was the beginning
of a long and dreary autumnal storm, a deferred "equinoctial," as many
considered it. The mountain streams were all swollen and turbulent, and
the steep declivities were furrowed in every direction by new channels.
It made the house seem doubly desolate to hear the wind howling and the
rain beating upon the roofs. The poor relation who was staying at the
house would insist on Helen's remaining a few days: Old Sophy was in
such a condition, that it kept her in continual anxiety, and there were
many cares which Helen could take off from her.

The old black woman's life was buried in her darling's grave. She did
nothing but moan and lament for her. At night she was restless, and
would get up and wander to Elsie's apartment and look for her and call
her by name. At other times she would lie awake and listen to the wind
and the rain,--sometimes with such a wild look upon her face, and with
such sudden starts and exclamations, that it seemed as if she heard
spirit-voices and were answering the whispers of unseen visitants. With
all this were mingled hints of her old superstition,--forebodings of
something fearful about to happen,--perhaps the great final catastrophe
of all things, according to the prediction current in the kitchens of
Rockland.

"Hark!" Old Sophy would say,--"don' you hear th' crackin' 'n' th'
snappin' up in Th' Mountain, 'n' th' rollin' o' th' big stones? The' 's
somethin' stirrin' among th' rocks; I hear th' soun' of it in th' night,
when th' wind has stopped blowin'. Oh, stay by me a little while, Miss
Darlin'! stay by me! for it's th' Las' Day, maybe, that's close on us,
'n' I feel as if I could n' meet th' Lord all alone!"

It was curious,--but Helen did certainly recognize sounds, during
the lull of the storm, which were not of falling rain or running
streams,--short snapping sounds, as of tense cords breaking,--long
uneven sounds, as of masses rolling down steep declivities. But the
morning came as usual; and as the others said nothing of these singular
noises, Helen did not think it necessary to speak of them. All day long
she and the humble relative of Elsie's mother, who had appeared as
poor relations are wont to in the great prises of life, were busy in
arranging the disordered house, and looking over the various objects
which Elsie's singular tastes had brought together, to dispose of them
as her father might direct. They all met together at the usual hour for
tea. One of the