marry dat ole jimpsun weed, de angel Gabr'el blow
his hohn, shuh."

Slowly driving along the road to her home, the Widow Keswick gazed
cheerfully at the blue sky above her, and the pleasant autumn scenery
around her; sniffed the fine fresh air, delicately scented with the
odor of falling leaves; and settling herself into a more comfortable
position on her seat, she complacently said to herself: "Well, I
reckon the old scapegrace has got his money's worth this time!"




CHAPTER XXXI.


There were two reasons why Peggy could not go to live with "Mahs'
Junius and Miss Rob" in New York. In the first place, this couple
had no intention of setting up an establishment in that city; and
secondly, Peggy, as Roberta well knew, was not adapted by nature to be
her maid, or the maid of any one else. Peggy's true vocation in life
was to throw her far-away gaze into futurity, and, as far as in her
lay, to adapt present circumstances to what she supposed was going to
happen. It would have delighted her soul if she could have been the
adept in conjuring, which she firmly believed the Widow Keswick to be;
but, as she possessed no such gift, she made up the deficiency, as
well as she could, by mixing up her mind, her soul, and her desires,
into a sort of witch's hodge-podge, which she thrust as a spell
into the affairs of other people. Twice had the devices of this
stupid-looking wooden peg of a negro girl stopped Lawrence Croft in
the path he was following in his pursuit of Roberta March. If Lawrence
had known, at the time, what Peggy was doing, he would have considered
her an unmitigated little demon; but afterward, if he could have
known of it, he would have thought her a very unprepossessing and
conscienceless guardian angel.

As it was, he knew not what she had done, and never considered her at
all.

Junius Keswick took much more delight in farming than he did in the
practice of the law, and it was only because he had felt himself
obliged to do so, that he had adopted the legal profession. To be
a farmer, one must have a farm; but a lawyer can frequently make a
living from the lands of other men. He was very willing, therefore,
to agree to the plan which, for years, had been Mr Brandon's most
cherished scheme; that he and Roberta should make their home at
Midbranch, and that he should take charge of the estate, which would
be his wife's property after the old gentleman's decease. Roberta was
as fond of the country as was Junius, but she was also a city woman;
and it was arranged that the couple should spend a portion of each
winter in New York, at the house of Mr March.

Junius, and Roberta, as well as her father, hoped very much that they
might be able to induce Mr Brandon to come to New York to attend the
wedding, which was to take place the middle of January; but they were
not confident of success, for they knew the old gentleman disliked
very much to travel, especially in winter. Three very pressing letters
were therefore written to Mr Brandon; and the writers were much
surprised to receive, in a short time, a collective answer, in which
he stated that he would not only be present at the wedding, but that
he thought of spending several months in New York. It would be very
lonely at Midbranch, he wrote, without Roberta--though why it should
be more so this year, than during preceding winters, he did not
explain--and he felt a desire to see the changes that had taken place
in the metropolis since he had visited it, years ago.

They would not have been so much surprised had they known that Mr
Brandon did not feel himself safe in his own home, by night or by day.
Frequently had he gazed out of a window at the point in the road on
which the first sight of an approaching spring-wagon could have been
caught; and had said to himself: "If only Roberta were here, that old
hag would not dare to speak a word to me! I don't want to go away,
but, by George! I don't see how I can stay here without Rob."

There was a short, very black, and somewhat bowlegged negro man on the
place, named Israel Bonaparte, who lived in a little cabin by himself,
and was noted for his unsocial disposition, and his taciturnity. To
him Mr Brandon went one day, and said: "Israel, I want you to go to
work on the fence rows on my side of the road to Howlett's. Grub up
the bushes, clear out the vines and weeds, and see that the rails and
posts are all in order. That will be a job that I expect will last you
until the roads begin to get heavy. And, by the way, Israel, while you
are at work, I want you to keep a lookout for any visitors that may
turn into our road, especially if they happen to be ladies. Now that
Miss Rob is away, I am very particular about knowing, beforehand, when
ladies are coming to visit me; and when you see any wagon or carriage
turn in, I want you to make a short cut across the fields, and let me
know it, and I will give you a quarter of a dollar every time you do
so." This was a very pleasant job of work for the meditative Israel.
He was not very fond of grubbing, but he earned the greater part of
his ten dollars a month and rations, by sitting on the fence, smoking
a corn-cob pipe, and attending to the second division of the work
which his employer had set him to do.

