path: root/15117.txt

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sea and Shore, by Mrs. Catharine A. Warfield

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Sea and Shore
       A Sequel to "Miriam's Memoirs"

Author: Mrs. Catharine A. Warfield

Release Date: February 21, 2005 [EBook #15117]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEA AND SHORE ***




Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, Josephine
Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.








[Transcriber's note: There are two Chapter VI's in this book.
I have moved footnotes to the end of each chapter.]




SEA AND SHORE.

A

SEQUEL TO "MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS."

BY MRS. CATHARINE A. WARFIELD.

AUTHOR OF

"THE HOUSEHOLD OF BOUVERIE," "MONFORT HALL," "MIRIAM'S HOUSE" "HESTER
HOWARD'S TEMPTATION," "A DOUBLE WEDDING; OR, HOW SHE WAS WON," ETC.

  "_No fears hath she! Her giant form
    Majestically calm would go
  O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm,
    'Mid he deep darkness, white as snow!
  So stately her bearing, so proud her array,
  The main she will traverse forever and aye!
  Many ports shall exult in the gleam of her mast--
  Hush! hush! Thou vain dreamer, this hour is her last!_"

PHILADELPHIA:
T.B. PETERSON & BROTHERS;
306 CHESTNUT STREET.


1876


MRS. C.A. WARFIELD'S NEW WORKS.

Each Book is in One Volume, Morocco Cloth, price $1.75.

_SEA AND SHORE_.

_MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS_.

_MONFORT HALL_.

_THE HOUSEHOLD OF BOUVERIE_.

_A DOUBLE WEDDING; or, How She Was Won_.

_HESTER HOWARD'S TEMPTATION_.


_From Gail Hamilton, author of "Gala Days" etc._

"'The Household of Bouverie' is one of those books that pluck out all
your teeth, and then dare you to bite them. Your interest is awakened at
once in the first chapter, and you are whirled through in a
lightning-express train that leaves you no opportunity to look at the
little details of wood, and lawn, and river. You notice two or three
little peculiarities of style--one or two 'bits' of painting--and then
you pull on your seven-leagued boots and away you go."

_From George Ripley's Review of "The Household of Bouverie" in Harper's
Magazine_.

"'The Household of Bouverie,' by Mrs. Warfield, is a wonderful book. I
have read it twice--the second time more carefully than the first--and I
use the term 'wonderful,' because it best expresses the feeling
uppermost in my mind, both while reading and thinking it over. As a
piece of imaginative writing, I have seen nothing to equal it since the
days of Edgar A. Poe, and I doubt whether he could have sustained
himself and the readers through a book half the size of the 'Household
of Bouverie.' I have literally hurried through it by my intense
sympathy, my devouring curiosity--It was more than interest. I read
everywhere--between the courses of the hotel-table, on the boat, in the
cars--until I had swallowed the last line. This is no common occurrence
with a veteran romance reader like myself."

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers at $1.75 each, or $10.50 for
a complete set of the six volumes, or copies of either one or more of
the above Books, or a complete set of the six volumes, will be sent at
once, to any one, to any place, post-paid, or free of freight, on
remitting their price in a letter to the publishers,

T.B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,
306 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA, PA.




  "No fears hath she! Her giant form
    Majestically calm would go
  O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm,
    'Mid the deep darkness, white as snow!
  So stately her bearing, so proud her array,
    The main she will traverse forever and aye!
  Many ports shall exult in the gleam of her mast--
    Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer, this hour is her last!"

  WILSON, "_Isle of Palms_."

       *       *       *       *       *

              "Then hold her
  Strictly confined in sombre banishment,
  And Doubt not but she will ere long, full gladly,
  Her freedom purchase at the price you name."

       *       *       *       *       *

              "No, subtle snake!
  It is the baseness of thy selfish mind,
  Full of all guile, and cunning, and deceit,
  That severs us so far, and shall do _ever_."

       *       *       *       *       *

  "Despair shall give me strength--where is the door?
  Mine eyes are dark! I cannot find it now.
  O God! protect me in this awful pass!"

  JOANNA BAILLIE, _Tragedy of "Orra_."




SEA AND SHORE.

BY MRS. C.A. WARFIELD.

AUTHOR OF "THE HOUSEHOLD OF BOUVERIE."




CHAPTER I.


It was a calm and hazy morning of Southern summer that on which I turned
my face seaward from the "keep" of Beauseincourt, never, I knew, to see
its time-stained walls again, save through the mirage of memory. There
is an awe almost as solemn to me in a consciousness like this as that
which attends the death-bed parting, and my straining eye takes in its
last look of a familiar scene as it might do the ever-to-be-averted face
of friendship.

The refrain of Poe's even then celebrated poem was ringing through my
brain on that sultry August day, I remember, like a tolling bell, as I
looked my last on the gloomy abode of the La Vignes; but I only said
aloud, in answer to the sympathizing glances of one who sat before
me--the gentle and quiet Marion--who had suddenly determined to
accompany me to Savannah, nerved with unwonted impulse:

"Madame de Stael was right when she said that 'nevermore' was the
saddest and most expressive word in the English tongue" (so harsh to her
ears, usually). "I think she called it the sweetest, too, in sound; but
to me it is simply the most sorrowful, a knell of doom, and it fills my
soul to-day to overflowing, for 'never, never more' shall I look on
Beauseincourt!"

"You cannot tell, Miss Harz, what _time_ may do; you may still return to
visit us in our retirement, you and Captain Wentworth," urged Marion,
gently, leaning forward, as she spoke, to take my hand in hers.

"'Time the tomb-builder'" fell from my lips ere they were aware. "That
is a grand thought--one that I saw lately in a Western poem, the
New-Year's address of a young editor of Kentucky called Prentice. Is it
not splendid, Marion?"

"Very awful, rather," she responded, with a faint shudder. "Time the
'comforter,' let us say, instead, Miss Miriam--Time the
'veil-spreader.'"

"Why, Marion, you are quite poetic to-day, quite Greek! That is a sweet
and tender saying of yours, and I shall garner it. I stand reproved, my
child. All honor to Time, the _merciful_, whether he builds palaces or
tombs! but none the less do I reverence my young poet for that
stupendous utterance of his soul. I shall watch the flight of that
eaglet of the West with interest from this hour! May he aspire!"

"Not if he is a Jackson Democrat?" broke in the usually gentle Alice
Durand, fired with a ready defiance of all heterodox policy, common, if
not peculiar, to that region.

"Oh, but he is not; he is a good Whig instead--a Clay man, as we call
such."

"Not a Calhoun man, though, I suppose, so I would not give a snap of my
fingers for him or his poetry! It is very natural, for you, Miss Harz,"
in a somewhat deprecating tone, "to praise your partisans. I would not
have you neutral if I could, it is so contemptible."

A little of the good doctor's spirit there, under all that exterior of
meekness and modesty, I saw at a glance, and liked her none the less for
it, if truth were told. And now we were nearing the gate, with its
gray-stone pillars, on one of which, that from which the marble ball had
rolled, to hide in the grass beneath, perchance, until the end of all, I
had seen the joyous figure of Walter La Vigne so lightly poised on the
occasion of my last exodus from Beauseincourt. A moment's pause, and the
difficult, disused bolts that had once exasperated the patience of
Colonel La Vigne were drawn asunder, and the clanking gates clashed
behind us as we emerged from the shadowed domain into the glare and dust
of the high-road.

Here Major Favraud, accompanied by Duganne, awaited us, seated in state
in his lofty, stylish swung gig (with his tiny tiger behind), drawn
tandem-wise by his high-stepping and peerless blooded bays, Castor and
Pollux. Brothers, like the twins of Leda, they had been bred in the
blue-grass region of Kentucky and the vicinity of Ashland, and were
worthy of their ancient pedigree, their perfect training and classic
names, the last bestowed when he first became their owner, by Major
Favraud, who, with a touch of the whip or a turn of the hand, controlled
them to subjection, fiery coursers although they were!

Dr. Durand, too, with his spacious and flame-lined gig, accompanied by
his son, a lad of sixteen, awaited our arrival, and served to swell the
cavalcade that wound slowly down the dusty road, with its sandy surface
and red-clay substratum. A few young gentlemen on horseback completed
our _cortege_.

Major Favraud sat holding his ribbons gracefully in one gauntleted
hand, while he uncovered his head with the other, bowing suavely in his
knightly fashion, as he said:

"Come drive with me, Miss Harz, for a while, and let the young folks
take it together."

"Oh, no, Major Favraud; you must excuse me, indeed! I feel a little
languid this morning, and I should be poor company. Besides, I cannot
surrender my position as one of the young folks yet."

"Nay, I have something to say to you--something very earnest. You shall
be at no trouble to entertain me; but you must not refuse a poor, sad
fellow a word of counsel and cheer. I shall think hard of you if you
decline to let me drive you a little way. Besides, the freshness of the
morning is all lost on you there. Now, set Marion a good example, and
she will, in turn, enliven me later."

So adjured, I consented to drive to the Fifteen-mile House with Major
Favraud, and Duganne glided into the coach in my stead, to take my place
and play _vis-a-vis_ to Sylphy, who, as usual, was selected as
traveling-companion on this occasion, "to take kear of de young ladies."

"I am so glad I have you all to myself once more, Miss Harz! I feel now
that we are fast friends again. And I wanted to tell you, while I could
speak of her, how much my poor wife liked you. (The time will come when
I must not, _dare_ not, you know.) But for circumstances, she would have
urged you to become our guest, or even in-dweller; but you know how it
all was! I need not feign any longer, nor apologize either."

"It must have been that she saw how lovely and _spirituelle_ I found
_her_," I said, "and could not bear to be outdone in consideration, nor
to owe a debt of social gratitude. She knew so little of me. But these
affinities are electric sometimes, I must believe."

"Yes, there is more of that sort of thing on earth, perhaps, 'than is
dreamed of in our philosophy'--antagonism and attraction are always
going on among us unconsciously."

"I am inclined to believe so from my own experience," I replied,
vaguely, thinking, Heaven knows, of any thing at the moment rather than
of him who sat beside me.

"Your mind is on Wentworth, I perceive," he said, softly; after a short
pause, "now give up your dream for a little while and listen to this
sober reality--sober to-day, at least," he added, with a light laugh.
"By-the-way, talking of magnetism, do you know, Miss Harz, I think you
are the most universally magnetic woman I ever saw? All the men fall in
love with you, and the women don't hate you for it, either."

"How perfectly the last assertion disproves the first!" I replied; "but
I retract, I will not, even for the sake of a syllogism, abuse my own
sex; women are never envious except when men make them so, by casting
down among them the golden apple of admiration."

"I know one man, at least, who never foments discord in this way!
Wentworth, from the beginning, had eyes and ears for no one but
yourself, yet I never dreamed the drama would be enacted so speedily; I
own I was as much in the dark as anybody."

I could not reply to this _badinage_, as in happier moments I might have
done, but said, digressively:

"By-the-by, while I think of it, I must put down on my tablet the order
of Mr. Vernon. He wants 'Longfellow's Poems,' if for sale in Savannah.
He has been permeating his brain with the 'Psalms of Life,' that have
come out singly in the _Knickerbocker Magazine_, until he craves every
thing that pure and noble mind has thrown forth in the shape of a song."

And I scribbled in my memorandum-book, for a moment, while Major Favraud
mused.

"Longfellow!" he said, at last, "Phoebus, what a name!" adding
affectedly, "yet it seems to me, on reflection, I _have_ heard it
before. He is a Yankee, of course! Now, do you earnestly believe a
native of New England, by descent a legitimate witch-burner, you know,
_can_ be any thing better than a poll-parrot in the poetical line?"

"Have we not proof to the contrary, Major Favraud?"

"What proof? Metre and rhyme, I grant you--long and short--but show me
the afflatus! They make verse with a penknife, like their wooden
nutmegs. They are perfect Chinese for ingenuity and imitation, and the
resemblance to the real Simon-pure is very perfect--externally. But when
it comes to grating the nut for negus, we miss the aroma!"

"Do you pretend that Bryant is not a poet in the grain, and that the
wondrous boy, Willis, was not also 'to the manner born?' Read
'Thanatopsis,' or are you acquainted with it already? I hardly think you
can be. Read those scriptural poems."

"A very smooth school-exercise the first, no more. There is not a
heart-beat in the whole grind. As to Willie--he failed egregiously, when
he attempted to 'gild refined gold and paint the lily,' as he did in his
so-called 'Sacred Poems.' He can spin a yarn pretty well, and coin a new
word for a make-shift, amusingly, but save me from the foil-glitter of
his poetry."[1]

"This is surprising! You upset all precedent. I really wish you had not
said these things. I now begin to see the truth of what my copy-book
told me long ago, that 'evil association corrupts good manners,' or I
will vary it and substitute 'opinions.' I must eschew your society, in a
literary way, I must indeed, Major Favraud."

"Now comes along this strolling Longfellow minstrel," he continued,
ignoring or not hearing my remark, "with _his_ dreary hurdy-gurdy to cap
the climax. Heavens! what a nasal twang the whole thing has to me. Not
an original or cheerful note! 'Old Hundred' is joyful in comparison!"

"You shall not say that," I interrupted; "you shall not dare to say that
in my presence. It is sheer slander, that you have caught up from some
malignant British review, and, like all other serpents, you are venomous
in proportion to your blindness! I am vexed with you, that you will not
see with the clear, discerning eyes God gave you originally."

"But I do see with them, and very discerningly, notwithstanding your
comparison. Now there is that 'Skeleton in Armor,' his last effusion, I
believe, that you are all making such a work over--fine-sounding thing
enough, I grant you, ingenious rhyme, and all that. But I know where the
framework came from! Old Drayton furnished that in his 'Battle of
Agincourt.'" Then in a clear, sonorous voice, he gave some specimens of
each, so as to point the resemblance, real or imaginary.

"You are content with mere externs in finding your similitudes, Major
Favraud! In power of thought, beauty of expression, what comparison is
there? Drayton's verse is poor and vapid, even mean, beside
Longfellow's."

"I grant you that. I have never for one moment disputed the ability of
those Yankees. Their manufacturing talents are above all praise, but
when it comes to the 'God-fire,' as an old German teacher of mine used
to say, our simple Southern poets leave them all behind--'Beat them all
hollow,' would be their own expression. You gee, Miss Harz, that
Cavalier blood of ours, that inspired the old English bards, _will_
tell, in spite of circumstances."

"But genius is of no rank--no blood--no clime! What court poet of his
day, Major Favraud, compared with Robert Burns for feeling, fire, and
pathos? Who ever sung such siren strains as Moore, a simple Irishman of
low degree? No Cavalier blood there, I fancy! What power, what beauty in
the poems of Walter Scott! Byron was a poet in spite of his condition,
not because of it. Hear Barry Cornwall--how he stirs the blood I What
trumpet like to Campbell I What mortal voice like to Shelley's? the
hybrid angel! What full orchestra surpassed Coleridge for harmony and
brilliancy of effect? Who paints panoramas like Southey? Who charms like
Wordsworth? Yet these were men of medium condition, all--I hate the
conceits of Cowley, Waller, Sir John Suckling, Carew, and the like. All
of your Cavalier type, I believe, a set of hollow pretenders mostly."

"All this is overwhelming, I grant," bowing deferentially. "But I return
to my first idea, that Puritan blood was not exactly fit to engender
genius; and that in the rich, careless Southern nature there lurks a
vein of undeveloped song that shall yet exonerate America from the
charge of poverty of genius, brought by the haughty Briton! Yes, we will
sing yet a mightier strain than has ever been poured since the time of
Shakespeare! and in that good time coming weave a grander heroic poem
than any since the days of Homer! Then men's souls shall have been
tried in the furnace of affliction, and Greek meets not Greek, but
Yankee. For we Southerners only bide our time!"

And he cut his spirited lead-horse, until it leaped forward suddenly, as
though to vent his excitement, and, setting his email white teeth
sternly, with an eye like a burning coal, looked forward into space, his
whole face contracting.

"The Southern lyre has been but lightly swept so far, Miss Harz," he
continued, a moment later, "and only by the fingers of love; we need
Bellona to give tone to our orchestra."

I could not forbear reciting somewhat derisively the old couplet--

  "'Sound the trumpet, teat the drum,
  Tremble France, we come, we come!'

"Is that the style Major Favraud?" I asked. "I remember the time when I
thought these two lines the most soul-stirring in the language--they
seem very bombastic now, in my maturity."

He smiled, and said: "The time is not come for our war-poem, and, as for
love, let me give you one strain of Pinckney's to begin with;" and,
without waiting for permission, he recited the beautiful "Pledge," with
which all readers are now familiar, little known then, however, beyond
the limits of the South, and entirely new to me, beginning with--

  "I fill this cup to one made up
    Of loveliness alone,
  A woman of her gentle sex
    The seeming paragon"--

continuing to the end with eloquence and spirit.

"Now, that is poetry, Miss Harz! the real afflatus is there; the bead on
the wine; the dew on the rose; the bloom on the grape! Nothing wanting
that constitutes the indefinable divine thing called genius! You
understand my idea, of course; explanations are superfluous."

I assented mutely, scarce knowing why I did so.

"Now, hear another." And the woods rang with his clear, sonorous accents
as he declaimed, a little too scanningly, perhaps--too much like an
enthusiastic boy:

  "Love lurks upon my lady's lip,
    His bow is figured there;
  Within her eyes his arrows sleep;
    His fetters are--her hair!"

"I call that nothing but a bundle of conceits, Major Favraud, mostly of
the days of Charles II., of Rochester himself--" interrupting him as I
in turn was interrupted.

"But hear further," and he proceeded to the end of that marvelous
ebullition of foam and fervor, such as celebrated the birth of Aphrodite
herself perchance in the old Greek time; and which, despite my perverse
intentions, stirred me as if I had quaffed a draught of pink champagne.
Is it not, indeed, all _couleur de rose_? Hear this bit of melody, my
reader, sitting in supreme judgment, and perhaps contempt, on your
throne apart:

  "'Upon her cheek the crimson ray
    By changes comes and goes,
  As rosy-hued Aurora's play
    Along the polar snows;
  Gay as the insect-bird that sips
    From scented flowers the dew--
  Pure as the snowy swan that dips
    Its wings in waters blue;
  Sweet thoughts are mirrored on her face,
    Like clouds on the calm sea,
  And every motion is a grace,
    Each word a melody!'"

"Yes, that is true poetry, I acknowledge, Major Favraud," I exclaimed,
not at all humbled by conviction, though a little annoyed at the pointed
manner in which he gave (looking in my face as he did so) these
concluding lines:

  "Say from what fair and sunny shore,
    Fair wanderer, dost thou rove,
  Lest what I only should adore
    I heedless think to love?"

"The character of Pinckney's genius," I rejoined, "is, I think,
essentially like that of Praed, the last literary phase with me--for I
am geological in my poetry, and take it in strata. But I am more
generous to your Southern bard than you are to our glorious Longfellow!
I don't call that imitation, but coincidence, the oneness of genius! I
do not even insinuate plagiarism." My manner, cool and careless,
steadied his own.

"You are right: our 'Shortfellow' _was_ incapable of any thing of the
sort. Peace be to his ashes! With all his nerve and _vim_, he died of
melancholy, I believe. As good an end as any, however, and certainly
highly respectable. But you know what Wordsworth says in his
'School-master'--

  "'If there is one that may bemoan
    His kindred laid in earth,
  The household hearts that were his own,
    It is the man of mirth.'"

He sighed as he concluded his quotation--sighed, and slackened the pace
of his flying steeds. "But give me something of Praed's in return," he
said, rallying suddenly; "is there not a pretty little thing called 'How
shall I woo her?'" glancing archly and somewhat impertinently at me, I
thought--or, perhaps, what would simply have amused me in another man
and mood shocked me in him, the recent widower--widowed, too, under such
peculiar and awful circumstances! I did not reflect sufficiently
perhaps, on his ignorance of many of these last.

How I deplored his levity, which nothing could overcome or restrain; and
yet beneath which I even then believed lay depths of anguish! How I
wished that influence of mine could prevail to induce him to divide his
dual nature, "To throw away the worser part of it, and live the purer
with the better half!" But I could only show disapprobation by the
gravity of my silence.

"So you will not give me 'How shall I woo her?' Miss Harz?" a little
embarrassed, I perceived, by my manner. "I have a fancy for the title,
nevertheless, not having heard any more, and should be glad to hear the
whole poem. But you are prudish to-day, I fancy."

"No, there is nothing in that poem, certainly, that angels might not
hear approvingly; but it would sadden you, Major Favraud."

"I will take the chance of that," laughing. "Come, the poem, if you care
to please your driver, and reward his care. See how skillfully I avoided
that fallen branch--suppose I were to be spiteful, and upset you against
this stump?"

Any thing was preferable to his levity; and, as I had warned him of the
possible effect of the poem he solicited, I could not be accused of want
of consideration in reciting it. Besides, he deserved the lesson, the
stern lesson that it taught.

As this could in no way be understood by such of my readers as are
unacquainted with this little gem, I venture to give it here--exquisite,
passionate utterance that it is, though little known to fame, at least
at this writing:

  "'How shall I woo her? I will stand
    Beside her when she sings,
  And watch her fine and fairy hand
    Flit o'er the quivering strings!
  But shall I tell her I have heard,
    Though sweet her song may be,
  A voice where every whispered word
    _Was more than song to me_?

  "'How shall I woo her? I will gaze,
    In sad and silent trance,
  On those blue eyes whose liquid rays
    Look love in every glance.
  But shall I tell her eyes more bright,
    Though bright her own may beam,
  Will fling a deeper spell to-night
  _Upon me in my dream_?'"

I hesitated. "Let me stop here, Major Favraud, I counsel you," I
interpolated, earnestly; but he only rejoined:

"No, no! proceed, I entreat you! it is very beautiful--very touching,
too!" Speaking calmly, and slacking rein, so that the grating of the
wheels among the stems of the scarlet _lychnis_, that grew in immense
patches on our road, might not disturb his sense of hearing, which,
by-the-way, was exquisitely nice and fastidious.

"As you please, then;" and I continued the recitation.

  "'How shall I woo her? I will try
    The charms of olden time,
  And swear by earth, and sea, and sky,
    And rave in prose and rhyme--
  And I will tell her, when I bent
    My knee in other years,
  I was not half so _eloquent_;
    I could not speak--_for tears_!'"

I watched him narrowly; the spell was working now; the poet's hand was
sweeping, with a gust of power, that harp of a thousand strings, the
wondrous human heart! And I again pursued, in suppressed tones of
heart-felt emotion, the pathetic strain that he had evoked with an idea
of its frivolity alone:

  "'How shall I woo her? I will bow
    Before the holy shrine,
  And pray the prayer, and vow the vow,
    And press her lips to mine--
  And I will tell her, when she starts
    From passion's thrilling kiss,
  That _memory_ to many hearts
    Is dearer far than bliss!'"

It was reserved for the concluding verse to unnerve him completely; a
verse which I rendered with all the pathos of which I was capable, with
a view to its final effect, I confess:

  "'Away! away! the chords are mute,
    The bond is rent in twain;
  You _cannot_ wake the silent lute,
    Or clasp its links again.
  Love's toil, I know, is little cost;
    Love's perjury is light sin;
  But souls that lose what I have lost,
    What have they left to win?'"

"What, indeed?" he exclaimed, impetuously--tears now streaming over his
olive cheeks. He flung the reins to me with a quick, convulsive motion,
and covered his face with his hands. Groans burst from his murmuring
lips, and the great deeps of sorrow gave up their secrets. I was sorry
to have so stirred him to the depths by any act or words of mine, and
yet I enjoyed the certainty of his anguish.

I checked the horses beneath a magnolia-tree, and sat quietly waiting
for the flood of emotion to subside as for him to take the initiative. I
had no word to say, no consolation to offer. Nay, after consideration,
rather did I glory in his grief, which redeemed his nature in my
estimation, though grieved in turn to have afflicted him. For, in spite
of all his faults, and my earlier prejudices, I loved this impulsive
Southron man, as Scott has it, "right brotherly."

At last, looking up grave, tearless, and pale, and resuming his reins
without apology for having surrendered them, he said, abruptly:

"All is so vain! Such mockery now to me! She was the sole reality of
this universe to my heart! I grapple with shadows unceasingly. There is
not on the face of this globe a more desolate wretch. You understand
this! You feel for me, you do not deride me! You know how perfect, how
spiritual she was! You loved her well--I saw it in your eyes, your
manner--and for that, if nothing else, you have my heart-felt gratitude.
So few appreciated her unearthly purity. Yet, was it not strange she
should have loved a man so gross, so steeped in sensuous, thoughtless
enjoyment--so remote from God as I am--have ever been? But the song
speaks for me"--waving his gauntleted hand--"better than I can speak:

  "'Away! away! the chords are mute,
    The bond is rent in twain.'"

"I shall never marry again--never! Miss Miriam, I know now, and shall
know evermore, in all its fullness, and weariness, and bitterness, the
meaning of that terrible word--alone! Eternal solitude. The Robinson
Crusoe of society. A sort of social Daniel Boone. Thus you must ever
consider me. And yet, just think of it, Miss Harz!"

"Oh, but you will not always feel so; there may come a time of
reaction." I hesitated. It was not my purpose to encourage change.

"No, never! never!" he interrupted, passionately; "don't even suggest
it--don't! and check me sternly if ever I forget my grief again in
frivolity of any sort in your presence. You are a noble, sweet woman,
with breadth enough of character to make allowances for the shortcomings
of a poor, miserable man like me--trying to cheat himself back into
gayety and the interests of life. I have sisters, but they are not like
you. I wish to Heaven they were! There is not a woman in the world on
whom I have any claims--on whose shoulder I can lean my head and take a
hearty cry. And what are men at such a season? Mocking fiends, usually,
the best of them! I shall go abroad, Miss Harz. I am no anchorite. You
will hear of me as a gay man of the world, perhaps; but, as to being
happy, that can never be again! The bubble of life has burst, and my
existence falls flat to the earth. Victor Favraud, that airy nothing, is
scarcely a 'local habitation and a name' now!"

"Let him make a name, then," I urged. "With military talents like yours,
Major Favraud, the road to distinction will soon be open to you. Our
approaching difficulties with France--"

"Oh, that will all be patched up, or has been, by this time. Van Buren
is a crafty but peace-loving fox! Something of an epicurean, too, in his
high estate. What grim old Jackson left half healed, he will complete
the cure of. Ah, Miss Harz, I had hoped to flesh my sword in a nobler
cause!"

I knew what he meant. That dream of nullification was still uppermost
in his soul--dispersed, as it was, in the eyes of all reasonable men. I
shook my head. "Thank God! all that is over," I said, gravely,
fervently; "and my prayer to Him is that he may vouchsafe to preserve us
for evermore an unbroken people!"

"May He help Israel when the time comes," he murmured low, "for come it
will, Miss Harz, as surely as there is a sun in the heavens! 'and may I
be there to see!' as John Gilpin said, or some one of him--which was
it?"

And, whipping up his lagging steeds as we gained the open road, we
emerged swiftly from the shadows of the forest--between nodding
cornfields, already helmed and plumed for the harvest, and plantations
green with thrifty cotton-plants, with their half-formed bolls,
promising such bounteous yield, and meadows covered with the tufted
Bermuda grass, with its golden-green verdure, we sped our way toward
Lenoir's Landing.

This peninsula was formed by the junction of two rivers, between which
intervened a narrow point of land, with a background of steep hills,
covered with a growth of black-jack and yellow-pine to the summit. Here
was a ferry with its Charon-like boat, of the primitive sort--flat
barge, poled-over by negroes, and capable of containing at one time many
bales of cotton, a stagecoach or wagon with four horses, besides
passengers _ad libitum_.

This ferry constituted the chief source of revenue of Madame Grambeau,
an old French lady, remarkable in many ways. She kept the stage-house
hard by, with its neat picketed inclosure, its overhanging live-oak
trees and small trim parterre, gay at this season with various annual
flowers, scarce worth the cultivation, one would think, in that land of
gorgeous perennial bloom. But Queen Margarets, ragged robins, variegated
balsams, and tawny marigolds, have their associations, doubtless, to
make them dear and valuable to the foreign heart, to which they seem
essential, wherever a plot of ground be in possession.

Mignonette, I have observed, is a special passion with the French exile,
recalling, doubtless, the narrow boxes, fitted to the stone window-sill
of certain former lofty lodgings across the sea, perhaps, situated in
the heart of some great city, and overlooking roofs and court-yards--the
street being quite out of the question in such a view, distant, as it
seems, from them, as the sky itself, though in an opposite direction.

I have used the word "exile" advisedly with regard to Madame Grambeau,
and not figuratively at all. She was, I had been told, a _bourgeoise_,
of good class, who had taken part in the early revolution, but who, when
the _canaille_ triumphed and drenched the land in blood, in the second
phase of that fearful outburst of volcanic feeling, had fled before the
whirlwind with her child and husband to embark for America. At the point
of embarcation--like Evangeline--the husband and wife had been separated
accidentally, and on her arrival in a strange land she found herself
alone and penniless with her son, scarce six years old. Her husband had
been carried to a Southern port, she learned by the merest chance, and,
disguising herself in man's attire, and leading her little son by the
hand, she set forth in quest of him, carrying with her a violin, which,
together with the clothes she wore, had been found in the trunk of
Monsieur Grambeau, brought on the vessel in which she came, but which
depository she had been obliged to abandon, when setting forth on her
pilgrimage.

She was no unskillful performer on this instrument, and solely by such
aid she gained her food and lodging to the interior of Georgia. Reaching
her destination after a long and painful journey and delays of many
kinds, she found her husband living in a log-hut, on the border of
Talupa River, a hut which he had built himself, and earning his bread by
ferrying travellers across that stream.

Yet here, with the characteristic contentment of her people under all
circumstances, she settled down quietly to aid him and make his home
happy; bore him many children (most of whom were dead at the time I saw
her, as those living were separated from her at that period), reared and
educated them herself, toiled for and with them, late and early,
strained every nerve in the arduous cause of duty, and found herself, in
extreme old age, widowed and alone, having amassed but little of the
world's lucre, yet cheerful and energetic even if dependent still on her
own exertions.

All this and much more I had heard before I saw Madame Grambeau or her
abode--a picturesque affair in itself, however humble--consisting
originally of a log-house, to which more recently white frame wings had
been attached, projecting a few feet in front of the primitive building,
and connected thereto by a shed-roofed gallery, which embraced the whole
front of the log-cottage, along which ran puncheon steps the entire
length of the grand original tree-trunk, as of the porch itself. It was
a triumph of rural art.

Over this portico, so low in front as barely to admit the passage of a
tall man beneath its eaves, without stooping, a wild multiflora rose,
then in full flower, was artistically trained so as to present a series
of arches to the eye as the wayfarer approached the dwelling; no
tapestry was ever half so lovely.

The path which led from the little white gate, with its swinging chain
and ball, was covered with river-pebbles and shells, and bordered by
box, trimly clipped and kept low, and the two broad steps, that led to
the porch, bore evidence of recent scouring, though rough and unpainted.

Framed in one of those pointed natural cathedral-windows of vivid green,
gemmed with red roses, of which the division-posts of the porch formed
the white outlines, stood the most remarkable-looking aged woman I have
ever seen. At a first glance, indeed, the question of sex would have
arisen, and been found difficult to decide. Her attire seemed that of a
friar, even to the small scalloped cape that scantily covered her
shoulders, and the coarse black serge, of which her strait gown was
composed, leaving exposed her neatly though coarsely clad feet, with
their snow-white home-knit stockings, and low-quartered, well-polished
calf-skin shoes, confined with steel buckles, and elevated on heels,
then worn by men alone.

She wore a white habit shirt, the collar, bosom, and wristbands of which
were visible; but no cap covered her silver hair, which was cropped in
the neck, and divided at one side in true manly fashion. It was brushed
well back from her expansive, fair, and unwrinkled forehead, beneath
which large blue eyes looked out with that strange solemnity we see
alone in the orbs of young, thoughtful children, or the very old.

Scott's description of the "Monk of Melrose Abbey" occurred to me, as I
gazed on this calm and striking figure!

  "And strangely on the knight looked he,
  And his blue eyes gleamed wild and wide."

She stood watching our approach, leaning with both hands on her ebony,
silver-headed cane, above which she stooped slightly, her aged and
somewhat severe, but serene face fully turned toward us, in the clear
light of morning, with a grave majesty of aspect.

Above her head in its wicker cage swung the gray and crimson parrot, of
which Sylphy had spoken, and to which, it may be remembered, she had so
irreverently likened her master on one occasion; bursting forth, as it
saw us coming, into a shrill, stereotyped phrase of welcome--"_Bien
venu, compatriote_," that was irresistibly ludicrous and irrelevant.

"Tremble, France! we come--we come," said Major Favraud; "there's your
quotation well applied this time, Miss Harz! It is impressive, after
all."

"Hush! she will hear you," I remonstrated, quite awed in that still,
majestic presence, for now we stood before our aged hostess, who, with a
cold but stately politeness after Major Favraud's salutation and
introduction, waved us in and across her threshold. As for Major
Favraud, he had turned to leave us on the door-sill, to see to the
comfort and safety of his horses; not liking, perhaps, the appearance of
the superannuated ostler, who lounged near the stable of the inn, if
such might be called this rustic retreat without sign, lodging, or
bar-rooms.

"Are we in the mansion of a decayed queen, or the log-hut of a wayside
innkeeper?" I questioned low of Marion.

"Both in one, it seems to me," was the reply. "But Madame Grambeau is no
curiosity, no novelty to me, I have stopped here so frequently. I ought
to have told you, before we came, not to be surprised."

Pausing at the door of a large, square room, from which voices
proceeded, she invited us with a singularly graceful though formal
courtesy to enter, smiling and pointing forward silently as she did so,
and then, like Major Favraud, she turned and abandoned us at the
door-sill, on which we stood riveted for a moment by the sound of a
vibrant and eager voice speaking some never-to-be-forgotten words.

"For the slave is the coral-insect of the South," said the voice within;
"insignificant in himself, he rears a giant structure--which will yet
cause the wreck of the ship of state, should its keel grate too closely
on that adamantine wall. '_L'etat c'est moi_,' said Louis XIV., and that
'slavery is the South' is as true an utterance. Our staple--our
patriarchal institution--our prosperity--are one and indissoluble, and
the sooner the issue comes the better for the nation!"

Standing with his hand on the back of a chair near the casement-window
of the large, low apartment, in close conversation with two other
gentlemen, was the speaker of these remarkable words, which embraced the
whole genius and policy of the South as it then existed, and which were
delivered in those clear and perfectly modulated tones that bespeak the
practised orator and the man of dominant energies.

I felt instinctively that I stood in the presence of one of the anointed
princes of the earth--felt it, and was thrilled.

"Do you know that gentleman, Marion?" I whispered, as we seated
ourselves on the old-fashioned settle, or rather sofa, in one corner of
the room, gazing admiringly, as I spoke, on the tall, slight figure,
with its air of power and poise, that stood at some distance, with
averted face.

"No, I have no idea who it is, or who are his companions either," she
replied; "unless"--hesitating with scrutiny in her eyes--

"His companions, I do not care to question of them!--but that man
himself--the speaker--has a sovereign presence! Can it be possible--"

The entrance of Major Favraud interrupted further conjecture, for at the
sound of those emphatic boots the stranger turned, and for one moment
the splendor of his large dark eyes, in their iron framing, met my own,
then passed recognizingly on to rest on the face of Major Favraud, and
advancing with extended hands, made more cordial by his voice and smile,
he greeted him familiarly as "Victor."

Major Favraud stood for a moment spell-bound--then suddenly rushing
forward, flung his hat to the floor, caught the hand of the stranger
between his own and pressed it to his heart. (To his lips, I think, he
would fain have lifted it, falling on one knee, perchance, at the same
time in a knightly fashion of hero-worship that modern reticence
forbids.) But he contented himself with exclaiming:

"Mr. Calhoun! best of friends, welcome back to Georgia!" And tears
started to his eyes and choked his utterance. Thus was my conjecture
confirmed. I never felt so thrilled, so elated, by any presence.

There was a momentary pause after this fervent greeting, emotional on
one part only.

"But why did you not meet me at Milledgeville?" asked Mr. Calhoun. "Most
of my friends in this vicinity sustained me there. I have been
discussing the great question[2] again, Favraud, and I should have been
glad of your countenance."

"I have been detained at home of late by a cruel necessity," was the
faltering reply, "or I should never have played recreant to my old
master."

"Good fortune spoiled me a fine lawyer in your case, Victor! But
introduce me to your wife. Remember, I have never had the pleasure of
meeting Madame Favraud," advancing, as he spoke, toward me, with his
hand on Major Favraud's shoulder (above whom he towered by a head),
courteously and impulsively.

"Miss Harz, Miss La Vigne, Miss Durand--Mr. Calhoun," said Major
Favraud, pale as death now, and trembling as he spoke. "These ladies are
friends of mine--one, a distant relative"--he hesitated--"within the
last six weeks I have had the misfortune to lose my wife, Mr. Calhoun.
You understand matters better now."

All conversation was cut short by this sudden announcement. Deeply
shocked, Mr. Calhoun led Major Favraud aside, with a brief apology to me
for his misapprehension, and they stood together, talking low, at the
extreme end of the apartment, affording me thus an admirable opportunity
for observing the _personnel_ of the great Southern leader, during the
brief space of time accorded by the change of stage-horses. For, with
his friends, he was then _en route_ for another appointment. He was
canvassing the State, with a view to a final rally of its resources,
preparatory to his last great effort--to scotch the serpent of the
North, which finally, however, wound its insidious folds around the
heart of brotherly affection, stifling it, as the snakes of fable were
sent to do the baby Hercules.

No picture of Mr. Calhoun has ever done him justice,[3] although his
was a physiognomy that an artist could scarcely fail to make an extern
likeness of, from its remarkable characteristics. It was truly an
iron-bound face, condensed, powerful in every nerve, muscle, and
lineament, and fraught, beyond almost all others, with intellect and
resolution. But the glory and power of that glance and smile no painter
could convey--those attributes of man which more fully than aught else
betray the immortal soul!

Just as I beheld him that day, bending above Major Favraud in his
tender, half-paternal dignity and solicitude combined, soothing and
condoling with him (I could not doubt, from the expression of his
speaking countenance), I see him still in mental vision; nor can I
wonder more at the depth and strength of enthusiasm he awakened in the
hearts of his friends.

It belongs not to every great man to excite this devotion, yet, where it
blends with greatness, it is irresistible. Mohammed, Cyrus, Alexander,
Darius, Pericles, Napoleon, were thus magnetically gifted. I recall few
instances of others so distinguished in station who possessed this
power, which has its root, perhaps, after all, in the great
master-passion of mortality, the yearning for exalted sympathy, so
seldom accorded.

This observation of mine was but a glimpse at best, for the winding of
the stage-horn was the signal for Mr. Calhoun's departure, and I never
saw him more. But that glimpse alone opened to my eyes a mighty volume!

A few days before I should have rejected as wearisome the details to
which I listened with eagerness now, and which I even sought to elicit
as to Mr. Calhoun--his mode of life, his mountain-home, and his passion,
for those heights he inhabited, and which, no doubt, contributed to
train his character to energy and strengthen his _physique_ to endure
its brain-burden, I heard with pleasure the account of one who had
passed much of his youth beneath his roof, and who, however
enthusiastic, was, in the very framing of his nature, strictly truthful
with regard to the mutual devotion of the master and slaves, the
invariable courtesy and sweetness of his deportment to his own family,
his justice and regard for the feelings of his lowest dependant, his
simplicity, his cheerfulness.

"A grave and even gloomy man in public life, he is all life and interest
in the social circle," said Major Favraud. "His range of thought is the
grandest and most unlimited, his powers of conversation are the rarest I
have ever met with. Yet he never refused, on any occasion, to answer
with minuteness the inquiries of the smallest child or most
insignificant dependant. 'Had he not been Alexander, he must have been
Parmenio.' Had fortune not struck out for him the path of a statesman,
he would have made the most impressive and perfect of teachers. As it
was, without the slightest approach to pedagogism, he involuntarily
instructed all who came near him, without effort or weariness on either
side."

"Does he love music--poetry?" I asked.

"Oh, yes; Scottish songs and classic verse, especially, are his
delights. He has no affectation. His tastes are all his own--his
opinions all genuine. He is, indeed, a man of very varied attainment, as
well as great grasp of intellect. Yet, as you see, he likes his
opposites sometimes, Miss Harz," and he laid his hand proudly on his
own manly breast.

Talking thus in that large, low, scantily-furnished parlor, with its
split-bottomed chairs, in primitive frames (and in somewhat strange
contrast to its well-polished mahogany tables, dark with time, and walls
adorned with good engravings), with its floor freshly scoured and
sanded, while a simple deal stand in the centre bore a vase filled with
the rarest and most exquisite wild-flowers I had ever seen (from the
gorgeous amaryllis and hibiscus of these regions, down to wax-like
blossoms of fragile delicacy and beauty, whose very names I knew not),
and its many small diamond-paned casement-windows, all neatly curtained
with coarse white muslin bordered with blue, time passed unconsciously
until the noonday meal was announced.

We followed the Mercury of the establishment, a grave-looking little
yellow boy, who seemed to have grown prematurely old, from his constant
companionship, probably, with his preceptor and mistress, into a long,
low apartment in the rear of the dwelling, where a table was spread for
our party, with a damask cloth and napkins, decorated china and
cut-glass, that proved Madame Grambeau's personal superintendence; and
which elicited from Major Favraud, as he entered, a long, low whistle of
approval and surprise, and the exclamation "Heh! madame! you are
overwhelming us to-day with your magnificence."

I was amused with the response. "Sit down, Victor Favraud, and eat your
dinner Christian-like, without remarks! You have never got over the
spoiling you, received when you lay wounded under this roof. I shall
indulge you no longer." Shaking her long forefinger at him. "Your
familiarity needs to be checked." Her manner of grave and kindly irony
removed all impression of rebuke from this speech, which Major Favraud
received very coolly, spoiled child that he really was, rubbing his
hands as he took the foot of the table. At the sight of the _bouilli_
before him, from which a savory steam ascended to his epicurean
nostrils, he said, notwithstanding: "Soup and _bouilli_ too! Ah, madame,
I see why you absented yourself so cruelly this morning. You have been
engaged in good works!"

"Only the sauces, Favraud!--_seulement les sauces_."

"The sauces--it's just that!--Ude is a mere charlatan in comparison,"
turning to me. "Miss Harz, you never tasted any thing before like
madame's soup and sauces. I wish she would take me in partnership for a
while, if only to teach me the recipes that will otherwise die with her.
What a restaurant we two could keep together!"

"You are too unsteady, Favraud, for my _maitre d'hotel_. Your mind is
too much engrossed by the bubbles of politics, you would spoil all my
materials, and realize the old proverb that 'the devil sends cooks.' But
go to work like a good fellow, and carve the dish before you; by that
time the soup will be removed. I have a fine fish, however, in reserve
(let me announce this at once), for my end of the table."

"Here are croquets too, as I live," said Duganne, lifting a cover before
him and peeping in, then returning it quietly to its place. "Are you a
fairy, madame?"

"Much more like a witch," she said, with gayety. "You young men, at
least, think every old, toothless gray-haired crone like me ready for
the stake, you know."

"Not when they make such steaks," said Dr. Durand, attacking the dish,
with its savory surroundings, before him.

"Ah! you make calembourgs, my good doctor.--What do you call them,
Favraud? It is one of the few English words I do not know--or forget. I
believe, to make them, however, is a medical peculiarity."

"Puns, madame, puns, not pills. Don't forget it now. It is time you were
beginning to master our language. You know you are almost grown up!" and
Favraud looked at her saucily.

"A language which madame speaks more perfectly than any foreigner I have
ever known," I remarked. She bowed in answer, well pleased.

In truth, the accent of Madame Grambeau was barely detectable, and her
phraseology was that of a well-translated book--correct, but not
idiomatic, and bearing about it the idiosyncrasy of the language from
which it was derived. She was evidently a person of culture and native
power of intellect combined, and her finely-moulded face, as well as
every gesture and tone, indicated superiority and character.

In that lonely wild, and beneath that lowly roof, there abode a spirit
able and worthy to lead the _coteries_ of the great, and to preside over
the councils of statesmen, and (to rise in climax) the drawing-room of
the _grande monde_. But it was her whim rather than her necessity to
tarry where she could alone be strictly independent, a _sine qua non_ of
her being.

The son she had led by the hand from Hew York to Georgia, and who,
standing by her side, distinctly remembered to have seen the head of the
Princess Lamballe borne on a pole through the streets of Paris, was now
a prominent member of the Legislature, and, through his rich wife, the
incumbent of a great plantation.

But the teachings of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, that philosophic sign-post,
still influenced his mother, in her refusal to live under his splendid
roof, and partake of his bounty, however liberally offered.

"I have a home of my own," she said, "a few faithful servants, brains,
and energy still, besides a small account with General Curzon, in his
bank at Savannah, wherewith to meet emergencies; while these things
last, I will owe to no man or woman for bread or shelter. And, when
these depart, may the grave cover my bones, and the good God receive my
soul!"

Books alone she accepted as gifts from her son, and of these, in a
little three-cornered library, she had a goodly store in the two
languages which she read with equal facility, if not delight.

She showed us this nook before we left, and I saw, lying face downward,
as she had recently left it, the volume she was then perusing at
intervals--one of Madame Sand's novels, "Les Mauprats," I remember, a
singular and powerful romance, then recently issued, whose root I have
always thought might be found in Walter Scott's "Rob Roy," and more
particularly in the Osbaldistone family commemorated in that work.

On suggesting this to Madame Grambeau, she too saw the resemblance I
spoke of, and she agreed, with me, that the coincidence of genius
furnished many such parallels, where no charge of plagiarism could be
attached to either side.

A few bottles of "wild-berry wine," as Elizabeth Barrett called such
fluids, were added to the dinner toward its close, and Marion begged
permission to have her basket of cakes and fruits brought in for
dessert, which else had been wanting to our repast; to which request
Madame Grambeau graciously acceded.

"I make no confections," she said, "but I have lived on the juices of
good meats, well prepared, with such vegetables as the Lord lets grow in
this poor region, many years, and behold I am old and still able to do
his service!"

"And a little good wine, too, occasionally--eh, madame?" added Major
Favraud, impertinently.

"When attainable, Favraud. You drank good wine yourself, when you were
here, and I partook with you moderately. But I buy none such. I drown
not, Clarence-like, even in butts of malmsey, my hard-earned gold; and I
own I am not fond of the juices of the muscadine of your hills;" and she
tapped her snuffbox.

"You are going to hear her talk now," whispered Favraud; "that is a
sign--equal to General Finistere's--the snuffbox tapping, I mean. The
oracle is beginning to arouse! Come I let me stir her further!" and he
inclined his head before her.

"I'll tell you what, madame, you must take a little cognac to keep off
the chills of age. I have some of the best, and will send you down a
demijohn, if you say the word; and in return you shall pray for me. I am
a great sinner, Miss Harz thinks."

"Miss Harz is correct; and we will both promise you our prayers. She,
too, is Catholic, I hope. No? I regret so, for her own sake; but your
brandy I reject, Victor; remember that, and offend me not by sending it.
You must not forget the fate of your malvoisie."

"Ah, madame, that was cruel! but I have forgiven you long since. I
think, however, that the grape-vines bore better that year than ever
before--thus watered, or wined, I mean.--Just think of it, Miss Harz! To
pour good wine round the roots of a Fontainebleau grape, rather than
replenish the springs of life with it! Was there ever waste like that
since Cleopatra dissolved her pearl in vinegar?"

"Miss Harz will agree with me that a principle that could not resist the
gift of a dozen bottles of choice wine was little worth. Of such stuff
was made not the fathers of your Revolution. But stay, there is an
explanation due to me, yet unrendered," she pursued, "I am a puzzled
_bourgeoise_, I confess," she said, shaking her head. "Come, Favraud,
explain. Who is this young lady?"

