Tempest and Sunshine

Julia leaped gayly from the carriage, and running into the house, embraced

her mother, and received the blacks as affectionately as Fanny herself

could have done; then missing her sister, she asked, "Where is Fan? Why

does she not come to meet me?"

Mrs. Middleton looked inquiringly at her husband, who replied, "No, I

hain't told her, jest because she didn't ask me. Sunshine is sick--sick in

bed, and has had the potecary three times."

"Fanny sick," said Julia. "Where is she? In her room? I will go to her

immediately."

But in going to Fanny, it was necessary to pass the parlor, and Julia

could not resist the temptation to look in and see "if the old man had

fixed up any."

"Oh, how neat, how pleasant!" was her first exclamation, and truly the

cheerless old room had undergone a great renovation. It had been

thoroughly cleaned and repainted. The walls were hung with bright,

cheerful-looking paper. A handsome carpet covered the floor, while

curtains of corresponding beauty shaded the windows. The furniture,

tastefully arranged, was nearly all new, and in the waxen flowers, which

filled the vases on the mantelpiece, Julia recognized the handiwork of her

sister.

Yes, Fanny's love had wrought this change. At first her father had refused

to do anything. "No, I won't," said he. "It's good enough, and if it don't

suit Lady Tempest, she can go to the hoss barn; that's just fit for 'em."

"Then, father," said Fanny, "do it for my sake. It would please me to have

a pleasanter parlor."

This was sufficient. A well-filled purse was placed in Fanny's hands, with

liberty to do as she pleased. Then with untiring love, aching heart and

throbbing temples, she worked on day after day, until all was completed,

parlor, bridal chamber and all. The hangings and drapery of the latter

were as white and pure as was she who so patiently worked on, while each

fresh beauty added to the room pierced her heart with a deeper anguish, as

she thought what and whom it was for. When her mother remonstrated against

such unceasing toil, she would smile a sweet, sad smile and say, "Don't

hinder me, dear mother, 'tis all I can do to show my love for Julia, and

after I am gone they will perhaps think more kindly of me, when they know

how I worked for them."

At last all was done; the finishing stroke was given, and then came a

reaction. Fanny took her bed, and her father, instantly, alarmed, called

the nearest physician. Dr. Gordon readily saw that Fanny's disease was in

her mind, and in reply to Mrs. Middleton's inquiries, he frankly told his

opinion, and said that unless the cause of her melancholy could be

removed, the consequence might be fatal.