CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.

MISS PRISCILLA.

IT was just as well that Cassius did not take the river road, for had he done so, he would have met Miss Priscilla at his own gate.

Miss Priscilla had allowed herself to act in a passion, and, she had not gone three miles from home before her mind misgave her. She had almost a mind to make a pretence of having left something and turn back. But she was not quite cool yet, and she did very much want to see Mr. Anderson, the lawyer in Graywich, about "that infamous will of Druey's"—so she called it in her own mind.

Mr. Anderson gave her no particular comfort. He was an honest man, and, moreover, he had once had to collect a bill of Miss Priscilla, and he had not forgotten (though she had) the way he had been treated on that occasion. He strongly advised Miss Priscilla not to go to law about the matter.

"These few thousand dollars are nothing to you," he said. "If you go to law, your servants and your niece will be very sharply examined, and things may come to light which may be very unpleasant."

Miss Priscilla winced.

"There is another consideration," pursued the lawyer, as gently and politely as if Miss Priscilla was a mouse and he the cat which was playing with her. "I suppose there is no doubt that your father, General Stanfield, made a second will, though it was never found. But after what has passed, Settson and Fabian will leave no stone unturned to discover it, and they are likely enough to succeed. Under such circumstances, would it not be better to conciliate the regard of the young lady,—who, from all I hear from my nieces, her schoolmates, is a very amiable, engaging young person,—and make a friend of her?"

"I tell you there was no second will—nothing of the sort," said Miss Priscilla, in great agitation. "The whole property is mine—house and all; and that money is rightfully mine."

"There you are mistaken, as I think," said Mr. Anderson, politely.

"Then you won't undertake the case?" said Miss Priscilla, in deep disappointment.

"Under the circumstances, I must be excused," said Mr. Anderson; "and my parting advice to you is to let matters rest where they are, and to endeavor to make a friend of the young lady. The time is short, my dear madam—the time is short; and both you and myself are rapidly approaching that station where no earthly riches are of any avail. I should be happy to invite you to dinner, but my wife and daughter are away, and I am taking my own meals at a neighbor's house. Good-morning!"

And Miss Priscilla found herself bowed out of the office with great politeness. She had counted on keeping herself, her horse, and her servant at Mr. Anderson's expense; but now she must go to the tavern, for the horse, at least, must have his dinner.

There was now no object in her remaining all night, and the more she thought of it, the more vexed she was with herself for the course she had taken. How should she manage when she came home? The servants would be certain to find out that Calista had been shut up in the empty house all day, and, what was worse, they would be sure to tell of it, for they were both on Calista's side.

To do Miss Priscilla justice, she was not without better feelings. She remembered that Calista had really seemed glad to see her down stairs, and she thought, too, how she had rejected the child's offer of friendship.

"The child!"

Yes, that was what Druey had always called her—Druey, who had stood by her through evil report and unkindness, and to whom she had solemnly given over the care of Calista. Suppose that when she got home she should find Calista dead, or scared into insanity! Miss Priscilla was as angry at herself as she had been at Calista. She thought matters over, and decided, with a great pang, that she would give up the contest, let the will be proved, and say no more about it. She had counted on Miss Druett's ready money to carry on her schemes with Jael and her husband, but then she could sell out some bank-stock.

Then another cold misgiving crossed her mind. She had already let these people have two or three hundred dollars. Suppose they should be robbing and cheating her all the time! But she could not and would not believe that. No, the treasure was there, and she would have it! She would coax Calista to join with her: Calista was always lucky in finding things! Yes, that would be the best plan.

That Calista should refuse to be governed or coaxed, that she should feel any lasting resentment for the way she had been treated, never entered Miss Priscilla's head.

Full of these thoughts, she stopped at Cassius's gate and called for Chloe. Instead of Chloe, came out old Sally. Was ever anything so unlucky! Cassius had been obliged to drive into town, and Chloe had gone with him and expected to spend the night with Mrs. Fabian's Miranda. Cassius would most likely stay to meeting, seeing he was there, and so would not come home till late.

This was worse and worse. Then Chloe would find out that Calista had not gone away with Mr. Fabian. And what was she to do for supper? David declared he could not and would not drive Jeff another step, and the farm horses were away off down in the pasture. But then there was Calista! No doubt the poor child was hungry enough by this time, and for once she might get just what she liked for supper.

It was not without an uncomfortable feeling that Miss Priscy ascended the stairs to the attic story, and, unlocking the door, called—

"Calista!"

Then, as no answer came, "Calista, child, take the things away from the door and let me come in; I want to speak to you! Don't be afraid. I am not angry, though you have been a naughty girl. Come, let me in!"

Still no answer. Exerting her strength, Miss Priscilla pushed away the heavy chair which Calista had left standing against the door, and entered.

The room was empty. Everything was in its usual state, except that Calista's trunks were gone.

Much alarmed, she searched the house over, but every door was locked and every window fastened. Calista was nowhere to be seen.

Leaving her to her own reflections, we will follow the fortunes of our heroine.

