Electa Holland was Charles' unmarried sister. She had

  kept house for Benjamin until he married; then Naomi

  had bundled her out. Electa had never forgiven her for

  it. Her hatred passed on to Naomi's children. In a

  hundred petty ways she revenged herself on them. For

  herself, Eunice bore it patiently; but it was a

  different matter when it touched Christopher.

  Once Electa boxed Christopher's ears. Eunice, who was

  knitting by the table, stood up. A resemblance to her

  mother, never before visible, came out in her face like

  a brand. She lifted her hand and slapped Electa's cheek

  deliberately twice, leaving a dull red mark where she

  struck.

  "If you ever strike my brother again," she said, slowly

  and vindictively, "I will slap your face every time you

  do. You have no right to touch him."

  "My patience, what a fury!" said Electa. "Naomi

  Holland'll never be dead as long as you're alive!"

  She told Charles of the affair and Eunice was severely

  punished. But Electa never interfered with Christopher

  again.

  All the discordant elements in the Holland household

  could not prevent the children from growing up. It was

  a consummation which the harrassed Caroline devoutly

  wished. When Christopher Holland was seventeen he was a

  man grown - a big, strapping fellow. His childish

  beauty had coarsened, but he was thought handsome by

  many.

  He took charge of his mother's farm then, and the

  brother and sister began their new life together in the

  long-unoccupied house. There were few regrets on either

  side when they left Charles Holland's roof. In her

  secret heart Eunice felt an unspeakable relief.

  Christopher had been "hard to manage," as his uncle

  said, in the last year. He was getting into the habit

  of keeping late hours and doubtful company. This always

  provoked an explosion of wrath from Charles Holland,

  and the conflicts between him and his nephew were

  frequent and bitter.

  For four years after their return home Eunice had a

  hard and anxious life. Christopher was idle and

  dissipated. Most people regarded him as a worthless

  fellow, and his uncle washed his hands of him utterly.

  Only Eunice never failed him; she never reproached or

  railed; she worked like a slave to keep things

  together. Eventually her patience prevailed.

  Christopher, to a great extent, reformed and worked

  harder. He was never unkind to Eunice, even in his

  rages. It was not in him to appreciate or return her

  devotion; but his tolerant acceptance of it was her

  solace.

  When Eunice was twenty-eight, Edward Bell wanted to

  marry her. He was a plain, middle-aged widower with

  four children; but, as Caroline did not fail to remind

  her, Eunice herself was not for every market, and the

  former did her best to make the match. She might have

  succeeded had it not been for Christopher. When he, in

  spite of Caroline's skillful management, got an inkling

  of what was going on, he flew into a true Holland rage.

  If Eunice married and left him - he would sell the farm

  and go to the Devil by way of the Klondike. He could

  not, and would not, do without her. No arrangement

  suggested by Caroline availed to pacify him, and, in

  the end, Eunice refused to marry Edward Bell. She could

  not leave Christopher, she said simply, and in this she

  stood rock-firm. Caroline could not budge her an inch.

  "You're a fool, Eunice," she said, when she was obliged

  to give up in despair. "It's not likely you'll ever

  have another chance. As for Chris, in a year or two

  he'll be marrying himself, and where will you be then?

  You'll find your nose nicely out of joint when he

  brings a wife in here."

  The shaft went home. Eunice's lips turned white. But

  she said, faintly, "The house is big enough for us

  both, if he does."

  Caroline sniffed.

  "Maybe so. You'll find out. However, there's no use

  talking. You're as set as your mother was, and nothing

  would ever budge her an inch. I only hope you won't be

  sorry for it."

  When three more years had passed Christopher began to

  court Victoria Pye. The affair went on for some time

  before either Eunice or the Hollands go wind of it.

  When they did there was an explosion. Between the

  Hollands and the Pyes, root and branch, existed a feud

  that dated back for three generations. That the

  original cause of the quarrel was totally forgotten did

  not matter; it was matter of family pride that a

  Holland should have no dealings with a Pye.