"A _bourgeoise_ also," I replied for him, anxious to turn the tide of
conversation into another channel for some reasons. "I had thought you
an expatriated marquise, at least, madame!" I continued. "As for me, I
am simply a governess."

"It is my glory, mademoiselle, to have been of that class to which
belonged Madame Roland herself, and which represented that _juste
milieu_ which maintained the balance of society in France. When the
dregs of the _bas peuple_ rose to the surface of the revolution,
commenced by the sound middle classes, we regarded the scum of
aristocracy as the smaller of the two evils. As soon as the true element
had ceased to assert itself in France, I fled forever from a land of
bloodshed and misrule, and took shelter under the broad wing of your
boasted American eagle."

"Which still continues to flap over you shelteringly, madame," I
rejoined, somewhat flippantly, I fear, "and will to the end, no doubt;
for, in its very organization, our country can never be subjected to the
fluctuations of other lands--revolt and revolution."

"I am not so certain of this," she observed, shaking her white head
slowly as she spoke, and, lifting a pinch of snuff from her
tortoise-shell box (the companion of her whole married life, as she
acquainted us), she inhaled it with an air of meditative
self-complacency, then offered it quietly to the gentlemen, who were
still sitting over their wine and peaches; passing by Marion, Alice
Durand, and myself, completely, in this ovation.

"Good snuff is not to be sneezed at," said Major Favraud. "None offered
to young ladies, it seems," taking a huge pinch, and thrusting it
bravely up his nostrils, as one takes a spoonful of unpleasant medicine.
Then contradicting his own assertion immediately afterward, he succeeded
in expelling most of it in a series of violent sternutatory spasms,
which left him breathless, red-faced, and watery-eyed, with a
handkerchief much begrimed.

But Madame Grambeau seemed not to have noticed this ridiculous
proceeding, which, of course, created momentary mirth at the expense of
the penitent Favraud, to whom Dr. Durand repeated the tantalizing
saying, that "it is a royal privilege to take snuff gracefully"--giving
the example as he spoke, in a mock-heroic manner, quite as absurd and
irrelevant as Favraud's own.

Lost in deep thought, and gently tapping her snuffbox as she mused--the
tripod of her inspiration, as it seemed--Madame Grambeau sat silently,
with what memories of the past and what insight into the future none can
know save those like herself grown hoary with wisdom and experience.

At last she spoke, addressing her remarks to me, as though the careless
words I had hazarded had just been spoken, and the attention of her
hearers undiverted by divers absurdities--among others the affected
gambols of Duganne--anxious to place himself in an agreeable aspect
before both of his _inamoratas_, past and present.

"I do not agree with you, mademoiselle. I am one of those who think
that in the very framing of this Constitution of ours the dragon's teeth
were sown, whose harvest is not yet produced. Mr. Calhoun, with his
prophetic eye, foresees that this crop of armed men is inevitable from
such germs, as does Mr. Clay, were he only frank, which he is not,
because he deludes himself--the most incurable and inexcusable of all
deceptions."

And she applied herself again assiduously to her snuffbox, tapping it
peremptorily before opening it, and, with a gloomy eye fixed on space,
she continued:

"In all lands, from the time of Cassandra and Jeremiah up, there have
been prophets. Prophets for good and prophets for ill--of which some few
have been God-appointed, and the sayings of such alone have been
preserved. The rest vanish away into oblivion like chaff before the
wind--never mind what their achievement, what their boast.

"In this nation we have only two true prophets, Calhoun and Clay--both
men of equal might, and resolution, and intellect--gifted as beseems
their vocation, masterful and heroic; and to these all other men are
subordinate in the great designs of Providence."

"Where do you leave Mr. Webster, John Quincy Adams, General Jackson
himself, in such a category, madame?" I asked, eagerly.

"They are doing, or have done, the work God has appointed for them to
do, I suppose, mademoiselle; but they are accessories merely of the
times, and will pass away with the necessities of the moment."

"'The earth has bubbles as the water hath, and these are of them,'" said
Major Favraud aside, between his short, set teeth, nodding to me as he
spoke, and lending the next moment implicit attention to what Madame
Grambeau was saying; for the brief pause she had made for another pinch
of snuff was ended, and she continued impetuously, as if no interval had
occurred:

"Clay is, unconsciously, I trust, for the honor of mankind, fulfilling
his destiny--this great prophet who still refuses to prophesy. He is
entering the wedge for what he declines to admit the possibility of--yet
there must be moments when that eye of power pierces the clouds of
prejudice and party, wherewith it seeks to blind its kingly vision, and
descries the horrors beyond as the result of the acts he is now
committing; and when such moments of clear conviction come to him, the
ambitions tool of a party, I envy not his sensations," and she shook her
head mournfully. "Not Napoleon at St. Helena, not Prometheus on his
rock, were more to be pitied than he! the man whose ambition shall never
know fruition, whose measures shall pass and leave no trace in less than
fifty years after he has ceased to exist--the splendid failure of our
century!"

She ceased for a moment, with her eye fixed on space, her hands clasped,
her whole face and manner uplifted, as if, indeed, on her likewise the
prophet's mantle had dropped from a chariot of fire.

"As to Calhoun--he is God-fearing," she continued, fervently. "In the
solitudes of a spiritual Mount Sinai, he has received the tablets of the
Lord, and bends every energy to their fulfillment. He, too,
foresees--not with an eye like Clay's, clear only at intervals--and
clouded by vanity, ambition, and sophistry, at other seasons--he, too,
foresees the coming of our doom! His clear vision embraces anarchy,
dissension, civil war, with all its attendant horrors, as the
consequence of man's injustice; and, like Moses, he beholds the promised
land into which he can never enter! Would that it were given to him to
appoint his Joshua, or even to see him face to face, recognizingly! But
this is not God's will. He lurks among the shadows yet--this Joshua of
the South, but God shall yet search him out and bring him visibly before
the people! Not while I live," she added, solemnly, "but within the
natural lives of all others who sit this day around my table!"

"She is equal to Madame Le Normand!" said Major Favraud, aside, nodding
approvingly at me.

"If one waits long enough, most prophecies may be fulfilled," I
ventured; "but, madame, your words point to results too terrible--too
unnatural, it seems to me, ever to be realized in these enlightened
times or in this land of moderation."

"Child," she responded, "blood asserts itself to the end of races. There
are two separate civilizations in this land, destined some day to come
in fearful conflict; and the wars of Scylla, of the Jews themselves,
shall be outdone in the horror and persistence of that strife of
partners--I will not say brothers--for there is no brotherhood of blood
between South and North, of which Clay and Calhoun stand forth to my
mind as distinct types. No union of the red and white roses possible."

"But you forget, madame, that Mr. Clay is a Western man, a Virginian, a
Kentuckian, and the representative of slave-holders," I remonstrated.
"His interests are coincident with those of the South. His hope of the
presidency itself vests in his constituents, and the wand would be
broken in his hand were he to lend himself to partiality of any kind.
Mr. Clay is a great patriot, I believe, Jacksonite though I am--he knows
no South nor North, nor East nor West, but the Union alone, solid and
undivided."

"All this is true," she answered, "in one sense. It is thus he speaks,
and, like all partial parents, even thinks he feels toward his
offspring; but observe his acts narrowly from first to last. He has a
manufacturer's heart, with all his genius. He loves machinery--the sound
of the mill, the anvil, the spinning-jenny, the sight of the ship upon
the high-seas, or steamboat on the river, the roar of commerce, far more
than the work of the husbandman. We are an agricultural people, we of
the South and West--and especially we Southerners, with our poverty of
invention, our one staple, our otherwise helpless habits, incident to
the institution which, however it may be our curse, is still our wealth,
and to which, for the present time, we are bound, Ixion-like, by every
law of necessity. What does this tariff promise? Where will the profit
rest? Where will the loss fall crushingly? The slow torture of which we
read in histories of early times was like to this. Each day a weight was
added to that already lying on the breast of a strong man, bound on his
back by the cords of his oppressors, until relief and destruction came
together, and the man was crushed; such was the _peine forte et dure_."

"Calhoun is patriarchal,[4] and is now placing all his individual
strength to the task of heaving off this incubus from the breast of our
body politic, but with small avail, for he has no lever to assist
him--no fulcrum whereon to rest it; otherwise he might say with
Archimedes, 'With these I could move a world.' He is unaided, this
eagled-eyed prophet of ours, looking sorrowfully, sagaciously down into
the ages! South Carolina is the Joseph, that his cruel brothers, the
remaining Southern States, have sold to the Egyptians, as a bond-slave.
But they shall yet come to drink of his cup, and eat of his bread of
opinion, in the famine of their Canaan. Nullification shall leave a
fitting successor, as Philip of Macedon left Alexander to carry out his
plans. The abolitionist and the slave-holder are as distinct as were
Charles I. and Cromwell, or Catharine de Medicis and Henry of Navarre.
The germ that Calhoun has planted shall lie long in the earth, perhaps,
but when it breaks the surface, it shall grow in one night to maturity,
like that in your so famous 'Mother Goose' story of 'Jack and his
Bean-stalk,' forming a ladder wherewith to scale the abode of giants and
slay them in their drunken sleep of security. But he who does this deed,
this Joshua of the Lord's, this fierce successor of our gentle Moses,
shall wade through his oceans of blood to gain the stone. God
knoweth--He only--how all this shall end, whether in success or
overthrow. It is so far wrapped in mystery."

As if she saw from some spiritual height the reign of terror she
predicted, she dropped her head upon her hands and closed her eyes, and
I felt my blood creep slowly through my veins as I followed her in
thought across the waste of woe and desolation. For there was something
in her manner, her voice (august and solemn with age and wisdom as these
were), that impressed all who heard, with or in spite of their own
consent, and for a time profound silence succeeded this harangue.

Dr. Durand was the first to recover himself. "I trust, my dear madame,"
he remarked, "that the substantial horrors realized in your youth still
cast their dark shadows over the coming years, and so deceive you into
prophecies that it is sad to hear from lips so reverent, and which, let
us all pray, may never be realized. You yourself will say amen to that,
I am convinced."

"Amen!" she murmured.

"Nonsense, Durand! don't play at hypocrite in your old age, after having
been a true man all your life," broke in Major Favraud. "What is a
conservative, after all, but a social parrot, who repeats 'wise saws and
modern instances,' until he believes himself possessed of the wisdom of
all the ages, and is incapable of conceiving of the existence even of an
original idea?"

"By-the-by," digressed Duganne, weary of discussion, "hear that old
fellow outside, how he is going on, Favraud, _a propos_ of poll parrots,
you know, as it all else, but the name of the bird, had been lost on his
ear. Just listen!"

"Yes, hear him, and he edified," was the sarcastic response of Favraud
to Duganne, who took no other notice, even if he understood the point,
than to lead the way to the portico, where swung the cage of the jolly
bird in question; and, headed by Madame Grambeau leaning on her cane, we
followed simultaneously, with the exception of Major Favraud, who
continued at the table with his cigar and cognac-flask, in sullen and
solitary state.

"Nutmegs and nullification!" shrieked the parrot, as we stood before
him. "Ha, ha, ha!"

"That is condensing the matter, certainly," I observed.

"_Bienvenu, compatriote_!" he repeated many times, laughing loudly, the
next moment, as if in mockery.

"What a fiend it is!" said Marion, timidly; "only look at its black
tongue, Miss Harz! Then what a laugh!"

"Danton! Danton! have you nothing to say to this strange lady?" said
Madame Grambeau, addressing her bird by name; "you must not neglect my
friends, Danton Pardi!"

"Bird of freedom, moulting--moulting!" was the whimsical rejoinder.
"Jackson! give us your paw, Old Hick--Hick--Hickory!"

"This is the stuff Major Favraud taught him," she apologized, "when he
used to lie on his porch day after day, after his hostile meeting with
Juarez, which took place on that hill," signifying the site of the duel
with her slender cane. "It was there they fought their duel, _a
Poutrance_, and I knew it not until too late! His wife was too ill to
come to him at that time, and the task of nursing him devolved on me,
since when, on maternal principles, the lad has grown into my
affections."

"The lad of forty-odd!" sneered Duganne, unnoticed, apparently, by the
aged lady, however, at the moment, but not without amusing other hearers
by this sally. Dr. Durand was especially delighted.

"For he is a boy at heart," she said later, "this same Victor Favraud of
ours," gazing reprovingly around. "Indeed, he is the only American I
have ever seen who possessed real _gaiete de coeur_, and for that, I
imagine, he must thank his French extraction."

"Calhoun and cotton!" "Coal and codfish!" shouted the parrot at the top
of his voice. "Catfish and coffee!"--"Rice cakes for breakfast"--"All in
my eye, Betty Martin"--"Yarns and Yankees"--"Shad and
shin-plasters"--"Yams and yaller boys," and so on, in a string of the
most irrelevant alliteration and folly, that, like much other nonsense,
evoked peals of laughter by its unexpected utterance, and which at last
mollified and brought out Major Favraud himself, from his dignified
retirement.

"You have ruined the morals of my bird," said Madame Grambeau,
reproachfully. "Approach, Favraud, and justify yourself. In former times
his discourse was discreet. He knew many wise proverbs and polite
salutations in French and English both, most of which he has discarded
in favor of your profane and foolish teachings. He is as bad as the
'Vert-vert' of Voltaire. I shall have to expel him soon, I fear."

"Danton, how can you so grieve your mistress?" remonstrated Major
Favraud, lifting at the same time an admonitory finger, at which
recognized signal, a part of past instructions probably, the parrot
burst forth at once in a series of the most grotesque and _outre_ oaths
ear ever heard, ending (by the aid of some prompting from his teacher)
by dismally croaking the fragment of a popular song thus travestied:

  "My ole mistis dead and gone,
  She lef to me her ole jawbone.
  Says she, 'Charge up in dem yaller pines,
  And slay dem Yankee Philistines!'"--

ending with the invariable "_Bonjour_" or "_Bienvenu, compatriote_," and
demoniac "Ha! ha! ha!"

"The memory of the creature is perfectly wonderful," I said. "Many
parrots have I seen, but never one like this before. It must have sprung
out of the Arabian Nights."

"I can teach any thing to every thing," digressed Major Favraud, "and
without severity; it is my specialty. I was meant for a trainer of
beasts, probably. I will get up an entertainment, I believe, in
opposition to the industrious fleas, called the 'Desperate Doves,' and
teach pigeons to muster, drill, and go through all the military motions.
I could do it easily, and so repair my broken fortunes. I have one
already at home that feigns death at the word of command. I have amused
myself for hours at a time with this bird.--Don't say a word, Miss
Harz," speaking low, "I see what you think of it all, but I have had to
cheat misery some way or other. It was a wretched device and waste of
existence, though. And when I see that great, distinguished man, who had
such hopes of me as a boy, I feel that I could creep into an auger-hole
for sheer shame of my extinguished promise."

"Not extinguished!" I murmured, "only under a cloud, still destined to
be fulfilled."

"Only in the grave," he said, sadly, "with the promise common to all
mankind;" and thus by gloomy glimpses I caught the truth.

We staid that night at the house of an aunt of Madame La Vigne's, who
received us cordially, entertained us sumptuously, and dismissed us
graciously.

The next morning at sunrise we again set out for Savannah, into which
city we entered before the noonday heat, finding cool shelter and warm
welcome at once under the roof of General Curzon, the South's most
polished gentleman and finished man of letters, of whom it may be truly
said that, "Take him for all in all, we ne'er shall look upon his like
again."

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: It need not for one moment be supposed that the opinions of
the author are represented through the extremist Favraud. To her Mr.
Bryant stands forth as the high-priest of American poetry.]

[Footnote 2: The tariff.]

[Footnote 3: Since writing the above, the admirable picture of Mr.
Healey has filled this void; and those who have seen good copies of this
work, executed for and by the order of Louis Philippe, may have a clear
idea of that glorious countenance, the like of which we shall not see
again.

Perhaps it was from this very personal magnetism of which I have spoken
that Healey succeeded better with the portrait of Mr. Calhoun than any
of the others he was sent to this country to paint.]

[Footnote 4: It was about this time that Mr. Calhoun made his famous
anti-tariff crusade throughout the land, it may be remembered by some of
my readers.]




CHAPTER II.


Before leaving the hospitable roof of General Curzon--beneath which I
tarried for several days--awaiting the tardy sailing of the
packet-steamer Kosciusko, bound for New York, circumstances determined
me to leave in the hands of my host a desk which I had intended to carry
with me, and which contained most of my treasures. First among these,
indisputably, in intrinsic value were my diamonds--"sole remnant of a
past magnificence;" but the miniatures of my father and mother, and
Mabel, in the cases of which locks of twisted hair--brown, and black,
and golden, and gray--were contained and combined (dear, imperishable
memorials of vitality in most instances when all the rest was dust and
ashes), and the early letters of my parents, together with the
carefully-kept diary I had written at Beauseincourt, ranked beyond these
even in my estimation.

The cause of this deposit of valuables was simply owing to the unstable
lock of my trunk, the condition of which was detected too late to have
it repaired before sailing. Madame Curzon had suggested to me the unsafe
nature of such custody for objects of price, if, indeed, I possessed
such at all. I told her then of my diamonds, and it was agreed between
us that these, at least, had better be deposited in the bank of her
husband, who would bring them to me himself a few months later--and on
reflection I concluded to add my desk, pictures, and papers, to _my_
more substantial treasures. These, at least, I felt assured no accident
should throw into the hands of Bainrothe.

On my way to the ship I left the carriage for a moment, in pursuance
with this idea, and, followed by King, the bearer of my large and
weighty desk, entered the banking-house of my host, and was shown at
once, by attentive clerks, to his peculiar sanctum. I told him my errand
in a few words.

"Keep it until called for, unless you hear from me in the interval," I
had said in allusion to my deposit, for he acknowledged the chances were
slight of his leaving home until the following year, notwithstanding
Madame Curzon's convictions.

"Called for by whom?" he asked, calmly.

"By Miriam Monfort in person or her order," I replied, laughingly, "This
is a mystery that, by-and-by, shall be explained to you."

"I understand something of that already," he rejoined. "Marion has been
whispering to the reeds, you know, or Madame Curzon, the same thing
nearly; but let us be earnest, as your time is short, and mine precious
to-day. Life is uncertain, and, young and strong as you are, or seem to
be, you cannot foresee one hour even of the future, or of your own
existence. Suppose Miriam Monfort neither comes in person nor sends her
order for its restoration--what, then, is to become of this
treasure-chest of hers?"

"You shall keep it then," I replied, unhesitatingly, "until my little
sister reaches her majority, and cause it to be placed in her own hands,
none other--or, stay, let her have it on the day before her marriage,
should this occur earlier than the time mentioned, or when she reaches
her eighteenth year in any case; but, above all things, be careful."

"So many conflicting directions confuse and mystify me, I confess. Come,
let me write down your wishes, and the matter can be arranged formally,
which is always best in any case. There, I think I have the gist of your
idea," he said a few moments later, as he pushed over to me a slip of
paper to read and sign, which done, I shook hands with him cordially,
preparing to go. "But your receipt--you have forgotten to take it up!"

"O General Curzon! the whole proceeding seems so ominous," I said,
turning back at the door to receive the proffered scrap, which, in
another moment, dropped from my nerveless fingers, while these, clasped
over my streaming eyes, forgot their office.

"My dear young lady," he remonstrated, "I am shocked. What can have
occurred to impress you thus? Not this mere routine of affairs,
surely?--Duncan, a glass of water here for Miss Monfort."

"I do not know, I am sure, why I should be so weak for such a trifle," I
said, after a few swallows of ice-water had somewhat restored my
equilibrium; "but I do feel very dismally about this voyage--have done
so ever since I left Beauseincourt. This is the last straw on the
camel's back, believe me, General Curzon. You must not reproach yourself
in the least--nor me; and now let me bid you farewell once more, perhaps
eternally!"

These words of mine were remembered later in a very different spirit
from that in which they were then received (one of incredulous
compassion)--remembered as are ever the last utterances of the doomed,
whether innocent or guilty, in solemn awe and reverential tenderness,
not unmingled with a superstitions faith in presentiment.

"Why, you look bluer than your very obvious veil, bluer than your
invisible school-marmish stockings, bluer than the skies, or a blue bag,
or Madame de Stael's 'Corinne,' or Byron's 'dark-blue ocean,'" said
Major Favraud, as he assisted me again into the carriage, where Dr.
Durand and Marion awaited me, for, as I have said, we were now on our
way to the vessel which was to bear me and my destinies forever from
that lovely Southern land in which I had seen and suffered so much.

Dr. Durand looked serious at the sight of my woful aspect, and Marion
mutely proffered her _vinaigrette_, gratefully accepted, as was the good
doctor's compassionate silence; but, as usual, Favraud, after having
once gotten fairly under weigh, ran on. "What is the use of bewailing
the inevitable?" he pursued. "We have all seen your _penchant_ for
Curzon, and his for you, for three days past; but Octavia is as tough as
_lignum-vitae_, I regret to assure you, my dear Miss Harz, and your
chance is _as blue_ as your spirits, or the flames of snap-dragon, or
Marion's eyes. You will have to just put up with the captain, I fear,
for even the doctor there is in harness for life. Southern women, you
know, proverbially survive their husbands; and, as the suttee is out of
fashion, they sometimes have to marry Yankees as a _dernier ressort_ of
desperation! Of course, there are occasional sad exceptions"--looking
grave for a moment, and glancing at the black hat-band on the Panama hat
he was nursing on his knees, so as to let the breeze blow through his
silky, silver-streaked black hair--"but--but--in short, why will you all
look so doleful? Isn't it bad enough to feel so?"

"The loveliest fade earliest, we all know," and the tears were in his
honest, frivolous eyes, dashed away in the next moment as he exclaimed,
eagerly, "Why, there goes the Lamarque equipage, as I live! I had
forgotten all about it. The pleasantest woman in Savannah, young or old,
is to be your _compagnon de voyage_, Miss Harz, and the most determined
widower on record her escort; a perfect John Rogers of a man, with nine
little motherless children, her brother Raguet ('Rag,' as we called him
at school, on account of his prim stiffness, so that 'limber as a rag'
seemed a most preposterous saying in his vicinity). He is handsome,
however, and intelligent, a perfect gentleman, but on the mourners'
bench just now, like some others you know of"--heaving a deep sigh. "His
wife, poor thing, died last autumn--a pretty girl in her day was
Cornelia Huger! I was a little weak in that direction once
myself--before--that is, before--O doctor! what a trouble it is to
remember!"

And again the small, fleet hand was dashed across the twinkling, tearful
eyes of this April day of a middle-aged man of the world--this modern
Mercutio--merry and mournful at once, as if there were two sides to his
every mood, like the famous shield of story. When we reached the quay
the Kosciusko was already getting up her steam, and, in less than an
hour afterward, the friends I loved were gone like dreams, the bustle of
departure was over, and, with lifted canvas and a puffing engine, we
were grandly steaming past the noble forts (poor Bertie's broach and
buckle, be it remembered) on our path of pride and power toward the
broad Atlantic.

The weather was oppressively hot, and, for the first thirty-six hours,
scarcely a breath of wind lifted us on our way, so that the engine,
wholly incompetent to the work of both sails and machinery, bore us very
slowly on our northward ocean-flight. Indeed, the failure of this
engine to do its duty, at first, had sorely disheartened both captain
and crew as we found later, for upon its execution and energies, in the
beginning, had rested our entire dependence.

On the evening of the second day's voyage, a sudden and violent
thunder-storm occurred, not unusual in those latitudes; during the
raging of which our mainmast was struck by lightning, and wholly
disabled.

The fire was extinguished in the only possible manner, by cutting it
away from the decks, letting it gently down upon them, deluging it, so
that our mast lay charred and blackened after its bath of sea-water,
like a mighty serpent stretched along the ship, from stem to stern, and
wrapped loosely in its shrouds. It did us good service later, though not
by defying the winds of heaven, nor spreading forth its snowy sails to
catch the tropic breezes.

Before many hours, it was destined to ride the waves in a shape that was
certainly never intended by those who chose it among many others--taper
and stately in its group of firs--to be the chief adornment of a gallant
ship, and lift a pointing finger to the stars themselves, as an index of
its might, and, with this exception, the hope of those it served--that
of a charred and blackened life-raft.

The renewed freshness of the atmosphere, and the joyful upspringing of
the breezes, alone remained, at midnight, to tell the story of the
recent hurricane.

These tropic breezes came like benevolent fairies, to aid our groaning
Titan in his labors.

I can never rid myself for one moment of the idea that an engine really
works, with weary, reluctant strength like a genii slave, waiting
vengefully for the time of retaliation, which sooner or later is sure to
come; or of the visionary notion that a graceful, gliding ship, with
all sails set, receives the same pleasure from its own motion and beauty
that a snow-white swan must do "as down she bears before the gale," with
her white plumage and stately crest.

I think, if ever I am called to give a toast, it shall be "Sail-ships;
may their shadows never be less!" They are, indeed, a part of the
romance of ocean.

The moon was full, in the balmy summer night that succeeded the tempest,
and the ship's quarter-deck was crowded with the passengers of the
Kosciusko, enjoying to the utmost, as it seemed, the delicious,
newly-washed atmosphere, the moonlit heavens and sea, the
exquisitely-caressing softness of the tardily-awakened breezes that
filled the white sails of the vessel, and fluttered the silken scarf of
the maiden, with the same wooing breath of persuasive, subtle strength.

Around Miss Lamarque, the lady of whom Major Favraud had spoken so
admiringly, and to whose kindness he had committed me, a group had
gathered, chiefly of the young, not to be surpassed in any land for
manly bearing, graceful feminine beauty, gayety, wit, and refinement.

There was Helen Oscanyan, fair as a dream of Greece, in her serene,
marble perfectness of form and feature; and the lovely Mollie Cairns,
her cousin, small, dark, and sparkling--both under the care of that
stately gentleman, their uncle, Julius Severe, of Savannah; and there
were the sisters Percy, twins in age and appearance, with voices like
brook-ripples, and eyes like wood-violets, and feet of Chinese
minuteness and French perfection--the darlings and only joys of a mother
still beautiful, though sad in her widowhood, and gentle as the dove
that mourns its mate.

There was the brilliant Ralph Maxwell, whose jests, stinging and slight,
just glanced over the surface of society without inflicting a wound,
even as the skater's heel glides over ice, leaving its mark as it goes,
yet breaking no crust of frost; and there was the poetic dreamer
Dartmore, with his large, dark eyes, and moonlight face, and manner of
suffering serenity, on his way to put forth for fame, as he fondly
believed, his manuscript epic on the "Sorrows of the South."

All these, and more, were there gathering about the leader of their
home-society, on that alien deck, as securely as though they were
sitting in her own drawing-room at "Berthold," on one of her brilliant
reception-evenings.

How could they know--how could they dream the truth--or descry the
hidden skeleton at the festival, wreathed in flowers and veiled with
glittering, filmy draperies, which yet put forth its bony fingers to
beckon on and clutch them?

I too was joyous and unconscious as the rest, and for the first time for
many days felt the burden literally heaved rather than lifted away that
had oppressed me.

Was I not on my way to him in whose presence alone I lived my true life?
and what feeling of his morbid fancy was there that my hand could not
smooth away, when once entwined in his? Beauseincourt, and all its
shadows, had I not put behind me? The sunshine lay before, and in its
light and warmth I should still rejoice, as it was my birthright to do.

I was "fey" that night, as the Scotch say, when an unaccountable
lightness of mood precedes a heavy sorrow, which it so often does, as
well as the more usual mood, the presage of gloom. I felt that I had the
power to put aside all ills--to grapple with my fate, and compel back
my lost happiness. Truly my bosom's lord sat lightly on her throne, as
of late it had not been her wont to do.

Against my inclination had I been drawn into the current of that
youthful gayety, and now my bark floated without an effort on the
stream. I was in my own element again, and my powers were all
responsive.

The small hours came--the happy group dispersed--not without many
interchanges of social compliment, much _badinage_, and merry plans for
the morrow. The monster Sea-sickness had been defied on the balmy
voyage, save in the brief interval of tempest, and his victors mocked
him, baffled as he was, with their purpose of amusement.

"We shall get up the band to-morrow evening," said Major Ravenel, "and
have a dance; the gallop would go grandly here. See what reach of
quarter-deck we have! There are Germans on board who play in concert
violins and wind-instruments."

"Suppose we dress as sea-nymphs," said Honoria Pyne; "enact a masque for
old Neptune's benefit? It would be so complimentary, you know; bring
down the house, no doubt, I have a sea-green tarlatan lying so
conveniently. Colonel Latrobe looks exactly like a Triton, with that
wondrous beard. A little alum sprinkled over its red-gold ground would
do wonders in the way of effect--would be gorgeous--wouldn't it, now,
Miss Harz?"

"But all that could be done on shore as well, Miss Pyne," I replied, in
the way of reminiscence. "It is a pity to waste our opportunities of
observation now, in getting up costumes; and, for my part, I confess
that I have a wholesome dread of these sea-deities, and fear to
exasperate their finny feelings by reducing them to effigies. Thetis is
very spiteful, sometimes; and jealous, too, you remember."

Miss Pyne did not remember, but did not mean to be baffled either, she
would let Miss Harz know, even if that lady _did_ know more about
mythology than herself; and, if no one else would join her, meant to
play her _role_ of sea-nymph all alone, with Major Latrobe for her
Triton in waiting, tooting upon a conch-shell, and looking lovely! At
which compliment, open and above-board, poor Major Latrobe, who was over
head and ears in love with her, and a very ugly man, only bowed and
looked more silly than before, which seemed a work of supererogation.

After the rest were gone, Miss Lamarque and I concluded to promenade on
the nearly-deserted deck, in the moonlight, and let the excitement of
the evening die away through the medium of more serious conversation.
She was a woman of forty-five, still graceful and fine-looking, but
bearing few traces of earlier beauty, probably better to behold, in her
overripe maturity, than in the unfolding of her less attractive time of
bud and blossom. Self had been laid aside now (which it never can be
until the effervescence of youth and hope are over). She had accepted
her position of old maid and universal benefactress, and sustained it
nobly, gracefully. She was thoroughly well-bred and agreeable, very
vivacious, astute, and intelligent, rather than intellectual, yet she
had the capacity (had her training been different) to have been both of
these.

I remember how it chanced that, after a long promenade, during which we
had discussed men, manners, books, customs, costumes, and politics, even
(that once tabooed subject for women, now free to all), with infinite
zest and responsiveness that charmed us mutually, so that we swore
allegiance on the strength of this one day's rencontre, like two
school-girls or knights of old--I remember how the dropping of her comb
at his feet caused Miss Lamarque to pause, compelling me to follow her
example, by reason of our intertwined arms, in front of the man at the
wheel, as he stooped to raise it and hand it to her with a seaman's bow.
His ready politeness, unusual for one in his station, determined us to
cultivate his maritime acquaintance, and in a short time we had drawn
forth the outlines of his story, simple and bare as this was of
incident.

His picturesque appearance had impressed us equally during the day, but
until now we had not met in concert about Christian Garth, for such we
soon found was the name of our polite pilot.

He was a Jerseyman, he told us, of German descent, married to the girl
of his heart, and living on the coast of that adventurous little State,
famous alike for its peaches and wrecks.

"Sall had a stocking full of money," he informed us, silver, and copper,
and gold, when he married her, for her mother had been a famous
huckster--and never missed her post in the Philadelphia market for
thirty years, and this was her child's inheritance, and with this money
he had fixed up his old hut, till it looked 'e'en a'most inside like a
ship-captain's cabin.'

And now Sall wanted him to stay at home, he informed us, with her and
the children, but somehow or other he could never tarry long at the
hearth, for the sea pulled him like it was his mother, and the spell of
the tides was on him, and he must foller even if he went to his own
destruction, like them men that liquor lures to loss, or the love of
mermaids.

"All land service is dead when likened to the sea," he said, shaking his
great water-dog head, and looking out lovingly upon his idol. "But ships
a'n't like they oncst was, ladies," he added, "before men put these here
heavy iron ingines to work in 'em--it's like cropping a bird's wing to
make a river-boat of a ship, and a burning shame to shorten sails till
it looks like a young gal dressed in breeches or any other onnatural
thing--for a sailing-ship and a full-flowing petticoat always rise up in
a true man's mind together--God bless them both, I say."

"To which we cordially say amen, of course," said Miss Lamarque,
laughing. "We should have been at a loss, however, Mr. Garth, but for
our engine during the dead calm preceding the storm, when our ship's
sails flapped so lazily about her masts, and she rocked like a baby's
cradle without making progress. It is well the engineer manoeuvred so
successfully while we lay fireless on the low rolling waves; but we are
speeding along merrily enough now, to make up for it all--I take comfort
in that--"

"But not exactly in the right direction, though, to suit my stripe," he
said, turning his quid in his mouth us he looked out to leeward,
revealing, as he did so, a fine yet rugged profile relieved against the
silvery purple sheen of the moonlit sky.

"Do you see that dark object lying beyond" (our eyes mechanically
followed his), "so still on the water?" and he indicated it with the
pipe he held in one sinewy hand--for the native courtesy of the man had
involuntarily proffered us the homage of removing it from his lips, when
we addressed him.

"Yes--what is it? a wreck? a whale? a small volcanic island? Do explain,
Mr. Garth," said Miss Lamarque.

"Nothing but an iceberg, and we are bearing down upon it rather too
rapidly, it seems to me."

And so speaking, he turned his wheel in silence warily.

"But you have the command of the helm, and have nothing to do but--"

"Obey orders," he interrupted, grimly. "Ef the captain was to tell me to
run the ship to purgatory, I'd have to do it, you know."

"But surely the captain would not jeopardize the lives of a ship's
company, even if he likes warm latitudes, by ordering you to run foul of
an iceberg; and, if he did, you certainly would not dare to obey him
with the fear of God before your eyes?" remonstrated Miss Lamarque,
indignantly. "For my part I shall go to him immediately and desire him
to change his course--but after all I don't believe that dingy black
thing is an iceberg at all--an old hen-coop rather, thrown over from
some merchant-ship, or a vast lump of charred wood. You are only trying
to alarm us."

"Ef you was to see it close enough, you would find it to shine equal to
the diamond on your hand; but I hope you never will, that's all--I hope
you never will, lady! I sot on a peak of that sort oncst myself for
three days in higher latitudes than this here--me and five others, all
that was spared from the wreck of the schooner Delta, and we felt our
convoy melting away beneath us, and courtesying e'en a'most even with
the sea, before the merchant-ship Osprey took us off, half starved, and
half frozen, and half roasted all at oncst! Them is onpleasant
rickollections, ladies, and it makes my blood creep to this day to see
an iceberg in konsikence; but a man must do his dooty, whatsomever do
betide. It was in the dead of night, and Hans Schuyler had the wheel, I
remember, when we went to pieces on that iceberg, all for disregarding;
the captain's orders; you see, he meant to graze it like!"

"Graze it!" almost shrieked Miss Lamarque. "Did he think he was driving
a curricle? Graze it--Heaven, what rashness!"

"Don't--don't! Mr. Garth," I petitioned; "I shall never sleep a wink on
this ship if you continue your narrative."

"Do--do! Mr. Garth," entreated Miss Lamarque, whose penetration showed
her by this time that the pilot was only playing on our fears, for want
of a better instrument for his skill. "I quite enjoy the idea that you
have actually been astride a fragment of the arctic glacier, and that we
may perhaps make the acquaintance of a white bear ourselves when we get
near our iceberg, or a gentle seal. Wouldn't you like one for a pet,
Miss Harz?"

"It is very cold," I said, digressively. "I feel the chill of that
fragment of Greenland freeze my marrow. I must go fetch my shawl; but
first reassure us, Mr. Garth, if possible."

He laughed. "I have paid you now for making fun of me to-day," he said,
saucily. "I saw your drawing of me in your books, and heard the ladies
laughing. I peeped as I passed when Myers took the helm, and I wanted to
see what all the fun was about; then I said to myself, 'I will give her
a skeer for that if I have a chance'--but, all the same, the chill you
feel is a real one, for as sure as death that lump of darkness is an
iceberg. I have told you no yarn, as you will find out to-morrow when
you ask the captain. I'll steer you clear of the iceberg though, ladies,
never fear. Hans Schuyler has not got the wheel to-night--you see he was
three sheets in the wind anyhow, and the captain says, 'Hans,' says he,
'don't tech another drop this night, or we'll never see another mornin'
till we are resurrected,' and so he turned into his hammock and swung
himself to sleep--a way he had, for he didn't keer for nothin' where his
comfort was concerned, having been raised up in the Injies."

"Come, Miss Lamarque," I interrupted. "I must not hear another word.
'Macbeth doth murder sleep,' and I shall be nervous for a month after
this. So, good-night, Mr. Garth, and be sure you merit your first name
by taking good care of us while we imitate the example of your worthy
captain and 'swing ourselves to sleep,' or rather let the waves perform
that office for us. I shall make it my care to-morrow morning early, if
you still hold the helm, to show you my sketch, and convince you that it
was never made for fun at all, but that it is a real portrait of a very
fine-looking seaman, a real viking in appearance, and somewhat better
than one at heart, I trust. I shall hope to earn your good opinion
instead of ill-will, when you have only seen my sketch."

"You have it already, you have it already, young gal--young miss, I
mean," he said, with a wave of the hand, which meant to be courteous, no
doubt, but seemed only defiant. "An' this much I kin say without injury
to Sall--that I'd rather hear you talk and see you smile, as I has been
watchin' of you constant do to-day, than go to the circus in New York,
or even to a Spanish bull-fight, or hear a Fourth-of-July oration, or
'tend camp-meetin'--and that's saying no little--an' no iceberg shall
come near you while Christian Garth lays a hand upon this helm. But
don't be skeered, ladies; no harm will come to the good ship Kosciusko."

"I declare our pilot is quite chivalrous, as far as you are concerned,
for I marked his glance, Miss Harz," said Miss Lamarque, archly, as we
turned our faces cabinward, under the protection of our helmsman's
promised vigilance. "See what it is to be young and pretty, and remark
the truth of the old proverb, as exemplified in his case, that 'extremes
meet.' Victoria herself is not more independent of me or my
position--established facts as both are in the eyes of some--than is
Christian Garth. To him, this outsider of the world of fashion, I am
only a homely old woman; no prestige comes in to garnish the unvarnished
fact--a plain old maid, my dear--with not even the remembrance of beauty
as a consolation, nor its remnant as a sign of past triumphs, 'only this
and nothing more,' as that wonderful man Poe makes his raven say. We
never find our level until we go among people who know and care nothing
about us, who have never 'heard of us'--that exordium of most greetings
from folks of our own class. It is absolutely refreshing to be so
unaffectedly despised and slighted--it does one a world of good, there
is no doubt of that, especially when one's grandfather was a
Revolutionary notability, and other antecedents of a piece--but men are
all alike at heart, only the worldly ones wear flimsy masks, you know,
and pretend to adore intellect and ugliness, when beauty is the only
thing they care for--all a sham, my dear, in any case."

"Yes, all alike," I repeated, making, as I spoke, one mental entire
reservation. "All _vain_ alike, I mean; flatter their vanity ever so
little and they are at your very feet, asking 'for more,' like Oliver
Twist; more bread for _amour propre_, the insatiable! It was that sketch
of mine that wrought the spell, though unintentionally, of course, and
the sly fellow knew very well that it was no caricature--that is, if he
peeped, as he pretends--but a tolerably correct likeness that might have
satisfied Sall herself. By-the-by, I have a great mind to bestow it upon
him as a 'sop for Cerberus,' should her jealousy ever be aroused by your
reports of his devotion to me, or admiration rather, most unequivocally
avowed, it must be acknowledged. I really had no intention of injuring
Sally, and, if you think it best, will make the _amende honorable_ by
being as cross as possible to him to-morrow."

"No, no, carry out your first intention and conciliate him; for,
remember, he has us in the hollow of his hand. Bestow the picture, by
all means, and just as many smiles and compliments as he can stand, or
you can afford to squander; for you are worse than a mermaid, Miss Harz,
for fascination, all the gentlemen say so; and, as to Captain
Falconer--"

"They are malignants," I rejoined, ignoring purposely the last clause of
the sentence which I had interrupted; "and you are perfidious to hear
them slander me so. I hate fascinating people; they always make my flesh
crawl like serpents. The few I have known have been so very base." "Good
specimens of '_thorough_ bass,'" she interpolated, laughing.--"I am sure
I am glad I have no attributes of fascination, if a strange old work I
met with at Beauseincourt may be considered responsible. Did you ever
see it, Miss Lamarque, you who see every thing? Hieronymus Frascatorius
tells of certain families in Crete who fascinated by praising, and to
avert this evil influence some charm was used consisting of a magic
word (I suppose this was typical of humility, though related as
literal). This _naivete_ on the part of the old chronicler was simply
_impayable_, as Major Favraud would say, with his characteristic shrug.
One _Varius_ related (you see my theme has full possession of me, and
the book is a collation of facts on the subject of fascination of all
kinds, even down to that of the serpent) that a friend of his saw a
fascinator with a look break in two a precious gem in the hands of a
lapidary--typical this, I suppose, of some fond, foolish, female heart.
Fire, according to this author, represents the quality of fascination;
and toads and moths are subject to its influence, as well as some higher
animals--deer, for instance, who are hunted successfully with torches;
and he relates, further, that in Abyssinia artificers of pottery and
iron are thus fearfully endowed, and are consequently forbidden to join
in the sacred rites of religion, as fire is their chief agent. Isn't
this a strange, quaint volume, to set before a king? and how do you like
my lecture delivered _extempore_?"

"Oh, vastly! but I did not know that was your style before. Don't
cultivate it, dear, if you hope to win manly hearts. Men like to do all
the lecturing themselves, and I find it diplomatic to feign profound
ignorance on all subjects outside of a bandbox; it delights them so to
enlighten us. No wonder they fancy us fools when we feign foolishness so
admirably--lapwings that we are!"

"But I never do, in such society. My experience is different from yours.
I always pretend to know twice as much as I do, when they are about; it
bluffs them off, and they are credulous sometimes as well as ignorant,
notwithstanding their boasted acumen."

"Your lamp of experience needs trimming, my pretty Miriam," she said,
shaking her head, "if you really believe this. They never forgive
superiority, assumed or real; none but the noble ones, I mean; who, of
course, are in the minority. Give a pair of tongs pantaloons, and it
asserts itself. Trousers, my dear, are at the root of manly presumption.
I discovered that long ago. A man in petticoats would be as humble as a
woman. This is my theory, at least; take it for what it is worth. And
now to sleep, with what heart we may, an iceberg being in our vicinity;"
and, taking my face in her hand, she kissed me cordially. "It is very
early in our acquaintance for such manifestations to be allowable," she
said, kindly, "but I am a sort of spoiled child of society, and dare to
be natural. I consider that the best privilege that attaches to my
condition, that of the 'bell-wether' of Savannah _ton_--the
universally-accepted bore! You know--Favraud has told you, of course; he
always characterizes as he goes."

"He has called you the most agreeable woman in Savannah, I remember,
young or old, and was truly glad, on my account, to know that you were
on board. Of your brother he spoke very kindly also, even admiringly."

"Oh, yea, I know; but of Raguet there is little question now. His wife's
death has crushed him. I never saw so changed a man; he is half idiotic,
I believe; and I am with him now just to keep those children from
completing the work of destruction. Six little motherless ones--only
think--and as bad as they can possibly be; for poor Lucilla was no
manager. Isn't it strange, the influence those little cottony women get
over their husbands? You and I might try forever to establish such
absolute despotism, all in vain. It is your whimpering sort that rule
with the waving of a pocket-handkerchief; but poor, dear little woman,
she is powerless now; and I suppose the next will be like unto her.
Raguet would never look at any thing feminine that hadn't white eyes and
pink hair (yellow, I mean, of course)--his style, you know, being dark
and stern, he likes the downy, waxy kind. All this is shockingly
egotistical; but the question is, who that has a spark of individuality
is otherwise? Good-night, again, and may all sweet dreams attend you;
for my part, I never dream, being past the dreaming age, and realities
fortunately disappear with daylight; even cross children are wheedled
into quietness, and servants forget to fidget and giggle; and, for
mosquitoes, there are bars. Adieu."

And thus we parted, never to meet again in mutual mood like this!

Yet, had the free agency of which some men boast been ours, we had
scarcely chosen to face the awful change--to look into each other's eyes
through gathering death-doom!




CHAPTER III.


Before my dreaming eyes was the terror of a hungry, crunching tooth,
fixed in the vessel's side, that of the iceberg, lying black in the
moonlight like a great coal crystal, grimly awaiting our approach, but
the reality, as well as the figment, had disappeared when I emerged at
sunrise from the suffocating cabin, to the atmosphere of the cool and
quiet quarter-deck, which had just undergone its matutinal.

Armed with an orange and a biscuit for physical refreshment, I depended
on sea and sky for my mental entertainment; and in my hand I bore a
slender scroll, destined as a propitiatory offering to our offended
helmsman.

I was glad to find again at the wheel our pilot of yesterday.

"Your iceberg has disappeared, Mr. Garth," I said, as I extended to him
the sketch I had made of his noble _physique_ the day before, "and here
is a picture for your wife, which she will see was not drawn for fun.
Women are sharper than men about such matters. There, I bestow it not
without regret." He received my offering with a smile, and nod of his
great curly head, opened it, gazed long and seriously upon it, and, with
the single word "Good," rolled it up again, and consigned it to some
bosom pocket in his flannel shirt, into which it seemed to glide as a
telescope into its case, revealing, as he did so, glimpses of a hairy
breast, and vigorous chest, more admirable for strength than beauty,
certainly.

"I will keep it there," he said, "young miss," pressing it closely
against his side with his colossal hand, "until I get safe home to the
Jarseys, and to Sall, or go to Davy's locker, one or other, but which it
will be, young gal--young miss, I should be saying--is not for me to
know."

"Nor for anyone," I rejoined, solemnly; "all rests with God."

"With God and our engineer," he resumed, tersely; "them sails is of
little account, now the mainmast is struck away; them floppen
petticoats, wat the wind loves to play in and out, layin' along like a
lazy lubber that it is, and leaving its work for others to do. It was a
noble mast, though, while it stood--and you could smell the turpentine
blood in its heart to the very last. It was as limber as a sapling, and
never growed brittle, like some wood, with age and dryness. No storm
could splinter it, and it would fling itself over into the high waves
sometimes, rayther than snap and lash them like a whip. But there it
lies, burned with the fire of heaven's wrath, at last, and leaving its
fires of hell behind, in the heart of the Kosciusko."

"You have changed your mind on the subject of engines, Mr. Garth, I am
glad to see. Truly, ours seems to be doing giant's work; now we are
flying, to be sure."

"Rushing, not flying, young lady--that's the word; our wings are little
use to-day, you see, such as are left to us. Runnin' for dear life, we'd
better say, for that's the truth of the matter, and may the merciful
Lord speed us, and have in his care all helpless ones this day!"

The lifted hand, the bared head, the earnest accents, with which these
words were spoken, gave to this simple utterance of good-will all the
solemnity of a benediction or prayer.

I noticed that, after replacing his tarpaulin, the lips of Garth
continued to move silently, then were compressed gravely for a time,
while his eye, large, clear, and expressive, was fixed on space.

"Do you still see an iceberg, Mr. Garth? Do you really apprehend danger
for us now?" I asked, after studying his countenance for a moment, "or,
are you again desirous to try the nerves of your female passengers? I
think I must apply to the captain this time for information."

"Yes, danger," he replied, in low, sad tones, ignoring my last remark,
or perhaps not hearing it at all--"danger, compared with which an
iceberg might be considered in the light of a heavenly marcy. There is a
chance of grazing one of them snow-bowlders, or of its drifting away
from a ship, when the ripples reach it, or, if the wust comes, a body
can scramble overboard, and manage to live on the top of one of them
peaks, or in one of their ice-caves, with a few blankets, and a little
bread and junk and water, fur a space, so as to get a chance of meetin'
a ship, or a schooner; but, when there is something wrong in a ship's
heart, there a'n't much hope for rescue, onless it comes from above."