Calista's sleep was broken and restless till near morning, but then she fell asleep and did not wake till near ten o'clock.

When she did wake, she lay for some time in a half-dreamy state, enjoying the softness of her bed and the luxurious prettiness of her room, so different from the one she had so long inhabited. She found a real pleasure in the pretty carpet, the easy chair with its bright chintz, the Indian paper on the walls covered with processions of camels and elephants, with wonderful birds and beasts, and men still more wonderful. Presently her eyes fell upon the old army cloak carelessly thrown over a chair, and like a flash came to her mind the words of Cassius—

"He had it on when he was struck with death!"

She sprang out of bed, seized the coat, and felt in all the pockets. There was nothing in any of them, but as she turned them out, she found in the inside breast pocket a long rip. She put in her hand and pulled out a folded paper carefully wrapped round with red tape, but not sealed.

She gave one glance at it, and another out of the window. Mr. Settson's house was open, and so was the office. Clearly the family were at home.

She waited no longer than to dress herself, and then, without seeing or thinking of any one, she put on her hat, and, with the paper in her hand, ran across to the office. There was no one in the outer room. She knocked at the door of the inner office, and then, without waiting for a reply, she opened it and went in.

There sat Mr. Settson and Mr. Fabian, with an elderly man whom she had never seen before.

"Calista!" exclaimed both the gentlemen in surprise.

And Mr. Fabian's voice had a shade of displeasure as he added,—

"My dear, what has brought you here?"

"This!" answered Calista, holding up her prize. "Mr. Settson, will you please tell me what I have found?"

Mr. Settson set down his snuff-box, and glancing at the outside of the document, he opened it with eager haste. He looked it through, glanced at the end, and then struck his hand on the table with a force which made the ink jump out of the inkstand and the snuff out of the box, and caused the office cat to utter a remonstrating mew.

"The very thing!" said he. "We have it at last. Fabian, Williams, look here!"

They both rose and looked over his shoulder with eager curiosity.

"That is it, Mr. Settson," said the elderly man, whom Mr. Settson called Williams; "that is the signature I witnessed, and the other signature is that of young Mr. John Blair, at that time studying in our office. I have heard he was living somewhere west—in Detroit, I believe. That is Mr. Durant's handwriting. The old gentleman gave him instructions how to draw the will, and he came in next day and signed it. I heard it read over to him myself."

"But what in the world possessed him to go to a lawyer who was an entire stranger, and in an obscure place like that?"

"I think it was because he was not very well. I remember he said something about his heart troubling him."

[Illustration: _Old Stanfield House._ "This!" answered Calista, holding up her prize.]

"Where did you find the will, Calista?" asked Mr. Settson.

Calista described the way it had come into her possession.

"Exactly. I see it all. He had put it in his pocket to bring to me as he said, when he was taken with this fit. The will slipped through the slit, and has staid there ever since. Well, my dear, you have made a good morning's work. I must examine the document further, but from what I see, I think we shall unseat Miss Priscilla from her high horse without much trouble. Run in and see Mary, and I will tell you the contents of the will when I know them myself."

"Perhaps I had better go back," said Calista, blushing. "I came out without seeing any one, and Mrs. Fabian will think it very strange."

"Mrs. Fabian will understand that you did quite right when I explain matters to her," said Mr. Fabian; "I will return with you, and come back directly. Have you had your breakfast?"

"No, sir."

"Dear, dear! Mrs. Fabian will be quite shocked, and we shall have you ill."

But Mrs. Fabian was not shocked, nor was Calista ill. She ate her breakfast with a good appetite, and then helped her hostess to rub the skins off Siberian crab-apples, and then punch out the cores with a tin tube, for, like most ladies of the time, Mrs. Fabian took pride and pleasure in preparing quantities of sweetmeats.

Oh, what a delight there was in the feeling of perfect quiet and safety! How she enjoyed the shade of the back veranda, where they sat at work, the sight and smell of the garden, the pretty, dainty household work, the sight of Mrs. Fabian's neat French chintz and apron of India grass-cloth, the soft, cultivated voice in which she told Calista anecdotes of her travels abroad, interspersed with mild moral reflections. There were people who considered Mrs. Fabian a thought tedious, but Calista could have listened forever.

After dinner Mr. Settson came over, and Calista was informed of the provisions of her grandfather's will.

"The Philadelphia property, together with fifteen thousand dollars in money, is left unconditionally to your aunt Priscilla. The Stanfield place, with all the farms, &c., the Cohansey property, and twenty thousand dollars, are left, first to your father, after him to your mother for her life, or so long as she should remain unmarried, and after her to the child or children of Richard Stanfield, share and share alike; the guardianship of said children being given to Mr. Fabian and myself as executors of the will. There are some legacies,—one of a hundred dollars to old Cassius, and as much to the church here, in memory of his last wife."

"Then I get more than Aunt Priscilla!" said Calista. "That seems hardly fair."

"No, you get a good deal less. The Philadelphia property is worth much more than the Stanfield estate, properly so called. Have you any of your mother's papers?"