  When Christopher flew so openly in the face of this

  cherished hatred, there could be nothing less than

  consternation. Charles Holland broke through his

  determination to have nothing to do with Christopher,

  to remonstrate. Caroline went to Eunice in as much of a

  splutter as if Christopher had been her own brother.

  Eunice did not care a row of pins for the Holland-Pye

  feud. Victoria was to her what any other girl, upon

  whom Christopher cast eyes of love, would have been - a

  supplanter. For the first time in her life she was torn

  with passionate jealousy; existence became a nightmare

  to her. Urged on by Caroline, and her own pain, she

  ventured to remonstrate with Christopher, also. She had

  expected a burst of rage, but he was surprisingly good-

  natured. He seemed even amused.

  "What have you got against Victoria?" he asked,

  tolerantly.

  Eunice had no answer ready. It was true that nothing

  could be said against the girl. She felt helpless and

  baffled. Christopher laughed at her silence.

  "I guess you're a little jealous," he said. "You must

  have expected I would get married some time. This house

  is big enough for us all. You'd better look at the

  matter sensibly, Eunice. Don't let Charles and Caroline

  put nonsense into your head. A man must marry to please

  himself."

  Christopher was out late that night. Eunice waited up

  for him, as she always did. It was a chilly spring

  evening, reminding her of the night her mother had

  died. The kitchen was in spotless order, and she sat

  down on a stiff-backed chair by the window to wait for

  her brother.

  She did not want a light. The moonlight fell in with

  faint illumination. Outside, the wind was blowing over

  a bed of new-sprung mint in the garden, and was

  suggestively fragrant. It was a very old-fashioned

  garden, full of perennials Naomi Holland had planted

  long ago. Eunice always kept it primly neat. She had

  been working in it that day, and felt tired.

  She was all alone in the house and the loneliness

  filled her with a faint dread. She had tried all that

  day to reconcile herself to Christopher's marriage,
and

  had partially succeeded. She told herself that she

  could still watch over him and care for his comfort.

  She would even try to love Victoria; after all, it

  might be pleasant to have another woman in the house.

  So, sitting there, she fed her hungry soul with these

  husks of comfort.

  When she heard Christopher's step she moved about

  quickly to get a light. He frowned when he saw her; he

  had always resented her sitting up for him. He sat down

  by the stove and took off his boots, while Eunice got a

  lunch for him. After he had eaten it in silence he made

  no move to go to bed. A chill, premonitory fear crept

  over Eunice. It did not surprise her at all when

  Christopher finally said, abruptly, "Eunice, I've a

  notion to get married this spring."

  Eunice clasped her hands together under the table. It

  was what she had been expecting. She said so, in a

  monotonous voice.

  "We must make some arrangement for - for you, Eunice,"

  Christopher went on, in a hurried, hesitant way,

  keeping his eyes riveted doggedly on his plate.

  "Victoria doesn't exactly like - well, she thinks it's

  better for young married folks to begin life by

  themselves, and I guess she's about right. You wouldn't

  find it comfortable, anyhow, having to step back to

  second place after being mistress here so long."

  Eunice tried to speak, but only an indistinct murmur

  came from her bloodless lips. The sound made

  Christopher look up. Something in her face irritated

  him. He pushed back his chair impatiently.

  "Now, Eunice, don't go taking on. It won't be any use.

  Look at this business in a sensible way. I'm fond of

  you, and all that, but a man is bound to consider his

  wife first. I'll provide for you comfortably."

  "Do you mean to say that your wife is going to turn me

  out?" Eunice gasped, rather than spoke, the words.

  Christopher drew his reddish brows together.