He hesitated, smiling grimly, rolled his quid, crammed his hat down over
his eyes, and again addressed himself to his wheel, and, for a few
moments, I stood beside him silently.

"The ship is leaking, I suppose," I said, at last, "so that you
apprehend her loss, perhaps," and my heart sank coldly within me, as I
spoke; "but, if this be true, why does not the captain apprise us? No,
you are quizzing me again, and very cruelly this time, very
unwarrantably."

Yet I did not think exactly as I spoke, strive as I might to believe the
man in jest. Too much solemnity and sorrow both were discernible in his
worn and rugged features, hewn grandly as if from granite, to admit of a
hope like this. His words were earnest, and some great calamity was in
store, I could not doubt, or at least he apprehended such. For some time
he replied not, then, slowing pointing to the base of the stricken
mainmast, which still showed an elevation of some inches above the deck,
he revealed to me the truth without a word.

As my eyes followed his guiding finger, I saw, with terror unspeakable,
a thin blue wavering smoke-wreath, float upward from the floor, and,
after curling feebly about the truncated mast, disappear in the clear
sunlit atmosphere, again to arise from the same point, that of the
juncture of the mast and deck, creeping through some invisible crevice,
as it seemed to form itself eternally in filmy folds, and successively
elude the eye as soon as it shaped to sight. I understood him then.
There was fire in the heart of the ship, and I knew the hold was filled
with cotton; it was smouldering slowly, and our safety was a question of
time alone!

Pale, transfixed, frozen, I lifted my eyes to the man, who seemed to
represent my fate for the moment. "Was it the lightning?" I asked, after
a pause, during which his pitying eye rested on me drearily. "Did the
fire occur in that way?"

"Yes, the lightning it was; and God's hand, which sent the shaft direct,
alone can deliver us."

I seemed to hear the voice of Bertie speak these words. Things grew
confused; I wavered as I stood, lifted my hand to my head; the face of
Christian Garth grew large and dim, then faded utterly. I knew no more
until I found myself seated on a coil of rope, leaning against the
bulwark, while a young girl stood beside me, fanning and bathing my
face, and offering me a glass of water.

"You are better now," she said, kindly; "the man at the wheel called me
as I was passing, and pointed out your condition, and I led you here,
and ran for water. Being up so early is apt to disagree with some
people."

"What are these people crawling about the deck for? Is all hope over, or
was it only a dream?" I asked.

"Oh, you are quite wild yet from your swoon; it is only the calkers
stopping up the seams, one of the captain's queer whims they say; but
how they are to dance to-night, those _magnificos_ I mean, without
ruining their slippers with this pitch, I cannot see! Thank Goodness! I
belong to a church, and am not of this party, and don't care on my own
account, nor does the captain, I believe. I was placed under his care at
Savannah, and I suppose it is only to stop the ball that--"

She was interrupted by the approach of the officer under discussion, but
he passed us gloomily and went on to inspect the workmen so unseasonably
employed, as it seemed, in a labor that, save in a case of long voyages,
is always performed in port.

His melancholy air, and the preoccupation of his manner, confirmed my
worst fears.

Again I sought the Ixion of the vessel, who calmly and stolidly
performed his duty as if, indeed, Fate directed, without a change of
feature now, or expression.

"Has the captain no hope of rescue, Mr. Garth?"

"Oh, yes; he thinks we shall meet a ship or two between now and noon--we
'most always do, you know"--rolling his quid slowly, and hesitating for
a while; "keep heart, keep heart! I had thought from your face you were
stronger; besides, the pumps are doing good work in the hold: who knows
what may come of it, who knows?"

Alas! alas! I could not rise to the level of this dim hope. "Think of
the burning crowd, the sheet of flame, the terrible destruction!" I
murmured; "I must go now and apprise those poor wretches below that
their time is short; they have a right to know."

His vice-like hand was on my arm. "You do not go a step on such an
errand," he muttered. "It is the captain's business; he will 'tend to it
when the time comes, for he is a true man, and the bravest sailor on the
line. He means to do what's right, never fear. It is my dooty to hold
you here until he comes, onless you promise me to be discreet."

"I shall be discreet, never fear--" and his grasp relaxed. I sped me
back to the coil of rope on which I had left my young companion,
intending to partake with her there my biscuit and orange, so needed now
for strength.

I found in her stead (for she had departed in the interval) a
delicate-looking young woman, plain and poor, a widow evidently from the
style of her shabby mourning and sad expression of face, bearing in her
arms a weird and sickly-looking child, evidently a sufferer from spinal
disease--an infant as to size, but preternaturally old in countenance.

The steady gaze of its large and serious eyes affected me
magnetically--eyes that seemed ever seeking something that still eluded
them, and which now appeared to inquire into my very soul.

"Is your little boy ill, madam?" I asked at last; and at the sound of my
voice a smile broke over his small, sallow features, lending them
strange beauty, but dying away instantly again into an expression of
startled suspicion.

"Yes, very ill," she answered, clasping him tenderly as he clung to her
suddenly. "He has some settled trouble that no medicine reaches, and you
see how small and light he is. Many a twelve months' babe is heavier
than he, yet he is three years old come March next, and he is 'cute
beyond his years, it seems to me."

"You seem very weak and weary," I rejoined. "I noticed you yesterday
with interest, sitting all the time with your boy on your knee. You must
need exercise and rest. Go and walk now a little, while you can;" and I
stretched my arms for her baby.

To her surprise, evidently, he came to me willingly--attracted, no
doubt, by the gleam of the watch-chain about my neck, and still further
propitiated by a portion of my orange, which he greedily devoured.

In the mean time the poor, pale mother took a few turns on the
quarter-deck, and, disappearing therefrom a moment, returned with a
small supply of cakes and biscuits which she had sought in the steward's
room.

An inspiration of Providence, no doubt, she thought this proceeding
later, which at the moment was only intended to anticipate the delay
attendant on all second-class meals.

These cakes, with a pains-taking diligence, if not forethought--peculiar
to all feeble animals, squirrels, sick children, and the like--did he
one by one cram and compel into my pocket, unconscious as I was at the
moment of his miser-like proceeding (instinctive, probably), which later
I detected, to his infinite rejoicing. In company with my slender purse,
and bunch of useless keys, a pencil, and a small memorandum-book, they
remained _perdu_ until that moment of accidental discovery arrived which
was to test their value and place it "far above that of rubies."

Light as a pithless nut seemed this little creature in my strong,
energetic arms, and yet his mother staggered beneath his weight.

She insisted, however, after a time, on resuming her charge of him, as
it was proper she should do, and then sat beside me, delivering herself
of a long string of complaints and grievances, after the fashion of all
second-rate, solitary people when secure of sympathy.

She overrated my benevolence on this occasion, however. I was lost in
painful reverie, and scarcely understood a word of her communication,
which I was obliged at last to cut short, for I had resolved, now that
my strength was recruited, on the only visible course remaining to me--I
would seek Miss Lamarque, confide to her the statement of Christian
Garth, relate to her what my eyes had seen, and be guided by her
determination and judgment, with those of her brother, a man of sense, I
saw, and whose instincts, no doubt, would all be sharpened by the
jeopardy of his children.

She was sitting up in her state-room when I knocked at the door, still
in her berth, the lower one--from which the upper shelf had been lifted
so as to afford her room and air--looking very Oriental and handsomer
than I ever had seen her, in her bright Madras night-turban and fine
white cambric wrapper richly trimmed.

Her face broke into smiles as soon as she beheld me; and she invited me,
in a way not to be resisted, so resolute and yet so kindly was it, to
partake with her of the hot coffee her maid was just handing her in bed,
in a small gilded cup, a portion of the service on the stand beside her.

"It is our Southern custom, you know, Miss Harz--always our _cafe noir_
before breakfast, as a safeguard against malaria. To be sure, there is
nothing of that sort to be apprehended at sea, but still habits are
inveterate; second nature, as the moralists and copy-books say, as if
there ever could be more than one. What nonsense these wiseacres talk,
to be sure! But there is cream, you see, for those who like it--boiled
down and bottled for the use of the children before leaving home--one of
Dominica's notions;" and here the smiling maid, with her little,
respectful courtesy, tendered me a reviving cup of Miss Lamarque's
morning beverage, Mocha, made to the last point of perfection, dripped
and filtered over a spirit-lamp by Dominica, the skillful and
neat-handed.

"But you are very pale to-day, my child--what on earth can be the
matter?--There, Dominica, I thought I heard Florry cry! Go and help
Caliste get the children ready for a trot upon deck before breakfast,
and don't forget to give each one a gill of cream and a biscuit--or,
stay, twice as much for the two elder before they go up. It may be some
time before they get their regular morning meal.--They have to wait, you
know, Miss Harz, which is such rank injustice where children are
concerned. Patience never belongs to unreasoning creatures, unless an
instinct, as with animals; men have to learn its lessons through the
teachings of experience--that strictest of school-masters. Now, you see,
I have my lecturing-cap on, and am almost equal to you or Dr. Lardner
in my way. But it takes you to define fascination! I suppose Mrs.
Heavyside, however, could help you there--for nothing short of
witchcraft could account to me for her elopement with that dreary man!
To leave her sweet children, too, as if all the men on earth could be
worth to a true mother her teething baby's little toe or finger!"

"Would she never stop--never give one loop-hole for doubt to enter?" I
thought.

"But what in the world ails you--has Dunmore, the disconsolate, been
making love again? Has Captain Falconer declared himself too soon? and
do you hesitate, on account of Miss Moore? Don't let that consideration
influence you, I beg, for she is the greatest flirt in Savannah, the
truest to the vocation, and I like her for that, anyhow. Whatever a man
or woman has to do, let him or her do earnestly. That isn't exactly
Scripture, but near enough, don't you think so?" and she laughed
merrily.

"I have been on deck this morning," I commenced, "Miss Lamarque, and saw
Christian Garth, and--"

"He has been terrifying and electrifying you again with his tale of
horrors--there, it is all out. Why, he is as sensational as 'Jane Eyre,'
this new English novel I am just reading," drawing it from under her
pillow and holding it aloft as she spoke. "Currer Bell is not more
mysteriously awful, but Garth is not artistic. I detected his intention
by the inconsistency of his expression of face, which bore no part in
his narrative, and at once exposed him, you must remember--"

"Oh, yes--but this time--"

"Nonsense, Miriam Harz! the iceberg is gone, I know. Why, what a nervous
coward you are, to be sure, with all that assumed bravery! I am twice
as courageous, I do believe, despite appearances; I really begin to be
of opinion that it is safer to be at sea than on land--now what do you
think of that for a heterodoxy?--A second cup? why, of course, and a
third, if you want it; I am delighted you like it. These little Sevres
toys are but thimbles, but I always carry them about with me by sea and
land, and have for years; I feel as if there were luck in them, not one
of the original three has been broken--there--there!--just as I was
boasting, too!--never mind, such accidents _will_ occur; but your pretty
pongee dress is sadly stained with the coffee; besides, as _you_ dropped
the cup, it is _your_ luck, not mine; and I want an odd saucer, anyhow,
to feed Desiree out of; she sleeps in that willow basket you see in the
corner of the state-room, Miss Harz, and is lazy, like her mistress, of
mornings.--Desiree! Desiree! peep out, can't you, now you have your
long-desired Sevres saucer to lap milk from?--She won't touch delft,
Miss Harz. She is the most fastidious little creature!"

"Alas! alas!" and I groaned aloud.

"Not taking on about that silly cup, I hope--no; what can it be then, a
megrim? No. Well, I can't imagine any thing worse, to save my life.
Here, let me read you this, it is fine--it is where Jane Eyre feels
herself deserted, and this comparison about 'the dried-up channel of a
river' thrills one. Just hear it;" and she was about commencing--

"Not now--not now, Miss Lamarque; stern realities demand our attention.
Lay your book aside, be calm, be firm, but listen to me seriously.
Christian Garth informs me, nor he alone--my own eyes have done the
rest--that the cotton in the hold has taken fire from the lightning
yesterday; has been slowly smouldering ever since the mast was
struck--and that the ship's hours are numbered!"

"O God! O God!" and she bowed her head upon her clasped and quivering
hands. "But, Captain Ambrose--he did not tell you so?" looking up
suddenly. "Christian Garth, indeed! his impudence is surprising--another
hoax, I suppose," and she tried to smile; "such a coarse creature, too!"

"We shall see, but for the present say nothing; only get up and dress as
quickly as you can, but it is important to be very quiet, for fear of
causing confusion. I have promised discretion."

"Call Dominica, then, for me, Miss Harz," gasping and stretching forth
her arms. "I can do nothing for myself--nothing--I am so weak, so
helpless. Yet I must believe he is--you are mistaken!"

"I trust it may prove so. But let me assist you; Dominica is best
employed making ready the little ones and giving them
food--strengthening them for the struggle. She will be nerveless if she
knows the truth, and you are not in a condition to conceal it."

"Just as you will, then. My trunk--will you be so kind as to unlock it
and give me out the tray--that picture? After that I can get along
alone."

I silently did as she desired, and saw her place a covered miniature
about her neck before she arose. Very few minutes sufficed this morning
for her toilet--usually a tedious and fastidious one--her dress, her
bonnet, her shawl, were hastily thrown on, her watch secured with the
few jewels lying upon the night-table; the rest of her valuables were
with other boxes in the hold, the repository of all unneeded baggage,
and these, of course, she could scarcely hope to save in case of fire,
even if lives were rescued.

Then, together, we went out, just in time to join the little troop of
young children and nurses on their way to the deck. Miss Lamarque did
not reply to their tumultuous greeting, but, silently taking the baby
Florry, her namesake, in her arms, kissed her many times. I had told her
while, she was dressing, of the smoke-wreaths about the base of the
broken mast, and she believed in the testimony my eyes had afforded me
far more than in the reports of Christian Garth. We did not encounter
Mr. Lamarque when we first went on deck; he had gone forward to smoke,
some one said; but Captain Ambrose was standing alone, telescope in
hand, and to him we addressed ourselves, quietly.

He seemed startled when I disclosed the result of my observation--for I
did not choose to commit the pilot--but he did not attempt to deny the
truth of the condition of things, and conjured us both to entire quiet
and composure, and, if possible, to absolute silence. The safety of five
hundred people, he said, depended on our discretion; the ship might not
ignite for days, if at all, he thought, so carefully had the air been
excluded from the cotton by the process of tight calking, so as to seal
it almost hermetically; indeed, the fire might be wholly extinguished by
the pumps, which were constantly at work, pouring streams of water
around and through the hold; and a panic would be equal to a fire in any
case. Such were his calmness and apparent faith in his own words, that
they did much to allay Miss Lamarque's fears. My own were little
soothed--I never doubted from the beginning what the end would be.

Mr. Lamarque approached us while the conference with the captain was
going on, and, under the seal of secrecy, the condition of affairs was
communicated to that gentleman.

I never saw a man so crushed and calm at the same time. His handsome
face seemed turned to stone--he scarcely spoke at all, and made no
inquiries. I think his mind, like mine, was made up to the worst. Yet he
commanded himself so far as to go to the breakfast-table and superintend
the meal of his little children, about whom he hung, like a mother-bird
who sees the shadow of a hawk above her brood, from that moment until
the _denoument_ of the drama separated us two forever.

Miss Lamarque and I sat down together on a bench, while the host of
hungry passengers crowded down to the cabin at the welcome summons of
the bell, and I was aware again of the pale widow and her patient child
standing near me.

A sudden thought occurred to me. This woman, more than any one among us,
needed the strengthening stimulus of good food, and this meal might be
her last on shipboard--on earth, perhaps--for a dull, low, ominous sound
began to make itself heard to my ear as soon as the murmur of the crowd
subsided.

"Trust me with your child again while you go down and eat your breakfast
in my place to-day. It is a whim of mine. I have had coffee with this
lady in her state-room, and shall not appear at the table. You may bring
me a slice of bread, if you choose, when you come back, and one for
baby. Do not refuse me this favor."

Much pleased at my attention, as I could see, she went to the grand
first table, with its high-heaped salvers of snowy rolls and biscuit,
its delicate birds and fowls, its fragrant coffee and tea, so different
from the dregs of the humble board at which her second-class ticket
alone entitled her to appear; and, to save her from possible
humiliation, I wrote a line to the steward; so she feasted, no doubt, in
state.

Again I enacted the _role_ of self-appointed nurse to a creature that
looked more like a fairy changeling than a flesh-and-blood creation.

"You are a strange woman, Miriam Harz! At such an hour as this, what
matters the quality of food?" said Miss Lamarque, sententiously. "After
all, what can that invalid and her child be to you in any case? They are
essentially common and mean. You never saw them before, and may never
see them again."

"In view of such a catastrophe as that before us, all distinctions fade,
Miss Lamarque. This is the last meal any one will take on the ship
Kosciusko--she is doomed! The woman might as well get strength for the
chance of saving herself and child. I doubt whether any second table
will be spread to-day!" I spoke with anguish.

"You cannot believe this! Why, after what the captain said, days may go
by before any real danger manifests itself! Ships must pass in the
interval--many ships may pass to-day, within a few hours, ready for our
relief, if needed; and see, the smoke has ceased to curl about your
broken main-mast! That shows convincingly that the fire is being gotten
under--extinguished, probably."

"Oh, no! no! no! not with that low, terrible roaring in the hold. The
fire is gaining strength, and our agony will soon he over."

I sat with, clasped hands and bowed head before her, insensible to her
words. I suppose she strove to strengthen me. I think she tried to
soothe. Failing in both, she rose and went away, and in her place came
Christian Garth, relieved from the helm, and stood a moment beside me.

"Don't be down-hearted, young gal, an' wait for me. Ef the Lord lets me,
I will save you, and the old lady, too; that is, ef she is your aunt or
mother or near of kin."

I shook my head drearily.

"You have no hope, then, Mr. Garth?"

"Hope? yes; the best of hope--the Christian's hope. God can do any thing
He pleases, we all know, and He may stretch forth his hand when all
seems dark; but Captain Ambrose is not one to run a risk of that sort,
so he has sent me to work upon a raft--one of two he is making for the
seamen if the wust comes to the wust. But you see, I have been on lost
ships afore now, an' I know there is no larboard nor starboard rules
when men are skeered. So I shall make my raft to hold the womenfolk, for
the boats will be for the sailors--mark my word--and them that's wise
will wait till the press is over and take the rafts."

"There are little children," I said; "six of them belonging to that lady
and Mr. Lamarque. Don't forget them, Mr. Garth, and the poor little
widow coming now to claim her baby; this miserable little creature I am
holding until she breakfasts. Don't lose sight of these, either, in the
crowd, if, indeed, we are obliged to have recourse to your raft."

"Pray rayther that it may float us all to safety," he said, sternly,
"for your best chance of being saved will be on that raft, if matters go
as I think they will. Trust me, for I will come;" and he passed away
just before the little widow came to my side again.

"I came up as soon as I could, to relieve you. I know how cross baby is
when he gets restless, and I was afraid you might tire of him. See! I
have brought his bread, and this waiter of tea and toast for you; now
you must take a mouthful."

She knew nothing of our danger, it was plain. "Did you leave the other
passengers at table?" I asked; "the captain, was he there?"

The question was never answered, for the attention of my interlocutor
was riveted now, as was my own, on the companion-way, from which a wild
and frightened-looking crowd was densely emerging, with a confused hum
of voices that announced their recognition of their impending danger.
The change of age, of pain, of woe, seemed sealed upon each aspect, as
one by one, and phantom-like, in rapid succession, those who had so
lately gone down to feast returned to the upper day, like grim ghosts
coming from a church-yard carnival.

It was a sight to stir the stoutest spirit.

At the close of the repast, the captain had announced the truth, to his
passengers, and followed them now to enjoin them to firmness and
efficiency, both so greatly needed at this crisis.

Mounted on the capstan, he addressed them briefly, and not without
influence. Such was the power of his simple and manly bearing over these
distracted souls, that even the wildest listened with decorum.

This was no immigrant-ship, loaded with stolid or desperate men,
insensible of high teachings, and alone desirous of personal safety. Yet
the universal instinct asserted itself, and for the time courtesies were
set aside, and family affections were all that were regarded.

Miss Lamarque, pale, yet collected, now stood surrounded by the children
of her brother, leaning upon his arm while the captain spoke. Husbands
and wives were together, sisters and brothers, servants and their
masters--each group revealed its several household affinities. We only
were alone--the dreary little widow, whose name I never knew, and Miriam
Monfort; and on natural principles we clung together.

It is true that Miss Lamarque, by many signs, implored me to come to
her, but I would not. It was like intruding on a bed of death, I felt,
to break through ties of blood at such a time, by thrusting a foreign
presence amid devoted relatives; and I was too proud, or perhaps too
selfish, to intrude where I must be secondary, unless I took away
another's rights.

The captain had promised, in his brief address, to protect his
passengers to the utmost of his power--leaving the result with God. He
had entreated them to be calm, and to preserve order--so essential to
safety; had mentioned his confidence that a ship must pass before the
catastrophe could possibly occur; but added that, to prepare for the
worst, he had ordered the construction of two rafts--one for the use of
the seamen, the other for the reception of food and necessaries.

His plan was to attach these to the larger boats, and so provide against
want; in the certainty, however, that on such a route relief must soon
present itself, in the shape of ship or steamer.

He called on all able to abet his exertions to present themselves
forthwith, so that universal safety might be insured; not only by making
the rafts, but the securing of food upon them, and comforts for the
women and children, who represented so large a portion of the
passengers. He answered for the fidelity of his seamen with his life.
There was not one among them, he knew, who would lift a finger to
disobey him. He said these words in conclusion:

"And now, if there is any one present sufficiently imbued with the grace
of God to fix the anxious minds of these voyagers in prayer, such at
least of them as are powerless otherwise to aid our exertions, let him
appear and minister to their tribulation. This task is not for me,
although the holiest. My duties call me elsewhere."

So adjured, a man, whose wild, fanatical appearance had given rise to
the rumor that the famous "Lorenzo Dow" was on board, sprang on a
bulkhead, and commenced to exhort the crowd about him, from which a file
of pale, determined-looking men was slowly emerging to join the seamen
at the other end of the vessel in their efforts for the public weal. But
many lingered, either overcome and paralyzed by the stringency of
circumstances, or unequal to exertions from personal causes--aged men,
women, and children, chiefly--and to these the frenzied speaker
continued to address his words of exhortation and warning.

Such a tirade of terrible objurgation I felt was entirely out of place
in a scene like this, and calculated to excite the worst passions of the
human mind, instead of persuading it to serenity and submission, so
essential now; for to me the captain's last words represented the final
grace of the preacher, when, with closed eyes and outspread hands, he
dismissed his flock from the temple at the close of the services. From
that vessel and all that concerned it we were virtually enfranchised
from that moment--dismissed to destruction, so to speak, by fire or
flood, or rescue from beyond, as the case might be, to life or death, as
God willed--for the ship's mission was accomplished.

I shrank as far as possible from the wild, waving arms, the frenzied
eyes, the gaunt and wolfish aspect, the piercing, agonized voice of the
fanatic, who had assumed to himself the solemn office of soul-comforter
in a time of extremity. I saw from a distance his long, lank figure
writhing like a sapling in a storm, as it overtopped the crowd; but his
words were lost on my ear, and I sat leaning back against the bulwark
with folded hands, absorbed in my own thoughts, when a young girl,
bursting from the throng, came and threw herself down before me, and
buried her face in my lap, convulsed with sobs. When she looked up, I
recognized the young person who had bathed my face in the morning during
my partial swoon--a fair and lovely-looking girl of about eighteen
years, pallid and ill now with excitement.

"Oh, it is so terrible!" she cried; "I cannot--cannot bear it, and he
says we are all hopelessly lost unless we have repented; that there is
no death-bed salvation; and this is our death-bed, you know, for the
Spanish ship passed us without stopping, and we scarcely hope to see
another. O cruel, cruel fiends! to pretend they did not understand our
signals, and leave us to destruction."

And she clasped her hands in mute and bitter despair--no actress was
ever so impressive.

"We must make up our minds to the worst," I said, as calmly as I could.
"Then, if God sees fit to deliver us, we shall be all the more thankful.
You must not believe what this ignorant and panic-stricken man tells
you. Think of the thief on the cross whom Christ pardoned in dying."

"Then you hope to be permitted to see God! You dare to hope this?" she
asked, gazing into my very eyes, so closely did she come to me.

"Oh, surely in his own good time! I have done nothing so very wicked, I
hope, as to exclude me from my Father's face forever--have you? Now,
don't be frightened; speak calmly."

"I don't know--I don't know. I should be afraid not to call myself
desperately wicked at such a time; he says we all are, you know. We are
all miserable sinners."

"It is very abject to talk and feel thus, and I don't believe that God
approves of it," I said, indignantly. "He gives us self-respect, and
commands us to cherish it. Such abasement is unworthy of Christian
souls. It is very bitter to die, as young as we are; but, if we have
done our best to serve Him, we need--we ought not to be afraid to meet
our God."

She clung to my outstretched hand. She strengthened my spirit by the
fullness of her need. The feeble widow with her child, too, crept close
to me, weeping and trembling.

"Do not leave me," she entreated; "let us stay together to the very
last."

"Nay, that may be a long time," I answered, smiling feebly, and nerved
for the first time to encouragement; "for the captain will do his best
to save his passengers--the women especially, I cannot doubt; and see
what bounteous provision he is making for their support!"

And I pointed to the piles of flour and sugar barrels, the boxes of
crackers and of hams, of figs and raisins, the hampers of wine and ale,
which were profusely piled on the quarter-deck ready for lowering to the
rafts.

"He means to take care of us, you see, by the permission of Providence,"
I said, almost strengthened by this dependence, "and we will remain
calmly together, and drink whatever cup God offers us--humbly, I hope."
Yet, even as I spoke, my heart rebelled against the fiat of my fate, and
the young life within me rose up in fierce conflict with its doom.

At this moment of bitter strife of heart, Mr. Dunmore, the youthful poet
of whom I have already spoken, stood before me.

"I have found you at last," he said, "deputed as I am to do so by Miss
Lamarque. It is a point of honor with her to care for you personally in
this crisis. You know Major Favraud placed you under her care; besides
that, her regard for you impels this request. She bids me say--"

I interrupted him hastily.

"This is no time for ceremonials, truly, Mr. Dunmore; yet, had family
concurrence been perfect, it seems to me that her brother might have
undertaken this mission. I have no wish to thrust myself undesired into
any household circle at such a crisis."

"He is wholly absorbed with his children."

"As he ought to be, Mr. Dunmore, and, when the time of peril comes, it
is of their needs alone that he will and must think, I am alone in this
vessel, as I shall remain. I did not leave Savannah under Miss
Lamarque's care. She is very generous, very considerate, but I will not
embarrass her motions, nor yours, nor any one's. It is the duty of
Captain Ambrose to see to the welfare of his female passengers. I shall
not be forgotten among these--"

He stood before me with his knightly head uncovered, his handsome face
as calm as though he were a guest at a festival instead of a patient and
interested watcher at a funeral-pyre. His birth, his breeding, his
genius even, asserted themselves in that mortal hour. He was calm,
collected, serious, but not afraid.

"The peril will be great to all, of course," he said, quietly, "but no
gentleman will prefer his own safety to that of the most humble and
desolate woman on the ship. To you, Miss Harz, I devote my energies
to-day, to you and these ladies of your party, whoever they may be--,"
bowing gently as he spoke. "I may fail in delivering you from danger,
but it shall not be for want of effort on my part. Believe my words, I
have less care for life than most people, and now let me offer you my
escort through that maddened crowd (the rest may follow closely), to
reach Miss Lamarque."

"No, Mr. Dunmore, I _must_ remain just where I am, I have promised
myself to do so; this is much; and these unhappy women--they, like
myself, are alone, or seem to be. Should you see fit to do so, and be
willing to be so encumbered, you can return after a lapse of time; but
make no point of this, I entreat you. I think that Captain Ambrose will
observe good order and save his helpless ones first. You know he
promised this--"

There was a moment's pause, and movement of eye and hand, and then he
spoke again, very softly:

"Yes, and much more that can never be fulfilled, for already the cabin
is in flames, the companion-way is closed, and the fire in the hold is
making fearful headway. I have heard the seamen have sworn to secure the
boats; you are strong and resolute--be prepared for the very worst."
Then, speaking in his usual tone, he added: "Since the banner of Spain
passed near enough to show us the rampant lions and castles on its
crimson shield, and yet made no sign, I have had little hope of rescue
from a ship. It was ominous!"

"Not intended, then," I said, eagerly. "Oh, I am glad of this, at least,
for the honor of human nature."

"A strange consideration at such a time! You are a study to me, Miss
Harz; yours is not apathy, like mine, but true courage, even in this
death-struggle, and I will save you if I can, for you have a noble
soul!"

All further dialogue was cut short by the wild shout that rose from the
crowd, the delusive cry of "A sail, a sail!" and Dunmore rushed with the
rest to descry its myth-like form, if possible. It was some moments
before hope again died down to a flat level of despair.

Too remote for signal or trumpet was that distant, white-winged vessel
gliding securely on its path of peace, unconscious of the extremity of
the mighty steamer it distinguished dimly, no doubt, by the aid of
telescopes.

However this might have been, for the second time on that day of direst
exigency, a ship went by, observed yet unobserving.

Fainter and fainter grew the accents of the fierce, fanatical preacher;
his excitement forsook him as the danger became more and more imminent.

The crowd broke into groups. Pale, stern men, with rigid features, who
had been employed aiding in the construction of the rafts, returned now
to the sides of their wives and children.

Through a vista on the deck I discerned Miss Lamarque, sitting quietly
with her youngest nursling in her arms, beside her brother. His children
and slaves were gathered around her knees. Dunmore was giving her my
message, I could not doubt, from the glances she cast in my direction,
as he stood near by. I knew that he would soon turn to come again, but
my resolution was fixed.

Captain Ambrose, with a face grown old in half a day, gray, abstracted,
wretched, passed and repassed me several times, telescope in hand.

Ralph Maxwell on the round-house kept constant watch, his attitude
dauntless, his face uplifted and keen, field-glass in hand. His
West-Point training stood him in good stead now. Captain Falconer, a
naval officer, had returned to the side of Miss Oscanyan, the woman he
had loved hopelessly for years, and, before the scene closed between us
forever, I saw him clasp her to his bosom; so that trying hour had for
some high spirits is crowning consolations, its solace and reward, and,
whatever else was in store, the martyrdom of love was over.

An eager hand caught my shawl. "He is coming back, coming to persuade
you to leave us," said the young girl; "but you have promised not to
part from us, and I feel that God will remember us if we remain together
firm and fast, we three."

Then the pale widow spoke in turn: "Let me stay beside you too," she
entreated; "it makes me feel stronger, I am so desolate--" and she bowed
her head and wept.

I would have said in the strange, calm bitterness that possessed my
soul: "What value has life to you and your deformed one? Poor, widowed,
sickly, and despised, why should you wish to live? Why encumber me?"

But thoughts like these were not for human utterance now, and we sat
together, hand locked in hand for a time, waiting for the end, as men
may wait in years to come, when the earth is gray with sin, for the
coming of the fiery comet that they know is destined to consume them.

For was not this ship our world, penned in as we were on every side, and
separated from all else by an ocean inexorable and illimitable as space,
and were not we likewise looking forward to a fiery doom--our finite,
perhaps final, day of judgment?

I could understand then, for the first time, how condemned criminals
feel--well, strong, yet dying! I knew how Walter La Vigne, the
self-doomed, had felt, and some passages of Madame Roland's appeal rose
visibly before me, as if written on the air rather than in my memory. I
had read the book at Beauseincourt, and it had powerfully impressed me;
and this, I remember, was the passage that swept across my brain:

"And thou whom I dare not name, wouldst thou mourn to see me preceding
thee to a place where we can love one another without wrong--where
nothing will prevent our union--where all pernicious prejudices, all
arbitrary exclusions, all hateful passions, and all tyranny, are silent?
I shall wait for thee, then, and rest!"

So centred were my dying thoughts on Wentworth--so calmly did I await
the great change that men call sudden death!

All this time--a time much briefer than that I have taken in recounting
my sensations--the glorious summer's sun, the sun of morning, was
bathing the sea; the ship, with beauty, and a soft, fresh breeze, was
fanning every pallid brow with a caressing, silken wing, that seemed to
mock its wretchedness.

I thought not once of Christian Garth. I had ceased to strain my eyes
for a distant sail, to seek to compromise with my fate or make
conditions with my Creator. Dunmore was forgotten. I was composed to
die--not resigned. These things are different; a bitter patience
possessed me that I felt would sustain me to the end, but I was not
satisfied that my doom was just or opportune.

"Farewell, sweet, young, vigorous life!" I moaned aloud. "Farewell,
Miriam! It will not be thou, but a phantom, that shall arise from dead
ashes! Farewell, dear hand, that hast served me long and well!" and I
kissed my own right hand. I had not known until that moment how truly I
loved myself. "Sister, lover, farewell! Mother, father, receive me!
Gentle Constance, reach forth thy guiding hand and lead me to my
parents! Wentworth, remember me! Saviour, my soul is thine!"

I bowed my head. I had no more to say. Unwilling I was to die--afraid I
was not; for, as I sat there, my whole life swept before me, as it is
said to do before the eyes of the drowning, and rapidly as one may sweep
the gamut on a piano with one introverted finger, and I saw myself as
though I had been another. I had done nothing to make me afraid to meet
my God; so, with closed eyes, I lingered in the shadow, conscious of
nothing save exceeding calm, when the grasp of my gentle friend of the
moment aroused me to a sense of what was occurring, and I saw, with
horror indescribable, the fierce flames leaping from the deck, heard the
hoarse shouts, beheld the lurid surging of an agonized and despairing
multitude! But above all rang the clear, trumpet-tones of Captain
Ambrose, soon to sink in death:

"To the boats--to the boats! but save the women first--the children--as
ye are Christian men! So help ye, mighty God!"

I heard later how signally this noble charge was disregarded; how
utterly self triumphed over generosity and duty; and how, in enforcing
the example all should have followed, Captain Ambrose lost his valiant,
valuable life. But this was thought nothing of then, and I sat patiently
down to perish!




CHAPTER IV.


It was sunset when I first felt able to sit up beneath the awning of
sails which provident hands had stretched above the central platform
reserved for the occupancy of the women and children, spread thick with
mattresses on the raft, and look about me understandingly.

We were riding smoothly over the long, low, level billows of that summer
sea, sustained beyond their reach on what seemed a rude barn-floor,
composed as this was of the masts, booms, and yards, roughly lashed
together by tarred ropes, no longer needed on the destined ship, and
which had been assigned by the captain for that purpose to Christian
Garth.

A mast was erected in the front of this hastily-constructed raft, on
three sides of which were breastworks, with strong, loose ropes
attached, so that those who clung to this refuge might support
themselves with comparative safety, or rather have a chance for life,
when our "floating grave" should hang suspended perpendicularly on the
steep side of a mountain-billow, or drift beneath it.

Just below, and surrounding the small, elevated platform on which I
found myself when I revived, stretched on a slender mattress by the side
of my feeble widow and her moaning child, were rows of barrels, firmly
fastened by cleats, so as insure, to some degree, not only the
preservation of our food and water, but to form a sort of bulwark of
protection for those who occupied the central portion of the raft.

The young girl, of whom I have spoken as having attached herself to me
during the last moments of my stay on shipboard, and an old negro woman,
whose crooning hymns made a strange accompaniment to the dashing waters,
and whose stolid tranquillity seemed to reproach my anguish, were our
only companions on the sort of dais assigned to his female passengers by
Christian Garth.

The man himself, to whom we owed our deliverance, stood near his
primitive mast, trimming his sail carefully, and looking out with his
far-reaching, sagacious ken over the waste of waters, into which the
blood-red, full-orbed sun seemed dipping, suddenly, as for his
night-bath.

A few of the common passengers of the Kosciusko, and a knot of the
seamen, comprising not more than twenty souls, composed the groups,
scattered about the roughly yet securely lashed raft, silent and
observant all, as men who face their doom are apt to be.

I looked in vain for one familiar face, and for a moment regretted that
I had been withheld, as by some spell, for whose weird influence I could
never sufficiently account, from having cast my destiny with theirs, who
were so much nearer to me in station and congeniality of spirit than
those around me. With Miss Lamarque's hand locked in mine, I should have
vied with her, I felt, in cheerful courage; and the knightly calmness of
Dunmore might have sustained my drooping, fainting soul. These were my
peers, and, _with_ them, I should have been better content to be tried.

But the white squall, which had in no way affected us (so small and
partial was the sphere of its influence), had sufficed to separate ours
irretrievably from our companion-raft, and the squadron of boats that
had promised not to forsake as. And now the eye of agony was strained in
vain over the weltering waste, for a vestige of those refugees from the
Kosciusko--buried, perhaps, a thousand fathoms deep, by their sudden
visitors, beneath the waves of that deadly Atlantic sea.

Tears rained over my face as I thought of this probability, and,
hopeless as I was of rescue, the almost certain fate of my
companion-voyagers fell over me like a pall. "Better, perhaps--far
better had it been"--I thought so then--"had we all perished together in
that terrific sheet of flame that rose up like a dividing barrier
between us at the last. Fit emblem of the final day of doom. Our trials
were but begun. What more remained? God in heaven only knew!"

And rapidly, and in panoramic succession, all the fearful adventures of
raft and boat that I had ever read of, or heard related, passed across
my mind, ending with that latest, and perhaps the most fearful of
all--the wreck of the Medusa!

The night came down serene and beautiful. As the sun disappeared in
ocean, up rose the full-orbed moon--crimson and magnified by surrounding
vapors--that to the practised eye portended future tempest, calm as the
ocean and the heavens then seemed.

The constellations, singularly distinct and splendid, had the power to
fix and fascinate my vision--never felt before--as they shone above me,
clear and crystalline as enthroned in space--judges, and spectators,
cold and pitiless as it seemed to me, in the strangeness and forlornness
of my condition--Arcturus, and the Ursas, great and little, and Lyra,
and the Corona Borealis, Berenice, and Hydra, and Cassiopea's chair;
these and many more. I marked them all with a calm scrutiny that belongs
to terror in some phases. The stars seemed mocking eyes that
night--smiling and safe in heaven--the moon, a cold and cruel enemy with
her vapory train, so grandly sailing across the cloudless heaven--so
careless of our fate--the wreck of a ruined world as many deem
her--veiling in light her inward desolation.

A faint and vapory comet lurked on the horizon--like a ghastly
messenger--scarcely discernible to the human eyes, yet vaguely ominous
and suggestive--a spirit-ship it might be--watching in silence to hear
away the souls of those lost at sea!

There was deep stillness--unbroken, save by the lapping and plashing
waters. Even the crooning hymns of the old negro woman had died away;
and the moans of the suffering child, and the sobs of the weary mother,
and the eager exclamations of Ada Greene (for such I learned was the
name of my young companion), were, for a season, lost alike in sleep.

Food had been distributed--prayer had been offered--all seemed favorable
so far to our preservation. We were on the track of voyage--the pathway
of ships--and the sea was tranquil as a summer lake; up to this point,
the arm of God had been extended over us almost visibly. Would He
forsake us now? I questioned thus, and yet I could not, dare not, hope
as others hoped!

The morning came; I woke, aroused by Salva's song, from troubled sleep;
and, as I rose to a sitting posture, a troop of sea-birds that had been
swooping overhead, fled with a fiend-like screaming.

The mother and child were already consuming their scant allowance of
food. Ada Greene was standing self-poised, swaying like a slender reed
with the motion of the raft, so as never to lose her balance, like a
young acrobat, with her folded arms, her floating hair, and fair Aurora
face, uplifted to the day.

Over the raft were scattered groups of men taking their morning meal;
but, as before, the stalwart form of Christian Garth was at the helm, or
rather, mast and rudder merged in one, which he controlled with calm,
sagacious power.

"Is there a ship in the distance, that you gaze so earnestly?" I asked
of the young girl as I put back my hair that had clustered thickly over
my face in my uneasy slumber, and followed eagerly the direction of her
eyes.

"Oh! no; only a school of dolphins; but it is so pretty! Some came quite
near just now; the men were harpooning them; but if we had them we could
not cook them, you know, on this miserable contrivance."

"One we should be very grateful for, Ada, since it is all that lies
between us and destruction!" I answered, sorrowfully, for the levity of
her spirit grieved and shocked me.

"I don't know about that; I think we might as well have gone down at
once as stay here, and be roasted and starved. How hot it is to-day!
What would I not give for a good glass of ice-water! Don't look so
shocked; we shall be saved, of course. I am not the least afraid about
that, for Mr. Garth says we _must_ see a ship before evening. Don't you
mark the flag flying at the mast-head? He brought it on board on
purpose, so that they might not mistake our country (the packets, I
mean), and give us the go-by as that Spanish vessel did! But they do say
that was a pirate; and that, instead of sitting on a plank, we should
have been walking a plank by this time, had they rescued us. I'm rather
glad they didn't, though, after all--things couldn't be much worse than
they are, could they, now?--There, I came very near falling, I declare!"

The moans of the sick woman at my side became almost constant toward
noon; and she was obliged to surrender her infant wholly to my charge,
for the haemorrhage of the day before had returned, and she was fast
drifting into unconsciousness. "Water, water!" was the only intelligible
cry that left her lips, and that we had to give was warm and brackish,
from the occasional lapping of the sea against the barrels, into which
it oozed insensibly.

The sun shone down hot and brazen, from the lurid heavens, covered with
filmy clouds, so equally overspreading it that a thin, gray veil seemed
to interpose between us and its scorching rays, scarcely tempering them
by its diaphanous medium.

Beneath it lay the sea, like a copper shield, smooth and glowing,
seething like a boiling caldron, with its level foam, for the long,
low-rolling billows lifted themselves but lazily from Ocean's breast,
and assumed no distinctness of form or motion. Not the faintest breeze
came to relieve the stifling closeness of the atmosphere, or lift the
collapsed sail, or furled flag, that clung around our mast. The air
shimmered visibly around us, as though undergoing some transformation
from the heat, some culinary process, through which it was to be
rendered unfit for human lips to breathe. Birds flew low and heavily
around the raft, as though their wings met such resistance as fish find
in water, alighting occasionally to pick up languidly morsels of
rejected food.

Still the old negro's crooning hymns went on, recommenced with morning
light. To my sad heart, the refrain bore a mournful significance:

  "In the land of the New Jerusalem
  There shall be no more sea."

She sat, a wrinkled hag, with a leering, repulsive face, with her feet
planted firmly on her mattress, her knees elevated, her long, ape-like
arms closely embracing these--her fingers, strung with brass and silver
rings, intertwined with snake-like flexibility.

On her head was the inevitable bright-colored handkerchief, the badge of
her race, or rather of her condition in those days, and she wore the
decent, blue-cotton frock, which marked her for a plantation-negro.
Large hoops were in her flat, enormous ears, that seemed to suspend her
shoulders as they touched them, drawn up and narrowed as these were,
even beyond their natural hideousness, by her attitude, one which she
maintained as stolidly as a dervish.

"You must help us," I said, at last, when the crisis came, and affairs
waxed desperate. "You must take the child, at least, and care for him.
See, it requires two persons to sustain his dying mother--one to wet her
lips, one--"

"'Deed, honey," she interrupted, coolly, "you must 'scuse me dis oncst;
I has jus' as much to do as I kin posomply 'complish, in keepin' of
myself dry, comfable, and singin' ob my hyme-toones. We has all to take
our chances dis time, an' do for our own selves, black and white; an' I
don't see none ob my own white folks on dis raf', wich I is mighty proud
of. Dar, now! I does b'leve dat is a ship sail way off dar. Does you see
it, honey?"

And she pointed to a large white gull, skimming the main at some
distance. Disgusted with her selfishness, I vouchsafed her no farther
notice at the time, and her crooning went on during the whole period of
the bitter death-struggle of that poor sufferer, whose name I never
knew, but whose little, deformed waif, the orphan of the raft, remained
my heritage.

"You will take care of him," she had said to me, in her last conscious
moments, "my baby-boy, my little--" the name died on her lips, and she
never spoke again.

When she was dead, Christian Garth caused her to be wrapped in
sail-cloth, weighted with chains, and, with a brief prayer, consigned to
the deep. His superstitious sailor's fears rebelled against the idea of
keeping a corpse on board one moment longer than necessary, so the rites
of sepulture were speedily accomplished.

When I remonstrated, feebly enough it is true, for exhaustion was
supervening on long-sustained effort, at his haste, which, even under
the circumstances, seemed to me indecent, he coolly spoke of it as a
measure essential to the good of all.

Talismanic as were these words on such occasion, mine were the lips that
murmured the brief prayer, a portion of the solemn Episcopal
grave-service that I chanced to remember, above the poor, pale corpse,
even while my weary arms inclosed the struggling child, who,
understanding nothing of the truth, would fain have plunged after his
mother into depths unknown.

A low, long roll of thunder smote on the ear, like a message to the
ocean, from the heavens above, as we saw the waters close greedily over
the form of our dead passenger. The men who had launched the body from
the raft looked up and listened fearfully, and Christian Garth hastened
to trim his sail.

It was sunset now, and the clouds gathered so rapidly about the sun,
that he sank empalled in purple to his watery bed, leaving no trace
behind to mark his faded splendor.

A sudden breeze sprang up, infinitely refreshing at first to soul and
sense, and again the thunder lumbered and crashed about us. The billows
heaved and leaped like steeds just freed from harness, tossing their
white manes; the raft shuddered and reeled with a deadly, sickly motion,
like a creature in strong throes, plunging with frantic suddenness into
the troughs of the waves at one moment, as if impelled by fear, then
rallying to their summits, only to cast itself wildly down again.

All was confusion, dire and terrible. Then burst the storm upon
us--rain, wind!

I was conscious of clutching, with one hand, a rope which strained and
swayed desperately, while with the other I grasped the affrighted baby
to my breast.

Ada Greene and the old negro woman clung together, hanging to the same
cord of safety, flung to them, to all of us, by the hand of Christian
Garth.

The barrels strained and groaned, and broke from their fastenings; the
awning was wrenched from its mooring, and swept away; the bitter brine
broke over us and choked our cries; the anguish of death was upon as
without its submission. We struggled instinctively to breathe, to live;
we grappled desperately with circumstances; we fought against our doom.

Suddenly the sea dropped to rest--the storm was spent; a low, sighing,
soughing gale swept around our nucleus of despair, and the surging of
the sea was like a bitter funeral-wail. The air grew cold and chill; one
vast, pall-like cloud enveloped the whole face of the unpitying
heavens, that seemed literally "to press down upon our very faces like
a roof of black marble."

No moon, no stars, were visible; we had no light of any kind, nor could
we ascertain the damage done until the cold, gray morning broke in gloom
and rain upon us. Then it was made plain to us that our food had all
been swept overboard--together with six seamen and five of the
passengers. There remained on the raft only three shuddering women and a
little child--and a handful of weary and discouraged men, sustained and
led to a sense of duty by the dauntless master-spirit of one alone--the
presence of Christian Garth, indomitable through, all hardships. So it
had fared with us for six-and-thirty hours of our experience on "our
floating grave."

We had been washed from our little platform, which ordinarily lifted us
above the lapping of the sea during the prevalence of the storm--and we
regained it now, glad to repose even on the sea-soaked mattresses bereft
of awning. By the mercy of God some glutinous sea-zoophytes had been
tangled among them, and by the help of the brine-soaked biscuit in my
pocket (crammed there, it may be remembered, as a precious hoard for a
time of dire necessity, on the morning of the fire, by the small,
cunning fingers of the sickly child), we breakfasted, or rather broke
our fast--we four, the child, the negress, Ada Greene, and I--and life
was aroused again in every breast by means of a briny morsel.

"A cup of coffee would not be amiss just now," said the girl, laughing,
"but the Lord knows we can wait."