Lawrence Croft was in New York at this time, a very busy man,
arranging his affairs in that city, so that they would not need
his personal attention for some time to come; he sub-let, for the
remainder of his lease, the suite of bachelor apartments he had
occupied, and he stored his furniture and books. One might have
imagined that he was taking in all possible sails; close reefing the
others; battening down the hatches; and preparing to run before a
storm; and yet his demeanor did not indicate that he expected any
violent commotion of the elements. On the contrary, his friends and
acquaintances thought him particularly blithe and gay. He told them he
was going to be married.

"To that Virginia lady, I suppose," said one. "I remember her very
well; and consider you fortunate."

"I don't think you ever met her," said Mr Croft. "She is a Miss
Peyton, from King Thomas County."

"Ah!" remarked his interlocutor. Lawrence walked to the window of the
club-room, and stood there, slowly puffing his cigar. Had anybody met
this one? he thought. He knew she had seen but little company during
her father's life, but was it likely that any of his acquaintances had
had business at Candy's Information Shop? As this idea came into his
mind, there seemed to be something unpleasant in the taste of his
cigar, and he threw it into the fire. A few turns, however, up and
down the now almost deserted rooms, restored his tone; he lighted
another cigar, and now there came up before him a vision of the girl
who, from loyalty to her dead father, preferred to sit all day behind
Candy's money desk rather than go to a relative who had not been his
friend. And then he saw the young girl who took up so courageously the
cause of one of her own blood--the boy cousin of her childhood; and
with a lover's pride, Lawrence thought of the dash, the spirit, and
the bravery with which she had done it.

"By George!" he said to himself, his eyes sparkling, and his step
quickening, "she has more in her than all the rest of them put
together!"

Who were included in "the rest of them," Lawrence was not prepared
just then to say, but the expression was intended to have a very wide
range.

It was about the middle of December, when Lawrence paid another visit
to Mrs Keswick's house. The day was cold, but clear, and as he drove
up to the outer gate, he saw the old lady returning from a walk to
Howlett's. She stepped along briskly, and was in a very good humor,
for she had just posted a carefully concocted letter to Mr Brandon, in
which she had expatiated, in her peculiar style, on the pleasure
which she expected from an early visit to Midbranch. She had not the
slightest idea of going there, at present, but she thought it quite
time to freshen up the old gentleman's anticipations.

Descending from his carriage to meet her, Lawrence was very warmly
greeted, and the two went up to the house together.

"I expect the late Mrs Null will be very glad to see you," said Mrs
Keswick. "I think she has burned up all her widow's weeds."

"You should be very much obliged to your niece," said Mr Croft, "for
so delicately ridding you of that dreadful fertilizer man."

"Humph!" said the old lady. "She cheated me out of the pleasure of
telling him what I thought of him, and I shall never forgive her for
that."

As Lawrence and Annie sat together in the parlor that evening, he told
her what he had been doing in New York, and this brought to her lips a
question, which she was very anxious to have answered. She knew that
Lawrence was rich; that his methods of life and thought made him a man
of the cities; and she felt quite certain that the position to
which he would conduct her was that of the mistress of a handsome
town-house, and the wife of a man of society. She liked handsome
town-houses, and she was sure she would like society; but it would all
be very new and strange to her, and, although she was a brave girl at
heart, she shrank from making such a plunge as this.

"How are we going to live?" repeated Lawrence. "That, of course, is
to be as you shall choose, but I have a plan to propose to you, and I
want very much to hear what you think about it. And the plan is, that
we shall not live anywhere for a year or two, but wander, fancy free,
over as much of the world as pleases us; and then decide where we
shall settle down, and how we shall like to do it."

If Annie's answer had been expressed in words, it might have been
given here. It may be said, however, that it was very quick, very
affirmative, and, in more ways than one, highly satisfactory to
Lawrence.

"Is it London, and a landlady, and tea?" she presently asked.

"Yes, it is that," he said.

"Is it the shops on the Boulevards?"

"Yes," said Lawrence.

"And the Appian Way? And the Island of Capri? And snow mountains in
the distance?" she asked.

"In their turn, most certainly," said her lover, "and it shall be the
midnight sun, and the Nile, if you like."

"Freddy," exclaimed the late Mrs Null, "I thank thee for what thou
hast given me!" And she clasped the hand of Lawrence in both her own.




CHAPTER XXXII.