  "I just mean that Victoria says she won't marry me if

  she has to live with you. She's afraid of you. I told

  her you wouldn't interfere with her, but she wasn't

  satisfied. It's your own fault, Eunice. You've always

  been so queer and close that people think you're an

  awful crank. Victoria's young and lively, and you and

  she wouldn't get on at all. There isn't any question of

  turning you out. I'll build a little house for you

  somewhere, and you'll be a great deal better off there

  than you would be here. So don't make a fuss."

  Eunice did not look as if she were going to make a

  fuss. She sat as if turned to stone, her hands lying

  palm upward in her lap. Christopher got up, hugely

  relieved that the dreaded explanation was over.

  "Guess I'll go to bed. You'd better have gone long ago.

  It's all nonsense, this waiting up for me."

  When he had gone Eunice drew a long, sobbing breath and

  looked about her like a dazed soul. All the sorrow of

  her life was as nothing to the desolation that assailed

  her now.

  She rose and, with uncertain footsteps, passed out

  through the hall and into the room where her mother

  died. She had always kept it locked and undisturbed; it

  was arranged just as Naomi Holland had left it. Eunice

  tottered to the bed and sat down on it.

  She recalled the promise she had made to her mother in

  that very room. Was the power to keep it to be wrested

  from her? Was she to be driven from her home and parted

  from the only creature she had on earth to love? And

  would Christopher allow it, after all her sacrifices

  for him? Aye, that he would! He cared more for that

  black-eyed, waxen-faced girl at the old Pye place than

  for his own kin. Eunice put her hands over her dry,

  burning eyes and groaned aloud.

  Caroline Holland had her hour of triumph over Eunice

  when she heard it all. To one of her nature there was

  no pleasure so sweet as that of saying, "I told you

  so." Having said it, however, she offered Eunice a

  home. Electa Holland was dead, and Eunice might fill

  her place very acceptably, if she would.

  "You can't go off and live by yourself," Caroline told

  her. "It's all nonsense to talk of such a thing. We

  will give you a home, if Christopher is going to turn

  you out. You were always a fool, Eunice, to pet and

  pamper him as you've done. This is the thanks you get

  for it - turned out like a dog for his fine wife's

  whim! I only wish your mother was alive!"

  It was probably the first time Caroline had ever wished

  this. She had flown at Christopher like a fury about

  the matter, and had been rudely insulted for her pains.

  Christopher had told her to mind her own business.

  When Caroline cooled down she made some arrangements

  with him, to all of which Eunice listlessly assented.

  She did not care what became of her. When Christopher

  Holland brought Victoria as mistress to the house where

  his mother had toiled, and suffered, and ruled with her

  rod of iron, Eunice was gone. In Charles Holland's

  household she took Electa's place - an unpaid upper

  servant.

  Charles and Caroline were kind enough to her, and there

  was plenty to do. For five years her dull, colorless

  life went on, during which time she never crossed the

  threshold of the house where Victoria Holland ruled

  with a sway as absolute as Naomi's had been. Caroline's

  curiosity led her, after her first anger had cooled, to

  make occasional calls, the observations of which she

  faithfully reported to Eunice. The latter never

  betrayed any interest in them, save once. This was when

  Caroline came home full of the news that Victoria had

  had the room where Naomi died opened up, and showily

  furnished as a parlor. Then Eunice's sallow face

  crimsoned, and her eyes flashed, over the desecration.

  But no word of comment or complaint ever crossed her

  lips.

  She knew, as every one else knew, that the glamor soon

  went from Christopher Holland's married life. The

  marriage proved an unhappy one. Not unnaturally,

  although unjustly, Eunice blamed Victoria for this, and

  hated her more than ever for it.

  Christopher seldom came to Charles' house. Possibly he

  felt ashamed. He had grown into a morose, silent man,

  at home and abroad. It was said he had gone back to his

  old drinking habits.

  One fall Victoria Holland went to town to visit her

  married sister. She took their only child with her. In

  her absence Christopher kept house for himself.