There was a strange, bright light in the eyes of the young girl as she
spoke these words, and she was arraying her hair coquettishly with some
bunches of sea-weed, which had been cast up by the storm, and from which
the eager, famishing lips of the little boy had been permitted to suck
the gluten before discarding the skeleton stems.

That hair was in itself a grace and glory--rippling from crown to waist
in sheeny, golden splendor, fine as silk, and glossy as the yellow floss
threads of pale, ripe Indian-corn--beautiful, even in its dishevelled
and drenched condition, as an artist's dream. Devoid as it was of
regular beauty, the face beneath, with its clear blue eyes, red lips,
and pure complexion, the pink and white that reminds one of a sweet-pea
or ocean-shell, had struck me as very lovely from the first; nothing to
support this ground work of excellence had I discovered, however, either
in the form of the head, which was ignoble, or the expression of the
face, which was both timid and defiant, or the tones of the voice, which
were shrill and harsh by turns--yet, as my fellow-voyager and sufferer,
I was interested in this young creature, not forgetting, either, her
attention during my pending swoon, of which mention has been made.

"I am going to the party, whatever the preacher may say, and whether
Captain Ambrose wills it or no. I am under his care and protection, you
see, to go to New York to my aunt, Madame Du Vert, the famous milliner,
and I am to learn her trade. Her name is Greene, so they call her Du
Vert, to make out that she is French--_vert_ is _green_, in French, you
see; or so they tell me. Now, Captain Ambrose is a church-member, too,
and he does not want dancing on his ship, and so he made the calkers
pitch the deck--that was to break up the ball, you know; but don't tell
any one this for the 'land's sake,'" drawing near to me and whispering
strangely, with her forefinger raised--"or all those proud Southern
people would pitch into me--pitch, you understand?" and she laughed
merrily--"their white satin slippers and all!"

"You must not talk so, Ada;" and I took her hand, which was burning.

"Why not? Who are you, to prevent me? I am as good as you any day--or
Miss Lamarque either, or any of those haughty ones--though my father was
a negro-trader. Well, whose business was that but God's? If He don't
care, who need care?--An't I right, old mammy?" appealing to the ancient
negress, who had suspended her croon to listen.

"Yes, indeed--that you is, honey; right to upholden your own dad--nebber
min' what he did to serbe the debble. But you looks mighty strange,
chile, outen your eyes. Wat dat you sees ober dar--is it a ship,
gal?--or must we--" and her voice sank to a mutter--"must we fall back
on dis picaninny, to keep from starvation?--"

I understood her dreadful suggestion even before the words fully left
her cannibal lips, exposing her yellow fangs; from the glance of her
cruel eye in the direction of the child, and the working of her long,
crooked talons, rather than fingers, writhed like knotted serpents; I
understood them with an instinct that made me clutch him closely to my
breast, and narrowly watch his enemy from that hour until the time when
my brain failed and my eyes closed in unconsciousness, and with the
determination to plunge with him into the sea rather than devote him to
such a fate or yield to such an alternative as this wretch in human form
had more than hinted--even should the animal instinct, underlying every
nature, presume to dictate to reason at the last!

We could but die--that was the very worst that Fate had in store for
us--_but_ die in the body! How infinitely worse that the soul should
perish through the selfish sensuousness of cannibalism, which would
degrade life itself below dissolution, even if preserved by such means!

"I am ready now to go to Captain Ambrose for assistance," said Ada
Greene, poising herself before me, and having surrendered or forgotten
her first idea, evidently, in the new mania of the moment. "Of course,
he does not intend to leave us here to perish, and he is in the next
cabin--but a step; see how easily I can get to him, and I shall be back
before you can say 'Presto!'"

As nimbly as a sea-gull runs upon the sand, the young creature flew
across the now level raft toward the sea, but a strong hand clutched her
as she was about to step overboard, and compelled her back to her place
on the platform, where, bound with cords, she lay raving, until sleep or
unconsciousness mercifully supervened to spare me the spectacle of her
agony, which no human power could alleviate.

Hours passed before this "consummation devoutly to be wished" took
effect, and, at the end of that time, my reeling brain, my fainting
energies, warned me that I, too, was probably approaching some dreadful
crisis. With a view to the refreshment its waters could possibly afford
my head, I crept quietly from the platform on which the old negro woman
held enforced guard over the insensible form of Ada Greene, and, still
clasping the poor helpless one, so mysteriously thrust upon my tender
mercies, to my bosom, I gained the edge of the raft, unnoticed by
Christian Garth, who might otherwise have apprehended me in turn, and
borne me back to my allotted precincts, and hung above the ocean, so as
to suffer its cooling spray to fall unceasingly across my burning
forehead.

From some instinctive prompting I had lashed the poor, frail baby to my
girdle with the scarf of knotted silk I wore about my neck, and, wan
and exhausted, he lay upon my shoulder tranquilly as any Indian papoose
might do on its mother's breast. A branch of sea-weed floated past as I
looked down--some gracious mermaid's gift, perhaps, extended by her
invisible fingers to greet our famishing lips--and I caught it eagerly,
dividing the welcome nutriment with the perishing child, now patient
from weakness and instinctive consciousness, perhaps, of the entire
uselessness of cries and tears.

Whether the weed was a sort of ocean-hasheesh, or wholesome aliment, I
never knew, but certain it is that, from the moment its juices passed my
lips, a strange and delightful quietude stole over my weary senses, fast
lapsing, as these had seemed, into unconsciousness when I left my place
to seek the ocean's brink.

The rays of the declining sun seemed for a moment centred on one spot,
immediately before my impending face, supported as this was on one hand,
and my sight followed their lance-like rays to the very floor of ocean!

As the waters of the Red Sea divided for the passage of Moses and the
Israelites, so seemed these to part for my mental eyes, sundered as they
were by a golden sword of infinite splendor.

That power which neither pain nor peril can subdue had possession of me
now, and, above all, the bitter circumstances that surrounded me, and,
in the face of danger and of death, imagination asserted her supremacy.
My dream was not of passing ship or harbor gained, or rich repast, or
festival, or clustered grapes and sparkling wines, like other sufferers
from shipwreck, fevered with famine, frenzied with despair; but hasheesh
or opium never bestowed so fair, so strange a vision as that which, in
my extremity, was mercifully accorded to me.

My eyes pursued the sea-shaft to its base, as a telescope conducts the
mortal gaze to revel in the stars. Merman and mermaid, nereid and
triton, were there, rejoicing in the sunbeams thus poured upon them
through this subtle conduit of ocean, as do the motes of summer in her
rays; but soon these disappeared, a motley crowd, confused and joyous,
leaving the vision free to pierce the depths, glowing with golden light,
in search of still greater marvels.

Then I saw outspread before me the streets, the fanes, the towers, the
dwellings, of a vast, deserted city, one of those, I could not doubt,
that had existed before the flood, and which had lain submerged for
thousands of centuries; the fretwork of the coral-insect was over all
(that worker against time, so slow, so certain), in one monotonous web
of solid snow.

Statues of colossal size, and arches of Titanic strength and power,
adorned the portals, the pass-ways, the temples of this metropolis of
ocean, guarded as were these last by the effigies of griffin and dragon,
and winged elephant and lion, and stately mastodon and monstrous
ichthyosaurus, all white as gleaming spar.

Gods and demi-gods of gigantic proportions and majestic aspect were
carved on the external walls of the windowless abodes and fanes; and,
from the yawning portal of one of these, a temple vast as Dendera's
self, came forth, fold after fold, even as I seemed to gaze, the
monstrous sea-serpent of which mariners dream, more huge, more loathly,
than fancy or experience ever yet portrayed him. I still behold in
memory the stately, fearful head, with its eyes of emerald fire and
sweeping, sea-green mane, as it reared its neck for a moment as if to
scale the ladder the sunbeams had thrown down when first emerging from
its temple-cavern; and, later, the mottled, monstrous body, as coil
after coil was gradually unwound, until it seemed at last to lie in all
its loathsome length for roods along the silent, shell-paved
streets--the scaly monarch of that scene of human desolation!

I recall the feeling of security that upheld me to look and to observe
every motion of the reptile of my dream.

"He cannot come to me here," I thought. "The ark is sacred, and God's
hand is over it; besides, I hear the singing of the priests, and the
dove is about to be cast forth! Will the raven never come back? Oh, the
sweet olive-branch! It falls so lightly! We are nearing the mountain
now, and we shall soon cast anchor!"

Then, among choral chants of joy and thanksgiving, I seemed to sleep.
How long this slumber lasted, or whether it came at all, I never knew.
It is a loving and tender thing in our Creator to decree to us this
curtain of unconsciousness when nerve and strength would otherwise give
way beneath the intensity of suffering--a holy and gentle thing for
which we are not half thankful enough in oar estimate of blessings.

My sleep, or swoon, shielded me from long hours of agony, mental and
physical, that must have become unendurable ere the close. As it was, I
knew no more after the sea-shaft closed with its wondrous and mysterious
revelations (which I yet recall with marveling and admiration, as we are
wont to do a pageant of the past), until aroused from lethargy by the
hand and voice of Christian Garth.

It was night. I saw the glimmer of the moonlight on the seas, a
tranquil, balmy night; but some dark object was interposed between me
and the stars which, I knew, were shining above, and the raft lay
motionless upon the waters. I was aware, when my senses returned
temporarily, that the bow of a mighty vessel was projected above our
frail place of refuge, and that we were saved. The dove had come at
last!

When or how we were lifted to the deck of the ship I knew not, for,
having partially revived, I soon drifted away again into profound
lethargy and entire unconsciousness, which for a time seemed death.




CHAPTER V.


A woman sat sewing near my berth in the state-room in which I found
myself; a fan, lying on a small table at her side, betokened in what
manner she had divided her attentions--between her needle and her
helpless charge. I thought, indeed, that I had felt its soft plumes
glide gently across my face in the very moment of my awakening, in the
first amazement of which I but dimly comprehended the circumstances that
surrounded me.

"What brought this stranger to my pillow? Who and what was she? Where
was I!" These were my mental queries at the first. Then, as the truth
gradually dawned over my sluggish and bewildered brain, I lay quietly
revolving matters, and noticed my self-constituted nurse, and my
surroundings, with the close yet careless observation of a child.

The woman, on whom my gaze was earliest fixed (while her own seemed
riveted on the work upon her knee), was of middle age or beyond it, of
medium size, of square and sturdy make, and homely to the very verge of
ugliness. She was dressed plainly, if not commonly, in black, but there
was a general air of decency about her that seemed to place her beyond
the sphere of servitude. She wore spectacles set in tortoise-shell
frames, and she wore her iron-gray hair straight back behind small,
funnel-shaped ears, and gathered into the tightest knot behind. Her
head was flat and narrow at the summit, though broad at and above the
base of the brain. Her forehead, wide yet low, was ignoble in
expression. The mouth, shaped like a horseshoe, was curved down at the
corners, and was full of sullen resolution. The nose, pinched, yet not
pointed, showed scarcely any nostril, and might as well have been made
of wood, for any meaning it betrayed. Her eyebrows were short, wide,
rugged, and irregular, though very black; the cast-down eyes, of course,
so far inscrutable.

She was shaping a flimsy, black-silk dress, and doing it deftly, though
it was a marvel to me how hands so stiff and cramped as hers appeared to
be could handle a needle at all.

On one of these gnarled and unlovely fingers she wore a ring which, in
the idleness of the mood that possessed me, I examined listlessly. It
was an old-fashioned and slender circle of gold, so pale that it looked
silvery, such as in times long past had commonly been used either for
troth-plight or marriage-vows, surmounted by two small united hearts of
the same dull metal by way of ornament. Mrs. Austin, I remembered,
possessed one, the aversion of my childhood, that seemed its
counterpart.

My weary eyes wandered from her at last, to take in the accessories of
my chamber, tiny as this was, and I saw that against the wall were
hanging a gentleman's greatcoat and hand-satchel. Cigars and books were
piled on the same table which held the spool and scissors of my
companion, and a pair of cloth slippers, embroidered with colored
chenilles and quilted lining, of masculine size and shape, reposed upon
the floor. A cane and umbrella were secured neatly in a small corner
rack. There were no traces, I saw, of feminine occupancy beyond the
transient implements of industry alluded to.

Suddenly, in their languid, listless roving, my eyes encountered those
of my attendant fixed full upon me, while a smile distorted the homely,
sallow face, disclosing a set of yellow teeth, sound, short, and strong,
like regular grains of corn.

In those eyes, in that mouth and saffron teeth, lay the whole power and
character of this repulsive and disagreeable physiognomy.

Those feline orbs of mingled gray and green, with their small, pointed
pupils, were keen, vigilant, and observing beyond all eyes it had ever
before or since been my lot to encounter. After meeting their
penetrating glance I was not surprised to hear their possessor accost me
in clear, metallic tones, that seemed only the result of her gift of
insight, and consistent with it.

"You are awake and yourself again, young lady, I am glad to see! You
have slept very quietly for the last few hours, and your fever is
wellnigh broken. Will you have some food now? You need it; you must be
weak."

"Yes, very weak; but not hungry at all. I do not want to eat. Just let
me lie quietly awhile. It is such enjoyment."

She complied silently and judiciously with my request.

After a satisfactory pause, during which I had gradually collected my
ideas, I inquired, suddenly:

"How long is it since we were lifted from the raft, and where are the
other survivors?"

"All safe, I believe, and on board, well cared for, like yourself. It
has been nearly two days since your raft was overhauled. This was what
the captain called it," and she smiled.

"The baby--where is he? I hope he lived."

"Yes, he is at last out of danger, and we have obtained a nurse for him.
He would only trouble you now; but it is very natural you should be
anxious about him."

"Yes, he was my principal care on the raft, and I do not wish to lose
sight of him. When I am better, you must let him share my room until we
reach our friends."

"Oh, certainly!" and again she smiled her evil smile. "No one, so far as
I know of, has any right or wish to separate you; but, for the present,
you are better alone."

"Yes, I am strangely weak--confused, even," and I passed my hand over my
blistered face and dishevelled hair with something of the feeling of the
little woman in the story who doubted her own identity. Alas! there was
not even a familiar dog to bark and determine the vexed question, "Is
this I?"

Helpless as an infant, flaccid as the sea-weed when taken from its
native element, feeble in mind from recent suffering, broken in body, I
was cast on the mercies of strangers, ignorant, until they saw me, of my
existence, yet not indifferent to it, as their care testified.

"You will take some food now," said the woman, kindly. "Your weakness is
not unfavorable, since it proves the fierce fever broken; but you must
hasten to gather strength for what lies before you. We shall be in port
to-morrow."

I put away the spoon with an impatient gesture. "I cannot; it nauseates
me but to see it, to think of it. Strength will come of itself."

"Oh, no; that is impossible. Besides, the doctor has ordered panada, and
I am responsible to him for your safety. Come, now, be reasonable. This
is very nice, seasoned with madeira and nutmeg."

Making a strong effort to overcome my repugnance, I received one
spoonful of the proffered aliment, then sank back on my pillow, soothed
and comforted, not more by the unexpectedly good effects of the
compound, than the associations it conjured up, of my sick childhood, of
Mrs. Austin, and of Dr. Pemberton.

"Ah! you smile; that is a good sign," said the woman; "favorable every
way. We shall have no more delirium now, I hope; no more 'bears and
serpents' about the berth; no more calls for 'Bertie' and 'Captain
Wentworth,' and you will soon be able to tell us all about yourself and
your people--all we want to know."

I most have lapsed again into reverie rather than slumber, from which I
was partly aroused by whispering voices at the door, one of which seemed
familiar to me. Yet this fact or fancy made little impression on me at
the moment, feeble and wretched as was my will, undiscriminating as were
my faculties.

And when the door opened, and a lady entered, I did not seek to inquire
about her interlocutor. Respectfully rising from her seat beside me, my
companion left it vacant for her, to whom she introduced me as her
mistress, and stood, work in hand, sewing beneath the skylight, while
the new-comer remained in the state-room.

A handsome woman, tall and fashionably attired, apparently between
thirty and forty years of age, square faced, dark-eyed, rosy-cheeked,
and with curling hair, approached me with uplifted hands and eyebrows as
I lay gazing calmly upon her; for my food and slumber together had
strengthened and revived me wonderfully in the last few hours, and my
senses were again collected.

"Awake, and herself again, as I live, even if we cannot say yet
truthfully 'clothed and in her right mind.'--Eh, Clayton?" with a
sneering simper; "and what eyes, what teeth, to be sure! Then the
dreadful redness is going away, though the skin will scale, of course;
but no matter for that; all the fairer in the end. And what a special
mercy that her hair is saved!--You have to thank _me_ for that, young
lady. I would not let the ship's doctor touch a strand of it--not a
strand. 'One does not grow a yard and a half of hair in a month, or a
year, doctor,' I observed, 'and a woman might as well be dead at once,
or mad, or a man, as have cropped hair during all the days of her
youth.' I had a fellow-feeling, you see! I have magnificent hair myself,
child, as Clayton well knows, for it is her chief trouble on earth, and
I would almost as lief die as lose it."

"Yes, indeed, Lady Anastasia's hair is one of her chief attractions,"
observed the sympathizing Clayton, behind her chair.

"So Sir Harry Raymond thought, my dear"--addressing me--"when I married
him, ten years ago; and so somebody else thinks just now, for I am tired
of my widowhood, and intend taking on the conjugal yoke again as soon as
I reach--"

"New York," interpolated Mrs. Clayton, hastily and emphatically;
clearing her throat slightly, by way of apology, perhaps, for her
officiousness.

"And you shall stand bridesmaid, my dear. Yes, I am determined on it; so
never make great eyes at me. There is a little bit of romance about me
that will strike out in spite of all my worldliness; and it will be so
pretty to have an 'ocean-waif' for an attendant--it will read so well in
the papers! I suppose, when you reach your friends, there will be no
difficulty about a dress, and all that sort of thing, meet for the
occasion--a very splendid one, I assure you--conducted without regard
to expense; for my _fiance_ is very rich, I hear, and my own jointure
was a liberal one."

"You do me a great honor," I murmured, conventionally rebelling inwardly
at the suggestion.

"Oh, not at all!" was the gracious rejoinder. "I see at a glance, in
spite of your misfortunes, that you are one of us, which is not what I
say to everybody. True blood will show under all circumstances, though
there is such an improvement. Did any one ever see the like before? Why,
my dear, you were blistered and black when we picked you up, and
afterward sienna-colored; now you are almost a beauty!"

"I am better--much better, and have a great deal to be thankful for, I
feel," I contented myself with murmuring.

"Of course you have. It was just a chance with you between our ship and
death, you know. By-the-by, what name shall we give our
'treasure-trove?'"

"Miriam for the present, if you please. This is no time nor place for
ceremony."

"Well, Miriam it shall be," she repeated with laughing eyes (hers were
of that sort which close and grow Chinese under the pressure of
merriment and high cheekbones combined). "Miriam, I like the name--there
is something grand about it."

"But how shall we know where to find your friends when we get to port?"
asked my first attendant. "We _must_ know more than your Christian name
for such a purpose. You must place confidence in us, you must indeed!"

"Be patient with me," I entreated. "I am much too feeble yet to give you
the details that may be necessary. When we reach New York, you shall
know every thing: or is it, indeed, to that place this ship is bound?"

"I thought you knew all about your destination by this time," replied
Lady Anastasia Raymond. "Yes, yes, New York of course!" and again she
laughed. "Didn't you hear Clayton say so?"

Just then a sharp tap at the door was answered by Lady Anastasia, who
went quickly from beneath the curtain hung across it (in consideration,
no doubt, of the privacy my illness enjoined), but not before I had
caught once, and this time clearly, the tones of a voice that thrilled
to my life, the same that had haunted my delirious fancy, I now
remembered, through the last four-and-twenty hours.

I rose to my elbow impulsively, only to fall back again utterly
exhausted.

"Who was that speaking?" I asked, feebly; "can it be possible--" and I
wrung my hands.

"It was the ship's doctor," interrupted the woman I had heard called
Clayton by her mistress. "He had not time to do more than inquire about
you, I suppose, there are so many ill in the steerage; but he has been
very kind and will probably return."

"I hope so," I rejoined; "I should like to realize that voice as _his_.
It has haunted me very disagreeably in my dreams, and the tones are
those of an old, old acquaintance, one I should be sorry to see here."

"I do not believe you have an acquaintance on the ship," she said,
simply, "Under the circumstances any such person would certainly have
discovered himself; your situation would have moved a heart of stone."

"But it is sometimes wise for the wicked to lie _perdu_," I murmured,
and conjecture was busy in my brain. "I should be glad, too, to see the
captain of this vessel at his earliest convenience," I added, after a
pause.

"Will you be so good as to apprise him in person of my earnest wish? It
would be a real charity."

"Oh, certainly; but I am afraid he cannot come to-night. It is nearly
evening now, and he never leaves the deck at this hour, nor until very
late."

"To-morrow, then, I must insist on this interview, since I reflect about
it for several reasons."

"To-morrow he shall come," she said, sententiously; "and now try and
sleep again. It is very necessary you should gather strength, for we
shall be in port shortly, when all will be confusion."

I went to sleep, I remember, murmuring to myself: "The hands were the
hands of Jacob, but the voice was the voice of Esau;" and my bewildered
faculties found rest until the morning's dawn.

After a hasty toilet made by the careful hands of Mrs. Clayton, a
matutinal visit made by Mrs. or Lady Raymond, who always rose early as
she informed me, and a cup of tea, very soothing to my prostrated
nerves, the potentate of the Latona was duly announced.

Our ship's master was a tall, gaunt, sandy-haired man, with steady gray
eyes, hard features, and enormous hands and feet, the first freckled and
awkward, the last so long as very nearly to span the space between his
seat (a small Spanish-leather trunk) and the berth I reposed in. He
entered without his hat; and the swoop of the head he made to avoid the
entanglement of the curtain was supposed to do double duty, and serve as
a bow to the inmate of his state-room as well, for his I supposed it to
be at the time, and he did not contradict me.

"I hope you find yourself comfortable, marm, on board of my ship."

"And in your state-room, captain!" I interrupted promptly.

"Wall, you see it all belongs to me, kinder," he said, after seating
himself, as he rubbed his huge, projecting knees, plainly indicated
through his nankeen trousers, with his capacious, horny hands. "I'm not
very particular, though, where I sleep on shipboard, but at home there's
few more so."

"I thought a captain was more at home on shipboard than anywhere else,"
I pursued mechanically; "such is the theory at least."

"Oh, not at all, not at all; when he has a snug nest on land, with a
wife and children waiting to receive him. You might as well talk of a
man in the new settlements bein' more at home in his wagon than in his
neat, hewn-log cabin."

"A very good simile, captain, and one that kills the ancient theory
outright. Let me thank you, however, before we proceed further, for all
the kindness and attention I have received in this floating castle of
yours, both from you and others. I hope and believe that my companions
in misfortune have fared as well."

"Wall, they have not wanted for nothing as far as I knew--the poor baby
in particular;" and, as he spoke, he roughed his hair with one hand and
smiled into my face a huge, honest, gummy smile, inexpressibly
reassuring.

"The man is hideous and repulsive," I thought; "but infinitely
preferable, somehow, to the specimen of English aristocracy and her maid
who have constituted themselves so far my guardian angels"--a twinge of
ingratitude here, which I resented instantly by settling my patriotic
prejudices to be at the root of the thing, and rebuking my mistrust
sternly though silently. "Yet that voice--how could I be mistaken?" and
again I addressed myself to the task before me, having gotten through
all preliminaries.

While I sat hesitating as to what I should say, so as to both guard
against and conceal my suspicions from the captain's scrutiny, if,
indeed, he might be supposed to possess such a quality, I observed that
he drew from his pocket a long slip of newspaper, in which he appeared
to bury himself for a time, when not glancing furtively at me, as if
waiting impatiently for the coming revelation.

"I have sent for you, Captain Van Dorne," I said, at last, in very low
and even tones, not calculated to reach outside ears, however vigilant,
and yet not suppressed by any means to whispers--"I have sent for you,"
and my heart beat quickly as I spoke, "not merely to thank you for your
hospitable kindness, but because I wish, for reasons that I cannot now
explain, to place myself under your especial care until I reach my
friends."

"Certainly, certainly; but you _air_ among your friends already if you
could only think so," he answered, evasively, still caressing his potato
knees with large and outspread hands.

"Do not for one moment deem me unmindful of much kindness, or ungrateful
to those who have bestowed it," I hastened to explain. "Yet I cannot
deny that a fear possesses me that among your passengers may be found
one whom I esteem, not without sufficient cause, my greatest enemy."

"Poor thing! poor thing! what put such a strange fancy into your head?
An enemy in my ship! Why, there is not a man on board who would not cut
off his right hand rather than harm one hair of your poor, witless,
defenseless head! There was not a dry eye on the deck when you and the
rest wuz lifted from the raft!"

"I understand this prevalence of sympathy for misfortune perfectly, and
honor it; yet I have heard a voice since my immurement in this cabin
which must belong"--and I whispered the dreaded name--"to Mr. Basil
Bainrothe!"

As I spoke I eyed him steadily, and I fancied that his cheek flushed and
his eye wavered--that clear and honest eye which had given him a high
place in my consideration from the moment I met its gaze.

"You must have been delirious-like when you conceited you heerd that
strange voice," he said, presently. "I'll send you my passenger-list if
you choose, and you can read it over keerfully. I don't think you'll
find _that_ name, though, in its kolynms," shaking his head sagaciously.

"Captain Van Dorne, do you mean to say there is no such passenger in
your ship's list as Basil Bainrothe?" I asked, desperately.

"That's what I mean to say."

"Give me your honor on this point. It is a vital one to me. Your honor!"

He hesitated and looked around. Just at this moment of apparent
uncertainty, a slight tap was heard on the ground-glass eye above us
that threw a sullen and unwilling light upon the scene of our interview.
It seemed to nerve him strangely.

"On my word of honor, as an American seaman, I assure you that the name
of Basil Bainrothe is not on the ship's list at this present speaking;"
and, as he spoke, he held up his right hand, adding, as he dropped it,
doggedly, "Ef the man's on board I don't know it!"

"It is enough--I believe you, Captain Van Dorne. And now I want to ask
you, as a parting grace, to convey me yourself to the Astor House, and
place my watch" (detaching it from my neck as I spoke) "in the hands of
the proprietors as a proof of my honest intentions. For yourself, I
shall seek another opportunity."

"Not at all--not at all!" he interrupted. "Keep your watch, young lady.
No such pledge will be required by them proprietors; and, as to myself,
if it had not been for this paper," drawing from his pocket, and
flattening on his knees as he spoke, the slip I had before observed,
then glancing at me sharply, "I could never have believed that such a
pretty-spoken, pretty-behaved young creetur could have been _non com_.
But pshaw! what am I talking about? This paper is as old as last year's
krout! You don't keer nothing about seeing of it, do you, now?" and he
crumpled it in his hand.

"Not unless it concerns me in some way, Captain Van Dorne," I said,
coldly. His manner had suddenly become offensive to me, and I longed to
see him depart, having transacted my affairs, as far, at least, as I
deemed it prudent to insist on such transaction.

"It may be," I added, "that, on reaching the port of New York, a friend
or friends who expected me on the Kosciusko may be in waiting to receive
me; that is, if the fate of that vessel be not already known. In that
case, I shall not be obliged to avail myself of your services, and will
acquaint you; but, otherwise, promise that you will conduct me from the
ship yourself, either to the hotel or to your wife, as you prefer."

"Wall, I promise you," he said, doggedly, as he prepared literally to
undouble his long frame before executing another dive beneath my
door-guarding drapery, and with this brief assurance I was fain to rest
content.

At all events, I was reassured on one subject--those honest eyes, that
frank if ugly mouth had no acquaintance with lies, or the father of
them, I saw at once; and the voice of the ship's doctor had for the
nonce deceived my practised ear, overstrung by suspicion--enfeebled by
suffering.

So I rested calmly until the afternoon, with Mrs. Clayton sewing
silently by my side, when with a little tap Lady Anastasia (or Mrs.
Raymond, as she declared she preferred to be called by "Americans")
entered, bearing a basket in her hand, and wearing on her head a
Dunstable bonnet simply trimmed, which she came, she said, to place,
along with other articles of dress, at my disposal.

It had not occurred to me before that, in order to go on shore
respectably clad, some attire very different from a bed-gown would be
essential, and I could but feel grateful for such proofs of unselfish
consideration on the part of strangers, pitying both my indigence and
imbecility, and so expressed myself.

In accordance with their generous intentions, I submitted myself to be
arrayed by Mrs. Clayton and her mistress: first, in the flimsy black
silk gown now completed, on which I had seen my attendant working when I
first unclosed my eyes after long unconsciousness, and the measure of
which she had taken, while I lay in this condition, as coolly in all
probability as an undertaker measures a corpse for its shroud; secondly,
in a cardinal of the same material, a wrapping cut in the shape in vogue
at that period; thirdly, in certain loosely-fitting boots and gloves
with which I was fain to cover up my naked feet and blistered hands _in
forma pauperis_; and, lastly, in the collarette and cuffs provided by
the economic and considerate Lady Anastasia, composed of cotton lace!
The Dunstable bonnet was hung upon a peg in readiness, and I was kindly
counseled to lie still, "accoutred as I was," and exhausted by means of
such accoutrement as I felt, until evening should find us riding in our
harbor.

Then there was a little, low consulting at the door with the renowned
"ship's doctor," who positively refused to approach me because he had
just come from a case of ship-fever in the steerage, which he feared to
communicate to one in my precarious state, but who sent in his
imperative orders that I should have soup and sherry-cobbler forthwith,
and try and build up my strength for the time of debarkation--speaking
in a low, growling voice divested of its former clearness, but still
strangely resembling that of Basil Bainrothe!

"The poor man is so fagged out," said Mrs. Clayton, as she brought in my
broth and wine, "that his very voice is changed. He is a good soul, and
has shown you great interest. Some day you must send him a present, that
is, if you are able; but just now all you have to think of is getting
safe ashore. Lady Anastasia will go to her friends, probably, or to
those of the gentleman she is engaged to; but I do not mean to forsake
you until I see you better, and in good hands."

I know not how it was that my heart sank so strangely at this
announcement. The woman was kind--tender, even--and had probably saved
my life, and yet her presence to me was a punishment worse than pain, a
positive evil greater than any other.

"I shall go to the Astor House," I faltered. "The captain has promised
me his escort thither."

"Yes, yes, I know, he has told me all about it; but your friends may not
be in waiting, and it is simply our duty to see you in their hands. And
now drink your sangaree. See, I have broken a biscuit in the glass, and
it is well seasoned with lemon and nutmeg. There, now, that is right; a
few spoonfuls of soup, and you will feel strengthened for your
undertaking. I will sit quietly in the corner until you have your rest."

"No, I prefer to see Christian Garth before I try to sleep--the man who
steered our raft--and the young girl he saved, and the baby--let them
all come to me, and we will go on shore together."

I spoke these words with a sort of desperation, as though they contained
my last hope of justice or protection from a fate which, however
obscurely, seemed to threaten me, as we feel the thunder-storm brooding
in the tranquil atmosphere of summer.

"Christian Garth!" she repeated, looking at me over her tortoise-shell
spectacles, and, quietly drawing out a snuffbox of the same material,
she proceeded to fill her narrow nostrils therewith. "Why, that
shaggy-looking old sailor, and the girl, and the old negro woman and
child, went on shore at daylight this morning. He hailed a Jersey craft,
and they all left together. It is perfectly understood, though, that the
child is to be returned to you if you desire its company, but, if I were
situated as you are, and sure of its safety, I would never want to see
it again. It would be better off dead than living anyhow, under the
circumstances, poor, deformed creature--better for both of you."

The words came to me distinctly, yet as if from an immense distance, and
I seemed to see the small chamber lengthening as if it had been a
telescope unfolding, and the sallow woman with her hateful smile and
tightly-knotted, brindled hair seated in diminished size and
distinctness at its farthest extremity.

So had I felt on that fearful night when Evelyn had made her revelation
and received mine, and I did not doubt, even in my sinking state, that I
was under the influence of a powerful anodyne.

"Call the ship's doctor--I am dying!" were the last words I remember to
have articulated; then all was dark, and hours went by, of deep,
unconscious sleep.

It was night when I felt myself drawn to my feet, and roused to life by
the repeated applications of cold water to my face, "The anodyne was
over-powerful," I heard Mrs. Raymond say. "It is a shame to tamper with
such strong medicines."

"Oh, she has strength for any thing!" was Clayton's rejoinder. "I never
saw such a constitution--and he knew what he was doing."

"No doubt of that.--But, dear Miss Miriam, do speak to me. I am so
frightened at your lethargic condition.--I declare I am sorry I ever
consented to have any thing to do with this matter! See how she stands.
I cannot think it was right, Clayton, I cannot, indeed; I dislike the
whole drama."

"Do be quiet! She is coming to herself fast, and what will she think of
such expressions? You never had any self-control in your life, and you
are playing for great stakes now." These last words in a hoarse whisper.

"Nonsense! mother."

"Again! How often must I warn you?"

"Well, Clayton, then, now and forever."

"Here! rouse up, little one! We are fast anchored in port, and the
captain is waiting for us, for we go part of the way together, and our
escorts have all failed us--yours and mine. Nice fellows, are they not?"

I sat up and looked about me bewildered; yet I had heard distinctly
every word spoken in the last few minutes, and remembered them for
future observance, without having had the power to move or articulate a
remonstrance.

"Now, drink this strong coffee, and all will be well again," said
Clayton, putting a cup of the smoking beverage to my lips, which I
swallowed eagerly, instinctively. The effect was instantaneous, and I
was able to speak and stand, as well as hear and comprehend, while my
bonnet was being tied on, and my throat muffled in a veil, by the
dexterous fingers of Lady Anastasia.

When this process was completed, she stooped down and kissed me, and I
felt a hot tear fall upon my cheek as she rose again. In the next moment
I was clinging to the captain's arm, with a spasmodic feeling of relief
for which I could ill account. We passed across the plank which
connected the ship with the shore in utter darkness, guided by a
twinkling light far ahead, borne by a seaman, reached the dusky quay,
with its few flaring lamps, made dim by drizzling rain and summer mist,
and before many minutes we paused before one of a long line of coaches.

The captain handed me in, then, standing before the open door, seemed to
await the coming of some other person before taking his own place--the
dreaded Clayton, I knew; but I could not remonstrate against what seemed
an ordinary courtesy, and perhaps a step suggested by his innate notions
of propriety.

At any other time I might have agreed with him; but, feeble as I was,
and still bewildered, my whole object seemed to be to escape from the
sphere and power of those women, who had been most kind to me, yet whom
I instinctively dreaded and abhorred.

They came together, the mother and daughter, in their travesty of
mistress and maid--enough of itself to excite suspicion of foul
play--and climbed up the rickety steps of the hackney-coach, rejoicing
over their victim. It mattered not; the captain would make the fourth
passenger, and in his shadow I felt there were strength and security.

"What are you waiting for, Captain Van Dorne?" I had just feebly asked,
as the door snapped-to, and the driver mounted his box. A hand was
thrust through the window for all reply, and a card dropped upon my lap,
which I hastened to secure in the depths of my pocket. By the merest
chance, I found it there on the morrow, and later I comprehended its
import, so mysterious to me at the moment of perusal.

    "My poor young lady, you must forgive me for disappointing you,
    and hidin' the truth, for your own sake. May God bless and
    restore you, and bring you to a proper sense of his mercies, is
    the prayer of your servant to command,

    "JOSEPH VAN DORNE."

My frame of mind was a very different one when I read this scrawl, from
that which bewildered and oppressed me on that never-to-be-forgotten
night of suffering and distress, both mental and physical. Formed of
those elements which readily react, courage and calmness had returned to
me before I read the oracle of our worthy shipmaster; for, in spite of
his disastrous dealing with me on that occasion, misguided as he was by
others, I have reason to so consider him.

But now the influence of the drug that had been given me so recently,
doubtless through want of judgment, by the ship's doctor, was felt in
every nerve; and, as the carriage rolled up the stony quay, I clung
convulsively to Mrs. Raymond, and buried my face and aching forehead in
her shoulder, with a strange revulsion of feeling.

"You dread the darkness," she said, kindly, putting her arm around me as
she spoke; "but it is only for a time; we shall soon come out into the
open lamplight of--"

"Broadway, New York," interrupted Clayton, sententiously; "a very poor
sight to see, to one who has lived abroad. Have you ever crossed the
waters, Miss Miriam? But I see you are quite faint and overcome. Here,
smell this ether, that the ship's doctor put up expressly for your use,
and recommended highly as a new restorative much in fashion in Paris."

Had the ship's doctor no name, then, that they never mentioned it, and
that he spoke in a demon's voice? His doses I had proved, and was
resolved to take no more of them, and I pushed away the phial, whose
cold glass nose was thrust obtrusively against my own--pushed it away
with all my strength, fast ebbing away as this was, even as I made the
effort.

The cruel potion had possession of me, and entered into every fibre of
my brain through the avenues prepared for it by the treacherous anodyne;
so that, enervated and intoxicated, I yielded passively, after a brief
struggle, to the power of the then newly-invented sedative, called
chloroform.

When the carriage stopped, or whither it transported me, or who lifted
my insensible form to the chamber prepared for me, I know not--never
knew. There was a faint reviving, I remember; a process of disrobing
gone through by the aid of foreign assistance (whose, I recognized
not), then I slumbered profoundly and securely through the entire night,
to recover no clearness of perception until a late hour on the following
morning.




CHAPTER VI.


I awoke, as I had done of old, after one of my lethargic seizures, from
a deep, unrefreshing slumber, with a lingering sense about me of
drowsiness and even fatigue.

I found myself lying on a broad, canopied bedstead, the massive posts of
which were of wrought rosewood, bare of draperies, as became the season,
save at the head-board, behind which a heavy curtain was dropped of
rose-colored damask satin.

Of the same rich material were composed the tester and the
lightly-quilted coverlet, thrown across the foot of the bed, over a fine
white Marseilles counterpane.

The chimney immediately opposite to me, as I lay, was of black marble,
and, instead of graceful Greek _caryatides_, bandaged mummies, or
Egyptian figures, supported the heavy shelf that surmounted the polished
grate. In the centre of this massive mantel-slab was placed a huge
bronze clock, and candelabra of the same material graced its corners.

In either recess of this chimney rosewood doors were situated, one of
which stood invitingly ajar, disclosing the bath-room, into which it
opened, with its accessories of white marble.

The other, firmly closed, seemed to be the outlet of the chamber--its
only one--with the exception of the four large Venetian windows, two on
either side of me as I lay, the sashes of which, warm as the season was,
were drawn closely down.

The furniture of this spacious chamber to which, as if by the touch of a
magician's wand, I found myself transported, was throughout solid and of
elegant forms, consisting as it did of _armoire_, toilet-table,
bookcase, _etagere_, writing and flower stands, tables and chairs, of
the richest rosewood.

At the foot of my bed was placed a console, supporting a huge Bible and
Prayer-book, bound alike in purple velvet, emblazoned with central suns
of gold--an arch-hypocrisy that was not lost on its object.
Freshly-gathered flowers were heaped in the vases of the floral stands,
filling the close, cool room with an overpowering fragrance. The carpet
of crimson and white seemed to the eye what it afterward proved to the
foot--thick, soft, and elastic; and harmonized well with the rich,
antique, and consistent furniture.

The sort of microscopic scrutiny that children manifest seemed mine--in
my unreasoning, half-convalescent state; and for a time I observed all
that I have described with a listless pleasure, difficult to analyze, a
sort of dreamy acceptance of my condition, the very memory of which
exasperated me, later, almost to self-contempt.

A crimson cord hung at one side of my bed, continued from a bell-wire at
some distance, the tassel of which I touched lightly, and, at the very
first signal, Mrs. Clayton appeared through the hitherto only unopened
door, to know and do my bidding.

The clock on the mantel-shelf struck nine as she stood beside me, and
made respectful inquiries concerning my wants and condition;
understanding which, she disappeared, to return a few minutes later,
followed by an ancient negress, bearing a silver waiter.

I recognized in this sable assistant (or thought I recognized at a
glance) my companion in shipwreck; but, upon making known my
convictions, was met with a prompt denial by the sable dame herself,
who, shaking her head, gave me to understand, in a few broken words,
that she "no understood English--only Spanish tongue!"

Her dress--handsome and Frenchified--her Creole coiffure, and the long
gray locks that escaped from her crimson kerchief bound over her ears,
as well as her more refined deportment, did indeed seem to discredit my
first idea, which came at last (notwithstanding these discrepancies) to
be fixed, and proved one link in the long chain of duplicity I untangled
later.

At the time, however, I gave it little thought, but partook with what
appetite I might of the choice and delicate repast provided for me, in
this truly princely hotel, whose fame I discovered had not been over
trumpeted. On my previous visits to New York, the Astor House had been
unfinished, and had made in its completion a new era certainly in the
"tavern-life" of that inhospitable city of publicans. When the delicious
coffee and snowy bread, the eggs of milky freshness, the golden butter,
the savory rice-birds, the appetizing fish, had each and all been merely
tasted and dismissed, and the exquisite China, in which the breakfast
was served, duly marveled at as an unprecedented extravagance on the
part even of John Jacob Astor, Mrs. Clayton came to me with kindly
offers of assistance in the performance of my toilet, still a matter of
difficulty in my feeble hands.

My long hair, yet tangled and clogged with sea-water, was to be at last
unbound and thoroughly combed, cleansed, and oiled, so that the black
and glossy braids, that had been my chief personal pride, might again be
wound about my head in the old classic fashion.

Then came the bath, with its reviving, rehabilitating process, and
lastly I assumed with the docility of a baby or a pauper the clean and
fragrant linen and simple wrapper that had been mysteriously provided
for me by the Lady Anastasia again, I could not doubt.

"All this must end to-day," I said, "when really clothed and in my right
mind." I requested writing-materials and more light to work by, and
composed myself to write to Dr. Pemberton (once again, I knew, in
Philadelphia), and request his assistance and protection in getting home
safely, and, if need be, in tracing Captain Wentworth.

"I suppose Captain Van Dorne has been too busy to call," I observed,
carelessly, as I prepared to commence my letter, "and Mrs. Raymond too
happy, probably, in getting safe to shore and her lover, to think of
me."

"They have both inquired for you," said Mrs. Clayton, as she arranged
pen, ink, and paper, before me, with her usual precision, while a grim,
sardonic smile lingered about her features; "several have called, but
none have been admitted."

"Who have called, Mrs. Clayton! Give me the cards immediately. I must,
must know," I rejoined, eagerly, pausing with extended hand to receive
them.

"Oh, there were no cards, and such as want to see you can come again.
There, now! write away, and never trouble your mind about strange
people. Have you sufficient light?"

And, as she spoke, she touched a cord which set at right angles with
the lower one the upper inside shutter of another window as she had
adjusted the first.

I wrote two hasty notes, one on further consideration to Captain
Wentworth himself, who might, after all, be at that very time in that
same hotel--"_Quien sabe_?" as Favraud used to say with his significant
shrug, which no Frenchman ever excelled or Spaniard equalled (albeit
they shrug severally).

My spirits rose with every word I wrote, and, when I got up from my
chair after sealing and directing my letters, a new and subtle energy
seemed to have infused itself through my frame. "There, I have finished,
Mrs. Clayton," I said, putting aside the implements I had been using.
"Now go, if you please, and bring to me the proprietor of this hotel. I
will give him my letters myself, since I have other business to transact
with him," and I laid my watch and chain on the table before me, ready
for his hand, not having lost sight of my early resolution. "But,
stay--before you go, be good enough to open the lower shutters and throw
up the windows. Cool as the weather is in this climate, I stifle for
air, and this close atmosphere, laden with fragrance, grows oppressive.
Who sent these flowers, by-the-by, Mrs. Clayton? or do they belong to
the magnificence of this idealized hotel?" She made no reply to any
thing I had been saying.

By this time, however, she had lowered the upper sashes of the windows
about a foot, and the fresh air of morning was pouring in, curling the
paper on the centre table and dispersing the noisome fragrance of the
flowers, in which I detected the morbid supremacy of the tuberose and
jasmine.

"I want to see the streets, the people," I said, approaching one of the
windows; "this artistic light is not at all the thing I need. I have no
picture to paint, not even my own face;" and, finding her unmoved, I
undertook to do the requisite work myself.

The sashes were shut away below by inside shutters, which resisted all
my efforts to stir them. After a moment's inspection, I perceived that
they were secured by iron screws of great strength and size; not, in
short, meant to be moved or opened at all. Again I essayed to shake them
convulsively one after the other--as you may sometimes see a tiger, made
desperate by confinement, grapple with the inexorable bars of his cage,
though certain of failure and defeat.

Overpowered by a sudden dismay that took entire possession of me, I sank
into one of the deep _fauteuils_ that extended its arms very opportunely
to receive me, and sat mutely for a moment, while anguish unutterable,
and conjecture too wild to be hazarded in speech, were surging through
my brain.

"I am too weak, I suppose, to open these shutters," I said at last,
feebly. "Be good enough to do it for me, Mrs. Clayton, or cause it to be
done immediately."

Was it not strange that up to this very moment no suspicion had clouded
my horizon since I woke in that sumptuous room?

"I cannot transcend my orders by doing any thing of the kind," she said
quietly, yet resolutely, as she pursued her avocation, that of dusting
with a bunch of colored plumes the delicate ornaments of the _etagere_
carefully one by one.

"Your authority! Who has dared to delegate to you what has no existence
as far as I am concerned?" I asked indignantly. "I will go instantly."

"You cannot leave this chamber until you receive outside permission,"
she interrupted, firmly planting herself at once between me and the door
through which I had seen her enter. "You must not think to pass through
my chamber, Miss Miriam. It is locked without, and there is no other
outlet."

"Woman!" I said, grasping her feebly yet fiercely, by the arm. "Look at
me! Raise those feline eyes to mine, if you dare, and answer me
truthfully: What means this mockery! Why have you been forced on me at
all? Where is Captain Van Dorne? What becomes of his promises? What
house is this in which I find myself a prisoner? Speak!"

"You can do nothing to make me angry," she rejoined, calmly. "I know
your condition, and pity and respect it, but I shall certainly fulfill
my part of this undertaking. Captain Van Dorne recognized you as Miss
Monfort by the description in the newspaper, as did my mistress, and for
your own welfare we determined to secure you and keep you safe until the
return of Mr. Bainrothe and your sisters from Europe. They will be here
shortly, and all you have to do is to be patient and behave as well as
you can until the time comes for your trial;" and she cast on me a
menacing look from her green and quivering pupils, indescribably feline.

My trial! Great Heaven! did they mean to turn the tables, then, and
destroy me by anticipating my evidence? I staggered to a chair and again
sat down silent confounded. "Where am I, then!" I feebly asked at
length.

"In the establishment of Dr. Englehart," she made answer, "a private
madhouse."

"God of heaven! has it come to this?" I covered my eyes with my hands
and sobbed aloud, while tears of pride and passion rained hotly over my
cheeks. This outburst was of short duration. "I will give them no
advantage," I considered. "My violence might be perverted. There are
creatures too cold and crafty to conceive of such a thing as natural
emotion, and passion with them means insanity. Thank God, the very power
to feel bears with it the power of self-government, and is proof of
reason. I will be calm, and if my life endures put them thus to
shame."--"You say that I am in the asylum of Dr. Englehart?" I asked,
after a pause, during which she had not ceased to dust the furniture and
arrange the bed in its pristine order, speckless, with lace-trimmings,
pillow-cases smooth as glass, and sheets of lawn, and counterpane of
snow. "If so, call my physician hither; I, his patient, have surely a
right to his prompt services."--"It is just possible," I thought, "that
interest or compassion may, one or both, still enlist him in my cause--I
can but try."

A slight embarrassment was evidenced in her countenance as I made this
request. It vanished speedily.

"He is absent just at this time," she answered, quickly. "When he
returns I will make known your wish to him, if, indeed, he does not call
of his own accord."

