“‘No, no,’ said the old man, ’we haven’t got quite so low as that yet; and I hope that I nor none of mine will ever come to taking pay for a night’s lodging from a traveller.  We don’t keep tavern here.’”

“The old woman’s parting advice to me was to try and ’git over my narvousness; and she thought I hadn’t better drink no more strong green tea.’”

“‘I think your tea was strong last night, my friend,’ said I; ’and that, together with the sight of the ghost, of which I have been telling you, made me very uneasy and restless.’”

“‘Well,’ said the old woman, ’I hope ye won’t be so suspicious of us next time ye come; for it’s a cartain fact, that we never murdered any human yet.  We do kill hogs; that I won’t deny.’  And she laughed so heartily, that I felt quite sure she had seen through all my fears and suspicions of the night before.  So ends the murder story.”

“I wish you could have heard my old clergyman laugh, as I related to him all the horrors of the night; and when I came to mistaking the last squeal of a dying pig for his own death groan, I thought he would have rolled out of the gig.  That night, which was last night, found us in the old gentleman’s hospitable home, where his kind lady gave me as cordial a welcome as I could desire.  Here I am still with these good friends, only waiting for my trunks; and then, with God’s blessing, two days more will find me in the home of my own dear brother.—­And here, with many kind remembrances to the dear ones at Brook Farm, Miss Edwards’ letter closed.”

VIII.

Bitter Disappointments.

       “Oh! art thou found? 
   But yet to find thee thus!”

   VESPERS OF PALERMO.

It may be as well for us to continue the history of Miss Edwards here, though its sad sequel was not known to the family of Mr. Wharton till a long time after she had left them.  The letter with which the preceding chapter closes, was the last heard from her for many weeks.  Various were the surmises in the family as to the reasons for her unaccountable silence, but at length they settled down in the belief that she must have fallen a victim to some of the diseases of a new country; though why they should not have received some tidings of her fate from her brother, still remained a mystery.

At last, after many weeks, there came a letter from her, but it was short, and sad, and unsatisfactory in all respects.  She had had a terrible disappointment she said, but her friends must have forbearance with her, and excuse her from detailing the events of the past few weeks.  She was now at Springdale with her kind old friend, the clergyman, and was just recovering from a long and tedious illness; she hoped soon to be able to be at work again, and a little school was ready for her, as soon as she should be sufficiently restored to take charge of it.  Not one word was said of her brother, or of her reasons for returning to the home of the old clergyman.