  It was a fall long remembered in Avonlea. With the

  dropping of the leaves, and the shortening of the

  dreary days, the shadow of a fear fell over the land.

  Charles Holland brought the fateful news home one

  night.

  "There's smallpox in Charlottetown - five o
r six cases.

  Came in one of the vessels. There was a concert, and a

  sailor from one of the ships was there, and took sick

  the next day."

  This was alarming enough. Charlottetown was not so very

  far away and considerable traffic went on between it

  and the north shore districts.

  When Caroline recounted the concert story to

  Christopher the next morning his ruddy face turned

  quite pale. He opened his lips as if to speak, then

  closed them again. They were sitting in the kitchen;

  Caroline had run over to return some tea she had

  borrowed, and, incidentally, to see what she could of

  Victoria's housekeeping in her absence. Her eyes had

  been busy while her tongue ran on, so she did not

  notice the man's pallor and silence.

  "How long does it take for smallpox to develop after

  one has been exposed to it?" he asked abruptly, when

  Caroline rose to go.

  "Ten to fourteen days, I calc'late," was her answer. "I

  must see about having the girls vaccinated right off.

  It'll likely spread. When do you expect Victoria home?"

  "When she's ready to come, whenever that will be," was

  the gruff response.

  A week later Caroline said to Eunice, "Whatever's got

  Christopher? He hasn't been out anywhere for ages -

  just hangs round home the whole time. It's something

  new for him. I s'pose the place is so quiet, now Madam

  Victoria's away, that he can find some rest for his

  soul. I believe I'll run over after milking and see how

  he's getting on. You might as well come, too, Eunice."

  Eunice shook her head. She had all her mother's

  obstinacy, and darken Victoria's door she would not.

  She went on patiently darning socks, sitting at the

  west window, which was her favorite position - perhaps

  because she could look from it across the sloping field

  and past the crescent curve of maple grove to her lost

  home.

  After milking, Caroline threw a shawl over her head and

  ran across the field. The house looked lonely and

  deserted. As she fumbled at the latch of the gate the

  kitchen door opened, and Christopher Holland appeared

  on the threshold.

  "Don't come any farther," he called.

  Caroline fell back in blank astonishment. Was this some

  more of Victoria's work?

  "I ain't an agent for the smallpox," she called back

  viciously.

  Christopher did not heed her.

  "Will you go home and ask uncle if he'll go, or send

  for Doctor Spencer? He's the smallpox doctor. I'm

  sick."

  Caroline felt a thrill of dismay and fear. She faltered

  a few steps backward.

  "Sick? What's the matter with you?"

  "I was in Charlottetown that night, and went to the

  concert. That sailor sat right beside me. I thought at

  the time he looked sick. It was just twelve days ago.

  I've felt bad all day yesterday and to-day. Send for

  the doctor. Don't come near the house, or let any one

  else come near."

  He went in and shut the door. Caroline stood for a few

  moments in an almost ludicrous panic. Then she turned

  and ran, as if for her life, across the field. Eunice

  saw her coming and met her at the door.

  "Mercy on us!" gasped Caroline. "Christopher's sick and

  he thinks he's got the smallpox. Where's Charles?"

  Eunice tottered back against the door. Her hand went up

  to her side in a way that had been getting very common

  with her of late. Even in the midst of her excitement

  Caroline noticed it.

  "Eunice, what makes you do that every time anything

  startles you?" she asked sharply. "Is it anything about

  your heart?"

  "I don't - know. A little pain - it's gone now. Did you

  say that Christopher has - the smallpox?"

  "Well, he says so himself, and it's more than likely,

  considering the circumstances. I declare, I never got

  such a turn in my life. It's a dreadful thing. I must

  find Charles at once - there'll be a hundred things to

  do."

  Eunice hardly heard her. Her mind was centered upon one

  idea. Christopher was ill - alone - she must go to him.

  It did not matter what his disease was. When Caroline

  came in from her breathless expedition to the barn, she