"Be done with this shallow farce," I exclaimed, harshly. "It shames
humanity. Acknowledge yourself at once the faithful agent of a tyrant
and felon, or a pair of them, and I shall respect you more. Confess that
it was the voice of Basil Bainrothe I heard at my cabin-door, and that
Captain Van Dorne was imposed upon by that specious scoundrel, even to
the point of being conscientiously compelled to falsehood.

"I deny nothing--I acknowledge nothing," she said, deliberately. "You
and your friends can settle this between yourselves when they arrive.
Until then, you need not seek to tamper with me--it will be useless; and
I hope you are too much of a lady to be insulting to a person who has
no choice but to do her duty."

She could not more effectually have silenced me, nor more utterly have
crushed my hopes. Yet again I approached her with entreaties.

"I hope you will not refuse to mail my notes, even under these trying
circumstances," I said, extending them to her.

"You can ask Dr. Englehart to do so when he comes," he answered, gently;
"for myself, I am utterly powerless to serve you beyond the walls of
this chamber."

"And how long is this close immurement to continue?" I asked again,
after another dreary pause. "Am I not permitted to breathe the external
air--to exercise? Is my health to be unconsidered?"

"I know nothing more than I have told you," she replied. "I am directed
to furnish you with every means of comfort--with books, flowers,
clothing, musical instrument, even, if you desire it; but, for the
present, you will not leave these walls, and you will see no society.
The doctor has decided that this is best."

"And whence did he derive his authority?"

"Oh, it was all arranged between him and Mr. Bainrothe, your guardeen"
(for thus she pronounced this word, ever hateful to me), "long ago;
before he went to France, I suppose. Captain Van Dorne had nothing to do
but hand you over."

"Captain Van Dorne! To think those honest eyes could so deceive me!" and
I shook my head wofully.

When I looked up again from reverie, Mrs. Clayton had settled herself to
work with a basket of stockings on her knees, which she appeared to be
assorting assiduously.

There she sat, spectacles on nose, thimble on twisted finger, ivory-egg
in hand, in active preparation for that work, woman's _par excellence_,
that alone rivals Penelope's. Surely that assortment of yellow,
ill-mated, half-worn, and holey hose, was a treasure to her, that no
gold could have replaced, in our dreary solitude (none the less dreary
for being so luxurious). I envied her almost the power she seemed to
have to merge her mind in things like these; and saw, for the first time
in my life, what advantages might lie in being commonplace.

It was now nearly the end of July. My birthday occurred in the middle of
September. I thought I knew that, as soon as possible after my majority,
Mr. Bainrothe's conditions would be laid before me.

I could not, dared not, believe that my captivity would be lengthened
beyond that time. I resolved that I would condone the past, and go forth
penniless, if this were exacted in exchange for liberty at the end of a
month and a half from this time.

Six weeks to wait! Were they not, in the fullness of their power, to
crush and baffle me! Six weary years! For, during all this time, I felt
that the unexplained mystery that weighed upon my life would gather in
force and inflexibility. Death would have seemed to have set its seal
upon it, in the estimation of Captain Wentworth, as of all others. He
would never know that the sea, which swallowed up the Kosciusko, had
spared the woman he loved, nor receive the explanation that she alone
could give him, of the mystery he deplored.

Before I emerged from my prison, he might be gone to the antipodes, for
aught I knew, and a barrier of eternal silence and absence be interposed
between us. So worked my fate! These reflections continued to haunt and
oppress me, by night and day, and life itself seemed a bitter burden in
that interval of rebellious agony, and in that terrible seclusion, where
luxury itself became an additional engine of torture.

Days passed, alternately of leaden apathy and bitter gloom, varied by
irrepressible paroxysms of despair. Whenever I found myself alone, even
for a few moments, I paced my room and wept aloud, or prayed
passionately. There were times when I felt that my Creator heard and
pitied me; others when I persuaded myself his ear was closed inexorably
against me.

I suffered fearfully--this could not last. The accusation brought
against me by my enemies seemed almost ready to be realized, when my
body magnanimously assumed the penalty the soul was perhaps about to
pay, and drifted off to fever.

Then, for the first time, came the man I had until then believed a myth,
and sat beside me in the shadow, and administered to me small, mystic
pellets, that he assured me, in low, husky whispers, and foreign accent,
would infallibly cure my malady--my physical one, at least; as for the
mind, its forces, he regretted to add, were beyond such influence!

For a moment, the wild suspicion intruded on my fevered brain that this
leech was no other than Basil Bainrothe himself, disguised for his own
dark purposes; but the tall, square, high-shouldered form that rose
before me to depart (taller, by half a head, than the man I suspected of
this fresh deception), and the angular movements and large extremities
of Dr. Englehart, dispelled this delusion forever. After all, might he
not be honest, even if a tool of Bainrothe's?

I took the sugared minature pills--the novel medicine he had left for
me--faithfully, through ministry of Mrs. Clayton's, and was benefited
by them; and, when he came again, as before, in the twilight, I was able
to be installed in the great cushioned chair he had sent up for me, and
to bear the light of a shaded lamp in one corner of the large apartment.

Dr. Englehart approached me deferentially, and, without divesting
himself of the light-kid gloves which fitted his large hands so closely,
he clasped my wrist with his finger and thumb, and seemed to count my
pulses.

"Ver much bettair," was his first remark, made in that disagreeable,
harsh, and husky voice of his, while he bent so near me that the aroma
of the tobacco he had been smoking caused me to cough and turn aside.

Still, I could not see his face, for the immense bushy whiskers he wore,
nor his eyes, for the glasses that covered them, nor his teeth, even,
for the long, fierce mustache that swept his lips; and when, after a
brief visit, he rose and was gone again, there remained only in my mind
the image of a huge and hairy horror--a sort of bear of the Blue
Mountains, from the return of which or whom I fervently hoped to be
delivered.

"Send him word I am better, Mrs. Clayton," I entreated; "I cannot see
him again, he is so repulsive; and, if you have a woman's heart in your
breast, never leave me alone with him, or with Mr. Bainrothe, when he
calls, for one moment--they inspire me equally with terror
indescribable," and I covered my face to hide its burning blushes.

"Look up, Miss Monfort, and listen to me," said Mrs. Clayton, at last,
regarding me keenly, with her warped forefinger uplifted in her usual
admonitory fashion, but with an expression on her face of interest and
sympathy such as I had never witnessed there before. "A new light has
broken just now upon my understanding; I can't tell how or whence it
came, but here it is," pressing her hand to her brow; "I believe you
have been misrepresented to me--but that is neither here nor there. I
shall watch you closely and faithfully until we part--all the more that
I do not believe you any more crazy than I am; I half suspected this
before, but I know it now." She paused, then continued: "I should have
to tell you my life's secret if I were to explain to you why Mr.
Bainrothe's interests are so dear to me, so vital even, and I will not
conceal from you that I knew your guardeen's good name depends on your
confinement here until you come of age. After that it will only be
necessary for you to sign a few papers, and all will be straight
again--no harm or insult is designed. To these I would never have lent
myself in any way--ill as you think of me. And as long as we continue
together I will guard your good name as I would do that of my own dear
daughter--that is, if I had one. You shall receive no visitor alone."

She spoke with a feeling and dignity of which I had scarcely believed
her capable, shrewd and sensible as I knew her to be, and far above the
woman she called her mistress, in a certain _retenu_ of manner and
delicacy of deportment, usually inseparable from good-breeding.

I could not then guess how acceptable, to her and the person she was
chiefly interested in, were these signs of my aversion for Basil
Bainrothe, and what sure means they were of access to the only tender
spot in the obdurate heart of Rachel Clayton.

Certain it is that, from these expressions, I derived the first
consolation that had come to me in my immurement, and from that hour the
solemn farce of keeper and lunatic ceased to be played between us two.

From such freedom of communication on my jailer's part, I began to hope
for additional information, which never came. It was in vain that I
conjured her to tell me where my prison was situated, whether at the
edge of the city, or far away in the country, or to suffer me to have a
glimpse from a window of my vicinity. To all such entreaties she was
pitiless, and I was left to that vague and vain conjecture which so
wears the intellect.

In the absence of all possibility of escape, it became a morbid and
haunting wish with me to know my exact locality. That it could be no
great distance from the city of New York, if not within its limits, I
felt assured, from the expedition with which my transit from the ship
had been effected.

During the first three weeks of my confinement the deep silence that
prevailed about me had led me to adopt the opinion that I was the
occupant of a _maison de sante_. I had once driven past one on Staten
Island, where a friend of my father's--about whose condition he came to
inquire personally--had been immured for years. I did not alight with
him when he left the carriage to make these inquiries, but I perfectly
remembered the old gray stone building, with its ancient elms, and the
impression of gloom and awe it had left on my mind. But this idea was
presently dispelled.

I was awakened one morning, in the fourth week of my sojourn in
captivity, by the sound of chimes long familiar to my ear, the duplicate
of which I had not supposed to be in existence. At first I feared it was
some mirage of the ear, so to speak, instead of eye, that reflected back
that fairy melody, which had rung its accompaniment to my whole
childhood and youth; but, when, after the lapse of seven days, it was
repeated, I became convinced that its reality was unquestionable, and
that neither impatience nor indignation had so impaired my senses as to
reproduce those sounds through the medium of a fevered imagination.

Were these delicious bells, a recent addition to the cupola of our grim
asylum, bestowed by some benevolent hand that sought to mark and lend
enchantment to the holy Sabbath-day--even for the sake of the
irresponsible ones within its walls--or was I indeed--? But of this
there could be no question--I dared not hazard such conjecture lest it
drive me mad in reality--I must not!

I groped in thick darkness, and time itself was only measured now by
those sweet chimes, so like our own, and yet so far away. My very clock
one morning was found to have stopped, and was not again repaired or set
in motion. Papers I never saw, had never seen since I came to dwell in
shadow, save that single one so ostentatiously spread before me,
announcing the loss of the Kosciusko and her passengers--a refinement of
cruelty, on the part of those who sent it, worthy of a Japanese.

Rafts had been launched and lost, the survivors stated (the men who had
seized the long-boat, to the exclusion of the women and children); the
sea had swallowed all the remainder. A later statement might refute the
first, but even then none could know the truth with regard to my
identity, for would not Basil Bainrothe control the publication as he
pleased, and make me dead if he listed--dead even after the rescue?

Yet Hope would sometimes whisper in her daring moods; "All this shall
pass away, and be as it had not been. Be of good heart, Miriam, and do
not let them kill you; live for Mabel--live for Wentworth!"

Then, with bowed head, and silent, streaming tears, my soul would climb
in prayer to the footstool of the Most High, and the grace, which had
never come to me before, fell over me like a mantle in this sad
extremity.




CHAPTER VI.


Unfaltering in her respectful demeanor toward me was Mrs. Clayton from
the time of the little scene I have recently described. What new and
sudden light had broken in upon her I never knew, but I supposed at the
time that the flash of conviction had gone home to her mind with regard
to the baseness of Bainrothe and the iniquity of his proceedings,
founded on the fear I had expressed of his solitary presence, and the
insight she had gained into my character.

Watching none the less strictly, she gradually relaxed that personal
surveillance that is ever so intolerable to the proud and
delicate-minded, and those suggestions that, however well intended, had
been so irritating to me from such a source. She no longer urged me to
read, or sew, or eat, or take exercise; but, retiring into her own work
(whence she could observe me at her pleasure, for her door was always
set wide open, and her face turned in my direction), she employed or
feigned to employ herself in her inexhaustible stocking-basket or
scollop-work, either one the last resource of idiocy, as it seemed to
me.

Left thus to myself in some degree, I unclosed the leaves of the
bookcase, and surveyed its grim array of "classics"--all new and
unmarked by any name, or sign of having been read--and from them I
selected a few worthies, through whose pages I delved drearily and
industriously, and most unprofitably it must be confessed. The only
living sensations I received from the contents of that bookcase were, I
am ashamed to acknowledge, from a few odd volumes of memoirs, and
collections of travels that I had happened to find stowed away behind
the others. The rest seemed sermons from the stars.

Captain Cook's voyages and LeVaillant's descriptions did stir me very
slightly with their strong reality, and make me for a few hours forget
myself and my captivity; but all the rest prated at me like parrots,
from stately, pragmatical Johnson down to sentimental, maudlin Sterne.

I found them intolerable in the mood in which I was, nothing so
exhausting as the abstract! and closed the book desperately to resume my
diary, neglected since the awful events of Beauseincourt, but always to
me a resource in time of trouble and of solitude. Of pens, ink, paper,
there was no lack, and I wrote one day, Penelope-wise, what I destroyed
the next. Yet this very "jotting down" impressed upon my brain the few
incidents of my prison-house recorded here, that might otherwise have
faded from my memory in the twilight of monotony.

I had no need to sew. Fair linen and a sufficiency of other plain
wearing-apparel, including summer gowns, I found laid carefully in my
drawers, and the creole negress brought in my clothes well ironed and
carefully mended, to be laid away by the orderly hands of Mrs. Clayton.

Once, during the temporary illness of this dragon (whose bed or lair was
placed absolutely across the door of egress from her closet, so as to
block the way or make it difficult of access), the creole, in an
unavoidable contingency like this, came with a pile of clothing in her
arms to lay the pieces herself in the bureau, by direction of my jailer,
and thus revealed herself.

By the merest accident I had found in the lining of my purse two pieces
of gold (the rest of my money had been spirited away with the belt that
contained it, or the leather had been destroyed by the action of the
saltwater), and one of these I hastened to bestow on the attendant,
signifying silence by a gesture as I did so.

I knew this wretch to be wholly selfish and mercenary, from my
experience of her on the raft--for that she was the same negress I had
long ceased to doubt--and I determined, while I had an opportunity of
doing so, to enter a wedge of confidence between us in the only possible
way.

"Sabra," I whispered, "what became of the young girl, Ada Lee, and the
deformed child? It surely can do no harm to tell me this, and I know you
understand me perfectly."

"No, honey, sartinly not; 'sides, I is tired out of speakin' Spanish,"
in low, mumbling accents. "Well, den, dat young gal gone to 'tend on
Mrs. Raymond, and, as fur de chile, dey pays me to take kear of dat in
dis very house ware you is disposed of. Dat boy gits me a heap of
trouble and onrest of nights, dough, I tells you, honey; but I is well
paid, and dey all has der reasons for letting him stay here, I
spec'"--shaking her head sagaciously--"dough dey may be disappinted yit,
when de time comes to testify and swar! De biggest price will carry de
day den, chile; I tells you all," eying the gold held closely in her
palm.

I caught eagerly at the idea of the child's presence, though the rest
was Greek to my comprehension until long afterward, when, in untangling
a chain of iniquity difficult to match, it formed one important but
additional link.

"Poor little Ernie! I would give so much to see him," I said. "Ask Dr.
Englehart to let him come to see me, Sabra, and some day I will reward
you"--all this in the faintest whisper. "But Mrs. Raymond--where is she?
Does she never come here? I desire earnestly to speak with her. Can't
you let her know this? Try, Sabra, for humanity's sake."

At this juncture the head of Mrs. Clayton was thrust forth from its
shell, turtle-wise, and appeared peering at the door-cheek.

"You have been there long enough to make these clothes instead of
putting them away, old woman," was the sharp rebuke that startled the
pretended Dinah to a condition of bustling agitation, and induced her to
shut up one of her own shrivelled hands in closing the drawer, with a
force that made her cry aloud, and, when released, wring it with agony,
that drew some words in the vernacular. "What makes you suppose Miss
Monfort wants to hear your chattering, old magpie that you are?"
continued Mrs. Clayton, throwing off her mask. "Now walk very straight,
or the police shall have you next time you steal from a companion.
Remember who rescued you on the Latona, and on what conditions, and take
care how you conduct yourself in the future. Do you understand me?"

After this tirade, which sorely exhausted her, Mrs. Clayton relapsed
into silence; and now it was my time to speak and even scold. I said:

"Now that the Spanish farce is thrown aside, it is hard indeed that I
cannot even be allowed to exchange a few words with a laundress in my
solitary condition--hard that I should be pressed to the wall in this
fiendish fashion. This woman was telling me of the presence of a little
child in the house, and I have desired permission to see it by way of
diversion and occupation, I have asked her to apply to Dr. Englehart."

"The child shall come to you, Miss Monfort, whenever you wish," said
Mrs. Clayton, with ill-disguised eagerness. "This woman is not the
proper person to apply to, however, and it is natural you should feel
concerned about it, now that you are able to think and feel again. You
know, of course, it is the boy of the wreck."

"Yes, very natural. Its mother died in my arms, if I am not mistaken in
the identity of the child; and fortunately--" I paused here, arrested by
some strange instinct of prudence, and decided not to show further
interest in his fate.

He might be inquired for, and traced even, I reflected, and thus my own
existence be brought to light. Selfishly, as well as charitably, would I
cherish him. Little children had ever been a passion with me, but this
poor, repulsive thing was the "_dernier ressort_ of desolation."

That very evening I heard the husky and guttural voice of Dr. Englehart
in the adjoining chamber, or rather in the closet of Mrs. Clayton, a
mere anteroom originally, as it seemed, to the large apartment I
occupied.

It was very natural that in her ill condition my dragon should seek
medical aid, and I paid no further attention to the propinquity of this
unpleasant visitor than I could help--sitting quietly by my shaded lamp,
absorbed in the Psalter, in which I found nightly refuge.

He came in at last, after tapping very lightly on the door-panel,
unsolicited and unexpected, to my presence--the same inscrutable,
hirsute horror I had seen before, with his trudging, scraping walk, his
square and stalwart frame, his gloved extremities, his light,
blue-glasses, hat and cane in hand, a being as I felt to chill one's
very marrow.

"Is it true vat I hear," he asked, pausing at some distance, "dat you
vant to have dat leetle hompback chilt for a companion, Miss Monfort?"

"It is true, Dr. Englehart."

"And vat can your motif be? Heh? I must study dat for a leetle before I
can decide de question, or even trost him as a human being in your
hands."

"Lunatics are rarely governed by motives at all," I replied, "only
impulses. I want human companionship, however, that is all. I sicken in
this solitude--I am dying of mental inanition."

"It is true, you look delicate indeed, I am pained to see." The accent,
was forgotten here for a moment, and an expression of real sympathy was
perceivable in his low, husky voice. "Command me in any way dat accords
wid my duty," he continued, "yes! de boy shall come! To interest, to
amuse you, is perhaps--to cure!"

"Thank you; I shall await his advent anxiously; be careful not to
disappoint me."

"Oh, not for vorlds!"

"You are very kind; I believe, though, that is all we have to say to one
another, Dr. Englehart."

"You are bettair, then?" he said, advancing steadily toward me in spite
of this dismissal. "You need no more leetle pill? Are you quite sure of
dat?"

"Not now, at least, Dr. Englehart."

"Permit me, then, to feel your pulse vonce more. I shall determine den
more perfectly dis vexing subject of your sanity."

"Thank you; I decline your opinion on a matter so little open to
difference. Be good enough to retire, Dr. Englehart. Let me at least
breathe freely in the solitude to which I am consigned."

"I mean no offence, yonge lady," he said, meekly, falling back to the
centre-table on which was burning my shaded astral lamp--for I had left
it as he approached, instinctively to seek the protection of an
interposing chair, on the back of which I stood leaning as I spoke.

He, too, remained standing, with one hand pressed firmly backward on the
top of the table, in front of which he poised himself, gesticulating
earnestly yet respectfully.

His position was an error of mistaken confidence in his own make-up,
such as we see occur every day among those even long habituated to
disguise.

As he stood I distinctly saw a line of light traced between his cheek
and one of his bushy side-whiskers.

That line of light let in a flood of evidence. The man was an impostor,
a tool, as criminal as his employer--not the footprint on the sand was
more suggestive to Robinson Crusoe than that luminous streak to me, nor
the cause of wilder conjecture.

Yet I betrayed nothing of my amazement I am convinced, for, after
standing silently for a time and almost in a suppliant attitude before
me, Dr. Englehart departed, and for many days I saw him not again.

An object that looked not unlike a small, solemn owl, stood in the
middle of the floor, regarding me silently when I awoke very early on
the following morning.

At a glance I recognized poor little Ernie, and singularly enough, he
knew and remembered me at once.

"Ernie good boy now," he said as he came toward me with his tiny claw
extended. "Lady got cake in pocket, give Ernie some?" Not only did he
recall me, it was plain, but the incident that saved his life, and the
rebukes he had received on the raft for his refusal to partake of briny
biscuit, which no persuasion, it may be remembered, had availed to make
him taste--even when devoured by the pangs of hunger. I tried in vain,
however, to recall him to some remembrance of his poor mother. On that
point he was invulnerable; the abstract had no charm for him or meaning.
He dealt only in realities and presences.

A new element was infused into my solitude from this time. In this child
I lived, breathed, and had my being, until later events startled my
individuality once more into its old currents of existence. Not that I
merged myself entirely in Ernie, sickly, wayward, fitful, ugly little
mite that he was undeniably. Nay, rather did I draw him forcibly into my
own sphere of being and find nutrition in this novel element.

So grudgingly had Nature fulfilled her obligations in the case of this
poor stunted infant, that, at two and a half years of age, he had not
the usual complement of teeth due a child of eighteen months, and was
suffering sorely from the pointing up of tardy stomach-teeth through
ulcerated gums.

To attend to and heal his bodily ailments occupied me entirely at first,
and finally, finding him ill cared for, I made him a little pallet on my
sofa and kept him with me by night and day. Surely such devotion as he
manifested in return for my scant kindness to him few mothers have
received from their offspring. To sit silently at my feet while I talked
to him, or do my bidding, seemed his chief pleasures, as they might not,
could not have been, had he been strong, and active, and more soundly
constituted. As it was, no more loyal creature existed, nor did the
Creator ever enshrine deeper affections or quicker perceptions in any
childish frame. Weird, and wise, and witty as AEsop was this child, like
him deformed; and to draw out his quaint remarks, read him fresh from
his Maker's hand--this warped, and tiny, imperfect volume of
humanity--was to me an ever-new puzzle and delight. Severity he had been
used to of late, I saw plainly. He shrank with winking eyes from an
uplifted hand, even if the gesture were one of mere amazement, or
affection, and sat patiently, like a little well-trained dog, when he
saw food placed before me, until invited to partake thereof. His manner
was wistful and deprecating even to pathos, and I longed for one burst
of passion, one evidence of self-will, to prove to myself that I, like
others he had been recently thrown with, was not the meanest of all
created creatures--a baby's despot!

Oh, better than this the cap and bells, and infant tyranny forever, and
the wildest freaks of baby folly. He suffered silently, as I have seen
no other child do, uncomplainingly even, and at such times would sink
into moods of the blackest gloom, like those of an old, gouty subject.
Hypochondria, baby as he was, seemed already to have fixed his fangs
upon him. He had days of profound melancholy, when nothing provoked a
smile, and others of bitter, silent fretting, inconceivably distressing;
again there were periods of the wildest joy, only restrained by that
reticence which had become habitual, from positive boisterousness.

All this I could have compelled into subservience, of course, by
substituting fear for affection. It is not a difficult matter for the
strong and cunning to cow and crush the spirit of a little child; no
great achievement, after all, nor proof of power, though many boast of
it as such. Strength and hardness of heart are all one requires for
this external victory; but human souls are not to be so governed (God be
praised for this!), and love and respect are not to be compelled.

It is the error of all errors to suppose that, because a child has a
sickly frame or imperfect animal organization, it is just or profitable
to give it over to its own devices, and consign it to indolence and
ignorance. Alas! the vacancy that begets fretfulness, and crude,
capricious desires, the confusion of images that arises from partial
understanding, are far more wearing to the nerves of an intelligent
infant than the small labor the brain undertakes, if any, indeed, be
needed, in mastering ideas properly presented, and suitable to the
condition of the sufferer. One might as well forbid the hand to grasp,
the eye to see, nay, more, it will not do to confound the child of
genius with the fool, or to suppose that the one needs not a mental
aliment of which the other is incapable. Feed well the hungry mind, lest
it perish of inanition. It is a sponge in infancy that imbibes ideas
without an effort; it is a safety-valve through which fancy and poetry
conduct away foul vapors; it is an alembic, retaining only the pure and
valuable of all that is poured into it, to be stored for future use. It
is a lightning-rod that conducts away from the body all superfluous
electricity. It does not harm a sensible child to put it to study early,
but it destroys a dull one. Let your poor soil lie fallow, but harvest
your rich mould, and you shall be repaid, without harm to its fertility.

Ideas were balm to Ernie, even as regarded his physical suffering. His
enthusiasm rose above it and carried him to other spheres.

Some illustrated volumes of "Wilson's Ornithology," which I found in
the bookcase, proved to be oil on troubled waters in Ernie's case; and
before long he knew, without an effort, the name of every bird in the
two folios of prints, and would come of his own accord to repeat and
point them out to me.

I found, to my amazement, that, when a cage of canaries was brought in
and hung in the bath-room at my request for his amusement, he
discriminated and gravely averred that no birds like those were to be
found in his big book, though yellow hammers and orioles were there in
their native colors, that might have deceived a less observant eye into
a delusion as to their identity with our pretty importation.

Verses, remarkable for rhyme and rhythm both, when repeated to him a few
times with scanning emphasis, took root in that fertile brain which
piled his compact forehead so powerfully above his piercing, deep-set
eyes, and fell from his infant lips in silvery melody as effortless and
spontaneous as the trickling of water or the singing of birds in the
trees.

Day by day I saw the little, wistful face relaxing from the hard-knot
expression, so to speak, of sour and serious suffering, and assuming
something akin to baby joyousness, and the small, warped figure, so low
that it walked under my dropped and level hand, acquiring security of
step and erectness of bearing. I knew little of the treatment required
for spinal disease, but common-sense taught me that, in order to effect
a cure, the vertebral column must be relieved as much as possible from
pressure, and allowed to rest. So I persuaded him to lie down a great
part of the time, and contrived for him a little sustaining brace to
relieve him when he walked.

I fed him carefully; I bathed him tenderly, and robbed his weary,
aching limbs to rest, so that before many weeks the change was
surprising, and the success of my treatment evident to all who saw
him--the comprehensive "all" being myself and two attendants.

Dr. Englehart had been suggested in the beginning by Mrs. Clayton, as
his medical attendant, but rejected by me with a shudder, that seemed
conclusive; yet one evening, unsummoned by me, and as far as I knew by
any other, he walked calmly into my apartment, ostensibly to see the
little invalid--his charge as well as mine.

For a moment the extravagant idea possessed me that, in spite of
appearances, I had done this man injustice, and that he came in reality
for humane purposes alone; wore his disguise for these.

This delusion was soon dissipated, as with audacity (no doubt
characteristic, though not before evidenced to me), he seated himself
complacently and uninvited, and, disposing of his hat and stick, settled
himself down for a _tete-a-tete_, an affair which, if medical, usually
partakes of the confidential.

"Your little _protege_, Miss Monfort," he said, huskily, "seems to be a
serious sufferer," and for a moment dropping his accent while he rubbed
his gloved hands together as with an ill-repressed self-gratification;
"come, tell me now what you are doing for his benefit," again
artistically assuming a foreign accentuation.

In a few words I described my course of treatment and its success.

"All very well," he responded, hoarsely, "as far as it goes; but I am
convinced that much severer treatment will he necessaire--"

"I think not," I replied, curtly; "and certainly nothing of the kind
will be permitted by me while I have charge of this poor infant."

"A few leetle pills, then, for both mother and child;" he suggested,
humbly.

"You are mistaken if you imagine any relationship to exist between Ernie
and myself," I answered, calmly, never dreaming at the moment of covert
or intended insult. "I might as well inform you at once, that I am Miss,
not Mrs. Monfort; you should he guarded how you make mistakes of that
nature."

And my eye flashed fire, I felt, for I now heard him chuckling low in
the shadow, in which he so carefully concealed himself.

"I shall remembair vat you say," he observed, "and try to do bettair
next visit; but all dis time I delay in de execution of my mission here.
See, I have brought you von lettair; now vat will you do to reward me?"

Holding it high above my head, in a manner meant, no doubt, to be
playful, and to suggest a game of snatch, perhaps, such as his peers
might have afforded him, he displayed his treasure to my longing eyes,
"but I sat with folded arms.

"If the letter brings me good news, I shall thank you warmly, Dr.
Englehart; if not, I shall try to believe you unconscious of its
contents."

"Tanks from your lips would, indeed, seem priceless," he remarked,
courteously, as with many bows and shrugs he laid it on the table before
me, bringing his shaggy head by such means much closer to my hand than I
cared to know it should be, under any circumstances.

With a gesture of inexpressible disgust, regretted the next moment, as I
reflected that, to bring me this letter, he might be overstepping common
rules, I raised the envelope to the light and recognized, to my intense
disappointment, the well-known characters of Bainrothe's--small, rigid,
neat, constrained.

My heart, which a moment before had beat audibly to my own ear, sank
like a stone in my breast, and I sat for a time holding the letter
mutely, uncertain how to proceed. Should I return it unread, and thus
hurl the gauntlet in the traitor's face, or be governed by expedience
(word ever so despised by me of old), and trace the venom of the viper,
by his trail, back to his native den?

After a brief conflict of feeling, I determined on the wiser
course--that of self-humiliation as a measure of profound policy.

I broke the seal, the well-known "dove-and-vulture" effigy which he
called in heraldry "The quarry" and claimed as his rightful crest. Very
significantly, indeed, did it strike me now, though I had jested on the
subject so merrily of old with Evelyn and George Gaston.

The letter was of very recent date, and ran as follows--I have the
original still, and this is an exact copy:

"On September 1st, or as soon thereafter as feasible, I shall call to
see you, Miriam, in your retirement, which I am glad to hear has so far
been beneficial. Should I find you in a condition to _make_ conditions,
I shall lay before you a very advantageous offer of marriage I had
received for you before your shipwreck. Should you accept this offer,
and attach your signature to a few papers that I shall bring with me
(papers important to the respectability of your whole family as well as
my own), I shall at once resign to you your father's house and the
guardianship of Mabel. The chimera that alarmed you to frenzy can have
no further existence, either in fact or fancy. I am about to contract an
advantageous marriage with a foreign lady of rank, wealth, and beauty,
to whom I hope soon to introduce you. I need not mention her name, if
you are wise. Be patient and cheerful; cultivate your talents, and take
care of your good looks--no woman can afford to dispense with these,
however gifted; and you will soon find yourself as free as that
'chartered libertine' the air, for which last two words I am afraid you
will be malicious enough to substitute the name you will not find
appended, of your true friend and guardian, B.B."

Had Wentworth spoken, then? Did he know of my immurement? Was it his
beloved presence, his dear hand, that were to be made the prize of my
silence and submission? Was the bitter pill of humiliation I was now
swallowing to be gilded thus? No, no--a thousand times, no! He was not
the man with whom to make such conditions--the man I loved--nay
worshiped almost. He was of the old heroic mould, that would have
preferred any certainty to suspense, and death itself to an instant's
degradation.

He deemed me dead, and the obstacle that had risen between us needed no
explanation now. The waves had swallowed all necessities like this. But,
had he known me the inmate of a mad-house, no bolts or bars would have
withheld him from my presence. His own eyes could alone have convinced
him of such ruin as was alleged against me by these friends.

From this survey of my utter helplessness I turned suddenly to confront
the deep, dark, salient eyes of the disciple of Hahnemann, real or
pretended, fixed upon me with a glance that even his blue spectacles
could not deprive of its subtle intensity.

Where had I seen before orbs of the same snake-like peculiarity of
expression, or caught the outline of the profile which suddenly riveted
my gaze as the light partially revealed it, then subsided into shadow
again! I pondered this question for a moment while Dr. Englehart,
silent, expectant perhaps, stood with his hand tightly grasping the back
of a chair, on the seat of which he reposed one knee, in a position such
as defiant school-boys often assume before a pedagogue.

As I have said, his head and body were again in shadow, as was, indeed,
most of the chamber, for the rays which struggled through the thick
ground glass of my astral lamp were as mild as moonbeams, and as
unsatisfactory. But the light fell strong and red beneath the shade, and
the full glare of the astral lamp seemed centred on that pudgy hand, in
its inevitable glove, that had fixed so firm a gripe on the back of the
mahogany chair as to strain open one of the fingers of the tight, tawny
kid-glove worn by Dr. Englehart. This had parted slightly just above the
knuckle of the front-finger, and revealed the cotton stuffing within.
Nay, more, the ruby ring with its peculiar device was thus exposed,
which graced the slender finger of the charlatan! I do not apply this
term as concerned the profession he affected at all, but merely (as
shall be seen later) as one appropriate to himself individually.

There must be beings of all kinds to constitute a world, philosophers
tell us, and he, no doubt, so long in ignorance of it, had stumbled
suddenly on his proper vocation at last. The _role_ he was playing (so
far successfully) had doubtless been the occasion of an exquisite
delight to him, unknown to simpler mortals, who masquerade not without
dread misgivings of detection. I for one, when affecting any costume not
essentially belonging to me, or covering my face even with a paper-mask
for holiday diversion, have had a feeling of unusual transparency and
obviousness, so to speak, which precluded on my part every thing like a
successful maintenance of the part I was attempting to play. It was as
if some mocking voice was saying: "This is Miriam Monfort, the true
Miriam; the person you have known before as such was only making
believe--but the Simon-pure is before you, a volume of folly that all
who run may read! Behold her--she was never half so evident before!"

But to digress thus in the very moment of detection, of recognition,
seems irrelevant. The flash of conviction was as instantaneous in its
action in my mind as that of the lightning when it strikes its object. I
stood confounded, yet enlightened, all ablaze!--but the subject of this
discovery did not seem in the least to apprehend it, or to believe it
possible, in his mad, mole-like effrontery of self-sufficiency, that by
his own track he could be betrayed.

"Vat ansair shall I bear to Mr. Bainrothe from his vard?" asked the
Mercury of my Jove, clasping his costumed hands together, then dropping
them meekly before him. "I vait de reply of Miss Monfort vid patience.
Dere is pen, and ink, and papair, I perceive, on dat table. Be good
enough to write at once your reply to de vise conditions of your
excellent guardian."

"You know them, then?" I said, quickly, glancing at him with a derisive
scorn that did not escape his observation.

"I have dat honnair," was the hypocritical reply, accompanied by a
profound bow.

"Disgrace, rather," I substituted. "But you have your own stand-point of
view, of course. The shield that to you is white, to me is black as
Erebus. You remember the knights of fable?"

"Always the same--always indomitable!" I heard him murmur, so low that
it was marvelous how the words reached my ear, tense as was every sense
with disdainful excitement. Yet he simply said aloud, after his
impulsive stage-whisper: "Excuse me! I understand not your allusions. I
pretend not to de classics; my leetle pills--" and he hesitated, or
affected to do so.

"Enough--I waive all apologies; they only prolong an interview
singularly distasteful to me for many reasons. You are behind the
curtain, I cannot doubt, and understand not only the contents of that
absurd letter, but its unprincipled references. To Basil Bainrothe I
will never address one line; but you may say to him that I scorn him and
his conditions. Yet, helpless as I am, and in his hands, tell him to
bring his emancipation papers, and I will sign them, though they cost me
all I possess of property. My sister I will not surrender any longer to
his care, nor my right in her, which, with or without his consent, is
perfect when I reach my majority. As to the suitor to whom he alluded,
he had better be allowed to speak for himself when this transaction is
over. I shall then decide very calmly on his merits, tarnished, as these
might seem, from such recommendation."

"He is one who has loved you long, lady," said the man, sadly, speaking
ever in that made and husky voice (wonderful actor that he was by
nature!), which he sustained so well that, had I not unmistakably
identified him, it might have imposed on my ear as real. "Hear what has
been written on this subject: When others have forsaken you and left you
to your fate, he has continued faithful to your memory. The revelation
of your immurement was made simultaneously to two men who called
themselves your lovers, and its sad necessity explained by your
ever-watchful guardian. One of these lovers repudiated your claims upon
him, and turned coldly from the idea of uniting his fate to that of one
who had even for an hour been a suspected lunatic; the other declared
himself willing to take her as she was to his arms, even though her own
were loaded with the chains of a mad-house! Penniless and abandoned by
all the world, and with a clouded name, he woos her as his wife--the
woman he adores!"

And, as he read, or seemed to read, these words, with scarce an accent
to mar their impetuous flow, Dr. Englehart drew in his breath with the
hissing sound of passion, and folded his arms tightly across his padded
breast, as if they enfolded the bride he was suing for in another's
name.

"And who, let me ask, is this Paladin of chivalry?" I inquired,
derisively. "Give me his name, that I may consider the subject well and
thoroughly before we meet at last."

"Excuse me if I refuse to give the name of eider of dese gentlemen at
dis onhappy season," he rejoined. "Wen de brain is all right
again"--tapping his own forehead--"your guardian will conduct the
faithful knight to kneel at de feet of her he loves so well."

"And the other--where is he?" fell involuntarily from my lips--my
heaving heart--an inquiry that I regretted as soon as it was uttered;
for, affecting sorrowful mystery, the man inclined himself toward me and
whispered in my ear confidentially:

"Plighted to another, and gone where no eyes of yours shall rest on him
again."

"Pander--liar--spy!" burst from my passionate lips as in all the fury of
desperation I turned from the creature who had so wantonly wounded my
self-respect, and waved to him to begone. Another name quivered on my
lips, but I checked it on their threshold after that first burst of
indignation instantly subdued.

I was not brave enough nor strong enough to hazard a shaft like that
which might have been returned to me so deathfully. I would let the
barrier stand which he had erected between us, and which to demolish
would be to lay myself open, perhaps, to insult of the darkest
description.

Let the ostrich with his head in the sand still imagine himself unseen;
the masquerader still conceive himself secure beneath his paper
travesty; the serpent still coil apparently unrecognized beside the
bare, gray stone that reveals him to the eye--I was too cowardly, too
feeble, to cope with strategy and double-dyed duplicity like this!

So the man went his way with his silly secret undiscovered, as he
deemed, and that it might remain so to the end, as far as he could know,
I devoutly prayed. For I knew of old the unscrupulous lengths to which,
when nerved by hate or disappointment or passions of any kind, he could
go, without a particle of mercy for his victims or remorse for his
ill-doing.

When Dr. Englehart was gone--for so I still choose to call him for some
reasons, although I give my reader credit for still more astuteness than
I possessed myself, and believe that he has long ago recognized, through
this cloud of mystery and travesty thrown about him, an old
acquaintance--the child Ernie rose from the bed on which he had lain
tremulous and observant, with his small hands clinched, his eyes on
fire. "Ernie kill bad man!" he exclaimed, ferociously, "for trouble
missy. Give Ernie letter--he carry it away and hide it; bad letter--make
poor Mirry cry."

"No, Ernie, I will keep it," I said, as I laid it carefully aside. "It
shall stand as a sign and testimony of treachery to the end. Go to
sleep, little child; but first say your prayers, so that the good angels
may sit by you all night. Don't you hear Mrs. Clayton groaning? Poor
Clayton! I most go and comfort her and soothe her pains, as Dinah cannot
do. And, now that the bad doctor is gone home, and we are all locked up
again securely, we shall rest peacefully, I trust; and so, good-night!"




CHAPTER VII.


From being the most silent of children, a perfect creep-mouse in every
way, Ernie had become fearfully loquacious under my care, and was now as
talkative as he had ever been observant.

The action that most children develop through exercise of limb had been
reserved for his untiring tongue. He had literally learned to talk from
hearing me read aloud, which I did daily, much to Mrs. Clayton's delight
and edification, for the benefit of my own lungs, which suffered from
such confirmed silence, as I had at first indulged in. His exquisite
ear--his prodigious memory--aided him in the acquirement of words, and
even long and difficult sentences, of which he delivered himself
oracularly when engaged with his blocks and dominoes.

He told himself wonderful stories in which the "buful faiwry" and
"hollible" giant of the story-books figured largely. I am almost ashamed
to acknowledge that I would hold my breath and strain my ear at times to
listen to these murmured stories, self-addressed, as I have never done
to receive the finest ebullitions of eloquence or the veriest marvels of
the _raconteur_. There was something so sweet, so wondrous to me in this
little, ever-babbling baby-brain fountain, content with its own music,
having no thought of auditors or effect, no care for appreciation,
totally self-addressed and self-absorbed, that I was never weary of
giving it my ear and interest. Had the child known of or perceived this,
the effect would have been destroyed, and a fatal self-consciousness
have been instituted instead of this lotus-eating infantile
_abandon_--the very existence of which mood indicated genius. What poor
Ernie's father might nave been I could only surmise from his own
qualities, which, after all, may have flowed from a far-off source; but
that his mother had been gentle, simple, and inefficient, I knew full
well, from my slight acquaintance with her, and observation of her
non-resisting organization. Ernie, on the contrary, grappled with
obstacles uncomplainingly, and was only outspoken in his moments of
gratification. His was the temperament that is the noblest and the most
magnanimous in its very moulding. Whining children are selfish, as a
rule, and petty-minded, and most often incapable of enjoyment--which
last is a gift of itself that goes not always with possession.

Among other accomplishments self-acquired, Ernie had the power of
mimicry to a singular degree. Mrs. Clayton had a slight hitch in her
gait of late from rheumatic suffering, which he simulated solemnly,
notwithstanding every effort on my part to restrain him.

Without a smile or any effort of mirth, he would limp behind as she
walked across the floor, unconscious of his close attendance, and when
she would turn suddenly and detect him, and shake her clinched fist at
him, half in jest, he would retaliate by a similar gesture, and scowl,
and stamp of the foot, that so nearly resembled her own proceedings as
to cause me much internal merriment. But of course for his own
advantage, as well as from regard for her feelings, it was necessary for
me on such occasions to assume a gravity of deportment bordering on
displeasure.

It may be supposed, then, that when, on the morning after Dr.
Englehart's visit, before my chamber had been swept and garnished, and
while Mrs. Clayton was busy in her own, Ernie brought me a letter and
laid it on the table before me, as Dr. Englehart had done the night
before in his presence, I was infinitely amused.

What, then, was my surprise in stooping over it to find this letter
addressed to myself in the unfamiliar yet never-to-be-forgotten
character of Wardour Wentworth!

After the first moment of bewilderment I opened the already-fastened
letter--closed, as was the fashion of the day, without envelope, and
sealed originally with wax, of which a few fragments still remained
alone.

The date, the subject, the earnest contents, convinced me that I now
held the clew of that mystery which had baffled me so long, and that the
missing letter said to have been lost at Le Noir's Landing was at last
in my possession. It needed not this additional proof of treachery to
convince me that my suspicions had been correct, and that, next to the
arch-fiend Bainrothe, I owed the greatest misery of my life to him who,
in his ill-adjusted disguise, had dropped this letter from his pocket on
the preceding evening--my evil genius, Dr. Englehart--_alias_ Luke
Gregory.

It was a gracious thing in God to permit me to owe the great happiness
of this discovery to the little crippled child he had cast upon my care
so mysteriously, and I failed not to render to him with other grateful
acknowledgments "most humble and hearty thanks" for this crowning grace.
Henceforth Hope should lend her torch to light my dearth--her wings to
bear me up--her anchor wherewith to moor my bark of life wherever cast,
and to the poor waif I cherished I owed this immeasurable good. Had Mrs.
Clayton anticipated him with her infallible besom--that housewifely
detective, that drags more secrets to light than ever did paid
policeman--I should never have grasped this talisman of love and hope,
never have waked up as I did wake up from that hour to the endurance
which immortalizes endeavor, and renders patience almost pleasurable.

On the back of this well-worn letter was a pencil-scrawl, which,
although I read it last, I present first to my reader, that he may trace
link by link the chain of villainy that bound together my two
oppressors.

It was in the small, clear calligraphy of Basil Bainrothe, before
described; characterized, I believe, as a backhand--and thus it ran:

    "You are right--it was a master-stroke! Keep them in ignorance
    of each other, and all will yet go well. I sail to-morrow, and
    have only time to inclose this with a pencilled line. Try and
    head them at New York. My first idea was the best--my reason I
    will explain later.

    "Yours truly,

    "B.B.

    "N.B.--The man could not have played into our hands better than
    by taking up such an impression. There is no one there to
    undeceive him."

    THE LETTER.

    "My Miriam: Your note, through the hands of Mr. Gregory, has
    been received--read, noted, pondered over with pain and
    amazement. The avowal of your name so uselessly withheld from
    me, lets in a whole flood of light, blinding and dazzling, too,
    on a subject that fills me with infinite solicitude.

    "There have been strange reserves between us that never ought to
    have existed, on my part as well as yours. I should have told
    you that I once had a half-sister, called Constance Glen--older
    than myself by many years--who married during my long absence
    from our native land a gentleman much older than herself, an
    Englishman by the name of Monfort, and, after giving birth to a
    daughter, died suddenly. These particulars I gathered from
    strangers, but there were many wanting which you can best
    supply. I know that this gentleman had a daughter, or daughters,
    by an earlier marriage--and I can find no clew to the date of my
    sister's marriage--which might in itself determine the possible
    age of her own daughter. That this child survived I have painful
    cause to remember. I had sustained shipwreck, and was in
    abeyance for clothes and money both, when it occurred to me to
    call on my brother-in-law, present to him my credentials, and
    remain a few days at his house as his guest, in the enjoyment of
    my sister's society, until my needs could be supplied from
    certain resources at a distance. The reception I met with from
    his elder daughter, and the information she haughtily gave me,
    determined my course. I sought no more the inhospitable roof of
    Mr. Monfort, to find shelter beneath which I had forfeited all
    claim by the death of my sister, then first suddenly revealed to
    me. Her child, I was told, had been recently injured by burning
    and could not be seen, even by so near a relative, and the
    manner of the young lady, whom I now identify as Evelyn Monfort,
    was such as to lead me at the time to believe this a mere excuse
    or evasion, which I did not seek to oppose.

    "It is just possible that there may be a third sister, yet I
    think I have heard you say you had but one, and this
    reminiscence is anguish to my mind. Even more, the careless and
    unwarrantable allusions of Mr. Gregory to certain scars,
    evidently from burns that he had the insolence to observe on
    your neck and arms, and remark upon as mere foils to their
    beauty, in my first acquaintance with you and before I had a
    right to silence him, recurred to me as a partial confirmation
    of my fears. Without explaining to him my motives, I questioned
    him on this subject again soon after he handed me your note, a
    proceeding that I should have shrunk from as gross and unworthy
    of a gentleman under any other circumstances. I did not stop to
    think what impression my inquiries would leave upon his mind,
    ever prone to levity and suspicion; but he must have seen that I
    was deeply moved, and that no impertinent curiosity could sway
    me to such a course with regard to the woman I loved and had
    openly declared my plighted wife. You will understand all this
    and make allowance for me. Write to me immediately, and relieve,
    if possible, my intense solicitude. At all events, let me know
    the truth, and look it in the face as soon as may be. Any
    reality is better than suspense. Yet I must 'hope against hope,'
    or surrender wholly. I have not time to write another line. My
    business is imperative, or I should certainly retrace my steps.

    "Yours eternally,

    "WENTWORTH."

The man who wrote this letter was capable of condensing in a few calm
words a world of passion, whether he spoke or wrote them; but he had
governed his pen carefully in his agonizing uncertainty. It was yet to
be determined when he penned these lines whether he should be
considered a lover addressing his mistress, or an uncle writing to his
niece, and in this bitter perplexity he commanded his inclinations to
the side of principle.

I wept with tears of joy and thankfulness above this constrained
epistle--I pressed it to my heart, my lips, a thousand times, in the
quiet hours of night, in the moments of retirement my jailer granted me.
The child Ernie alone saw and wondered at these manifestations of which
I first saw the extravagance through his solemn imitations thereof,
which yet made me catch him rapturously in my arms and kiss him a
thousand times, until he put me aside, at last, with decorous dignity,
as one transcending privilege.

