“You shan’t go! That is the long and short of it. Wait a little, and if the cabbage and onions fail, I’ll think of something else; for go he shall, and go you shan’t—there!” Mrs. Burns arose, irresolute. She loved the humble rooms which had sheltered her deepest affliction; and her heart yearned toward the semblance of home they gave her. “Wait a few days,” said the landlady. “Yes, I will wait. You are very good; but then everybody is so good to us.” “Goodness breeds goodness. I don’t believe there is a creature on earth bad enough to be hard with you, Mrs. Burns. I try to be like you sometimes, but it isn’t in me.” “It is in you to be considerate and kind to those who most need kindness,” said Mrs. Burns, with tears in her eyes. “Yes, but I’ve got such a way of doing it—rough as a chestnut-burr; but I don’t mean any harm to a living creature—quite the contrary.” “You have done nothing but good to us,” said Mrs. Burns, opening the door in her soft, quiet way; “and God will bless you for it.” “That’s the kind of woman that people call the salt of the earth,” muttered the landlady, as her tenant went out; “her very look makes me a better woman. Yet I was thinking hard of her only a few minutes ago. Well that was the old native Adam in me. I wonder how she managed to drive him out. Going to prayer meeting won’t do it. I’ve tried that; but then she is so different.” CHAPTER XVI. THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. Miss Eliza Halstead was not a person at all likely to leave any stone unturned which lay in the path of her love. She knew something of the power which beauty has over a young heart, and feared Savage might seek some explanation that would exculpate Anna Burns from the evil that she had imputed to her—for so powerful is genuine innocence that even prejudice feels its influence, let circumstances be ever so much against it. Scarcely had Savage left the house, when Miss Eliza put on her lilac bonnet, with its crush-roses and point-lace. Carefully she smoothed the strings, and puffed out the bows with her long fingers, leaving pink shadows all around her face, almost as effective as the bloom of youth. When she had sufficiently elaborated this portion of her toilet, she wrapped a costly shawl around her, and stole softly out of the house, resolved to keep her visit and its object a secret. Mrs. Savage was at home; and would she walk directly up stairs. Yes. Miss Eliza swept her trailing silks up the broad staircase, settling her shawl as she went—for she was forever arranging and rearranging her dress, in-doors and out. Twice she paused before a mirror, impanneled in the wall, and examined the flow of her long skirt, over both shoulders, before she entered the room in which Mrs. Savage was waiting, with Miss Eliza’s card in her hand.