The marriage of Junius Keswick and Roberta March was appointed for the
fifteenth of January, and Mr Brandon had arranged to be in New York a
few days before the event. He intended, however, to leave Midbranch
soon after the first of the year, and to spend a week with some of his
friends in Richmond.

It was on the afternoon of New Year's Day, and Mr Brandon was sitting
in his library with Colonel Pinckney Macon, an elderly gentleman
of social habits and genial temper, whom Mr Brandon had invited to
Midbranch to spend the holidays, and who was afterwards to be his
travelling companion as far as Richmond. The two had had a very good
dinner, and were now sitting before the fire smoking their pipes, and
paying occasional attention to two tumblers of egg-nogg, which stood
on a small table between them. They were telling anecdotes of olden
times, and were in very good humor indeed, when a servant came in with
a note, which had just been brought for Mr Brandon. The old gentleman
took the missive, and put on his eye-glasses, but the moment he read
the address, he let his hand fall on his knee, and gave vent to an
angry ejaculation.

"It's from that rabid old witch, the Widow Keswick!" he exclaimed,"
I've a great mind to throw it into the fire without reading it."

"Don't do that," cried Colonel Macon. "It is a New Year present she is
sending you. Read it, sir, read it by all means."

Mr Brandon had given his friend an account of his unexampled and
astounding persecutions by the Widow Keswick, and the old colonel had
been much interested thereby; and it would have greatly grieved his
soul not to become acquainted with this new feature of the affair.
"Read it, sir," he cried; "I would like to know what sort of New Year
congratulations she offers you."

"Congratulations indeed!" said Mr Brandon; "you needn't expect
anything of that kind." But he opened the note; and, turning, so that
he could get a good light upon it, began to read aloud, as follows:

"MY DEAREST ROBERT."

"Confound it, sir," exclaimed the reader, "did you ever hear of such a
piece of impertinence as that?"

Colonel Pinckney Macon leaned back in his chair, and laughed aloud.
"It is impertinent," he cried, "but it's confoundedly jolly! Go on,
sir. Go on, I beg of you."

Mr Brandon continued:

"It is not for me to suggest anything of the kind, but I write this
note simply to ask you what you would think of a triple wedding? There
would certainly be something very touching about it, and it would be
very satisfactory and comforting, I am sure, to our nieces and their
husbands to know that they were not leaving either of us to a lonely
life. Would we not make three happy pairs, dear Robert? Remember, I do
not propose this, I only lay it before your kindly and affectionate
heart.

"Your own

"Martha Ann Keswick."


Colonel Macon, who, with much difficulty and redness of face, had
restrained himself during the reading of this note, now burst into a
shout of laughter, while Mr Brandon sprang to his feet, and crumpling
the note in his hand, threw it into the fire; and then, turning
around, he exclaimed: "Did the world ever hear anything like that!
Triple wedding, indeed! Does the pestiferous old shrew imagine that
anything in this world would induce me to marry her?"

"Why, my dear sir," cried Colonel Macon, "of course she don't. I know
the Widow Keswick as well as you do. She wouldn't marry you to save
your soul, sir. All she wants to do is to worry and persecute you, and
to torment your senses out of you, in revenge for your having got the
better of her. Now, take my advice, sir, and don't let her do it.

"I'd like to know how I am going to hinder her," said Mr Brandon.

"Hinder her!" exclaimed Colonel Macon. "Nothing easier in this world,
sir! Just you turn right square round, and face her, sir; and you'll
see that she'll stop short, sir; and, what's more, she'll run, sir!"

"How am I to face her?" asked Mr Brandon. "I have faced her, and I
assure you, sir, she didn't run."

"That was because you did not go to work in the right way," said the
colonel. "Now, if I were in your place, sir, this is what I would do.
I'd turn on her and I'd scare her out of all the wits she has left.
I'd say to her: 'Madam, I think your proposition is an excellent one.
I am ready to marry you to-day, or, at the very latest, to-morrow
morning. I'll come to your house, and bring a clergyman, and some of
my friends. Don't let there be the least delay, for I desire to start
immediately for New York, and to take you with me.' Now, sir, a note
like that would frighten that old woman so that she would leave her
house, and wouldn't come back for six weeks; and the letter you have
just burned would be the last attack she would make on you. Now, sir,
that is what I would do if I were in your place."