By some vicarious process, best understood by lovers, I lavished on
little Ernie a thousand terms of endearment, meant only for another, and
by the light of my own happiness he seemed transfigured. He was
identified with the lifting away of a burden more bitter than captivity
itself. They could but kill my body now--my soul was filled with a new
life that nothing could extinguish; and believing in Wentworth, I felt
that I could die happy, let death come when and how it would. I knew now
that in the course of time, whether I lived or died, Wentworth would
know that I was not his niece, and claim Mabel as his own, remembering
my estimate of those who held her in charge. Then would the tide of love
and passion, so long repressed, roll back in its old channel, and he
would leave no stone unturned, no path unexplored, whereby to trace my
fate.

To this, as yet, he held no clew. The sea had seemed to swallow Miriam
Harz, by which name I had been registered in the ship's books and known
to the passengers; nor could it be surmised that the young "mad girl,"
since spoken of, as I had been told, in the papers, as having been
restored to her friends by the accident of meeting the Latona, and
Miriam Monfort, were one and the same person. But if the time should
come when all should be explained, either by my own lips or the
revelations of others, good cause might Basil Bainrothe and his
confederate have to tremble!

Like all cold, patient, deeply-feeling men, there were untold reserves
of power and passion in the nature of Wardour Wentworth which might, for
aught I knew to the contrary, tend naturally to and culminate in
revenge. The wish to retaliate was, I knew, a fundamental fault in my
own character, one I had often occasion to struggle with even in
childhood, when Evelyn, my despot, was also my dependant, and generosity
had been called to the aid of forbearance. Vengeance was a fierce thirst
in my Judaic heart which only Christian streams could ever allay or
quench, and I judged the man I loved by self--not always a fitting
standard of comparison.

And Gregory! I could imagine well the fiendish delight with which he had
seen me day by day writhing uncomplainingly beneath the unexplained and
as I had deemed unsuspected alienation of Wentworth, the cause of which
his act had wrapped in mystery! Afraid to tamper with the note I gave
him for the cool, discerning eye of Wentworth, curiosity had at first
led him to break the seal of that intrusted to his care in return, and
dark malevolence to retain it rather than destroy, for the eye of his
confederate. That he had dispatched it at once for Paris was very
evident from the pencilling on the back of the letter; and that the
snare was set for me already, in which the accident of the encountered
raft proved an assistant, I could not doubt.

I fell into the hands of Bainrothe on shipboard instead of into those of
Gregory in New York; this was the only difference, for subterfuge could
have done its work as well, if not as daringly, on land as on sea; and
the league of iniquity was made before I sailed from Savannah.

How perfectly I could comprehend, for the first time since this
revelation, what Wentworth must have suffered beneath his burden of
unrelieved doubt and conjecture! I could see how, day by day, as no
answer came to change the current of his thoughts, conviction slowly
settled down like a cloud upon his heart, his reason; and what stern
confirmation of all he dreaded most, my silence must have seemed to him!

All this I saw in my mental survey with pity, with concern, with wild
desire to fly to him, and whisper truth and consolation in his arms; for
I loved this man as it is given to passionate, earnest natures to love
but once, be it early or late; loved him as Eve loved Adam, when the
whole inhabited earth was given to those two alone.

"You seem in very good spirits to-day, Miss Monfort," said Mrs. Clayton,
with unusual asperity on one occasion, when, holding Ernie in my arms, I
lavished endearments upon him; "your king, indeed! your angel! I really
believe you admire as well as love that hideous little elf."

"Of course I do," Mrs. Clayton; "all things I love are beautiful to me;"
and I remembered how Bertie's plain face had grown into touching
loveliness in my sight from the affection I bore her.

"And do you really love this child?"

"Most certainly, and very tenderly too; is he not my sweetest
consolation in this dreary life?"

"What if they remove him?"

"Ah! what, indeed!" and, relaxing my grasp, I clasped my hands together
patiently; that thought had occurred to me before.

"It is a very strong affection to have sprung up from a short
acquaintance on a raft," she remarked, sententiously.

"I saved his infant life, you know; and the benefactor always loves the
thing he benefits. It is on this principle alone God loves his erring
creatures, Mrs. Clayton, rest assured."

"If you had loved the child with true friendship, you would have pushed
him into the sea, rather than have held him in your arms above it."

"Do you suppose he is less near to God than you or I--to Christ the
all-merciful?" I questioned, sternly. "Much rather would I have that
infant's yet unconscious hope of heaven than either yours or mine, Mrs.
Clayton!"

"But his earthly hope--it was that I alluded to; what chance for him?
Poor, weakly, deformed; he had better be at rest than knocked from
pillar to poet, as he must be in this hard, cold world of chance and
change."

"And that shall never be while I live, Ernie," I said, taking him again
in my lap, at his silent solicitation. "Why, Mrs. Clayton, with such a
noble soul, such intelligence as this child possesses, he may fill a
pulpit, and save erring souls, or write such beautiful poems and
romances as shall thrill the heart, or draw from an instrument sounds as
divine as De Beriot's, or paint a picture, and immortalize his name;
there is nothing too good, too great for Ernie to do, should God grant
him life to achieve; and, as surely as I am spared to be enfranchised,
shall I make this gifted child my charge."

"You are perfectly infatuated, Miss Monfort; I declare, I shall begin to
believe--"

"No, you shall not begin to believe any such thing," I interrupted her,
smiling; "you are surely too sensible and just a woman to begin to
believe fallacies thus late in the day."

"Have it your own way," she said, sharply; "you always get the better of
me at last."

"Not always," I pursued, "or I should not be here, you know. It rests
with you to keep or let me go--"

"To ruin my child's husband! There, now! you have my life-secret," she
said, with a desperate gesture; "use it as you will."

I understood more than ever the hopelessness of my case from the moment
of that impulsive revelation, to which I made no answer.

"What is more," she said, huskily, "I, too, am watched; I never knew
this until two days ago: a negro man, an attendant of the house, an old
servant of your guardian's, I believe, guards the doors below, and
refuses to let me pass to and fro. Dinah, even, is employed to dog my
steps. This is not exactly what I bargained for; yet, in spite of all,
on her account I shall be faithful to the end." And for a time she
busied herself in that careful dusting of the ornaments of the chamber,
which seemed mechanical, so habitual was it to her sense of order and
tidiness.

Her hand was on the gold-emblazoned Bible, I remember, and her
party-colored bunch of plumes lifted above it, as if for immediate
action, when her arm fell heavily to her side, and she heaved a bitter
sigh, so deep, it sounded like a long-suppressed sob, rather, to my ear.

"If I could only think you did not hate me, Miss Miriam," she said, "I
believe I could be better satisfied to lead the life I do."

"Hate you! Why should I hate you, Mrs. Clayton? You are only a tool in
the hands of my persecutor, I know, from your own confession, and I
understand your motive better in the last few moments than I did before
(inadequate as it seems to my sense of justice), for aiding this
oppressor. You have been very kind to me in some respects; an inferior
person could have tortured in a thousand ways, where you have shown
yourself considerate, delicate even, and for all this I thank you more
than I can express. I should be very ungrateful, indeed, were I to hate
you. The word is strong."

"Yet you prefer even that hump-backed child to me or my society," she
said, peevishly.

"The comparison cannot be instituted with any propriety," I responded,
gravely, turning away and dismissing the boy to his blocks and books, as
I did so, which made for him, I knew, a fairy kingdom of delight,
through the aid of his splendid imagination.

A commonplace infant will tire of the choicest toys; they are to such
minds but effigies and delusion, which last, the delight of imaginative
infancy, to the cut and dried, dull, childish understanding is
impossible.

I once overheard one little girl at a theatre--a splendid spectacle,
calculated to dazzle and delight imaginative childhood--say to another:
"It is nothing but make-believe! That house and garden are only painted.
See how they shake! And the women are dressed in paste jewelry, like
that our cook-maid wears to parties, and no jeweler would give a cent
for them; and the fairies are poor girls, dressed up for the occasion;
and the whole play is made up as they go. You see, I know all about it,
father says."

I heard no more, but had a glimpse of a little, eager face suddenly
dashed in its expression, and of small fingers pressed to unwilling ears
to shut out unwelcome truths.

The discriminating child seemed a little monster in my eyes, who ought
to have been sent out of the way at once of all companions capable of
_abandon_ and enjoyment; and, as to the "father" she quoted from, I
could imagine him as the embodiment of asinine wisdom, so to speak--the
quintessence of the practical, which so often, I observe, inclines its
devotees to idiocy!

I knew very well that Wattie was not of the stamp to doubt the truth and
splendor of "Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp," or "Cinderella," as
surveyed from the stage-box, in his confiding infancy, any more than to
believing in baubles when the time came to justly discriminate. Woe for
the incredulous child, too matter-of-fact to be enlisted in the
creations of fancy, and who tastes in infancy the chief bitterness of
age--the incapability of surrendering life to the ideal!

How fresh imagination keeps the heart--how young! What a glorious gift
it is when rightly used and governed! Hear Charlotte Bronte's testimony,
as recorded by her biographer: "They are all gone," she says, "the
sisters I so loved, and I have only my imagination left to comfort me.
But for this solace I should despair or perish." The words are not
exact--the book is not beside me, but such is their substance. He who
lists can seek them for himself in the pages of that wondrous spell
woven by Mrs. Gaskell--that tragic and strange biography which once in a
season of deep despondency did more to reconcile me to my own condition,
through my pity and admiration for another, than all the condolences
that came so freely from lip and pen. Every fabric that love had
erected crumbled about her or turned to Dead-Sea ashes on her lip. See
what a world of passion those French letters and themes of hers betray!

The brand of suffering and suffocating sorrow is on every one of them,
plain to the eye of the initiated alone, they who have gazed on the
wonders of the inner temple--the holy of holies--and gone forth
reverently to dream of the revelation evermore in silence.

But, above every ruin of hope, or pride, or affection, like an imperial
banner flung from "the outer wall," her imagination waved and triumphed.
"The clouds of glory" she trailed after her were dyed in spheres
unapproachable by death, or shame, or disappointment, and the gift
described in the Arabian story as conferred by the genii's salve when he
touched therewith the eyes of the traveler and caused him to see all the
wonders of the earth, its gems, its gold, its gleaming chrysolites, its
inward fires, unobscured by the interposition of dust and clay, which
veiled them from all the rest of humanity, may stand as a type of her
ideality.




CHAPTER VIII.


The six weeks which had been allotted to me as the term of my captivity
were accomplished, and still Mr. Basil Bainrothe came not--wrote not. I
had seen the month of August glide away, its progress marked only by the
changing fruits and flowers of the season, and the more fervent light
that pierced through the Venetian blinds when turned heavenward, for it
was through these alone that the light of day was permitted to visit my
chamber.

Where, then, was the place of my captivity situated? In the environs of
a great city, possibly, for the wind often blew, laden with fragrance as
from choice rather than extensive gardens, through my casement, and the
shadow of a tall tree impending over the skylight of the bath-room was,
when windy, cast so distinctly on its panes as to convince me of the
neighborhood of an English elm, the foliage of which tree I knew like an
alphabet.

And then, those fairy, Sabbath chimes! Were such musical bells
duplicated in adjacent cities? or was I, indeed, near our old, beloved
church, in which memory so distinctly revealed our ancient, velvet-lined
pew, my father's bowed head, and the venerable pastor rising white-robed
and saintly in his pulpit to bid all the earth keep silent before the
Lord! Conjecture was rife! Thus August passed away.

My birthday had gone by, and the equinox was upon us, with its rapid
changes of sun and storm, when one of these tempests, accompanied by
hail of unusual size, shattered to fragments the skylight of the
bath-room. This hail-storm was succeeded by a deluge of rain, which
flooded not only the adjacent closet, but the chamber I occupied, among
other evils completely submerging the superb Wilton carpet, concerning
the safety of which Mrs. Clayton felt immense responsibility.

A glazier came as soon as the weather permitted, who was carefully
escorted through my chamber by Mrs. Clayton to ascertain the repairs to
be made--a fresh-looking, white-aproned Irish lad, I remember (for a
human being was a novelty to me then), who found it necessary, in order
to repaint the wood-work, to bear the sash away with him, leaving behind
his tray of chisels and putty, and the light step-ladder he had brought
with him on his shoulder, and on whose return I vainly waited as a
chance for communication with the outer world.

While Dinah was busy with mops and brooms drying the carpet, and Mrs.
Clayton thoroughly occupied with her active superintendence of the
needful operations, little mischievous, meddlesome Ernie had made his
way, contrary to all rules, beneath and behind my bed, and torn off a
goodly portion of the gray and gilded paper which had so far effectually
aided to conceal a closed door situated behind the bed-head, from which
the frame had been removed. Then, for the first time since our
acquaintance, did I slap sharply those little, busy fingers which I
could have kissed for thankfulness, and, watching my opportunity, I
replaced the paper, unseen by Mrs. Clayton, with the remains of a
gum-arabic draught which had been prescribed for his cough. I knew that,
after experiencing such condign punishment, he would return no more to
the scene of his destruction, and that he might forget both injury and
discovery, I devoted myself to his amusement during that active, long,
rainy day with unhoped-for success.

The glazier had announced to Mrs. Clayton that his return might be
deferred for four-and-twenty hours, and, as the succeeding day was clear
and warm, I proceeded, in spite of broken sashes, to take my daily bath
as usual at twelve o'clock.

Mrs. Clayton, with her prison-key in her pocket, and her snuffbox at
hand, yielded herself, to the delight of ginger-nuts and her
stocking-basket, and rested calmly after her fatigues of the preceding
day; and Ernie, attracted by the crunching noise--the sound of dropping
nuts, perhaps, which betrayed the presence of his favorite article of
food--hastened to keep her company--a thing he never did
disinterestedly, it most be confessed.

An opportunity, now presented itself for observation which I knew might
not again occur during my whole captivity; and surely no sailor ever
ascended to the mast-head of the Pinta with a heart more heaved with
emotion than was mine, as I placed my foot on the last rung of the
ladder, and towered from my waist upward above the skylight. I had drawn
the bolt within, as I invariably did while bathing, and with a feeling
of proud security I stood and surveyed the scene beneath and around me.
The angle of vision did not, it is true, embrace objects immediately
below me, owing to the projecting cornices of the flat roof (a mere
excrescence from the original structure, as this was), but beyond this
the eye swept for some distance uninterruptedly.

Bathed in the golden light of that autumn noonday sun, I saw and
recognized a long-familiar scene, and for a moment I reeled on the
slender step as I did so, and all grew dark around me. But, with one of
those energetic impulses that come to us all in time of emergency, I
recovered my balance in time to save myself from falling; and eagerly
and wistfully, as looks the dying wretch on the dear faces he is soon to
see no more, I gazed upon the paradise from which fiends had driven me.

There, indeed, just as I had left it, lay the deep-green grassy lawn,
with its richly-burdened flower-pots, its laburnums, and white and
purple lilacs, and drooping guelder-rose bushes, and its great English
walnut-tree towering, like a Titan, in the centre. There was the
hawthorn-hedge my father's hand had planted, and the fountain-like
weeping-willow my mother had set, in memory of her dead, whose graves
were far away; and there towered the lofty elm-trees, with their long,
low, sweeping branches, meeting in friendly greeting, to two of which a
swing had once been attached as a bond of union--a swing in which it had
once been my childish pleasure to sway and read, while Mabel sat beside
me with her head upon my shoulder, held securely in her place by my
strong, loving, encircling arm.

Nor were these all to assure me that, after a year of melancholy and
eventful absence, I looked again upon the precincts of home. A little
farther on rose the gray wall and tower of the library and belfry, half
concealed by its heavy coating of ivy, glossy and dark, and shutting
away all other view of the mansion. Beyond these last was the pavilion
my father had built for the playhouse of his children, through the open
lattice-door of which I saw a girl seated at her work, with graceful,
bending neck, and half-averted face. A moment later, Claude Bainrothe
lounged across the sward, cigar in hand. At his approach, the face
within was turned, and I recognized, at a glance, that of my young
aurora-like companion of the raft, Ada Greene. Then gazing cautiously
around, as if to elude observation (never dreaming of the eye dropped
like a bird's upon him), he lifted the rosy face in his hand and kissed
it thrice right loverly!

I saw no more--I would not witness more--for had I not learned already
all that I asked or ought to know? Well might the dear old chimes ring
out their Sabbath welcome to one who had obeyed their summons from her
childhood up to womanhood! Well might the summer air bear on its wings
greeting of familiar odors, lost and found!

This was no idle dream, no mirage of a vagrant brain like that
sea-picture, or that wild vision at Beauseincourt, but sober, and sad,
and strange reality. I understood my position from that moment,
geographically as well as physically. I was a prisoner in the house of
Basil Bainrothe (while he, perchance, reigned lordly in my own); that
house whose hidden arcana I had never explored, and which, beyond its
parlor and exterior, was to me as the dwelling of a stranger.

Derisively deferential, he had resigned to me this secluded chamber in
the ell--his own particular sanctum, I remember to have heard--and
betaken himself, in all probability, to the more spacious mansion of his
former neighbor.

Far wiser, even if sadder, than I went up its rounds, did I descend that
ladder!

Half an hour after I had entered it, and with new hope, I emerged from
the bath-room as fresh as a naiad, having first abstracted from the
tool-box of the glazier two tiny chisels of different sizes, and a
small lump of putty, which I secreted, on my first opportunity, in my
favorite hiding-place--a hollow in the post of my bedstead--an
accidental discovery of mine, made during Mrs. Clayton's first illness,
since which I had always insisted on making up my own bed, much to her
relief.

My conscience so disturbed me on the score of this theft, that I
hastened to secrete my only remaining piece of gold in the glazier's
box; ill-judged, as this appeared to me on reflection. The boy was an
apprentice, evidently, and might else, I thought, at the time, have been
the loser. I feared to add a line, and dared not seek a passing word
with him, so carefully was I watched.

I next examined, with the eye of scientific scrutiny, two massive rulers
that lay on my table, one made of maple-wood, and the other of ebony,
and, having selected the first as most available for my purpose,
prepared to commence the most arduous undertaking of my life--the
careful shaping of a wooden key.

I had read somewhere that, during the French Revolution, a young
peasant-girl, by means of such an instrument, had set at large her
lover, or her brother, in _La Vendee_; having taken with soft wax the
outline of the wards of the lock, in a moment of opportunity.

That day my work began--three times a failure, but at last successful.
With the aid of putty, gradually allowed to harden I obtained the mould
I desired, in the dead of night, and afterward, whenever privacy, even
for a few minutes, was mine, I drew from my bosom my sacred piece of
sculpture, and worked upon it with knife and chisel alternately, as
devotee never worked on sculptured crucifix. Never shall I forget the
rapture, the ecstasy of that moment, in which, ensconced between my
bed-head and the wall, I slowly turned the key, first thoroughly soaked
in oil, in the morticed wards, and knew, by the slight giving of the
door, that it was unlocked.

Not Ali Baba, when be entered the robbers' cave, and saw the heaps of
gold--all his by the force of one magic word; not Aladdin, when the
genius of the lamp rose to his bidding, bearing salvers of jewels, which
were to purchase for him the hand of the sultan's daughter; not Sindbad,
when he saw the light which led him to the aperture of egress from the
sepulchre in which he had been pent up with his wife's body to die--knew
keener or more triumphant sensations than filled my bosom as I laid that
completed key next my heart, after turning it cautiously backward and
forward in my prison-lock!

I dared not, at that time, draw back the bolt above, that confined it
loosely yet securely, or turn the silver knob sufficiently to set it
even ever so little ajar; but I did both later, when oil had time to do
its subtle work, and I could effect my experiment in silence. Yet I
hazarded nothing of the sort when the quick ear of Mrs. Clayton held
watch in the adjoining room. I was obliged to take advantage of those
moments of rare absence, when, double-locking the doors of her chamber,
both inner and outer, she would descend, for a few minutes, to the
realms below, returning so suddenly and silently as almost to surprise
me, on one or two occasions, at my work.

About the time of the completion of my experiment, I became aware of
sounds in the room beneath my chamber, and sometimes on the great
stairway (of which I now knew the largest platform was situated very
near the head of my bed), that gave token of occupancy.

The rattling of china and silver might be discerned in the ancient
dining-room, at morn and night. The occupant probably dined elsewhere,
but the regularity of these meals was unmistakable.

I recognized, faintly, the step of Bainrothe on the stairway,
distinguishing it readily from any other, as it passed and repassed my
hidden door.

October had now set in, with a chilliness unusual to that bland season,
and I asked for and obtained permission to have a fire kindled in the
wide and gloomy grate of my chamber, hitherto unused by me.

About this household flame, Ernie, Mrs. Clayton, and I gathered
harmoniously; she with her unfailing work-basket, I with book or pencil,
the baby with his blocks and dominoes and painted pictures--the only
happy and truly industrious spirit of the group. My true work was
done--else might it never have been completed.

The presence of fire was indispensable to Mrs. Clayton, and, from the
time of its first lighting, she left me but seldom alone. Her rheumatic
limbs needed the solace that I had no heart to grudge her, distasteful
as she was to me, and becoming more so day by day--false as I now knew
her to be--false at heart.

How hatred grows, when we once admit the germ--not, like love,
parasitically--but strong, stanch, stern, alone throwing down fresh
roots, even hour by hour, like the banyan, monarch of the Eastern
forest. I am afraid I have a turn for this passion naturally, but for
love as well, ten times more intense--so that one pretty well
counterbalances the other.

To carry out the vine-simile, I might as well add at once that, in the
end, the parasitical plant has triumphed, and stifled the sterner
growth. In other words, Christianity has conquered Judaism.

"I suppose I may soon expect a visit from Mr. Bainrothe," I said one day
to Mrs. Clayton. "I think my birthday approaches; can you tell me the
day of the month? I know that of the week from remembering the Sabbath
chimes."

I thought she started slightly at this announcement, but she replied,
unflinchingly:

"The 5th, yes, I am quite sure it is the 5th of the month."

"Do you never see a newspaper, Mrs. Clayton, and, if so, can you not
indulge me with a glimpse of one? I think it would do me good--remind me
that I was alive, I have seen none since the account of Miss Lamarque's
safety, for which God be praised."[5]

"No, Miss Monfort, it is simply impossible. I should be transgressing
the rules of the establishment."

"Dr. Englehart's, I suppose, as if indeed there were such a person," I
said, impetuously--unguardedly.

"Do you pretend to doubt it?" she asked, slowly, setting her greedy eyes
upon my face, and dropping her darning-work and shell upon her knee.
Why, what possesses you to-day, Miss Miriam?"

"I shall answer no questions, Mrs. Clayton--this right, at least, I
reserve--but, the fact is, I doubt every thing lately, except this
child and God. I do not believe my Creator will forsake me utterly--I
shall not, till the end." And tears rolled down my face, the first I had
shed for days. I had been petrified, of late, by the resolution I was
making, and the effort of mind it had cost me. I had felt, until now,
that I was hardening into atone.

"You desire to see Mr. Bainrothe, I suppose," she remarked, after a long
silence, daring which she had again betaken herself to her occupation,
without lifting her eyes as she asked the question.

"I desire to look my fate in the face at once, and understand his
conditions," I replied, sullenly.

"But what if he is not here--what if Dr. Englehart--" lifting her eyes
to mine.

"I cannot be mistaken," I interrupted, with impetuosity, "I have heard
his step; he eats in the room below; I am convinced, for I know of old
that bronchial cough of his--the effect of gormandism--"

Then suddenly, Ernie, looking up, made a revelation, irrelevant, yet to
my ear terrible and astounding, but fortunately incomprehensible to my
companion. What did that little vigilant creature ever fail to remark?

"Mirry make tea," he said, or seemed to say, and my face paled and
flushed alternately, until my brain swam.

"Make tea?" sail the voice of Mrs. Clayton, apparently at a great
distance. "No, I will make the tea, Ernie, as long as we stay together.
Mirry does not know how to draw tea like an Englishwoman."

Oh, fortunate misunderstanding! how great was the reaction it
occasioned! From an almost fainting condition I rallied to vivacity,
and, for long, weary hours, sat pointing out pictures to the boy, to win
him to oblivion, and persuade him to silence. Singularly enough, but
not unusual with him, he never resumed the topic. I had taken pains to
hide my work from his observing eyes; and how he knew it, unless he lay
silently and watched me from his little bed, when I worked at early dawn
in mine, I never could conjecture. A few days later Mrs. Clayton
announced to me that Mr. Bainrothe would call very shortly.

It was early morning, I remember, when she laid before me the card of
"Basil Bainrothe," with its elaborate German characters, on which was
written, in pencil, the addendum, "Will call at ten o'clock;" and,
punctual as the hand to the hour, he knocked at the dressing-room door
at the appointed time, and was admitted.

He entered with that light, jaunty step peculiar to him, and which I
have consequently ever associated in others with impudence and guile.
Hat and cane in the left hand, he entered; two fingers of the right
raised to his lips, by way of salutation (he clinched his glove in the
remainder), to be offered to me later, and ignored completely, then
waved carelessly, as if condoning the offense.

He was quite a picture as he came in--a fashion-plate, and as such I
coolly regarded him--fresh, fair, and smiling, looking younger, if
possible, than when we parted a year before, and handsome, as that
much-abused word goes, in his debonair, off-hand style of appearance.

He was dressed with even more than his usual care and trimness (wore
patent-leather boots, my aversion from that hour, for these were the
first I had ever seen), and lavender-colored pantaloons, very tightly
strapped down over them; a glossy black coat and vest, and linen of
unimpeachable quality and whiteness; while a chain of fine Venetian
gold held his watch, or eye-glass, or both, in suspension from his neck.
Yet no beggar in rags ever appeared to me half so loathly as did this
speckless dandy!

"You have come," I said, grimly, as he settled his shirt-collar to speak
to me, after formally depositing his hat and cane, and a roll of paper
he drew from his pocket, on the centre-table, and wiping his face
carefully with his cambric, musk-scented handkerchief, unspeakably
odious and unclean to my olfactories--"you have come at last; yet the
greatest wonder to me is, how you dare appear at all before me," and I
looked upon him right lionly, I believe.

"You were always inclined to assume the offensive with me, Miriam. Yet I
confess you have a little shadow of reason this time, or seem to have,
and I am here to-day for purposes of explanation or compromise" (bowing
gracefully), and he rubbed his palms together very gently and
complacently, looking around as he did so for a chair, which perceiving,
and drawing to the table so as to face me where I eat on the sofa, he
deposited himself upon, assuming at once his usual graceful pose.

It was _fauteuil_, and he threw one arm over that of the chair,
suffering his well-preserved white hand--always suggestive of poultices
to me--with its signet ring, to droop in front of it--a hand which he
moved up and down habitually, as he conversed, in a singularly soothing
and mechanical fashion--his "pendulum" we used to call it in old times,
Evelyn and I, when it was one of our chief resources for amusement to
laugh at "Cagliostro," our _sobriquet_ for this _ci-devant jeune homme_,
it may be remembered.

"Let me premise, Miriam," he began, "by congratulating you on your
improved appearance"--another benign bow. "You were so burned and
blackened by exposure, and so--in short, so very wild-looking when I
last saw you, that I began to fear for the result; but perfect rest and
retirement, and good nursing, have effected wonders. I have never seen
you so fair, so refined-looking, and yet so calm, as you are now
(calmness, my child, is aristocratic--cultivate it!); even if a little
thin and delicate from confinement, yet perfectly healthy, I cannot
doubt, from what I see. Do assure me of your health, my dear girl. You
are as dumb to-day as Grey's celebrated prophetess."

"All personal remarks as coming from you are offensive to me, Mr.
Bainrothe," I rejoined; "proceed to your business at once, whatever that
may be--a truce to preamble and compliments."

"You shall be obeyed," he remarked, bowing low and derisively. "Yet,
believe me, nothing but my care for your fair fame and my own have led
me to confine you in such narrow limits for a season which, I trust, is
almost over. As to my persecutions, which, I am told, you allege as a
reason for leaving your house and friends so precipitately, these are
out of the question henceforth forever, I assure you"--with a wave of
the velvet hand--"since I am privately married to a lady of rank and
fortune, who will soon be openly proclaimed 'my wife,' and who will be
found, on close acquaintance, worthy of your friendship."

While giving utterance to this tirade, Mr. Bainrothe was slowly
unwinding a string from around the roll of papers he had laid on the
table, and which he now proceeded to spread somewhat ostentatiously
before me, still mute and impassive to all his advances as I continued
to be.

"There are several," he said. "Your signature to each will be required,
which, now that you are in your right mind again, and of age, will be
binding, as you know. My witnesses shall be called in when the time
comes. Dr. Englehart and Mrs. Clayton will suffice as proofs of these
solemnities--these and others likely to occur."

"Solemnities! Levities, mockeries rather!" I could not help rejoining.

He felt the sarcasm. His florid cheek paled with anger, his
yellow-speckled eyes glowed with lurid fire, he compressed his lips
bitterly as he said:

"Marriage is usually considered a solemnity, Miss Monfort; and, let me
assure you, it is only as a married woman I can conscientiously release
you from confinement. You have shown yourself too erratic to be
intrusted in future with your own liberties."

"Possibly," I rejoined. "Yet I mean to have the selection, let me assure
you, in return, of the controller of my liberties--nay, have already
selected him, for aught you know!"

My cool audacity seemed for a moment to paralyze even his own. He paused
and surveyed me, as if in doubt of his own senses.

"_Impayable_!" I heard him murmur, softly, and, turning to the
book-shelves, he left me for a time to master the contents of the three
documents over which I was bending.

I read them in order as they were numbered, and became more and more
indignant as their meaning opened upon my brain, and culminated at last
in a sharp, sudden exclamation of utter disdain.

I started from my chair and approached him, paper in hand. I think for
a few moments the idea of personal danger possessed him, and the vision
of a concealed dirk or pistol swam before his eyes, which he shielded
with his hand, while he placed a chair between us; and, truth to say,
there was murder in my heart, and in my eyes as well, I suppose, even if
the mistrust went no further.

I could have obliterated him from the face of the earth at that moment
as remorselessly as if he had been a viper in my path striking to sting
me. Yet I advanced toward him with no demonstration or intentions of
this kind, having the habits of lady-like breeding and usual innocence
of weapons, and ignorance of the use thereof as well, to restrain me.

I forget. Close to my heart lay one of the sharp, shining chisels I had
taken from the glazier in the bath-room.

"What is it you object to, Miriam?" he asked, in faltering tones, as his
hand fell and his glimmering eyes encountered mine.

From that day I have believed the legend which tells that, when the
Roman, helpless in his dungeon, thundered forth, "Slave! darest thou
kill Caius Marius?" the armed minion of murder turned and fled, dropping
the knife he held, in his panic, at the feet of the man he came to slay.
Almost such effect was for a time observable in Basil Bainrothe.

It made me smile bitterly. "All, every thing," I answered. "The whole
requisition, from first to last, is base, dastardly--crime-confessing,
too--if seen with discriminating eyes. Why, if innocent of fraud toward
me and mine, should you ask a formal acknowledgment on my part as to
your just administration of my affairs, and a recantation of all I have
said to the contrary, both with regard to yourself and Evelyn Erle?
Such are the contents of this first paper, the only one that I could,
under any possible circumstances, be induced to sign as a compromise
with your villainy; for, not to gain my own life or liberty, will I ever
put hand to the others, infamous as they are on the very surface."

"Miriam, this violence surprises me, is wholly unlooked for, and
unnecessary," he remarked, mildly. "From what Mrs. Clayton has told me,
I had supposed that my disinterested care and assiduity with regard to
your condition were about to meet their reward in your rational
submission to the necessities of your case and mine. Resume your seat, I
entreat you, and let us calmly discuss a matter that seems to agitate
you so unduly. Perhaps I may be able to place it before you in a better
light ere we have concluded our interview. You will sit down again,
Miriam, will you not?"

"Oh, surely, if you are alarmed; but, really, I should suppose, with
Mrs. Clayton and Dr. Englehart no doubt in call, you need not be so
tremulous. There, you are quite safe, I assure you, in your old place,
with the table between us;" and I pointed derisively to _fauteuil_ he
had occupied so gracefully a few moments before, and into which he now
slowly subsided.

"Contemptuous girl," he broke forth at last, "you may yet live to regret
this behavior; so far, nothing has been denied you; no expense has been
spared for your comfort; in a tribunal of justice you could say this, no
more: 'My guardian, thinking me mad from his experiences of my conduct
and health, and regaining accidental possession of me at a time when,
under a feigned name, I was thought to be drowned, deemed it best,
before revealing my existence to the world, to try and restore me to
sanity by private measures, rather than bring upon my malady the eyes
of a mocking world. In doing this, he used all delicacy, all devotion,
surrounding me with comforts, and many luxuries, and even humoring my
insane whim to have the companionship of a year-old child found with me
on the raft under circumstances suspicious--if no more--'"

"Wretch!" I gasped, "dare only asperse me in thought, and"--the menace
hung suspended on my tongue. What power had I to execute it, even if
uttered?

"As to my name, I feigned none. It was my mother's, is my own, and from
her I inherited, or, from the race of which she sprang, the power to
remember and avenge my wrongs; to hate, and curse--and blast, perhaps,
as well--such as you and yours, granted to his chosen children through
the power of Almighty God!" And again I rose and confronted him; then
fiercely pointed down upon his ignoble head, now bowed involuntarily,
either from policy or nervous terror, I never knew, a finger quivering
and keen with scorn and rage, an index of the mind that directed it.

"I wonder you are not afraid to behave to me in this manner," he said,
at length, lifting his head with a spasmodic jerk, and raising to mine
his mottled, angry eyes, now cold and hard as pebbles, "seeing that you
are, so to speak, in the hollow of my hand;" and, suiting the action to
the word, he extended his long, spongy, right hand, and closed it
crushingly, as though it contained a worm, while he smiled and
sneered--oh, such a sneer! it seemed to fill the room.

"True, true--I am very helpless," I said, sitting down with a sudden
revulsion of feeling, and, clasping my hands above my eyes, I wept
aloud, adding, a moment later, as I indignantly wiped my tears: "Yes, if
the worst betide there will only be one more martyr; and, what is
martyrdom, that any need shrink from it? The world is fall of it!"

"Nothing, if you are used to it," he said, carelessly, "as the old woman
remarked of the eels she was skinning alive; I suppose you know all
about it by this time. But come, you are rational again, now, and I
don't wish to be hard on you, Miriam; I don't, upon my soul!"

"Your soul!" I murmured--"your soul!" I reiterated louder; and I smiled
at the idea that suggested itself--"have reptiles souls?"

"The memory of your father alone, my old, confiding friend, one of the
most perfect of men, as I always thought him, would incline me kindly to
his daughter, even if no other tie existed between us," he said calmly,
unmindful of my sarcasm. "But other ties do exist, mistaken girl! The
world looks upon us as one family--since the marriage of Claude and
Evelyn, that uncongenial union which, but for your caprice, would never
have taken place, and which is at the root of all our misfortunes, all
our fatal necessities."

"Necessities!" I muttered, between my clinched teeth, drumming with my
fingers impatiently on the table before me, and smiling scornfully a
moment later.

"You seem in a mood for iteration, to-day, Miss Monfort."

"I make my running commentaries in that way, Mr. Bainrothe. But a truce
to recrimination and reminiscence both. Let us adhere strictly to the
letter and verse of our affairs. These papers form the subject of your
visit, I believe. Know, at once, that the first I will sign, on certain
conditions, bitter and humiliating as I feel it to be obliged to do
this; but, that I will ever consent to yield the guardianship of my
sister wholly to Evelyn Erle and her husband, or divest myself of my
house and furniture, or my wild lands in Georgia, to you, here first
named to me, in consideration of expenses already incurred and to be
incurred for Mabel's education, and my own safe-keeping, during a long
attack of lunacy; or that I will, to crown the whole iniquitous
requisition, consent to give my hand in marriage to that scoundrel--Luke
Gregory!--are visions as vain as those of the child who tried to grasp a
comet or the moon--or, to descend in comparison, to catch a bird by
putting salt on its tail! There, you have my ultimatum; now go and make
the best of it!"

"I am prepared for your objections--prepared, too, to overcome them," he
said, coolly. "Take time to consider all this. I do not expect an answer
to-day, did not when I came, nor will I accept one signature without the
whole. There is no compromise possible. As to your marriage--it must be
accomplished before you leave this room. I, as a magistrate, can tie the
knot--fast enough to bind all the other agreements to certain
fulfillments, for Gregory is a friend of mine, and a man of honor, and
will see them carried out to the letter. He loves you, too, and proves
it, for he takes you penniless. Afterward a priest may complete the
ceremony if you have any scruples. Then, of course, it rests between you
and Gregory, whether you remain together or separate as wide as the
poles--I shall wash my hands of the whole affair thereafter, having
secured my good name and yours."

I stood with bowed head and moving lips before him--mutely,
indignantly.

"I shall, however, make all this," he continued, "appear as well as
possible to your friends and mine, especially, believe me, Miriam! I
shall state, for your sake, that, after being rescued from the raft, you
were partially insane, but still sufficiently mistress of yourself to
coincide with me and your sisters in the wish to let your death as Miss
Harz pass current with the world, until you should redeem your errors"
(what errors?), "and be restored to health and perfect reason. You will
see that your acknowledgment of the last paper includes these
extenuating facts, when you have leisure to re-read it (for I saw how
hastily you glanced over that one in particular); you must do me the
favor to peruse it much more carefully," drawing on his gloves coolly,
"before you make your final decision. You are very comfortable here, my
dear girl," glancing around benignly, "but you have no conception of the
frame of mind, bare walls, utter solitude, a tireless hearth and a
frugal table, would bring about in a very few days or weeks, or even in
one as resolute and defiant as yourself. I should be loath to try such
an experiment _or deprive you, of your child_--but _necessitas non habet
legem_, the school-book says. I think you, too, studied a little Latin,
Miriam?"

"Monster!"

"Not a very relevant or polite remark, I must confess. By-the-by,
Miriam, as you stand before me with your well-poised figure--your
blazing eyes--your quivering nostrils--your curling, compressed
lip--your heaving chest (always a splendid feature in your _physique_),
your folded arms, and the color coming and going in your pale-olive
cheek, in the old flame-like way I used to admire so much in your
girlhood--you are a splendid creature, by Jove! I could find it in my
heart to love you still--there, it is out at last--if it were not for
Mrs. Raymond--" glancing, as he spoke, in the direction of Mrs. Clayton,
with a knowing smile. "It was your magnificent disdain that kindled the
torch before. Beware how you revive that fanaticism of mine!"

I turned for one moment with an involuntary feeling of appeal to Mrs.
Clayton, but her cold, green eyes were quivering in accordance with the
smile that stretched her thin lips to a line of mocking mirth. One
glimpse of sympathy would have carried me to her arms for
refuge--distasteful as she was to me in every way save one. She, like
myself, was a woman. But such perversion of all natural feeling
estranged me from her irreconcilably and forever.

I was alone; shame, humiliation, despair, possessed me; indignation, for
the insult I was forced to bear in her presence, filled my soul--I stood
with my head cast down, tears raining on my bosom, my arms dropped
nervelessly beside me, my hands clinched, my whole frame trembling with
excitement.

Slowly and one by one came those convulsive sobs--that rend and wrench
the physical frame as earthquakes do the earth. Then rose the sudden
resolve--born of volcanic impulse, irresistible to mind as is the
lava-flood to matter, sweeping before it all obstructions of reason,
habit, expediency.

If it cost me my life I would avenge myself on this tiger, thirsting for
my blood; I would anticipate him in his work of destruction, and the
strength of Samson seemed to permeate my frame.

It was strange that at that moment of cold, impetuous energy I forgot
the steel I carried in my bosom, and thought only of the power I bore in
my own hands. I determined to strangle him with my strong, elastic
fingers, of which I knew full well the powerful grasp.

The consequences were as cobwebs in my estimate--compared to the ecstasy
of such revenge--for all this flashed through my brain with the swift
vividness of lightning, and in less than thirty seconds after his last
remark this matter was matured. The woman prevailed over the lady.

I raised my eyes slowly and dashed away my tears, preparatory to the
onset. He was looking at me wonder-struck, and, perhaps, with something
like compunction in his face as I met his gaze. He must have read an
expression that appalled him in those dilated eyes of mine that
confronted his, for, as I sprang toward him, he bounded backward and
escaped through the door of Mrs. Clayton's chamber, which he shot after
him with undignified alertness. I stood smiling, and strangely cold,
leaning against the mantel-shelf, while my heart beat as though, it
would have leaped from my throat, and I could feel the pallor of my face
as chill as marble.

Mrs. Clayton approached me, but I put her away with waving hands, "Go,
wretch!" I said, "woman no more, you have unsexed yourself. Leave me in
peace--your touch is poisonous."

She shrank away silently, and I stood for a while like one frozen; then
cast myself down on a chair and gave way to bitter weeping. The
flood-gates were open, and the "waters" had indeed "come in over my
soul." I had restrained my passionate inclinations until now, not only
from a sense of personal dignity, but from a determination not to play
into the hands of my enemies and captors, and all the more from such
long self-control was the revulsion potent and overwhelming.

The consciousness that Ernie was at my knee at last aroused me from the
indulgence of my grief, and I looked down to meet his corn passionate
and inquiring eyes fixed upon me with a masterful expression I have
never seen in any other childish face. It thrilled me to the heart.

"What Mirry cry for--is God mad with Mirry?" he asked at length.

"It seems so, Ernie--yet oh, no, no! I cannot, will not believe in such
injustice on the part of the Most High!" I pursued in sad soliloquy,
with folded hands, and shaking head, and musing eyes fixed on the fire
before me: "My God will not forsake me!"

"Did the bad man hurt Mirry?" he asked, leaning with both arms on my lap
and putting up his hand to touch my face.

"Yes, very cruelly, Ernie."

"Big giant will come and kill him, and fayways put him in the river, and
the old wolf wat eat Red Riding Hood eat him, and then the devil will
roast him for his dinner."

I could but smile, albeit through my tears, at the climax of these
threats which seemed to delight and stir the inmost soul of Ernie. His
eyes flashed, his cheek crimsoned, his wide red mouth curled with
disdainful ire, disclosing the small, pointed pearls within; he seemed
transfigured.

"And Ernie! what will Ernie do for Mirry?" I asked, as I watched the
workings of his expressive face. "Will Ernie let the wicked man kill
Mirry?"

He looked at his small hands and arms, then extended them wistfully.

"Ernie will tell good Jesus," he said, "and he will make Ernie grow
big--ever so big--to tie the man and put him in a bag like Clayton's
cat."

The burlesque was irresistible, and none the less so that the child was
so direfully in earnest. To his infant imagination no worse disaster
than had befallen Clayton's cat could be devised. This animal, adored by
him, had been bagged and exiled, perhaps drowned for aught I know, for
stealing cheese from the cupboard sacred to Clayton, by that vengeful
potentate, to the despair of Ernie. The idolized kittens, too, which had
followed her, had disappeared with their mother, and days of infant
melancholy ensued, during which the canaries before referred to were
brought as substitutes. The faithful heart still clung to its feline
passion, it was evident, though for weeks the memory of that hapless cat
had been ignored and its name unmentioned.

I believe, after my momentary wrath was over, I should have been content
with the punishment suggested by the child, as sufficient even for Basil
Bainrothe.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 5: The raft on which Miss Lamarque and her family had found
refuge had been swept by the tempest of nearly every soul that clung to
it, after a terrible night of storm and rain, during which that
courageous lady--that Sybarite of society--sustained the fainting souls
of her companions by singing the grand anthems of her Church, in a voice
loud, clear, and sweet as that of a dying swan. One child was saved of
the nine little ones, and the brother and sister remained almost alone
on the raft. Let it be here mentioned that, at no period of her
subsequent life, a long and apparently prosperous one, could Miss
Lamarque bear to hear the circumstances of the wreck alluded to. Mr.
Dunmore and his companions found a watery grave.]




CHAPTER IX.


A nervous headache, that confined me to my bed for several days,
succeeded the degrading and exciting scene through which I had passed,
and, as Mrs. Clayton had at the same time one of her prostrating
neuralgic attacks, the services of Dinah were in active requisition.
During my own peculiar phase of suffering, the small racket of Ernie,
unnoticed in hours of health, grated painfully on my ear, and I caught
eagerly at the proposition of the negress to take him down-stairs for a
walk and hours of play in the sunshine, privileges he did not very often
obtain in these latter days.

I was much the better for having lain silently for a time, when he
returned with his hands filled with flowers, his lips smelling of
peppermint-drops, and his eyes, always his finest feature, dancing with
delight.

He had seen Ady, he told me, with eagerness, and she had kissed him, and
tied a string of beads about his neck--red ones--which he displayed; and
"Ady had a comb in her head, and her toof was broke"--touching one of
his own front teeth lightly, so that I knew he was not pointing out any
deficiency in the afore-mentioned comb. From this description, vague as
it was, I identified Ada Greene as the person intended to be described;
for I too had observed the imperfection he made a point of--a broken
tooth, impairing the beauty of otherwise faultless ones.

"And who gave you the flowers, Ernie?" I asked, receiving them from his
generous hands as I spoke, and raising the white roses to my nostrils to
inhale their delicate breath, "Did Ady give you these?"

"No--Angy!" he answered, solemnly.

"Tell me about Angy, Ernie--had she wings?"

"No wings! Poor Angy could not fly. She was walking in the garden with
Adam and Eve, with their clothes on," he said, earnestly.

"Mr. and Mrs. Claude Bainrothe, no doubt," I thought, smiling at the
strange mixture of the real and the ideal--the plates of the old Bible
evidently supplied the latter, from which many of his impressions were
derived--and the practical pair in question the former, quietly
perambulating together.

But "Angy!" Could I doubt for one moment to whom he applied that
celestial title? The face of one of the angels in the transfiguration
did, indeed, resemble Mabel's. I had often remarked and pondered over
it.

"Tell me about Angy, Ernie," I entreated. "O Heaven! to think her hands
have touched these flowers--her sweet face bent above him! Darling,
darling! to be divided and yet so near! It breaks my heart!" and tears
flowed freely while he tried to describe the vision that had so
impressed him, in his earnest way.

"Poor Angy got no wings," he began again; "bu hair, and bu eyes, and bu
dress"--every thing he admired was blue--"and she kissed Ernie and gave
him peppermint-drops. Then Adam and Eve laughed just so"--grinning
wonderfully--"and said, 'Go home, bad, ugly child, with a back on!' Then
Angy pulled flowers and gave Ernie!"

"It is only the little gal next door--I means de young lady ob de
'stabishment, wut de poor, foolish, humped-shouldered baby talking
about," Dinah explained. "He calls her 'Angy,' I s'pose, 'cause she's so
purty like; and you tells him 'bout dem hebbenly kine of people, so de
say, mos' ebbery night. Does you think dar is such tings, sure enough,
Mirry?"

"Certainly, Dinah--the Bible tells us so; but what is the name of the
pretty little girl of whom you speak? Tell me, if you know"--and I laid
my hand upon her arm and whispered this inquiry, waiting impatiently for
a confirmation of my almost certainty. For, that my darling _was_
Ernie's Angy, I could not doubt, and the thought moved me to tremulous
emotion.

"Dar, now! you is going to hab one ob dem bad turns agin--I sees it in
your eyes. You see," dropping her voice for a moment, "I darsn't dar to
speak out plain and 'bove-board heah, as if I was at home in Georgy!
Ehbery ting is wat dey calls a 'mist'ry hereabouts; an' I has bin
notified not to tell ob no secret doins ob deirn to any airthly creeter,
onless I wants to be smacked into jail an' guv up to my wrong owners. My
own folks went down on de 'Scewsko;' an' I means to wait till I see how
dat 'state's gwine to be settled up afore I pursents myself as 'mong de
live ones. We is all published as dead, you sees, honey, an' it would be
no lie to preach our funeral, or eben put up our foot-board. He--he--he!
I wonder wat my ole man 'll say ef he ebber sees me comin' back agin wid
a bag full ob money? I guess it 'll skeer de ole creeter out ob a year's
growfe; but dis is de trufe! Ef Miss Polly Allen gits de 'state (she was
my mistis's born full-sifter, an' a mity fine ole maid, I tells you,
chile!), wy, den Sabra 'll he found to be no ghose; fur it's easier to
lib wid good wite folks Souf dan Norf. We hab our own housen dar, an'
pigs, an' poultry, an' taturs, an' a heap besides, an' time to come an'
go, an' doctors won we's sick, an' our own preachin', an' de banjo an'
bones to dance by, an' de best ob funeral 'casions an' weddin's bofe,
an' no cole wedder, an' nuffin to do but set by de light wood-fiah, an'
smoke a pipe wen we gits past work; an' we chooses our own time to lay
by--some sooner, some later, 'cordin' as de jints holes out. But here it
is work--work--work--all de time; good pay, but no holiday, no yams, no
possum-meat, an' mity mean colored siety!"

