the residence
known as Gardiston House, situated six miles from the city, on Green
River. Apply by letter, or on the premises, to Miss Gardiston Duke."
Three days passed, and no one came. The fourth day an applicant
appeared, and was ushered into the dining-room. He sent up no name; but
Miss Duke descended hopefully to confer with him, and found--Captain
Newell.

"You!" she said, paling and flushing. Her voice faltered; she was sorely
disappointed.

"It will always be myself, Gardis," said the young man gravely. "So you
wish to sell the old house? I should not have supposed it."

"I wish to sell it in order to be freed from obligations forced upon us,
sir."

"Very well. But if _I_ buy it, then what?"

"You will not buy it, for the simple reason that I will not sell it to
you. You do not wish the place; you would only buy it to assist us."

"That is true."

"Then there is nothing more to be said, I believe," said Miss Duke,
rising.

"_Is_ there nothing more, Gardis?"

"Nothing, Captain Newell."

And then, without another word, the soldier bowed, and rode back to
town.

The dreary little advertisement remained in a corner of the newspaper a
month longer, but no purchaser appeared. The winter was rainy, with raw
east winds from the ocean, and the old house leaked in many places. If
they had lived in one or two of the smaller rooms, which were in better
condition and warmer than the large apartments, they might have escaped;
but no habit was changed, and three times a day the table was spread in
the damp dining-room, where the atmosphere was like that of a tomb, and
where no fire was ever made. The long evenings were spent in the somber
drawing-room by the light of the one candle, and the rain beat against
the old shutters so loudly that Cousin Copeland was obliged to elevate
his gentle little voice as he read aloud to his silent companion. But
one evening he found himself forced to pause; his voice had failed.
Four days afterward he died, gentle and placid to the last. He was an
old man, although no one had ever thought so.

The funeral notice appeared in the city paper, and a few old family
friends came out to Gardiston House to follow the last Gardiston to his
resting-place in St. Mark's forest churchyard. They were all sad-faced
people, clad in mourning much the worse for wear. Accustomed to sorrow,
they followed to the grave quietly, not a heart there that had not its
own dead. They all returned to Gar