Mr Brandon sat down, drained his tumbler of egg-nogg, and began to
think of what his friend had said. And, as he thought of it, the
conviction forced itself upon him that this idea of Colonel Macon's
was a good one; in fact, a splendid one. Now that he came to look upon
the matter more clearly than he had done before, he saw that this
persecution on the part of the Widow Keswick was not only base, but
cowardly. He had been entirely too yielding, had given way too much.
Yes, he would face her! By George! that was a royal idea! He would
turn round, and make a dash at her, and scare her out of her five
senses.

Pens, ink, and paper were brought out; more egg-nogg was ordered; and
Mr Brandon, aided and abetted by Colonel Macon, wrote a letter to Mrs
Keswick.

This letter took a long time to write, and was very carefully
constructed. With outstretched hands, Mr Brandon met the old lady on
the very threshold of her proposition. He stated that nothing would
please him better than an immediate wedding, and that he would have
proposed it himself had he not feared that the lady would consider him
too importunate. (This expression was suggested by Colonel Macon.)
In order that they might lose no time in making themselves happy, Mr
Brandon proposed that the marriage should take place in a week, and
that the ceremony should be performed in Richmond. (The colonel wished
him to say that he would immediately go to her house for the purpose,
but Mr Brandon would not consent to write this. He was afraid that the
widow would sit at her front door with a shot-gun and wait for him,
and that some damage might thereby come to an unwary neighbor.)
Each of them had many old friends in Richmond, and it would be very
pleasant to be married there. He intended to start for that city in a
day or two, and he would be rejoiced to meet her at eleven o'clock on
the morning of the fifth instant, in the corridor, or covered bridge,
connecting the Exchange and Ballard hotels, and there arrange all the
details for an immediate marriage. The letter closed with an earnest
hope that she would accede to this proposed plan, which would so soon
make them the happiest couple upon earth; and was signed "Your devoted
Robert."

"By which I mean," said Mr Brandon, "that I am devoted to her
destruction."

The letter was read over by Colonel Macon, and highly approved by him.
"If you had met that woman, sir, when she first came to you," he said
to Mr Brandon, "with the spirit that is shown in this letter, you
would have put a shiver through her, sir, that would have shaken the
bones out of her umbrella, and she would have cut and run, sir, before
you knew it."

The messenger from Howlett's was kept at Midbranch all night, and
the next morning he was sent back with Mr Brandon's note. Two days
afterward Colonel Macon and Mr Brandon started for Richmond, and in
the course of a few hours, they were comfortably sipping their "peach
and honey" at the Exchange and Ballard's.

The next day was most enjoyably spent with a number of old friends;
and in reminiscences of the past war, and in discussions of the coming
political campaign, Mr Brandon had thrown off every sign of the
annoyance and persecution to which he had lately been subjected.

"By George, sir!" said Colonel Macon to him the next morning, "do you
know that you are a most untrustworthy and perfidious man?"

"Sir!" exclaimed Mr Brandon, "what do you mean?"

"I mean," replied Colonel Pinckney Macon, with much dignity, "that
you promised at eleven o'clock to-day to meet a lady in the corridor
connecting these two hotels. It wants three minutes of that time now,
sir, and here you are reading the 'Dispatch' as if you never made a
promise in your life."

"I declare," said Mr Brandon, rising, "my conduct is indefensible,
but I am going to my room, and, on my way, will keep my part of the
contract."

"I will go with you," said the colonel.

Together they mounted the stairs, and approached the corridor; and, as
they opened its glass doors, they saw, sitting in a chair on one side
of the passage, the Widow Keswick.

If Mr Brandon had not been caught by his friend he would have fallen
over backwards. Regaining an upright position, he made a frantic turn,
as if he would fly, but he was not quick enough; Mrs Keswick had him
by the arm.

"Robert!" she exclaimed. "I knew how true and faithful you would be.
It has just struck eleven. How do you do, Colonel Macon?" And she
extended her hand.

There was no one in the corridor at the time but these three, but the
place was much used as a passageway, and Colonel Macon, who was very
pale, but still retained his presence of mind, knew well, that if
any one were to come along at this moment, it would be decidedly
unpleasant, not only for his friend, but himself. "I am glad to meet
you again, Mrs Keswick," he said. "Let us go into one of the parlors.
It will be more comfortable."

"How kind," murmured Mrs Keswick, as she clung to the arm of Mr
Brandon, "for you to bring our good friend, Colonel Macon."

They went into a parlor, which was empty, and where they were not
likely to be disturbed. Mr Brandon walked there without saying a word.
His face was as pallid as its well-seasoned color would allow, and he
looked straight before him with an air which seemed to indicate that
he was trying to remember something terrible, or else trying to forget
it, and that he himself did not know which it was.