"Yes, sir; I brought them all with me, for I thought they might be needed."

"Very discreet in you. Have you any objection to my looking them over?"

"Not at all, sir. I will bring them down."

Calista left the room and soon returned with two or three orderly bundles of papers and her mother's Bible.

"This book has the date of my mother's marriage and of my birth set down in it," said she. "I don't know whether they are of any consequence at all—"

"Of all the consequence in the world," said Mr. Settson, untying the bundles and carefully looking them over. "Certificate of marriage—very good; bills, &c.—of no great account. Is there any one of these letters by which you can fix the date of your father's death?"

"Yes, sir—a letter from the captain of his company, telling all about it. This is it."

"Oh, so I see. Well, my dear, all things are uncertain in this world, but so far as I can see now, there is no more doubt about your coming in possession of the Stanfield place at twenty-one than there is that the sun will rise to-morrow."

"It will be a great responsibility for a girl like me," said Calista.

"Very true; but we will hope you may have grace to use your fortune wisely and rightly. Now as to another thing—I mean your place of residence. I understand Miss Druett wished you to board at Miss McPherson's; but I saw the good lady in New York, and she told me that every room and bed in her house were engaged. Mrs. Fabian is anxious to keep you with her, as she has no daughters living to bear her company. Should you like that?"

"Yes, sir, very much."

"I should have liked to have you with us," continued Mr. Settson, "but I find myself obliged to give a home to an aged aunt of my late wife's; and to say truth, I think Mrs. Fabian, with her knowledge of the world and society, a little better fitted to be the guide of such a—you won't be offended if I say such a decided young lady as Miss Calista Stanfield?—than my Alice."

"Oh no, sir," said Calista, smiling and blushing. "And I am sure I am quite contented here. I think Mrs. Fabian is lovely. Then you don't think I shall have to go back to my aunt?" she added, rather anxiously.

"No, indeed! Most decidedly not!" answered Mr. Settson, with emphasis. "You must keep out of her way, and not go near the place at all."

"But if it is her duty, papa," interposed Mary, who had been sitting quite silently with her knitting. "Don't you think she ought to go if there is any chance of doing Miss Priscilla any good? Who knows how she might be the means of influencing her?"

"I would go if it was thought right," said Calista; "but, oh, I should dread it. I want to do my duty, I am sure," she added, anxiously.

Mr. Settson took a pinch of snuff, and regarded his daughter with the slightly sarcastic smile which she particularly dreaded.

"It is the duty of such little girls as Calista and Mary to do as they are bid by those who have the authority over them," said he. "It is especially the duty of Calista, because there may be considerable danger in her acting otherwise. So, if you please, we will consider that matter settled. Is there anything else you would like to ask me about?"

"No, sir; only—please don't be hard on Aunt Priscilla. I am sure she is not quite in her right mind, and I 'am' dreadfully afraid of her, especially since what she did yesterday; but I could not injure her for the world."

"Don't be alarmed, my dear; Miss Priscilla shall have every chance. Leave all that to me. I must take these papers away with me, but I will take great care of them. Good-bye. I suppose you and Mary have a great many hours of gossip to make up."

And Mr. Settson departed, leaving the girls to themselves.

Calista gave a little skip as she closed the door after him.

"Oh, how glad I am!" said she. "I feel like a bird let out of a cage."

"Well, I must say I rather wonder at you, Calista," said Mary, in a somewhat disapproving voice. "I should think you would be sorry for your poor aunt,—

"'Deserted, at her utmost need By those her former bounty fed.'"

For Mary had been reading poetry, and liked to quote it.

Calista's face flushed. "I wonder who did the deserting," said she. "Miss Priscilla, who went away to stay all night and left me locked up alone without food or light, or myself, who got out and came away? As to her bounty, the less said the better."

"But if you could do her good, I think you ought to sacrifice yourself and not choose a life of luxury with a worldly, fashionable woman like Mrs. Fabian. I must say I am disappointed in you."

"And I am disappointed in you," said Calista, with some spirit. "I thought you had more sense. Don't you see that I must obey your father and Mr. Fabian, whom Providence has so plainly placed over me? As to calling Mrs. Fabian worldly, I don't know what you mean by that. She has been as kind as a mother to me, and I don't think it is just the thing to speak of her in that way in her own house. But come, don't let's quarrel. I want to hear all about your travels. Where did you go? And where did your father pick up this Mr. Williams?"

"He found him quite by accident in a little town not far from New York, where we stopped over night," answered Mary, making a desperate grasp after her good humor, and partly recovering it. "We were in the stage together, and we got talking. He asked where we were from, and when papa told him, he said he once met a gentleman from our place under rather peculiar circumstances—General Stanfield. Of course that set papa asking questions, and he soon found out the whole story. So your dreams are fulfilled, Calista, and you will be able to do what you please with the old mansion."

"I don't seem to think or care much about that now," said Calista. "Of course, I am glad to have something decent to wear, and to finish my education; but I had rather set my heart on being a teacher. However, there is no telling what may happen yet. 'There's many a slip,' you know."