"But what has all this to do with the name of the little girl next door?
Whisper that, and tell me the rest afterward."

"But, if Master Jack Dillard gits de 'state," she proceeded, as though
she had not heard my eager question, "wy, den Sabra Smif am as dead as a
door-nail from dis time to de day ob judgment, an' de ole man 'll have
to git anoder 'fectionate companion, I'se mity sorry for de poor ole
soul, but I a'n't gwine to put myself in Jack Dillard's claws, not ef I
knows myself. He's one ob dem young wite sort wat lubs de card-table,
an' don't 'scriminate atween ole an' young folks. You see, he's my
masta's nevy--for de ole folks had no chillun but Miss May Jane, an'
she's bin dead dis fifteen yeer; and bofe her chilluns dun follered her
to de grabe, so dere is only Miss Polly Ann lef, and--"

Here Mrs. Clayton groaned audibly, and, calling Dinah to her aid, broke
up the _tete-a-tete_, if such might justly have been called our
interview. It was not very long, however, before Dinah returned to my
bedside, by Mrs. Clayton's directions, to offer to comb out my hair,
which was tangled beyond my skill to thread in my prostrate condition.
Yet, to make an effort so far as to rise and have this done, I knew
would be of benefit to me.

We were sitting by the toilet, while the process of untangling my
massive length of locks was going on, and the upper drawer thereof was
half open, thus affording me a glimpse of its contents. Among these was
my silent watch with its chain of gold, its pencil and seal attached. I
wore it usually (though useless now in its silent condition--the
mainspring was broken) from habit and for safe keeping, but had laid it
there when I staggered to my bed, ill and weak after my terrible
interview with Mr. Bainrothe.

It caught the eye of Dinah and stirred her master-passion, avarice, and
she began to question me, I soon saw, with a view of getting it in her
own possession. The selfishness of the old negress had struck me on the
raft as something rare even in one of her shallow race, and my
conviction of her cowardice and coldness prevented me from taking
advantage of her cupidity, as I might have done otherwise.

She was fully capable, I felt convinced, of accepting my watch as a
bribe, and failing afterward to come up to her bargain. Yet, dear as it
was to me from association of ideas, I should not have weighed it an
instant against the merest probability of escape. I knew if I could gain
an hour upon my pursuers, I should be safe in the house of Dr.
Pemberton, or even in that of Dr. Craig, another friend of my father's.
I was comparatively at home anywhere in the city of my nativity,
acquainted as I was with its streets and people, and I fully determined,
when I found Sabra's avarice excited, to offer her as a reward this
golden treasure, should she first place me in circumstances to gain my
freedom.

"Dey calls you pore, honey," she said softly, "but wen I sees dat bright
gole watch and chain I knows better. Now I reckon dey would bring enough
bright silver dollars at a juglar's shop ty buy my ole man twice over
agin! He is but porely, and our chilluns is all dead and gone, anyway,
all but one, way down in New Orleans, an' ef I could git his free papers
he might come here and jine his wife in freedom, even if Massa Jack
Dillard did heir masta's estate. How much would dat watch and chain be
worth, honey?"

"Two or three hundred dollars, I suppose, I don't know exactly; but
certainly enough to buy your old man at Southerners' value set upon aged
negroes; but whether it be or not--"

An apparition, of which I fortunately caught the reflection in the glass
before me, cut short the promise that hovered on my lips. It was that of
Mrs. Clayton, in her bed-gown and swathed in flannel, peering, peeping,
listening at the door of her chamber, as unlovely a vision, certainly,
as ever broke up an _entretien_ or dissolved a delusion.

I maintained my self-possession, though my agitation was extreme (the
crisis had seemed so favorable!), while she limped forward and accosted
me civilly, with a demand as peremptory as a highwayman's for my watch
and chain, of which I took no notice.

"I should be doing you great injustice in your condition," she added,
coolly, "to let you sell your watch, even to benefit Dinah and her old
man, benevolent as is your motive; so I must take possession of it, or
send for Dr. Englehart to do so, whichever you prefer."

"The watch is there," I said, rising haughtily, with my still unadjusted
hair falling about me. "It was my father's and is precious to me far
beyond its intrinsic value; and I shall hold you accountable for it some
day. Take it at once, though, rather than recall the person before me
with whose presence you menace me. Keep it yourself, however; I would
rather deal with you than the others, false as you have shown yourself
to every promise."

"I wish you would be reasonable," she said, "and do what your friends
ask of you. This confinement is wearing us both out; it will be the
death of me, and you will be to blame."

"The sooner the better," I rejoined, heartlessly.

"Ah, Miss Monfort, you have no better friend than I am, perhaps, but you
are ungrateful."

"I hope not; but some things of late have shaken, I confess, what little
faith I had in you; this confiscation of my property is one of them."

"You know why this is done; I need not explain, but I shall trust you
fearlessly in Dinah's society in future. I believe you have no other
treasure to bribe her with," and, smiling in her sardonic way, she
turned and limped to her bedroom, which it had cost her so great an
effort to leave. Her groans and moans during the remainder of the
evening were piteous, and Dinah could do nothing to comfort her. A
sudden determination possessed me. My own system recuperated rapidly,
and after a nervous headache I was always conscious of renewed vital
power and of keener sensations. I would try the experiment once
more--hazarded under circumstances so different that it made me
tremulous but to think of the vast abyss between my _now_ and then--and
essay to magnetize Mrs. Clayton.

She could not sleep naturally, and she feared evidently to avail herself
of opiates, lest in her heavy slumber, perhaps, I should escape. In her
normal condition this seemed impossible, for she slept habitually as
lightly as a cat, or bird upon its perch, yet lying, and with her key
beneath her head (never dreaming of other outlet) she felt at ease. I
had already learned that since her illness there were additional
precautions taken to insure my safety, and, as she had alleged, her own
fidelity.

The Dragon was watched in turn by a Cerberus--no other than the
long-trusted colored coachman of Basil Bainrothe, of whom mention has
been made far back in these pages.

Thus secure and secured, Mrs. Clayton might have surrendered herself to
slumber with all serenity, one would suppose, had it not absolutely
refused to visit her eyelids, and the suggestion of an opiate, on my
part, was received for some reason in dumb derision.

I went to her at last, and said: "Mrs. Clayton, I hear you groaning
grievously, and I fancy I could relieve you. The laying on of hands is a
sort of gift of mine; let me try by such means to ease your pain."

"Thank you, Miss Monfort," very dryly, "you are very kind, indeed, but I
don't think you can relieve me. I have excruciating neuralgia in my
eyebones and temples, and my hands are cramped again. Dinah has been,
rubbing, without bettering them, for the last half hour."

"Let me try," and, without farther parley, I sat down to my
self-appointed, loathed, and detested task, first quietly dismissing
Dinah to the next room, where Ernie was eating his supper, and I knew
would soon be wanting to be put to bed. We changed places for a time,
and it was not long before Mrs. Clayton pronounced the pain, in her eyes
"almost gone." The experiment was a desperate one, and I bore to it all
the powers of my organization--mental and physical--and had the
satisfaction in less than an hour to see her sleeping profoundly. She
had been failing fast under her painful vigils, and I knew that a few
hours of refreshing sleep would be worth to her more than all the drugs
in the Pharmacopoeia. Now came the test which was to make this slumber
worth nothing or every thing to me. If she could be awakened from it
without my coincidence, it would prove, perhaps, only a snare to my
feet, but if her waking depended on my will, then might I indeed hope to
baffle my Dragon, and, as far as she was concerned, make sure of my
escape. I willed then earnestly that she should sleep until twelve
o'clock; and at ten, when Dinah became impatient to retire, I gave her
permission, in order to gain egress to try and arouse Mrs. Clayton.

In consequence of this immurement of our servant, I had remained
supperless--beyond the crusts of bread left by Ernie and some cold tea
in Mrs. Clayton's teapot, of which I partook with an appetite born of
exhaustion. Those who have undertaken this "laying on of hands," for the
purpose of soothing pain, will comprehend what the succeeding sensation
of nerveless prostration is--those only--and give me their sympathy.

From her errand to arouse our sleeper in quest of the key, of course
Dinah returned disconsolate. Greatly to my satisfaction, she stated that
it was "out ob de question to try to git her eyes open. Why honey," she
pursued, "ef I didn't know what a steady-goin' Christian creetur she
was, I mout suppose she had bin 'bibin' of whisky or peach-brandy--dat's
de sleepiest stuff goin', chile; but I does believe she has the fallin'
fits, caze, even wen I pulled open one corner of her eyes, dey was
rolled clean back in her head. Mebbe she's dyin', chile, an' ef she
is--but no!" she muttered, "dat ole creetur down-stairs nebber leaves
dem back-doors opun one minute, you had better believe, even ef he
happens to turn his back a spell, an' it would be no use tryin' to git
out ob de 'stablishment dat way, but I knows whar she keeps her key, an'
I kin go to bed myself if you say so, an' you kin lock de do' inside,
an' lay de key back undernefe her pillow: you see dar's a bolt outside,
too, honey, an' I means to draw dat after me, as ole Caleb always does
ob nights wen he goes to bed."

Chuckling low at the manifest disappointment in my face, she
disappeared, to return almost instantly.

"I thought she must be possumin'," she said, "but I know she is as fas'
asleep now as de bar' in de hollow ob a tree in cole wedder, for she
made no 'sistance like wen I grabbed de key from undernefe her head, an'
here it is, chile, an' ef you wants to try your 'speriment you kin, but
I spec you'd better wait a spell," and she looked cunningly at me;
"dere's traps everywhar in dese woods!"

It occurred to me as well that Mrs. Clayton might be feigning slumber,
having penetrated my design of lulling and soothing her fitful spirit to
rest; and feeling, as I did, an utter want of confidence in Sabra, not
only as free agent but as watched attendant, I determined as far as in
me lay to disarm suspicion by duplicity. So I lifted up my voice in
testimony of deceit, and declared my weariness of bondage to be such
that I had determined to embrace Mr. Bainrothe's conditions, and that in
a few days I should be free again without assistance.

"So take the key, Dinah," I said, after observing it closely, and
perceiving that it was several sizes larger than that I had made, as
clumsy as that was, and, therefore, could be of no use to me. "Let
yourself out, and bolt the door behind you, and Mrs. Clayton shall see
that I will take no mean advantage of her slumbers."

This arrangement having been carried with speedy effect, I returned to
my own chamber after a close scrutiny of Mrs. Clayton's condition, and
employed myself at, once in running my penknife around the door
concealed by my bed-head, and thus loosening the paper, pasted on cotton
cloth, that covered it, from that of the wall, with which it was
connected so intimately as to make the whole surface within the chamber
seem to form one partition.

Long before this I had cut that which surrounded the lock, so that it
lay like a flap over it, fastened down lightly, however, with gum-arabic
(part of Ernie's draught for a catarrh), so as to baffle slight
inspection. My heart beat wildly as, after having effected this
preliminary step, I cautiously unlocked the door, which, for aught I
knew, might be, like that of Mrs. Clayton's closet, bolted without, so
as to frustrate all my efforts. It opened outwardly, and could have been
readily so secured.

In the great providence of God, it was not bolted. I sank on my knees,
weak and prayerful, I remember, as the door swung slightly back,
revealing the platform beyond, and the short stair that led from it up
to the second story. The hinges creaked a little, and these I hastened
to oil; then closing and relocking the door softly, I crept (without
pushing my bedstead back again the few inches I had wheeled it forward)
to look once more upon the sleeping face of Mrs. Clayton.

It was still calm and unconscious. Ernie, too, slumbered peacefully.
Every thing seemed propitious to my purpose. I threw on hastily the
famous, flimsy black silk and mantle that had been prepared for me on
shipboard, tied a dark veil over my head, and, with no other
precaution, went forth, as I hoped, to freedom.

My heart seemed to suspend its action as, cautiously unlocking and
opening the door, I stepped forth on the platform. It will be remembered
that I knew the topography of the lower part of the house of old
thoroughly.

I had been entertained there with my father more than once, when, as
heiress of my mother's great estate, I had commanded the reverence of my
hosts, and the situation of parlors, study, and dining-room, was
perfectly familiar to me.

It was what in those days was called a single house, though a
spacious-enough mansion; that is, all the rooms, with one exception,
were placed either on the same side of the wide hall of entrance, or
behind it in the ell. The study alone formed a small lateral projection
on the other hand. The door of this apartment opened at the foot of that
stair, on the tipper platform of which I now stood trembling, weighing
my fate by a hair. I had left the door ajar through which I had crept
quietly, so that, in case of failure, I might have a chance of retreat
before discovery should be made. It was well, perhaps, that I did so on
this occasion, for otherwise I should scarcely have had nerve enough to
avoid the sure and speedy detection which must have followed the
slightest delay or noise made in returning.

I lingered to reconnoitre some minutes on the platform before I ventured
to commence the wary descent of the broad, carpeted stairway. I had
convinced myself that the second story was empty, though a lighted lamp
swung in the upper entry, as well as in that below, throwing a flood of
radiance on the scene with which I would fain have dispensed.

I heard the sound of voices from the closed parlors, and saw reposing on
the rack before me several hats and canes, indicative of visitors. From
the study, however, there fortunately came no murmur, and I found that
it was dark. The front-door stood invitingly open; I could see the
opposite lamp-post without, and I had made up my mind to dart on and
downward, and reach at a bound the pavement, when the door of the first
parlor was suddenly thrown back, and left so, by a servant coming out
with a tray of wines and fruits which he had been evidently handing, and
I had just time to shrink into shadow, favored in my wish for
concealment by the black dress and veil I wore, when a once familiar
form appeared in the door-way of the front hall, which I recognized at a
glance as that of Gregory. Closing the door firmly after him, he
prepared to divest himself of hat and cape in the hall, without a look
in my direction. After the completion of which process he entered the
parlor by the nearest door, setting that also wide open as he did so,
with some exclamation about the heat of the apartment, which seemed to
meet with acquiescence from the powers within.

I caught a panoramic view of that interior before I fled swiftly,
noiselessly, hopelessly, back to my cage again, having lost my only
chance of escape by that fatal delay of five minutes on the platform. I
should have been out and away on the wings of the wind ere Gregory
entered the inclosure before the house, had I not hesitated. Yet, after
all, perhaps, I miscalculated. What if I had met him face to face--been
seized and dragged back again to captivity! Perchance it was better as
it was. Time would develop and determine this; but, in the interval, how
woeful was my disappointment!

I had time to get to bed again, and in some degree recover my
composure; indeed, I had been in bed an hour when the clock in the
dining-room beneath me, which, since the evident occupancy of that
long-deserted hall, had been wound and put in running order, struck
twelve, with its deep-mouthed, melodramatic tones, and at the very
moment I heard sounds indicative of the resurrection of the mesmeric
sleeper.

She was evidently startled in some way on finding herself awake again,
or perhaps from having fallen so soundly asleep in hands like mine, for
she called aloud first for "Dinah," then, repeatedly, on "Miriam," both
without effect. In a few moments after these appeals had died away she
came in person, as I knew she would, to reconnoitre.

The bedstead had been pushed carefully and noiselessly back again on its
grooved castors against the door, from the lock of which the wooden key
had been removed, rewashed in oil, and hidden away in that hollow
aperture in the bedstead, which formed a perfect box, by the skillful
readjustment of one loosened compartment of the veneering of the massive
post.

She shook me slightly, and I rose in my bed with a start and shudder,
admirably simulated, I fancied, and which completely deceived her
evidently. "I am sorry to have startled you so," she said, hurriedly,
"but where is Dinah, Miss Monfort, and how did she get out?"

"I really cannot inform you where she is," I answered, petulantly. "I
scarcely think it was worth while to disturb me for the sake of asking
me a question you must have known, my inability to answer."

"But how did she get out, Miss Harz?"

"By means of the key under your head, which you will find in the lock,
no doubt, where it was left. She promised me, insolently enough, to
bolt the door outside to prevent egress, and I, to prevent ingress,
locked it within."

"So she assured you we were both prisoners by night, did she? Well, I am
glad you have proof at last of what I told you."

"I have no proof; but, as I have made up my mind to come to terms of
some kind very soon, I thought it useless to investigate. Do you feel
better for my laying on of hands? You seem refreshed."

"Yes, greatly better; a good sleep was what I needed, and I fell into a
doze while you were beside the bed, I believe. I have heard of magnetism
before as a means of relief for pain; now I am convinced of its
efficacy."

"Magnetism! You don't think it amounts to that, do you? You flatter me;"
and I laughed.

"I do, indeed, and I am sure I am much obliged to you, Miss Monfort;
though, for that matter, you can never say, even when you come to your
own again--which you will now do shortly--that I have not been
considerate and attentive to you while in confinement."

"You need not be afraid of any complaint as far as you are concerned. I
think I comprehend you and your motives by this time. Let there be peace
between us from this hour." And I extended my hand to her, which, very
unexpectedly to me, she seized and kissed--a proceeding deprecated
loathingly. "I assure you," I added, laughingly, "I would rather even
marry Englehart than continue here."

"Then you will marry Mr. Gregory?"

"I do not know--either that or die, I suppose--whichever God pleases. I
am weary of being a prisoner--weary of you, of every thing about me. All
that I cared for is lost to me, and I might as well surrender, I
suppose; not at discretion, however!"

She turned from me silently, and sought her couch again; but I felt
instinctively that she slept no more; and so we lay, silently watching
one another, until morning. I dared not renew my efforts to escape, at
all events, in the night-time, when I knew the house was locked, and
watched without, as well as within--for this was the old habit of the
square.

One--two--three--four o'clock came, and passed, and were reported by the
deep-tongued clock in the room beneath me, before I slept, and then I
dreamed a vision so vivid, that I wakened from it excited--exhausted--as
though its frightful figments had been stern realities.

I thought that the noble dog Ossian came to me again and laid the
double-footed key upon my lap, as he had done at Beauseincourt--staining
my white dress with blood, not mud, this time, and that Colonel La Vigne
struck it furiously to the floor, and handed me instead the wooden one I
had carved, with the words of the proverb:

"The opportunity lost is like the arrow sped: it comes no more. Your
wooden key will fail you next time, as it has failed you this, and you
will be baffled--baffled--as you tried to baffle me! Miriam, unseen I
pursue you!"

Then he laughed horribly, and faded in the gray dawn, to which I awoke,
covered with cold dew, and trembling in every limb. Had he been there,
indeed, in spiritual presence? Was it his hand that had left that hand
about my brow--that surging in my brain--that weight upon my heart? O
God! had I indeed become the sport of fiends? At last I wept, and in my
tears found sullen comfort. The image so often caviled at as false in
_Hamlet_ came to me then as the readiest interpretation of what I
suffered, and thus proved its own fidelity and truth. "A sea of sorrow"
did indeed seem to roll above me, against which I felt the vanity of
"taking arms."

My destruction was decreed, and I had nothing to do but suffer and
submit!

All the persecution I had sustained since my father's death, at the
hands of Evelyn and Basil Bainrothe--all my wrongs, beginning at the
heart-betrayal of Claude, and ending with the immurement I was suffering
now at the hands of his father--all my strange life at Beauseincourt,
with its episode of horror, its one reality of perfect happiness too
fair to last, its singular revelations, its warm and deep attachments,
my fearful and nightmare-like experience on the burning ship, the level
raft, with the green waves curling above it, the rescue, the snare into
which I had inevitably fallen, the Inquisition-walls closing around
me--all were there in one vivid and overwhelming mental summary!

I think if ever madness came near me in my life, it came that night, so
crushing, so terrific was this weight which, Sysiphus like, memory was
rolling to the summit of the present moment, to fall back again by the
power of its own weight to the valley below--the valley of despair--and
destroy all that it encountered or found beneath it. Yet, by the time
the sun was up, my eyes were sealed again in slumber.

Before I close this chapter, it will be as well to describe the tableau
I had caught sight of through the open parlor door when I tempted my
fate and failed.

Standing close in the shadow, so that, even if directed toward me
unconsciously, the glance of those within, I knew, could not penetrate
the mystery of my presence, I scanned with a sad derision the scene
before me. With a glance I received the impression that it required
moments to convey in narrative.

On the hearth-rug, with his back to the fire, his legs apart, his
coat-skirts parted behind him, stood Basil Bainrothe, monarch of all he
surveyed, with extended hand, evidently demonstrating some axiom to the
two visitors ensconced on the sofa near him, who, with the exception of
their booted feet, and the straps of their pantaloons, were beyond my
angle of vision. On the opposite side of the chimney from these
inscrutable guests sat two ladies, elaborately dressed and rouged, in
whom I recognized at a glance Evelyn Erie and Mrs. Raymond. Just before
I vanished, Claude Bainrothe, courteous in manner and elegant in
exterior, approached them from the other parlor, in time to witness the
_entree_ of Gregory, to which I have referred, and to salute him
cordially. That these were all confederated I could not doubt, and
prepared to aid each other. How could I know that one pair of those
evident feet belonged to the invisible body of a man who was one of the
few whom I could have called to my defense from the ends of the earth,
had choice of champions been afforded me? It was not until long
afterward that I ascertained beyond a doubt that Major Favraud had
formed one of that company on the occasion of my fatal failure. Had I
dreamed of his presence, I should fearlessly have entered the parlor,
and thrown myself on his brotherly protection, secure of his best
efforts to rescue me, even though his own heart's blood had been the
sacrifice.

Alas! should I ever find another dart like that, never to be recalled,
to launch in the right direction, and fix quivering in the eye of the
target?--God alone could know.




CHAPTER X.


After the one hopeful excitement of my prison-life, my spirit drooped
deplorably for a season, and all occupation became distasteful to me. My
diary even was abandoned, the writing of which had so well assisted to
fill my time, and, although destroyed daily, to impress upon my memory a
faithful and sequent record of the monotonous hours, else remembered
merely as a homogeneous whole. Had it not been for poor Ernie and his
requirements, I should have sunk under this fresh phase of suffering, I
am convinced. My health, too, was giving way. My strength, my energy
were falling. I kept my bed, as I had never been willing to do before if
able to arise from it, until noon sometimes, for want of nervous
impulse, and my food was tasteless and innutritious, even when I forced
myself to eat a portion of what was placed regularly before me. It
seemed to me that, long ere this, Wardour Wentworth must have
ascertained my fate, and the thought that he might be passive when my
very soul was at stake, thrilled me with agony unspeakable.

This mood endured so long that even Mrs. Clayton grew alarmed. She
insisted on Dr. Englehart again, and, when I shook my head drearily for
all reply, begged that I would permit her to state my case to Mrs.
Raymond, who might in turn see some able physician about me and procure
remedies.

To this, at last, I consented.

The consequence was what I had hoped it might be: Mrs. Raymond came in
person, and I had at last the opportunity I had long desired of seeing
her alone. If thoughtless, if unrefined according to my views of good
breeding, she was still young, and vivacious, and perhaps kind-hearted;
besides this, sufficiently well pleased with herself to be generous to
one who could no longer be her rival.

Her approach was heralded by a note from Mr. Bainrothe, full of his
characteristic, guileful sophistry and cool impertinence. It ran as
follows (I still possess this billet with others of his inditing--along
with a snake's rattle):

    "Miriam: I am glad to hear through Mrs. Clayton that reaction
    has occurred, and that you manifest repentance for your recent
    violence toward one who always means you well. A little jesting
    on the part of your guardian, my dear girl, should meet with a
    very different reception, and handsome women must submit to
    compliments with a good grace, or run the risk of being called
    prudes or viragos. Not that I mean to apply either term to you
    by any means. Your father's daughter could not be other than a
    lady, even if she tried, but I must confess your manners have
    deteriorated somewhat since you went into voluntary banishment
    among those outlandish people. I have heard no very good account
    of this old La Vigne who died in debt, it seems, and left his
    children beggars. I have some curiosity to know whether he paid
    your salary. 'Straws show,' you know, etc.

    "It is now October; by the end of this month I hope you will
    have made up that stubborn mind of yours (truly indomitable, as
    I often say to Evelyn) to leave seclusion, and enter your family
    once more in the only way you can do so respectably after what
    has occurred--as a married woman.

    "You remember the French song which I was always fond of
    humming, 'Ou est on si bien qu'au sein de sa famille?' How
    appropriate it seems to your condition!

    "You will be surprised to hear that your step-mother's brother
    has appeared on the tapis, and that he has had the audacity to
    propose to adopt Mabel, whom he claims as his niece.

    "He seems a gentlemanly person enough, but may be an impostor
    for aught I know. The young lady he was engaged to, Gregory
    tells me, perished in the Kosciusko, which proves a relief,
    after all, as it is rumored he has a wife in Europe. But such
    gossip can hardly interest you very vividly. The man has gone to
    California, and will probably return no more.

    "Did you, or did you not, meet this person at Colonel La
    Vigne's? Favraud hinted something of the kind when he was here;
    but I can get no satisfaction from Gregory.

    "They all believe you were drowned in Georgia, and I thought it
    best for the present not to undeceive Favraud, who laments your
    fate.

    "The surprise will be all the more pleasant; and, of course,
    every thing will be explained to the satisfaction of friends
    when you appear publicly as the wife of Luke Gregory--'long
    secretly married!' You see, it will be necessary to go back a
    little to save appearances, on account of Ernie!"

    The miscreant! I understood him now--oh, my God, for strength to
    tear his cowardly heart from his truculent body! But no; let
    there be no further unavailing anger. In God's good time all
    should recoil on his own head. For the present, I must bear, and
    make myself insensible; if possible; and yet, I would not
    willingly have had the living greenness of my spirit turned to
    stone, as we are told branches are in some strange, foreign
    rivers--crystal-cold!

    Another extract, the closing one, and then forever away with
    Basil Bainrothe and his flimsy letters:

    "Again, I must congratulate you on the subdued and humbled
    temper you manifest. Claude, and Evelyn, and I, had just been
    discussing a plan for removing you to another asylum, where
    stricter discipline and less luxurious externals are employed to
    conquer the otherwise unmanageable inmates. Dr. Englehart, you
    know, holds up the theory of indulgence to his patients, and I
    am rejoiced to find his measures have at last prevailed over
    your frenzy. Mabel, like your other friends, believes you dead,
    and is at home with Evelyn and Claude, and is growing in beauty
    and intelligence every day.

    "She was quite shocked at her uncle's wild behavior, and
    positively refused to go with him, is fond of Mr. Gregory, and
    remembers you with affection.

    "Owing to my knowledge of your condition for the last year, my
    dear child, I don't blame you for any thing that is past, not
    even for those delusions with regard to my own acts and
    intentions which formed your mania, nor for the misfortune and
    sense of shame which, no doubt, caused your hasty flight, and
    whose evidences you brought with you from the raft, in the shape
    of a nearly year-old child.

    "I remain, faithfully yours,

    "B.B."

The shameful accusations which brought the blood to my brow ought to
have been easier to bear than all the rest, because so easily confuted,
and because I knew not really believed; but they were not. The very idea
of shame humiliated me more than positive ill-treatment could have done;
and, spotless though I knew myself to be (as others knew me too--all I
loved and cared for), still my purity was shocked by such injustice.

I felt like one who had gone out to walk in fresh attire, and been
mud-pelted by rude urchins, so that the outward robes, at least, were
soiled, and a sense of degradation and uncleanness became the
consequence in spite of reason. But, after all, the dress could be
easily changed when opportunity should occur, and all be made clean
again, and the mud-pelting forgotten or overlooked, and the urchins
punished or dismissed in scorn.

Surely, God would not much longer permit this fiend to subjugate me. Had
I not suffered sufficiently? Alas! who but our Creator can judge of our
deserts, or measure our power to bear?

In my adversity and lonely trouble I had drawn near to Him and his
blessed Son--our Mediator, and example, and only strength. Dear as was
still the memory of that earthly love, the only real passion I had ever
known, could ever know, it came no longer to my spirit as a substitute
for religion. I had learned to separate my worship of God from my fealty
to man, yet was this last not weakened, but strengthened, by such
discrimination.

If only for the gift of grace it brought to we, let me bless my sad
captivity!




CHAPTER XI.


The dreary days rolled on; the health of Mrs. Clayton declined so
rapidly that a small stove was found necessary to the comfort of her
contracted bedroom, which freed me from the unpleasant necessity of her
actual presence. The stocking-basket was set aside, the gingerbread nuts
were neglected, and the noise of constant crunching, as of bones, came
no more from my dragon's den; nor yet the smell of Stilton cheese and
porter, wherewith she had so frequently regaled herself and nauseated me
between-meals, and in the night-season. I used to call her a chronic
eater--a symptom, I believe, of the worst sort of dyspepsia, as well as
too often its occasion.

I prefer, myself, the Indian notion of eating, seldom, and enough at a
time. After all, is there any despot equal to the stomach and its
requisitions? What an injustice it seems to all the rest of the organs,
the royal brain especially, that this selfish, sensual sybarite should
exact tribute, and even enforce concession, whenever denied its
customary demands!

There are human beings, the poor of the earth, as we know, who pass
their whole lives, merge their immortal souls in ministering to its
absolute necessities, who go cold, ill-clad, and ignorant, to keep off
the pangs of hunger; who sacrifice pride and affection at its miserable
altar. There are others, fewer in number, it is true, but scarcely less
to be pitied, who exceed this enforced servility in the most abject
fashion of voluntary adulation; who flatter, persuade, and bring rich
tribute to this smiling Moloch, only waiting his own time to turn upon
and destroy his idolaters. For the pampered stomach, like all other
spoiled potentates, is treacherous and ungrateful beyond belief.

Yet the philosophers tell us man's necessity for food lies at the root
of civilization, and that the desire for a sufficiency and variety of
aliment alone keeps up our energies! I cannot think so; I believe it is
the stone about our necks that drags us down, and is intended to do so,
and which keeps us truly from being "but a little lower than the
angels."

"Revenons a nos moutons!"

The good-hearted vulgarian, who, whatever she was, and however
detestable the part she was playing, was at least possessed of womanly
sympathy, came frequently to see me during those weary days. Her
engagement to Mr. Bainrothe was never by her acknowledged, or by me
alluded to, and she seemed to have taken up the impression in some way
that I was the victim of an unfortunate attachment to that subtle
person, which had degenerated into a morbid and causeless hatred on my
part, leading to mania.

Had she stated this conviction plainly, I might have been tempted to
undeceive her; as it was, I suffered the error to continue, knowing that
no condition of belief would influence her half so kindly toward me.
Women as a class have a sincere friendship for those who have undergone
slighting treatment at the hands of their lovers and husbands; and we
all know what a common trick of trade it is with men who have been
unsuccessful in their attempts to gain a woman's affections, or worse,
in their evil designs on her honor, to give out such mendacious
impressions!

Yet, to the end of time, the vanity and credulity of women will lead
them to lend credence to such statements, rather than look matters
firmly in the face, with the eyes of common-sense and experience. I, for
one, am a very skeptic on this subject of manly dislike growing out of
female susceptibility, and usually take the conservative view of the
question.

During one of these condescending visits of the "Lady Anastasia," whose
position toward Bainrothe I perfectly comprehended, through the
inadvertence, it may be remembered, of Mrs. Clayton, I ventured to ask
her whether she had met with her betrothed, as she had expected to do on
landing at New York, and when her marriage was to take place.

"Whenever you come out of this retirement, dear; not before. You see I
have set my heart on 'aving you for my bridesmaid, with your friends'
permission."

"Then Mr. Bainrothe has concluded to annul the condition of my marriage
before leaving the asylum."

"Oh, I had forgotten about that! Well, we will have the ceremony
performed together, if you prefer; down in Dr. Englehart's
drawing-rooms."

"You reside here, then?" I questioned; "you are at home in this house,
whosesoever it may be?"

"Oh, no, you quite misunderstand me. I am staying with friends, and Mr.
Bainrothe is over at home with his son and daughter-in-law "--with a
jerk of her head in the right direction--"in the other city, I mean; I
am such a stranger I forget names sometimes. This, you know, is solely
Dr. Englehart's establishment."

"I suppose that gentleman is absent, as I have not seen him lately," I
continued.

"He has been absent, but has just returned. He speaks of calling, I
believe, very soon, to see you on the part of Mr. Gregory. How happy you
are to inspire such a passion in the heart of that splendid man!"--and
she rolled her eyes, and drew up her square, flat shoulders
expressively. "Do tell me where you knew him, and all about it; I am
sure he is much more suitable to you, in age and intellect,
than--than--even Mr. Bainrothe."

"There is no question of him now," I responded, gravely, purposely
misunderstanding her; "he has been married some time to my step-sister,
Evelyn Erie, and, I suppose, with many of my other friends, believes me
dead!"

"Oh, no, I assure you," she rejoined, with some confusion, "it is a
mistake altogether. Both Mr. and Mrs. Claude Bainrothe are perfectly
aware of your seclusion, and he, especially, recommended and contrived
it."

"There _was_ contrivance, then; you admit that!" I said, impressively.

At this juncture a feeble voice from the adjoining room was heard
calling aloud, and I listened to it, uplifted as it was, evidently, in
tones of remonstrance and reproof, for some moments afterward--the Lady
Anastasia having hastened, with dutiful alacrity, to the bedside of her
_soi-disant_ servant.

I became aware, after this visit, that Mrs. Raymond had become my jailer
as well as her mother's. She came regularly at supper-time thereafter to
superintend Dinah's arrangements, to give Mrs. Clayton her
night-draught, which did not assuage her direful vigilance one
particle, but rather seemed to infuse new powers of wakefulness in those
ever-watchful eyes, until sunrise, when, protected by the knowledge that
others besides herself were on the watch, she permitted sleep to take
possession of her senses.

I earnestly believe that no one ever so effectually controlled the
predisposition to slumber as did this woman.

After locking us up regularly for the night, the "Lady Anastasia"
withdrew, followed by Dinah; and I would hear, later, sounds of
festivity, in which her well-known laugh was blended, in the dining-room
below, where, with Bainrothe and his friends, she held wassail,
frequently, until after midnight. The groans of Mrs. Clayton would then
commence, and, with little intermission, last until morning's light.

Yet it was something to be rid of Mrs. Raymond's surveillance during
those very hours I had selected for my second effort to escape. This
must be hazarded, I knew, between eight and ten o'clock of the evening,
during which time I had reason to suppose the house-door remained
unlocked. The risk of encountering some one in the hall below--for there
was constant passing and repassing of footsteps during those
hours--constituted my chief danger; but, at all hazards, the experiment
must then, if at all, be made.

October was fast drifting away, and I knew that at its close my course
would be decided for me, should I not anticipate such despotism by
setting it at naught, in the only possible way--that of flying from the
scene of my oppression.

How to do this, and when, became the one problem of my existence; and it
was well for me that Mrs. Clayton was too great a sufferer to notice
beyond my external safety, or she might have seen clear indications of
some strange change at work, stamped upon my features.

My unsettled intentions were suddenly brought to a crisis by the
contents of a letter handed to me, as usual, in the shadows of the
evening, by the long-absent Dr. Englehart, who came in person, in
accordance with Mrs. Raymond's announcement (arriving, as it chanced,
while Mrs. Clayton slumbered), to deliver it.

Gregory wrote a large, clear hand, not difficult to decipher, even by
the dim light of a moonlight lamp; and, while Dr. Englehart stood
regarding me in the shadow, anxiously enough, I perceived, to keep me
entirely on my guard, I perused, with mingled derision and terror, this
truly characteristic epistle. My running commentaries, as I
read--entirely _sotto voce_, of course, for one does not care to rouse
the wrath of a tiger on the crouch, by flinging pebbles in the
jungle--may give some idea of the impression it made upon me, and the
emotions it excited.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Beloved Miriam" (insolent cur!)--"for by this tender title I am
permitted to address you at last" (by whom?)--"I cannot flatter myself
that, in concurring with the wishes of your friends, you return my
fervent passion" (you are mistaken there; I do return it with the seal
unbroken); "but will you not suffer me to hope that the deep,
disinterested devotion of mouths may undo the past, and dissolve those
bitter prejudices which I feet well aware were instilled into your heart
by one of the coldest and most time serving of men" (of course, hope is
free to all; it is no longer kept in a box, as in the days of Pandora)?
"When I assure you that Wentworth, with a perfect knowledge of your
present situation, has repudiated the past, you will more perfectly
understand my reference" (I will believe this when he tells me so, not
before; your assertion simply reassures me). "It is not, however, to
place my own devotion in contrast with his perfidy, that I now address
you" (Nature drew the contrast, fortunately for him, without your
assistance), "but to beseech you, for your own sake, to let nothing turn
you from your recently-formed resolution" (I don't intend to let any
thing turn me, if I can help it, this time!). "It remains with you to
live a free and happy life, adored and indulged by one who would give
his heart's blood to serve you" (a poor gift, I take it), "or pass your
whole existence in the cell of a lunatic, cut off from every being who
could care for or protect you." (Great Heavens! what can the wretch
mean?) "Should you refuse to become my wife, and affix your signature to
the papers in your possession, I have reason to know that Bainrothe
designs to make, or rather continue, you dead, and imprison you in a
lonely house on the sea-coast, which he owns, where others of his
victims have before now lived and died unknown!" (Very melodramatic,
truly; but I don't believe Cagliostro would dare to do it.) "To convince
you of the truth of my allegations, Dr. Englehart is instructed to place
in your hands a note recently intercepted by me from that
arch-conspirator to his son, which please return to him, my truest
friend" (direst enemy, you mean), "along with this letter, as I send you
both documents at my own peril, and dare not leave them in your hands"
(how magnanimous!); and here I dropped the letter on the table, and
extended my hand mutely to Dr. Englehart for the note, which was ready
for me, in the hollow of his pudgy palm.

It did, indeed, most clearly confirm the statement, true or false, of
the ubiquitous Gregory. Returning it to the physician _pro tem._, I then
continued the perusal of this singular love-letter to the end, in which
the lawyer and knave predominated in spite of Eros! Yet there was food
for consideration here, and extremest terror.

"How long before this ultimatum is proposed to me, which Mr. Gregory
seemed to anticipate, and with which you, no doubt, are acquainted?" I
asked, coldly, after consideration.

"Ten days will close up de whole transaction, as I understand," was the
no less cool reply, made in those husky, inimitable tones, peculiar to
the man of petty pills.

"Ten days! It would seem a short time wherein to get up a reasonable
trousseau, even!"

"True--true! but nosing of dat kind is necessaire under dese
circumstances--only your mos' gracious and graceful consent!" He spoke
eagerly, with bowed head and clasped hands, standing mutely before me
when he had concluded.

"If Mr. Gregory loved me truly, he would not limit me thus," I hazarded.
"He would give me time to learn to return his affection, as I must try
to do, and to forget the past! He would not strike hands with my
persecutors, but insist on my liberation--or obtain it, as he could
readily do, without their cooeperation, through you, Dr. Englehart, who
seem to be his friend and ally, and who have already run such risks for
his sake in bringing me these two dangerous letters," and as I spoke I
pushed them across the table, to be gathered up and concealed with
well-affected eagerness.

How perfectly he played his part, and how cunningly Bainrothe had
contrived to convey to me his menace--real, or assumed for effect, I
could not tell which, for my judgment spoke one language, my cowardice
another! Yet, I confess, that the panic was complete, though I concealed
it from the enemy.

"Women usually, at least romantic and incredulous women like me, demand
some proof of a lover's devotion," I resumed, as coolly as I could,
"before yielding him their faith and fealty; but Mr. Gregory has given
me no evidence so far of the sincerity of his passion; I confess I find
it difficult, under the circumstances, to believe in its existence."

He drew near to me, bent eagerly above me, then again concealed himself,
as it was wise for him to do, in shadow; and I could hear his hissing
breath, as it passed between his closed teeth--like that of a roused
serpent. The impulse of the man came near betraying him, but he rallied
and refrained from an exposure, as he would have supposed it, that must
have been fatal to his success as a lover, even if it confirmed his
power of possession.

His tones, low and deep, were unmistakably those of suppressed passion
when he spoke again, and he had almost dropped his accent, so
wonderfully assumed.

"When shall he come to you, and speak for himself? Let me take to him
some word of encouragement from your lips--for de love of whom--he
languishes--he dies! All other passions of his life have proved like
cobwebs, compared to this--avarice, ambition, revenge, all yield before
it! He is your slave! Do not trample on a fervent heart, thus laid at
your feet! Have mercy on this unfortunate!"

"Strange language from a captor to a captive--mocking language, that I
find unendurable! Let Mr. Gregory remain where he is until the extreme
limit of the interval granted me by Basil Bainrothe--as breathing-space
before execution; and before hope expires in thick darkness--then let
him come and take what he will find of the victim of so much perfidy!"

"You do not--you cannot--meditate personal violence, self-murder?" He
spoke in a voice of agony, that could scarcely be restrained from
breaking into its natural tones.

"No--no--do not flatter yourselves that I could be driven by you--by
_any_ one to such God-offending," I hastened to say, for I felt the
importance of keeping this barrier of disguise, of ice, between Gregory
and myself as a means of safety for a season, and determined that he
should not transcend it, if I could prevent an _expose_, such as his
excited feelings made imminent. "My hopes are dead--say this to Mr.
Gregory--and I have reason to believe I should fare as well in his hands
as in any other's, knowing him--as I know him to be--" and I hesitated
here for a moment--"gentle, compassionate, faithful, where his feelings
are fairly enlisted."

"He thanks you, through my lips, most lovely lady, for dis great proof
of consideration; dis message,--which I shall truthfully deliver, will
fill his heart with joy, long a stranger to his breast, for he has
feared your hatred."

"Now go, Dr. Englehart, and let no one come to me without previous
warning, for I need all my strength to bear me up in this emergency. Nor
would I meet Mr. Gregory without due preparation--even of apparel," and
I glanced at my dress of spotted lawn, faded and unseasonable as it
seemed in the autumn weather. "I know his fastidiousness on this
subject, and from this time it ought to, it must be my study to try to
please him."

Why was not the fate of Ananias or Sapphira mine after that false
utterance? Why did I triumph in the strength of guile that desperation
gave me, rather than sink abashed and penitent beneath it? And this was
the woman who had once lectured on duplicity and expediency, and deemed
herself above them!

Bitter and nauseous as was this bowl to me, I drank it without a
grimace; so much depended on the measure of deceit--hope, love, honor,
life itself perhaps--for my terrors whispered that even such warnings as
those Gregory had given were not to be disregarded where there was
question of success or failure to Basil Bainrothe! But one alternative
presented itself--escape! Delay, I scarce could hope for, and, even if
granted, how could it avail me in the end? Those words--"He will make
you dead!" rang in my ears, and seemed written on the wall. They
confronted me everywhere. It was so easy to do this--easy to repeat what
the papers had already told the world--so easy to confine me in a
maniac's cell under an assumed name, and by the aid of my own gold, and
say, "She perished at sea!"

It would be to the interest of all who knew it, to preserve the secret,
except the poor ship's captain, and he had been a dupe, and would
scarcely recognize his folly, or, if he did, be the first to boast of
and publish it. Besides that, should the matter be inquired into, how
easy for Bainrothe to allege that my own family had sanctioned his
course to save my reputation! For innuendo was over on this disgraceful
subject. He had declared openly his base design.

Years might elapse before the final exposition, years of utter ruin to
my prospects and my hopes. Wentworth might be married by that time, or
indifferent, or dead; Ernie too old to make the matter of a year or two
of consequence in the carrying out of the nefarious scheme to sustain
which it would be so easy to summon and suborn witnesses.

All these possibilities represented themselves to me with frightful
distinctness; my mind became imbued with them to the exclusion of all
else--of reason even, I was literally panic-stricken, and nothing but
flight could satisfy my instinct, my impulse of self-preservation. I
must go, even if blown like a leaf before the gales of heaven; must fly,
if even to certainty of destruction. I had felt this necessity once
before, be it remembered, but never so stringently, so morbidly as now.
I was yielding under the agony, the anxiety incident to my condition; my
nervous system, too severely taxed, was breaking down, and it would
succumb entirely, unless relief came to me (of this I felt convinced),
before another weary month should roll away. Had I been imprisoned for a
certain term of years as an expiation for crimes, I think I could have
borne it better; but the injustice, the uncertainty of these proceedings
were more than I could sustain.

I fell asleep, I remember, on the night of my interview with
Gregory--_alias_ Englehart--to dream confusedly of Baron Trenck and his
iron collar, and the Princess Amelia and her unmitigated grief, and it
seemed to me that I was given to drink from a cup the poor prisoner had
carved (as memoirs tell us he carved and sold many such), filled with a
sort of bitter wine, by the man in the iron mask--so vividly did Fancy,
mixing her ingredients, typify the anguish of my waking moments, and
reproduce its anxieties, in dreams of night that could not be
controlled.

When I awoke in the morning it was to lie quietly, and listen to the
doleful voice of Sabra, for such had been Dinah's Congo name, uplifted
in what site called a "speritual" as she cleaned the brass mountings of
the grate and kindled its tardy fires. With very slight alteration and
adjustment, this picturesque and dramatic Obi hymn is given in this
place, just as I jotted it down in my diary, thus imprinting it on my
memory from her own dolphin-like lips and bellows-like lungs. Her
forefathers, she informed me with considerable pride, had been
snake-worshipers, and she certainly inherited their tendency to treat
the worst enemy of mankind with respectful adoration.

It served to divert my mind from its one fixed idea for a little time to
arrange this singular hymn, which, together with those she had given
voice to on the raft, proved her poetic powers. For Sabra assured me
that this gift of sacred song had come to her one day when she was
washing her master's linen, and that she had felt it run cold streaks
down her back and through her brain, and that from that time she was
uplifted to sing "sperituals" by spells and seasons. This, her longest
and most successful inspiration, I now lay before the reader:

  SABRA'S SPERITUAL.

  We's on de road to Zion,
  We's on de paf' to Zion,
  But dar's a roarin' lion,
    For Satan stops de way.
  Oh! lef' us pass, ole Masta,
  Oh! lef' us pass, strong Masta,
  Oh! lef' us pass, rich Masta--
    'T am near de break ob day!

  We's on de road to Zion,
  We's on de paf' to Zion,
  But wid his red-hot iron
    He bars de hebbenly gate
  Oh! lef' us pass, ole Masta,
  Oh! lef' us pass, kin' Masta,
  Oh! lef' us pass, sweet Masta,
    For we is mighty late!

  Does you hear de rain a-fallin'?
  Does you hear de prophets callin'?
  Does you hear de cherubs squallin'
    Wat's settin' on de gate?
  Oh! lef' us pass, ole Masta,
  Oh! step dis side, kin' Masta,
  Unbar de do', dear Masta,
    We _dar_' no longer wait!

  Does you hear de win' a blowin'?
  Does you hear de chickens crowin'?
  Does you see da niggars hoein'?
    It am de break ob day!
  Oh! lef' us by, good Masta,
  Oh! stan' aside, ole Masta,
  Oh! light your lamp, sweet Sabiour,
    For we done los' our way!

  We'll gib you all our money.
  We'll fotch you yams and honey,
  We'll fill your pipe wid 'baccer,
    An' twiss your tail wid hay!
  We'll shod your hoofs wid copper,
  We'll knob your horns wid silber,
  We'll cook you rice and gopher,
    Ef you will clar de way!

  He's gwine away, my bredderin,
  He's stepped aside, my sisterin,
  He's clared de track, my chillun,
    Now make do trumpets bray!
  We tanks you kindly, Masta,
  We gibs you tanks, ole Masta,
  You is a buckra Masta,
    Whateber white folks say!