Colonel Macon did not stay long in the parlor. There was that in the
air of Mrs Keswick which made him understand that there were other
places in Richmond where he would be much more welcome than in that
room. He went down into the large hall where the gentlemen generally
congregate; and there, in great distress of mind, he paced up and down
the marble floor, exchanging nothing but the briefest salutations and
answers with the acquaintances he occasionally encountered. The clerk,
behind his desk at one side of the hall, had seen men walking up and
down in that way, and he thought that the colonel had probably been
speculating in tobacco or wheat; but he knew he was good for the
amount of his bill, and he retained his placidity.

In about half an hour, there came down the stairs, at one end of
the hall, an elderly person who somewhat resembled Mr Brandon of
Midbranch. The clothes and the hat were the same that that gentleman
wore, and the same heavy gold chain with dangling seal-rings hung
across his ample waistcoat; but there was a general air of haggardness
and stoop about him which did not in the least suggest the upright and
portly gentleman who had written his name in the hotel register the
day before yesterday.

Colonel Macon made five strides towards him, and seized his hand.
"What," said he, "how----?"

Mr Brandon did not look at him; he let his eyes fall where they chose;
it mattered not to him what they gazed upon; and, in a low voice, he
said: "It is all over."

"Over!" repeated the colonel.

Mr Brandon put a feeble hand on his friend's arm, and together they
walked into the reading room, where they sat down in a corner.

"Have you settled it then?" asked Colonel Macon with great anxiety.
"Is she gone?"

"It is settled," said Mr Brandon. "We are to be married."

"Married!" cried Colonel Macon, springing to his feet. "Great Heavens,
man! What do you mean?"

Not very fluently, and in sentences with a very few words in each of
them, but words that sank like hot coals into the soul of his hearer,
Mr Brandon explained what he meant. It had been of no use, he said, to
try to get out of it; the old woman had him with the grip of a vise.
That letter had done it all. He ought to have known that she was not
to be frightened, but it was needless to talk about that. It was all
over now, and he was as much bound to her as if he had promised before
a magistrate.

"But you don't mean to say," exclaimed the colonel in a voice of
anguish, "that you are really going to marry her?"

"Sir," said Mr Brandon, solemnly, "there is no way to get out of it.
If you think there is, you don't know the woman."

"I would have died first!" said the colonel. "I never would have
submitted to her!"

"I did not submit," replied Mr Brandon. "That was done when the
letter was written. I roused myself, and I said everything I could
say, but it was all useless, she held me to my promise. I told her I
would fly to the ends of the earth rather than marry her, and then,
sir, she threatened me with a prosecution for breach of promise; and
think of the disgrace that that would bring upon me; upon my family
name; and on my niece and her young husband. It was a mistake, sir, to
suppose that she merely wished to persecute me. She wished to marry
me, and she is going to do it."

The colonel bowed his face upon his hands, and groaned. Mr Brandon
looked at him with a dim compassion in his eyes. "Do not reproach
yourself, sir," he said. "We thought we were acting for the best."

But little more was said, and two crushed old gentlemen retired to
their rooms.

In the days of her youth, Mrs Keswick had been very well known in
Richmond; and there were a good many elderly ladies and gentlemen, now
living in that city, who remembered her as a handsome, sparkling, and
somewhat eccentric young woman, and who had since heard of her as a
decidedly eccentric old one. Mr Brandon, also, had a large circle of
friends and acquaintances in the city; and when it became known that
these two elderly persons were to be married--and the news began to
spread shortly after Mrs Keswick reached the house of the friend with
whom she was staying--it excited a great deal of excusable interest.

Mrs Keswick, according to her ordinary methods of action, took all the
arrangements into her own hands. She appointed the wedding for the
eighth of January, in order that the happy pair might go to New York,
and be present at the nuptials of Junius and Roberta. Mr Brandon had
thought of writing to Junius, in the hope that the young man might do
something to avert his fate, but remembering how utterly unable Junius
had always been to move his aunt one inch, this way or that, he did
not believe that he could be of any service in this case, in which
all the energies of her mind were evidently engaged, and he readily
consented that she should attend to all the correspondence. It would,
indeed, have been too hard for him to break the direful truth to his
niece and Junius. He ventured to suggest that Miss Peyton be sent for,
having a faint hope that he might in some manner lean upon her; but
Mrs Keswick informed him that her niece must stay at home to take
charge of the place. There were two women in the house, who were
busy sewing for her, and it would be impossible for her to come to
Richmond.

