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Poor Fannie wept bitterly; but tears more bitter yet were in store for her.

PART II.

Upon her return from the bridal tour, no sooner was Fannie settled in her new home, than the family feud endeavoured to draw her from her quiet course, to take part for or against. Numberless were the grievances related to her. All that could be said or done, to convince her that the sisters were “sinned against instead of sinning,” were brought forward.

“Well, Fannie,” said the elder brother, one day, “I met my immaculate elder sister, just coming out of your door. Has she been giving you a catalogue of fraternal sins? She would not speak to me. She carries her head high. It maddens me to think how contemptuously we are treated, and being food for talk beside.”

Fannie hesitated; she could not reply, for Jessie had been venting a fit of ill humour upon him, and it was only adding fuel to the fire, to repeat.

“Say, Fannie, what did the old maid say? That it was a, pity we were not all dead?”

“Oh! hush,” she replied, holding up her hand reprovingly. “I am very unhappy at your continued disagreements. If,” she continued, timidly, “you would but take a little advice–I know I am young, but–

“Let us have it,” he returned, quickly, turning away from the pleading eyes.

“You will not be angry with me?”

“No, no; let me hear!”

“You are the eldest; your example, is followed by the seven brothers; your influence with them is great; you give an ‘eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’ Jessie and the others may have a foundation for their ill-will. You have never endeavoured to discover what this is. Your pride took offence, and you say to yourself that can never bend. Was this right?”

Her voice trembled, her head drooped, and in spite of her self-command, she burst into tears.

“Fannie! sister Fannie!”

“Don’t mind me; I am weak, nervous, foolish. I shall soon be better; but it makes me so very unhappy to see you all at enmity. I had hoped, when I came among you, to have been the olive branch, but–“

“Fannie! dear sister Fannie!” he exclaimed, walking up and down the room, “you have been–we are fire-brands plucked from the burning. You have said all that any one could have said; yes, and done all that could be done; never repeated any malicious speech, selected all the wheat that could be culled from the chaff. You have softened my obdurate heart. I have done wrong; you have shown me to the way of return. If Jessie will come forward and forgive and forget, then will I.”

But Fannie knew that it was not so easy to make Jessie be the first to own her errors and forgive. The brothers had done much to make the division wider, in the way of hints and malicious whisperings; and she continued weeping so wildly and hysterically, that the elder brother endeavoured to console her, and was glad when Harwood came, and lifting her in his arms, carried her up to her room.

When he returned, the elder brother still stood by the fire-place. He turned and spoke.

“Fannie is very fragile and pale. Is she not well?”

“Not very. This family feud troubles her. She has taken it to heart. When we were first married, she told me a dozen plans she had made for your reunion, and made me a party to them, but now–“

He sighed; the elder brother sighed more deeply; both were silent; the fire-light leaped up, lighting the room–a fierce, avenging blaze; then died out, and all was gloom. Where were the thoughts of that elder brother? They were wandering among the graves of the past. In his imagination, new ones were there; the names on the tomb-stones were familiar; the thirteen were all there; twelve sleeping; his the only restless, wandering spirit. Fannie stood before him, her face pale and tearful. She pointed to the graves, and said, sadly, “This is the end of all earthly things.” That night he knocked at the door of his sister’s mansion but gained no admittance.