Darkness and Daylight | Page 3

knew them or you would cease to wonder why the village people
take so much interest in their movements, and are so glad to have them
back."
"I have heard their story," returned Mrs. Atherton, "and I have no doubt
the son is a very fine specimen of an old bachelor; thirty- five, isn't he,
or thereabouts?"

"Thirty-five!" and Kitty Maynard raised her hands in dismay. "My dear
Mrs. Atherton, he's hardly thirty yet, and those who have seen him
since his return from Europe, pronounce him a splendid looking man,
with an air of remarkably high breeding. I wonder if there IS any truth
in the report that he is to bring with him a bride."
"A bride, Kitty!" and the massive silver fork dropped from Grace
Atherton's hand.
SHE was interested now, and nervously pulling the gathers of her white
morning gown, she listened while the loquacious Kitty told her what
she knew of the imaginary wife of Richard Harrington. The hands
ceased their working at the gathers, and assuming an air of indifference,
Grace rang her silver bell, which was immediately answered by a
singular looking girl, whom she addressed as Edith, bidding her bring
some orange marmalade from an adjoining closet. Her orders were
obeyed, and then the child lingered by the door, listening eagerly to the
conversation which Grace had resumed concerning Collingwood and
its future mistress.
Edith Hastings was a strange child, with a strange habit of expressing
her thoughts aloud, and as she heard the beauties of Collingwood
described in Kitty Maynard's most glowing terms, she suddenly
exclaimed, "Oh, JOLLY don't I wish I could live there, only I'd be
afraid of that boy who haunts the upper rooms."
"Edith!" said Mrs. Atherton, sternly, "why are you waiting here? Go at
once to Rachel and bid her give you something to do."
Thus rebuked the black-eyed, black-haired, black-faced little girl
waited away, not cringingly, for Edith Hastings possessed a spirit as
proud as that of her high born mistress, and she went slowly to the
kitchen, where, under Rachel's directions, she was soon in the
mysteries of dish-washing, while the ladies in the parlor continued their
conversation.
"I don't know what I shall do with that child," said Grace, as Edith's
footsteps died away. I sometimes wish I had left her where I found

her."
"Why, I thought her a very bright little creature," said Kitty, and her
companion replied,
"She's too bright, and that's the trouble. She imitates me in everything,
walks like me, talks like me, and yesterday I found her in the
drawing-room going through with a pantomime of receiving calls the
way I do. I wish you could have seen her stately bow when presented to
an imaginary stranger."
"Did she do credit to you?" Kitty asked, and Grace replied,
"I can't say that she did not, but I don't like this disposition of hers--to
put on the airs of people above her. Now if she were not a poor--"
"Look, look!" interrupted Kitty, "that must be the five hundred dollar
piano sent up from Boston," and she directed her companion's attention
to the long wagon which was passing the house on the way to
Collingwood.
This brought the conversation back from the aspiring Edith to Richard
Harrington, and as old Rachel soon came in to remove her mistress'
breakfast, Kitty took her leave, saying as she bade her friend good
morning,
"I trust it will not be long before you know him."
"Know him!" repeated Grace, when at last she was alone. "Just as if I
had not known him to my sorrow. Oh, Richard, Richard! maybe you'd
forgive me if you knew what I have suffered," and the proud, beautiful
eyes filled with tears as Grace Atherton plucked the broad green leaves
from the grape vine over her head, and tearing them in pieces scattered
the fragments upon the floor of the piazza. "Was there to be a bride at
Collingwood?" This was the question which racked her brain, keeping
her in a constant state of feverish excitement until the very morning
came when the family were expected.

Mrs. Matson, the former housekeeper, had resumed her old position,
and though she came often to Brier Hill to consult the taste of Mrs.
Atherton as to the arrangement of curtains and furniture, Grace was too
haughtily polite to question her, and every car whistle found her at the
window watching for the carriage and a sight of its inmates. One after
another the western trains arrived, and the soft September twilight
deepened into darker night, showing to the expectant Grace the
numerous lights shining from the windows of Collingwood. Edith
Hastings, too, imbued with something of her mistress' spirit, was on the
alert, and when the last train in which they