Her correspondence kept the Widow Keswick very busy. She decided that
she would be married in a church which she used to attend in her
youth; and to all of her old friends, and to all those of Mr Brandon
whose names she could learn by diligent inquiry, invitations were sent
to attend the ceremony; but no one outside of Richmond was invited.

The old lady did not come to the city with a purple sun-bonnet and
a big umbrella. She wore her best bonnet, which had been used for
church-going purposes for many years, and arrayed herself in a
travelling suit which was of excellent material, although of most
antiquated fashion. She discussed very freely, with her friends, the
arrangements she had made, and protuberant candor being at times
one of her most noticeable characteristics, she did not leave it
altogether to others to say that the match she was about to make was
a most remarkably good one. For years it had been a hard struggle for
her to keep up the Keswick farm, but now she had fought a battle, and
won a victory, which ought to make her comfortable and satisfied for
the rest of her life. If Mr Brandon's family had taken a great deal
from her, she would more than repay herself by appropriating the old
gentleman, together with his possessions.

After the depression following the first shock, Mr Brandon endeavored
to stiffen himself. There was a great deal of pride in him, and if he
was obliged to go to the altar, he did not wish his old friends to
suppose that he was going there to be sacrificed. He had brought this
dreadful thing upon himself, but he would try to stand up like a man,
and bear it; and, after all, it might not be for long; the Widow
Keswick was a good deal older than he was. Other thoughts occasionally
came to comfort him; she could not make him continually live with her,
and he had plans for visits to Richmond, and even to New York; and,
better than that, she might want to spend a good deal of time at her
own farm.

"For the sake of my name, and my niece," he said to himself, "I must
bear it like a man."

And, in answer to an earnest adjuration, Colonel Pinckney Macon
solemnly promised that he would never reveal, to man or woman, that
his friend did not marry the Widow Keswick entirely of his own wish
and accord.

It was the desire of Mrs Keswick that the marriage, although conducted
in church, should be very simple in its arrangements. There would be
no bridesmaids or groomsmen; no flowers; no breakfast; and the couple
would be dressed in travelling costume. The friends of the old lady
persuaded her to make considerable changes in her attire, and a
costume was speedily prepared, which, while it suggested the fashions
of the present day, was also calculated to recall reminiscences of
those of a quarter of a century ago. This simplicity was the only
thing connected with the affair which satisfied Mr Brandon, and he
would have been glad to have the marriage entirely private, with no
more witnesses than the law demanded. But to this Mrs Keswick would
not consent. She wanted to have her former friends about her.
Accordingly, the church was pretty well filled with old colonels,
old majors, old generals, and old judges, with their wives and their
sisters, and, in a few cases, their daughters. All the elderly people
in Richmond, who, in the days of their youth, had known the gay
Miss Matty Pettigrew, and the handsome Bob Brandon, felt a certain
rejuvenation of spirit as they went to the wedding of the couple, who
had once been these two.

The old lady looked full of life and vigor, and, despite the
circumstances, Mr Brandon preserved a good deal of his usual manly
deportment. But, when in the course of the marriage service, the
clergyman came to the question in which the bride-groom was asked if
he would have this woman to be his wedded wife, to love and keep her
for the rest of their lives, the answer, "I will," came forth in a
feeble tone, which was not wholly divested of a tinge of despondency.

With the lady it was quite otherwise. When the like question was put
to her, she stepped back, and in a loud, clear voice, exclaimed:
"Not I! Marry that man, there?" she continued in a higher tone, and
pointing her finger at the astounded Mr Brandon. "Not for the world,
sir! Before he was born, his family defrauded and despoiled my people,
and as soon as he took affairs into his own hands, he continued the
villainous law robberies until we are poor, and he is rich; and, not
content with that, he basely wrecks and destroys the plans I had made
for the comfort of my old age, in order that his paltry purposes may
be carried out. After all that, does anybody here suppose that I would
take him for a husband? Marry him! Not I!" And, with these words, the
old lady turned her back on the clergyman, and walked rapidly down the
centre aisle, until she reached the church door. There she stopped,
and turning towards the stupefied assemblage, she snapped her bony
fingers in the air, and exclaimed: "Now, Mr Robert Brandon of
Midbranch, our account is balanced."

She then went out of the door, and took a street car for the train
that would carry her to her home.


THE END.