CHAPTER XII.


During these last days of my captivity, Mrs. Clayton was truly a piteous
sight to see--swathed in flannel and helpless as an infant, yet still
perversely vigilant as she had been in her hours of health, and
determined on the subject of opiates as before. I sometimes think she
feared to place herself wholly in my hands, as she must have been under
the influence of a powerful anodyne, and that, in spite of her
professions of confidence, and even affection, she feared me as her foe.
God knows that, had it been to save my own life, I would not have harmed
one hair of her viperish head, as flat on top as if the stone of the
Indian had been bound upon its crown from babyhood, yet full of brains
to bursting around the base of the skull.

It was necessary for Dinah to be in constant attendance on my Argus, and
even to feed her, so helpless were her hands, with the mucilages which
now formed her principal diet, by the order of some celebrated
physician, who wrote his prescriptions without seeing his patient, after
the form of the ancients, sending them daily through the hands of Mrs.
Raymond. Still those vigilant green eyes never faltered in their task,
and lying where--with the door opened between our chambers (as she
tyrannically required it to be most of the time) she could command a
view of almost every act of my life--I found her scrutiny more
unendurable than when she had at least feigned to be absorbed with her
stocking-basket. Ernie's noise, too, disturbed her, and I was obliged to
keep him constantly amused, for fear that her wrath might culminate in
eternal banishment.

The days slid on--November had passed through that exquisite phase of
existence (which almost redeems it from the reproach cast upon it
through all time, of being _par excellence the_ gloomy month of the
year), the sweet and balmy influences of which had reached us, even
through the walls of our prison-house, in the shape of smoky sunshine,
and balmy, odorous, and lingering blossoms, and was now asserting its
traditional character with much angry bluster of sleet, and storm, and
cutting wind. It was Herod lamenting his Marianne slain by his own hand,
and making others suffer the consequences of his regretted cruelty, his
remorseful anguish. It was the fierce Viking making wild wail over his
dead Oriana.

No more to come until another year had done its work of resurrection and
decay, the lovely Indian Summer slumbered under her mound of withered
flowers and heaps of gorgeous leaves, unheeding all, or unconscious of
the grief of her stern bridegroom.

Cold and bitter and bleak howled the November blast, and ruthlessly
drove the fleet against the shivering panes, exposed without, though
shielded within by Venetian folding shutters, on that gray morning, when
a passing whisper from most unlovely and altogether unfaithful lips
nerved me paradoxically to sudden resolution.

False as I knew old Dinah to be--almost on principle--still, I could not
disregard the possible truth of her passing warning, given in broken
whisper first as she poured out my tea and afterward prepared my bath.

"Honey, don't you touch no tea nor coffee dis evening after Dinah goes
oat ob here an' de bolt am fetched home; jus' make 'tence to drene it
down, like, but don't swaller one mortal drop, for dey is gwine to give
you a dose of laudamy"--nodding sagaciously and peering into the teapot
as she interpolated aloud; "sure enough, it is full ob grounds, honey!
(I heerd 'um say dat wid my own two blessed yers), for de purpose of
movin' you soun' asleep up to dat bell-tower (belfry, b'leves dey call
it sometimes)--he! he! he! next door, in dat big house, war de res' on
'em libs, de little angel gal too. You see, honey, der was an ossifer to
sarve a process writ about somebody here dis mornin', but dar was
something wrong about it, so dey all said, an' he is comin' to sarch de
house for you, I spec', to-morrow; for de hue an' cry is out somehow--or
mebbe it's me--he! he! he! (very faintly) an' dey is gwine to move you,
so dey says, to keep all dark, after you gets soun' asleep. But de
ossifer is 'bleeged to wait till mornin' (court-time, as I heerd 'em
say) comes roun' agin to git de _haby-corpy_ fixed up right, an' dat'a
how he spounded hisself. Wat does dat mean, honey?"

"I can scarcely make you understand now, Dinah" (aside). "Don't ask
me--just go on, low, very low; how did you hear all this?" (Aloud) "More
cream, Dinah."

"Wid my ear to de key-hole, in de study, war dey axed de osaifer. My
'spicions was roused by de words he 'dressed to me wen I opened de front
do', for, you see, dat ole nigger watch-dog ob dern, dat has nebber a
good word for nobody, was gone to market, an' Madame Raymond she hel' de
watch, an' she sont me from de kitchen to mine de front-do' bell.

"'Old dame,' says the ossifer (for so dey calls him), as pleasant as a
mornin' in May, 'has you a young gal locked up here as you knows ob? Now
tell what you choose, and don't be afraid of dese folks. Dis is a free
country for bofe black and white.'

"Den I answered him straightforward like de trufe: 'Dar's nobody in de
house heah but wat you kin see for axin' for 'em, as far as I knows on.
Wat young gal do you 'lude to, masta?--Bridget Maloney, I spose, dat
Irish heifer wat does de chambers ebery mornin' and goes home ob
ebenin's, Ef you means her, she's off to church to-day, an' sleeps at
her mammy's house.'

"'Does you feel willin' to swar to de trufe of your insertion, ole
dame?' he disclaims. 'I shall resist on dat'--fierce as a buck-rabbit,
holdin' up his right hand, an' blinkin' his little 'cute eyes.

"Sartin an' sure I does when de right time is come,' I sez. 'Jes' take
me to de court-hous' ef you doubt Dinah's word compunctionable. I neber
hab bin in dat place yit since I was sold in Georgy on de block befo' de
high, wooden steps; but I knows it in more solemn to lie dar dan in
Methody meetin'-house.'

"Den Mr. Bainrofe he cum out, hearin' de talk, in dat long-tailed,
satin-flowered gownd ob his'n, wid a silk rope tied roun' his waist, an'
gole tossels hangin' in front, jes' like a Catholic Roman or a king, an'
he sez, 'Walk in here, my fren, an' don't tamper wid my servants--dat
ain't gentlem'ly;' den he puts his han' on de ossifer's shoulder, an'
dey walked in together, an' I listened at de do', in duty boun', an' I
heerd him say,' Plant a guard if you choose--do wateber you like--but,
till dat writ am rectified, you can't sarch through my house, for a
man's house is his castle here, as in de Great Britain, till de law
reaches out a long arm an' a strong arm.' Dat was wat Mr. Bainrofe
spounded to de ossifer, an' he 'peared fused-like an' flustertied, for I
peeped fru de key-hole at 'em wen dey wus talkin'.' An,' sez he, 'dis
heah paper does want de secon' seal, sure enough, since I 'xamine it,
wat you is so 'tickiler 'bout; but dat can easily be reconstructified,
an' I'll be sartin sure to be here airly to-morrow morning. In de mean
while, my man, McDermot, shall keep de house in his eye, an' mus' hab de
liberty of lodgment.'

"Den Mr. Bainrofe he say, 'Oh, sartinly--your man, McDermot, am welcome
to his bite an' sup, an' all he kin fine out'--an' he laughed, an' dey
parted, mighty pleasant-like, and den he called Mrs. Raymun' and Mass'
Gregory, an' I listened again. Dat's our colored way for reformation,
child. An' I heerd 'em--"

"Dinah! Dinah! what are you muttering about--don't you hear Mrs. Raymond
knocking? Miss Monfort must be tired out of your nonsense. What keeps
you there so long?"

"I'se spounding another speritual to Miss Miramy, an', wen I gits 'gaged
in dat way, I disregards airthly knockin'. I'se listenin' to de angels
hammerin' overhead, an' Mrs. Raymun' will hab to wait a spell--he! he!
he!"

"Oh, go at once, Dinah, and open the door for Mrs. Raymond. I can write
your song down just as well another time," I remonstrated, taking up and
laying down my note-book as I spoke, so as to display my ostensible
occupation to the peering eyes of Mrs. Clayton (now sitting bolt upright
in her bed, looking like a Chinese bonze), for the purpose of sweeping
in my position definitively.

"That will do, Dinah. Now go and get Miss Monfort's bath ready," I
heard my dragoness say, after a short whispered communication from her
early visitor. It was the idea, probably, to remove me, as well as
Dinah, while the plot was being unfolded, and my bath-room, with its
closed door, promised security from quick ears and eyes to the brace of
conspirators now plotting their final blow.

Once in that belfry, and truly might the sense of Dante's famous
inscription become my motto for life: "Here hope is left behind."

I covered my eyes as I recalled that dreary, dreadful prison-house of
clock and bell, into which I had clambered once by means of a movable
step-ladder, rarely left there by the attendant, in order to rescue my
famished cat, shut up there by accident. I recollected the maddened look
of the creature, as it flew by me like a flash, frightened out of its
wits, Mrs. Austin had said, by the clicking of the machinery of the huge
clock, and the chiming of the responsive bell. Both were silent now, and
there was room enough for a prisoner's cot in that lonely and dismantled
turret as there once had been for a telescope and its rest, used for
astronomical purposes at long intervals by my father and a few of his
scientific friends, but finally dismantled and put aside forever.

I could imagine myself a denizen, at the will of Bainrothe, of that
weird, gray belfry, shut up with that silent clock, in company with a
bed, a chair, and table, denied, perchance, even the comfort of a stove,
for fear the flue might utter smoke, and, with it, that kind of
revelation, said proverbially to accompany such manifestations; denied
books, even writing-materials, the sight of a human face, and furnished
with food merely sufficing in quantity and quality to keep soul and body
together!

Could I resist this state of things? Could I sustain it and retain my
reason? No, I felt that the picture my fancy drew, if realized, would
make me abject and submissive, change me to a cowardly, cringing slave.
I was not made of the right stuff for martyrdom, only for battle, for
resistance, and would put forth my last powers in the effort to save
myself from the unendurable trials before me, even if destruction were
the consequence. A pistol-ball in my brain would he preferable to what I
saw awaiting me, should Bainrothe succeed in his stratagem, as I doubted
not he would do, if determined on it. I should know freedom in its true
sense never again, if that night were suffered to pass without its
redemption, if that belfry once were entered.

As carelessly as I could I followed Dinah to the bath-room, ostensibly
to direct the temperature of the water, but really to draw out from her
all that was possible while the mood of communication possessed her, on
the subject so vital to me and my welfare. Life and death almost were
involved in her revelations, and I hastened to wind in the clew while it
lingered in my hand; for I knew that she was an eccentric as well as a
selfish creature, and might suddenly see fit to withdraw or snap its
thread.

"Now, tell me about McDermot, Dinah, what sort of a look has he? Is he
large or small, light or dark, and does he smoke a pipe?"

"He is a great big man, honey, wid red har an' sort ob chaney-blue eyes;
mos while, sometimes he rolls em up in his head, an' he smells mighty
strong of whisky. I tells you all; his bref mos knocked me down, but I
didn't see no pipe?"

A discouraging account, truly; yet I persevered. It seemed my only hope
to enlist this man on my side, either through his sympathies or sense of
duty. I had no power to command his services on the side of his avarice.
The ring on my finger, the pledge of Wentworth's troth, a massive
circlet of chased gold, was all that remained to me in the shape of
valuables. I did not possess a stiver in that prison, nor own even the
clothes on my back.

"Could you not take him a message from me, Dinah? It is his duty, you
know, to assist me; it is on my account, doubtless, he is placed here;
and hereafter I can reward him liberally, and you too. Just now, you
know, I am penniless."

The woman stopped and looked at me, her small black irises mere points,
set in extensive, muddy-looking whites, not unfrequently suffused and
bloodshot.

"I dun told the ossifer dar wus no one here you knows, answerin' to your
perscription."

"But that was only a measure of safety for yourself; you surely do not
mean to take sides with my persecutors?"

"I has nuffin at all to do wid it, at all," hunching her back; "I has
gib you far warnin' 'bout de laudamy an' der retentions, an' you mus'
fight it out yourself, chile! I is afraid to go one step furder; but de
debble sort o' tempted me dis mornin' to make a clean breast of der
doins. Ef you mentions it, do; I is retermined to reny ebbery word of
your ramification, and in dis here country a nigger's word, dey tells
me, goes jus' as fur as a pore white gal's, if not furder; 'sides dat, I
is gwine to swar favorable for my 'ployers, in course, at de
court-house--unless"--hesitating and leering in my face--"you sees,
honey, dey have not paid me yit--and mebbe dey won't, ef I displeases
'em, an' your gole watch is gone; an' den, Dinah would be lef' on de
shelf."

"But I have other property, Dinah, other jewels, even. That watch was
very little compared to what I possess outside of these prison-walls,
and these possessions--"

"Whar is dey, honey? 'a bird in dis han' am worf two dozen in a bush,'
as my ole masta used to say, wen de traders cum up to buy his corn an'
cotton, an' I always sawed de dollars come down mighty quick after dat
sayin' of his'n; for I used to watch round the dinin'-room pretty
constant an' close in dem days, totin' in poplar-chips an' corn-cobs for
kin'lin' an' litin' masta's long clay pipes--none ob de common sort, I
tells you--an' brushin' up de harf an' keepin' off de flies, and so
forf. You see I was a little shaver in dem days, an' masta liked my
Congo straction, an' petted me a heap, an' I never seed the cotton-field
till my ole masta died; den dey put me out ob de house, because Mass
Jack Dillard's father--dat was my ole mistis's own step-brother's secon'
son--he 'cused me ob stealin' his gole pencil-case wrongfully--like I
had any use fur his writin' 'tensils!" (indignantly).

"Dinah," I adjured, cutting short the stream of her narrative, "for
God's sake, see Mr. McDermot, and tell him of my situation! He shall
have a thousand dollars to-morrow, and you also shall have money enough
to buy your whole family, and bring them hither, if you will but assist
me to escape _this_ night. Don't stand and look at me, woman, but act at
once, if you have a human heart. You must help me now, or never."

"You mus' tink I's one ob de born fools, Miss Mirimy, to bl'eve all dat
stuff! Doesn't I know you loss all your trunks on de 'Scusco, an' wasn't
you a pore gal, teachin' white folks's chilluns fur a livin' before? I
has hearn all dat discounted since I come into dis 'stablishment. We
all knows as how teachers is de meanest kine of white trash gwine;
still, I specs you might'ly. You has been ob de quality; any nigger can
see dat wid half an eye open; an' you has got more sense in de end ob yo
little finger, ef you is crazy, dan all de res tied up in a bunch ob
fedders! Wat I does for you, chile, I does for lub ob yo purliteness"
(hesitating here). "You hasn't anoder ob dem gole-pieces anywhar, like
dat you gib me befo', has you? I'se bery bad off fur 'baccer, I is,
indeed, chile, an' de pay is mighty slow in dis house."

"I have not a five-penny bit, Dinah, not one copper cent, if it were to
save my life or yours."

"Is dat ring of yours good guinea gole, honey?" asked the mercenary
creature, leering at it. "It looks mighty bright and pretty, it does
dat! But mebbe its nuffin but pinchbeck, after all."

"It looks what it is, Dinah"--and, after a moment's consideration, I
drew it from my finger. "If I give you this, will you promise to deliver
my message to McDermot faithfully?"

"Sartain sure, honey, but tell me again wat it is; I forgits de small
patticklers."

"Get me my pencil and a scrap of paper, and let me write it down for him
to read; or no, this might involve observation, detection. I must rely
upon your memory, Dinah, which I have reason to know is good. Now,
listen and understand me. I promise to Mr. McDermot one thousand
dollars, to be paid down to-morrow morning, if he will help me to escape
to-night. And I promise you liberty for all of your family, and security
for yourself, if you will assist me, or even be silent, and let me go
without a word, without informing. Do you understand this, Dinah? If so,
repeat it to me low, yet distinctly."

She obeyed me, evincing wonderful shrewdness in her way of putting the
affair, as she said she meant to do, in approaching McDermot.

"And do you believe me, Dinah, now that I have promised so solemnly to
pay these rewards?"

"Dats neider here nor dar, Miss Mirim, so dat McDermot bleves you, dat's
enough; wat dis chile bleves am her own business. Dem Irish am mighty
stupid kine ob creeturs; dey swallows down mos' any thing you chooses to
tell 'em."

A voice without, uplifted at this juncture, as if it had long been
expending itself in ineffectual appeals, now summoned Dinah, harshly and
emphatically.

The Lady Anastasia had departed, after a brief interview, and Mrs.
Clayton, unable to leave her bed, felt naturally anxious to ascertain
the cause of Dinah's prolonged ministry on her fellow-prisoner.

I heard only the words, "De pattikalerest lady I ebber come acrost about
de feel of water, an' I is done tired out, I is--" The rest was lost, as
Dinah vanished from the apartment of the invalid. In the next moment, I
heard the key turned, and the outlet bolt drawn, and the growl of the
surly sable watch-dog without, who, in Mrs. Raymond's absence,
officiated as our jailer and Cerberus.

It was early evening when Dinah returned, for she brought to us but two
meals at this season, the necessary food for Ernie being always ready in
a closet. She came ushered in, as usual, by Mrs. Raymond, who bore with
her on this occasion what she called savory broth, concocted, by her own
fair hands, for the benefit of her suffering parent. While Clayton was
employed in supping this mutton abomination, with a loud noise peculiar
to the vulgar, and Mrs. Raymond whispering inaudible words above the
bowl, I was ostensibly employed in tearing a croquet to pieces with my
fork, while I interrogated Dinah, in a low, even voice, between each
shred, unintelligible, I knew, in the next room, through its monotony,
on the success of her mission, and caught her muttered rather than
murmured replies eagerly in return.

"Did you speak with him, Dinah?"

"Dere was no use, honey; Bainrothe done bought him up. I peaked fru de
key-hole, and seen de gole paid down wid my own two precious eyes. Dar's
no mistake about dat," shaking her head dolefully. "All you has to do
now, honey, is to keep wide awake, an' duly sober, as ole masta used to
say, 'frain 'ligiously from de tea or coffee, one or de udder, dat she
will offer you 'bout eight o'clock dis ebenin', or mebbe dey will send
it up by me, I can't say yit. Howsomever, you needn't to drink dat stuff
arter wat you knows; an' ef dey goes to take you forcefully off to de
belfry in de night-time, you kin skreech ebbery step ob de way. Dat's de
bes plan, chile, wat I kin project for your resistance; but I'se afeard
dar is no hopin' you, any way we can fix it."

"Thank you, Dinah, you have done your best, no doubt; don't sell my
ring, though; I shall want it back some day."

"La, chile, I done 'sposed ob it aready, an' dey give me a poun of
backer an' a gole-piece fur it. It was good gole an' no mistake. I tells
you all," adding aloud, "an' now, Miss Mirim, I has tole you ebbery
syllable. I disremembered ob dat speritual ar. I is sorry you doesn't
like dese crockets, fur de madame made un wid her own clean red hands."

"Say white hands, you old limb of Satan, or I shall be after you with a
mop," cried the laughing voice of Mrs. Raymond from the side of the sick
woman's bed, betraying at once how she had divided her attention. Then,
advancing into my chamber, she added, as coolly as though she had been
suggesting a visit to the theatre:

"Excuse me, Miss Monfort, for intruding, but I am about to ask you
whether it would be agreeable to you to be married to-night at ten
o'clock? This seems very sudden, but circumstances have forced the
arrangement on us all, and I assure you, from the bottom of my heart, it
is for both of us the preferable alternative of evils, as poor Sir Harry
Raymond would have said. Alas, my dear! shall I ever again have such a
helpmate as he was: so kind, so generous, so considerate"--and she
clasped and wrung her large, rosy hands. "A second marriage is often a
great sacrifice, and, in any case, a hazard, as I feel, as the time
draws near, very sensibly. But you seem confounded, and yet you must
have been somewhat prepared for this condition of things after your last
interview with Dr. Englehart?"

The amazement of Dinah at this change in the programme, if possible,
exceeded my own. She did not understand, as I did, that it was a measure
prompted not only by humanity but self-interest, and that even the hard
heart of Basil Bainrothe preferred a compromise to such violence and
injustice as those he had otherwise meditated. Besides, what better or
more sensible mode than this could there be, according to his views, of
quashing the whole _esclandre_--quieting official inquiry as well as
public indignation? As the wife of Gregory, I should be, of course,
_forcat_ for life, walking abroad with the concealed brand and manacle,
afraid and ashamed to complain and acknowledge my condition, and
willing to condone every thing.

I saw, at a glance, that my true policy was to feign a reluctant consent
to this proposition, and to determine later what recourse to take, as if
indeed any remained to me in that den of serpents. I would consider, as
soon as Mrs. Raymond was gone, what measures to pursue in order to elude
the vigilance of McDermot, the detective; and then, if all proved vain,
I could but perish! For I would have walked cheerfully over the burning
ploughshares of old, lived again through the hideous nightmare of the
burning ship and raft, nay, clasped hands with the spectre of La Vigne
himself, had it offered to lead me to purgatory, rather than have
married the knave, the liar, the half-breed Gregory!

My resolution was soon made.

"You will send me a suitable dress, I suppose," I said, calmly, "you
know I am a pauper here."

"Yes, fortunately I have two almost alike. Which shall it be, a chally
or barege?"

"It matters little, the color is all I care for. Let it be white; I have
a superstition about being married in colors."

"So should I have, were this the first time, but, being a widow, I shall
wear a lavender-satin, trimmed with blond, made up for a very different
occasion."

"Yes, that will be quite suitable. Well, the long agony is over at last,
and I am glad of it," and I drew a deep, free breath.

"You will have to sign the papers before you come down-stairs. Mr.
Bainrothe told me to say this to you, and to ask you to have them ready;
they will be witnessed below with the marriage, and at nine,
_precisely_, expect me to appear with your gown, and make your toilet."

"Will not Bridget Maloney do as well?" I asked, desperately. She, at
least, I thought, may be compassionate.

"It is strange you should know of her at all, or she of you. It is that
girl, then, who has given us all this trouble," going to the bed, "when
I did not suppose she knew of her existence. Explain this, Clayton, if
you can."

"I suppose Ernie, who is fond of her, has mentioned her name to Miss
Monfort; she thinks his mother is sick up-stairs, but knows no more, I
am certain; besides, it's Dr. Englehart's establishment--such things are
to be expected, and surprise no one of the attendants. Bridget is kept
busy among them all." The farce was to be kept up, it seemed, to the
end.

Old Dinah was evidently quaking in her shoes, and began to see her
error, as she glanced reproachfully at me, but no further revelation
seemed to be expected. It was, indeed, to divert, partly, immediate
suspicion from one I still hoped to make my tool, that I mentioned the
Irish girl at all, or craved her presence, but I soon found how futile
in one instance was this trust. No sooner had Mrs. Raymond turned to
depart, than Dinah followed her, protesting against being locked up the
whole evening with the invalid, and begging leave to go out for an hour
or two on business of her own, which she declared important.

"But Miss Monfort may need you in making her preparations," remonstrated
Mrs. Raymond, "and Clayton and Ernie will want your attention; besides,
fires will go down if not constantly mended, this cold evening."

"Dar's plenty of coal in de box, an' de tongs, wid claws, wat Ernie is
so fond of handlin', ready and waitin' for dem wat's strong enough to
use dem if dey choose, an' tea in de caddy, an' de kittle on de trivet,
jes filled up, de brass toastin'-fork on de peg in de closet, 'sides
bread an' butter, an' jam, an' new milk on de shelf, an' I is 'bliged to
go anyway, case my ticklerest friend am dyin' ob de numony--I is jes got
word; but at nine o'clock" (and she looked maliciously at me) "percisely
Dinah 'll be in dis pickin' patch--he! he! he! can't possumbly cum no
airlier."

In a flash I saw the advantage her prolonged absence would give me,
unless, indeed, she had become my confederate, so I beheld her depart
with a feeling of relief which reacted in the next moment to positive
helplessness and terror as the bolt was drawn behind her. What could I
do? What was there to be done? For a time I sat mute and crushed by
consideration; then casting myself on my bed I slept for half an hour,
the kind of slumber that confusion generates, and yet I woke refreshed,
calmed, comforted, and with a clearly-formed resolution and plan of
action. I rose and approached Mrs. Clayton, whose groans, perhaps,
aroused me, and, as I stood beside her bed, the clock in the dining room
below struck six. I had still three hours for hope--for endeavor, before
the circle of flame should close hopelessly around me forever! Three
hours--were they not enough? Could I not compel them to concentration?

A cup of strong tea was hastily drawn and swallowed--another made for,
and administered by my hand to, Mrs. Clayton, with toast _ad
libitum_,--a tedious process--and afterward Ernie's supper prepared and
eaten--all in less than half an hour. By seven he was in bed and asleep,
and I had taken my seat by Mrs. Clayton, for the purpose, apparently, of
merciful ministry to her condition--a piece of self-abnegation, as it
seemed, and as she felt it, scarcely to be expected on my blissful
marriage night.

"I feel very sorry for you; you suffer so, Mrs. Clayton," I had said, as
I drew a chair beside her bed.

"And I for you, Miss Monfort; our fate seems equally hard, but we must
bear it;" and she groaned heavily and closed her eyes, evidently in
great pain.

"I have come to that conclusion, also, after a bitter struggle; physical
pain is not so easily borne, however; the body has little philosophy."

"I thought all this was over," she rejoined, abstractedly, "when my
hands were drawn as you see them by neuralgia ten years since. But I did
not suffer as much then, I believe, as I do now; besides, I was younger,
happier, better able to bear pain."

"Yes, that is true; the old should be at rest," at least my sense of
justice whispered this; then, after a pause: "Does my rubbing ease your
shoulder, Mrs. Clayton?"

"Somewhat--it is my head to-night, however, that troubles me chiefly. Be
good enough to press my temples. Ah, that is great relief! You are very
kind, Miss Monfort; yet, in reviewing the past, I hope you will not find
that I have been wanting to you in my turn. I trust we shall part in
peace and meet hereafter as friends. But you do not answer me."

"Pardon me, I was thinking. This is a crisis, you know--this night
decides my fate for good or ill, all rests with merciful God!"

"Yes, all--of ourselves we are helpless, of course. It is a comfort to
me, I confess, as I lie here, to feel that I have never willingly
injured a fellow-being; to think that I--but, bless my soul, Miss
Monfort, you must not hold me down in that way! you would not, I trust.
But even if you did--no key this time, the door is fast without!"

"Oh, not for worlds! be still, the pain will pass. I have the gift, you
know, of soothing physical suffering. There, rest, you must not stir;
give yourself up to me, if you can--slumber will come."

"It must not come--see, we are all alone!"

Her glazing eye--her slower breathing began already to attest the
influence of the electric fluid, so potent in my veins, so wanting in
her own, both from temperament and disease, yet she resisted bravely and
long, and, even when her limbs were powerless, her spirit rebelled
against me in murmured words of defiant opposition; but this, too,
yielded finally to silence and to stupor; and she slept the deep, calm,
unmistakable slumber caused by magnetism.

Then, again, I went through the experiment of the preceding night, and
strove to awaken her.

"Get up," I said, and yet without willing that she should do so. "Mrs.
Raymond is here to show you her marriage-dress, and Mr. Bainrothe
calls."

"Tell them to let me sleep; don't--don't--disturb me. I am so happy--so
peaceful. It is sweet, too, to think that she will be married at last.
Poor thing! it was no fault of hers, though--no fault. A young actress
is exposed to so many temptations, and it was better so--Harry Raymond's
mistress."

That secret would never have escaped her devoted lips had she been able
to retain it.

As carefully as the eyes of the dead are closed, I drew down her gaping
lids, and turned away. As I did so, the clock struck eight. Fatima never
listened more anxiously to the toll of parting time than I did that
night; but, alas for me! no sister Anne kept watch on the tower; no
brother hastened to arrest the sword. I was deserted by all save God and
desperation. One hour comprised my fate! Very quietly I closed the door
between Mrs. Clayton's room and my own. The bolt was on the other side,
so I could not secure my privacy, even for a moment, should she chance
to wake, or should Mrs. Raymond or Dinah return unexpectedly. As rapidly
as I could, I altered my dress--this time above my clothes--threw on the
black silk frock and mantilla prepared for me on shipboard, tied a dark
veil over my head, an old woolen scarf about my throat, provided for
Ernie's sore-throat and croup, and stood equipped for my enterprise.

Neither bonnet, nor gloves, nor boots, did I possess--Mrs. Raymond's
loan having long since been condoned on behalf of some one else, and my
clothing, in my captivity, had been contrived to suit my circumstances.

Wheeling the bedstead very gently on its noiseless castors a few inches
from the wall, I insinuated myself between them, and, sheltered by the
head-board, loosened again the slightly-adhering covering of paper that
concealed the door, and fitted into the key-hole the well-oiled wooden
key, which once before had proved its efficiency. It did not fail me
now, in my hour of extremity, for a moment later I had turned and
removed it from its socket, stepped forth upon the landing, and relocked
without the door of my prison; but, perhaps, with too much of nervous
haste, too little caution, for, to my inexpressible confusion, the
handle of the instrument of my emancipation remained in my hand, broken
off at the lock, and useless forever more.

In delaying probable pursuit from within, I had cut off all possibility
of my own retreat in case of failure. My bridges were literally burned
behind me, and I had no alternative left between flight and detection.
And yet there was something in the situation that, inconsistently
enough, made me smile, albeit with a trembling heart.

I shook my head drearily, as a couplet from Collins's "Camel-Driver,"
with its strange appropriateness, irresistibly crossed my brain.

Why is it that, in times like these, such conceits beset us, such
comparisons arise? Does the quality called presence of mind find root in
the same source that impels us to apt quotation?--

  "What if the lion in his rage I meet?
  Oft in the dust I see his printed feet."

I gained fresh heart from that trivial diversion of thought, and stood
quietly contemplating alternately the hall below and that above (both of
which were visible from my place on the intermediate platform; all was
still in both of these wide corridors), to make sure of the safety of my
enterprise; and now, once more my foot was on the brink of those
mysterious stairs which led, I felt, to doom or to liberty. I commenced,
very cautiously, to descend them. The study-door at their foot was
closed, and all seemed silent within. The murmur of voices, and the
remote rattling of china proceeding from the ell behind the hall,
encouraged me to believe that on this bitter night the family was
concentrated, for greater comfort, in the supper-room.

With my hand on the baluster, pausing at every step, I crept quietly
down the stairway; then, as if my feet were suddenly winged with terror,
I darted by the study-door, flew lightly over the carpeted hall, and
found myself, in another moment, secure within, the small enclosed
vestibule into which the door of entrance gave. My worst misgivings had
never compassed the terrific truth. At this early hour of the evening,
not only was the front door locked, but the key had been withdrawn. This
was despair.

My knees gave way beneath me, and I sank like a flaccid heap in the
corner, against one of the leaves of the small folding-door that divided
the arched vestibule from the long entry, and which was secured to the
floor by a bolt, while the other one was thrown back. Crouched in the
shadow, powerless to move or think, I heard, with inexpressible terror,
the door of the study open, and the voice and step of Bainrothe in the
hall, approaching me.

Had he heard me? Would he come? Was I betrayed?

I felt my hair rise on my head as these questions rang like a tocsin
through my brain, and I think, at that moment, I had a foretaste of the
chief agony of death.

They were answered by Bainrothe himself, as he paused midway between the
study-door and my place of refuge; and again I breathed--I lived.

"I was mistaken, 'Stasia, it is not he! the wind, probably; and that
marble looks so cold--so uninviting--I shall not explore it. He has a
key, you know, and can come when he likes; for my part, I shall go in to
supper while the oysters are hot. Do as you like, though."

"Had we not better wait? You know he is sure to come to-night, bad as
the weather is, on account of that affair. It was late when Wentworth
notified him."

This was the rejoinder made from within the study, in which I
recognized the voice of Mrs. Raymond, clear and shrill.

"Well, have it as you please. If you prefer courtesy to comfort, you
shall be gratified; but what's the use of ceremony with Gregory? He will
be here in twenty minutes, Mr. Bainrothe; but don't wait. I shall have
time to sup with him before I go up-stairs, you know. I believe I will
stay where I am until he comes, and finish taking in the poor thing's
wedding-gown. Well, any thing is better than removal to the belfry"--and
I thought I heard a sigh.

"A matter of mere temporary necessity, you know, only she might have
frozen in the interval," said Bainrothe, jauntily, as he walked up the
hall to the door of the dining-room, which I heard him open and let fall
against its sill again. It closed with a spring, and in the next moment
the study-door was also softly shut, and all was still.

My resolution was promptly taken. The folding leaves of the inner
door--that which divided the marble-paved vestibule from the carpeted
entry--against one of which I had been leaning, I well knew worked to
and fro on pulleys which obeyed the drawing of a cord and tassel hanging
at one side, and thus they could readily be closed with a touch by any
one standing in the vestibule as they opened out into the hall on which
side was the latch and bolt. I recalled this quaint arrangement with a
quickness born of emergency, as one that might serve me now, and
speadily possessed myself of the tassel at the extremity of the
controlling cord. Thus armed, and praying inwardly for strength and
courage, and wherewith to carry out my scheme successfully, I took my
stand in one of the two niches (just large enough for the purpose) in
the door-frame, preferring, of course, that next to the lock, prepared
to darken the vestibule at the first approach of the expected guest (I
was afraid to do it before, lest attention might be called to it from
within the house), and make my escape by rushing past him ere he could
recover himself as he entered in the gloom.

The hazard was extreme, the result uncertain, the effort almost
foolhardy, it may be thought; but the storm and darkness were in my
favor, and I was fleet of foot, as were not all of my pursuers, as far
as I could foresee who these might be.

Momently I grew cooler, more determined, more calm, more desperate, more
regardless of consequences; and now the culmination of endeavor
approached in the shape of the sound of stamping feet upon the icy
platform of the steps which they had softly ascended, and the uncertain
fitting of a dead-latch key in its dark socket, the feeling for the knob
with half-frozen fingers, and finally the sudden and violent throwing
forward and open of the door into the darkened vestibule, for I had
drawn the cord at the first symptoms of Gregory's advent, which yet took
me by surprise. I had closed the inner doors, it is true, but paralyzed
with sudden terror I had taken no advantage of the darkness thus evoked,
and, as the tall form of the expected and expectant bridegroom staggered
in, literally blown forward by the tempest, with introverted umbrella,
and wet and streaming garments (dimly discerned in the gloom) that
brushed against me as he passed, I continued to stand transfixed to
stone in the niche I still occupied.

The dream in which La Vigne had prophesied my failure flashed over me
like lightning, and my knees trembled beneath me, yet I still clung
spasmodically to the cord I held, and with such desperate force that,
when Gregory pushed against the door, he believed it latched within, and
so desisted from further effort.

"Dark as Erebus," he muttered, "and on such a night! Confound such
hospitality! I suppose I must go back and ring;" and in pursuance of
this idea he again suddenly opened the front-door, which, swinging
violently back as he turned his face within, once more afforded me the
golden opportunity so lately lost. Quick as thought I dropped the cord I
held, and in the sudden gust the leaves of the inner door, thus
released, flew open and impelled my foe irresistibly forward. With his
flapping coat and hat he drifted into the lighted hall before the
driving blast, and, roused to instantaneous action, I slid from the
niche I filled to the icy platform without, and swift and silent as a
spectre sped down the sleety steps to the outward darkness. I was free!

A moment after, I heard the door slammed heavily after me, while I
crouched by the gate-post for concealment.

Rising up, I mutely blessed the friendly portal that made me an outcast
in the storm-swept streets from which the very dogs shrank terrified.

One moment, one only, I paused as I passed by my father's gate-way,
crowned with stone lions that glimmered in the gloom. The force of
association and of contrast shook me with emotion--I could not enter
there. My own roof afforded me no shelter from the biting blast; but
squares away, with a comparative stranger, I must seek (if I ever gained
it on that dreadful night) a refuge from the storms and sure protection
from my foes.

I moved rapidly along toward the tall street-lamp that diffused a dim
and murky light from its frost crusted lantern at the corner of the
square, and before I reached it I encountered the first danger of my
undertaking.

Protected, fortunately, by the shadow of the high stone-wall near which
I walked rapidly, I met Dinah, so nearly face to face that the whiff of
the pipe she was smoking was warm upon my cheek. Wrapped in her old
cloth shawl and quilted hood, she muttered as she went, and staggered
too, I thought, though here the northeast wind, that swept her along
before it, might have been at fault, while, blowing in my face, it
retarded my progress.

I passed her unchallenged, but, glancing back just as I turned the
corner, I became aware that she was retracing her steps. I fled rapidly
on until I reached the shelter of a friendly nook between two houses
(well remembered of old), when, turning again to gaze, I saw her
standing immovable as a statue beneath the lamp-post, evidently looking
in the direction I had taken. There seemed no way of escape now save in
persistent flight. My place of concealment might be too readily detected
by a cautious observer, a savage on the war-trail. Should Dinah herself
pursue me, I knew my speed would distance her; but, that prompt pursuit
of some kind was imminent, I knew from that moment.

My aim was to reach the house of Dr. Pemberton, no intermediate one
presenting itself as that of an acquaintance of whom I could ask
shelter, and belief in the truth of my assertions. Of this house I
remembered the position with tolerable accuracy. It formed one, I knew,
of a long block of buildings extending from one street to another, and
was near the centre.

I had been there only on rare occasions, when his niece abode with him,
for he dwelt ordinarily in widowed solitude, although our intimacy was
that of relatives rather than of patient and physician.

For this desired goal I strained every nerve, every muscle, every
faculty, on that never-to-be-forgotten night of bitter, freezing cold,
and driving sleet and blast, which seemed to proclaim itself, in every
howling gust, "The wind Euroclydon!"




CHAPTER XIII.


At first, excitement and terror winged my feet; but even these refused,
after I had gone a few squares, to do their friendly office.

Bareheaded, but for a filmy veil, soon thoroughly drenched through;
barehanded and almost barefooted, for my thin silk slippers and
stockings formed not, after my first few steps, the slightest impediment
to wet or cold, I felt that I must perish by the wayside. The sleety
storm drove sharply in my face, rendered doubly sensitive to its rigor
by long absence from outward air. My insufficient clothing clung closely
about me, freezing in every fold, and I glided rather than walked along
the icy pavement, scarcely lifting my stiffened feet, or having power to
do so.

One stern hope--it almost seemed a forlorn one--now possessed me to the
exclusion of all else; one prayer trembled on my quivering lips--that I
might reach my destination, if only to tell my story and drop dead a
moment after.

Yet I think, in spite of this resolve--this prayer--that, had a friendly
door been opened on the way, an area even emitting light and warmth, I
should have instinctively turned aside and, at any risk, pleaded for
shelter, both from storm and foeman.

In those days that seem far back in the march of luxury, because of the
vast impetus of human momentum, stores were closed early, and the
primitive family tea-table still existed which marked the assemblage of
the household around the evening lamp and hearth.

I remember the closed, inhospitable look of the houses past which I
sped--the solid wooden shutters, then universal, which closed from the
wayfarer every evidence of internal life, and the cold sheen of the
icy-white marble steps, made visible by dim lamp-light.

I gained a street-corner not very far, as it seemed to me, from my place
of destination. Yet, until I glanced across the way, I was uncertain,
and, but for the friendly refuge this opportunity presented, I think I
must have faltered and perhaps fallen and frozen to death on the
road-side.

To my bewildered and disordered brain, Aladdin's palace seemed suddenly
to rise before me in that wilderness of sealed houses and uninhabited
streets; for, as I have said before, the very dogs had crept away that
night into secure corners, and not even a pariah chimney-sweep, with his
dingy blanket drawn close around him, nodded and dozed by a watch-box or
slept on a door-step.

I crept across the space that divided me from this cynosure of warmth
and luxury, as a poor, draggled moth might do, to bask in the
revivifying light of an astral lamp, attracted beyond my power to
resist, to pause before the resplendent window, rich in green and purple
and amber rotund vases, whose transparent contents were set forth and
revealed by fiery jets of gas, toward which I feebly stretched my
half-frozen fingers.

There was a splendid vision, also, of goldfish, in glass globes, jars of
leaden rock-work, baskets of waxen fruits and flowers, crystal bottles
containing rose and amber essences; but, above all, there was
light--there was heat.

With one greedy, insatiate gaze my eyes swept in the details of this
mimic Eden, and, in another moment, my hand turned the knob of the
ground-glass door near the window, and I found myself in paradise!

Rest, shelter, heat--these must I have or perish, and, but for the
timely refuge of this thrice-blessed apothecary's shop, I might have
left this retrospect unwritten!

I staggered to a chair, and seated myself, unbidden, by the almost
red-hot stove, and cowered above it for a time, oblivions of all else.

Then I looked timidly around me.

The master of this Eden was standing, at the moment when he first caught
my eyes, holding up a bottle, scrutinizingly, between his face and the
light, one of many of the same sort that a lad, in a long, white apron,
was engaged in washing.

The odor of the various drugs and essences over which he presided formed
an aromatic atmosphere singularly suggestive of incense, as did his
costume, that of a high-priest of the temple; but, very soon discarding
a gray-linen cape or talma, worn for the protection of his speckless
coat, and tossing a bundle of corks rather disdainfully to his
assistant, the head of the establishment came politely forward, standing
on the other side of the stove, with clasped hands, expectantly.

"You will tell me your errand here when you are quite ready," he said,
kindly. "Do rest and warm yourself first. The stove has a narcotic
tendency when one has just come out of cold like this! The thermometer
has fallen twenty degrees since noonday; but that is only half the
trouble. Hem! This sleet and wind are beyond any former experience of
mine at this season."

I heard the words of the speaker as if bound in a dreadful dream, but
they were clearly understood, and now I made an effort at utterance, but
failed, until after repeated endeavors, to enunciate one word. Yet I
noted distinctly, and even with a nice discrimination of scrutiny, the
red-haired and bright-eyed man, portly and somewhat pompous-looking,
with his plump hands folded over his vest, who stood before me, looking
pityingly down on my suffering face.

After a time I gathered up my forces sufficiently to inquire, being
quite thawed and comforted by the reviving heat of the apartment, how
far it might be to the house of Dr. Pemberton, who resided in the block
of houses known as Kendrick's Row, on Maple Street.

"It is nearly a square and a half, miss, by street measurement just now,
as, on account of changes, this is impassable," was the prompt reply.
"Scarcely half a square by the alley that runs from my back-door, after
a short turn, straight through to Maple Street; and, if it is only
question of a message, I can send Caleb, so that you may await the
coming of the doctor in comfort, in this emporium. He always uses his
gig for night-visits, and will, no doubt, be happy to carry you home in
his wolfskin."

"Thanks--there is no question of a medical visit. I have very important
business with him. I must see him in his own house. I will go without
further delay. But, perhaps"--lingering a moment--"you would be so good
as to suffer Mr. Caleb to show me the short way you spoke of? I shall
not mind going through the alley at all."

I rose prepared to depart, and glanced beseechingly at Caleb, who laid
down his bottle uncorked, and folded his arms with an approving knightly
bow, unperceived by his employer.

"We have just had a similar inquiry as to Dr. Pemberton's locality; I
mean," said the master of the emporium, without replying to my request,
"on the part of a very distinguished-looking personage--I might say,
well got up in the fur and overcoat line--and, had you come in a few
moments earlier, you might have had his escort; or perhaps you are on
his track now--probably one of his party?" hesitatingly. "No! Well, it
is a strange coincidence, to say the least--very strange--as the doctor
is so well known hereabouts. As to going out in the storm again, I have
my misgivings, miss, for you, when I look at the flimsiness of your
attire and its drenched condition. I can't see, indeed, how a
delicate-looking lady like yourself ever held her own against this
terrific wind. Eolus seems to have lost his bags! But, perhaps you had
an escort to the corner?"

"No--no--no--I came quite alone! Oh, for pity's sake, put me on my way
and let me go! My business is most urgent!" I hesitated--my heart sank.
Had Bainrothe been before me to spirit the doctor away by some feigned
message of need, of distress, to which no inclemency of weather could
close that benevolent medical ear? And did he lie in wait for me on the
way?"

"Perhaps I had, after all, better go alone," I continued; "it might be
too great an inconvenience"--and I moved toward the ground-glass door.

"Not if you will accept my services, miss," said Caleb, timidly, pushing
away the remaining corks as he spoke, and glancing furtively at his
master.

"How often must I remind you, Caleb Fink," said the owner of the
emporium, "that your sphere is circumscribed to your duties? Attend to
those phials, and drain them well before you bottle the citrate of
magnesia. The last was spoiled by your unpardonable carelessness. I have
not forgotten this!"

And again, with a deprecatory look at me, Caleb Fink subsided into a
nonentity.

"Truly has the great and wise Dr. Perkins remarked that 'the women of
America are suicidal from the cradle to the grave!' I will give you one
of his pamphlets, miss, to take away with you, and you will be convinced
that slippers are serpents in disguise in winter weather! The wooden
shoes of Germany rather! Ay, or even the _sabot_ of France! You must not
stir another step in those. Be seated, pray, and I will not detain you
long, while I procure a substitute or protection for such shams, worth
nothing in such Siberian weather.--Caleb, a word with you;" and he
whispered to his apprentice, who glided away, to return in a trice with
a pair of India-rubber overshoes, into which benign boats he proceeded
to thrust my unresisting feet, as I stood leaning on the counter; after
which a muffler was tied about my ears, and a heavy honey-comb shawl
thrown over my shoulders by the same expeditious hands.

"Could you be always as spry, Caleb! Your gloves now--I shall need my
own"--and a pair of stalwart knitted mits were forthwith drawn over my
passive hands, in which my fingers nestled undivided and warm.

"Now you look something like going for the doctor! My overcoat,
Caleb--gloves--fur-cape--cane! All hanging near the bed. There, we are
ready now for old Borealis himself, if he chooses to blow! But I
forget--God bless me, you are as pale as the ghost of Pompey, at
Philippi!--Caleb, the Perkins elixir--a glass!--Now, young lady, just
take it down at a gulp. It is the only alcoholic preparation that
Napoleon Bonaparte Burress ever suffered to pass his temperate lips.
Father Matthew does not object to it at all, I am told, on emergencies.
It may be had at this repository very low, either by the gross or
dozen."--speaking the last words mechanically, and he tendered me a
small glass of some nauseous, bittersweet, and potent beverage, that
coursed through my veins like liquid fire.

"Thank you; it _is_ very comforting," I gasped, and, setting the glass
down on the counter, I covered my face with my hands and burst into
tears.

The whole forlornness of my outcast and eleemosynary condition rushed
over me simultaneously with the flood of warmth caused by the Perkins
elixir, which nerved me the next moment for the encounter with the
elements.

I saw the kindly master of the emporium turn away, either to conceal his
own emotion or his observation of mine, and Caleb stood trembling and
crying like a girl before me.

I had shrunk, it may be remembered, from the description Sabra gave me
of McDermot, when I heard of his red hair and "chaney-blue eyes;" but to
this red-haired, hazel-eyed man I yearned instinctively, for there are
moral differences discernible in the temperament greater than any other,
and, when a red-haired man is tender-hearted, he usually usurps the
womanly prerogative, and gushes.

But Caleb's sympathy touched me even more.

"We will go now, if you please," I said, recovering myself by a strong
effort, and Napoleon B. Burress mutely tendered me his stout,
overcoated arm. "The short way you mentioned--let us go that way, if not
disagreeable to you," I pleaded.

"Oh, no; it will be an absolute saving of time to me; but, I warn you,
the alley is narrow and dark!"

"Never mind; I prefer the short cut, be it what it may. Time is every
thing to me."

We passed through the shop, threaded a narrow entry, opened a back-door,
which gave upon a strip of paved yard, leading in turn to a back-gate,
through which we emerged into a dark and dirty-looking alley.

But first the work of unlocking a padlock, which confined a chain, had
to be effected, and, while Mr. N.B. Burress was thus unfastening his
back-gate preparatory to egress, I stood gazing back, Eurydice-like, in
the place I had left, for the doors of the long entry stood open,
revealing the shop beyond and its illuminated window.

Standing thus, I saw, as through a vista and in a perfect ecstasy of
terror, the ground-glass shop-door open, and two well-known forms in
succession block its portals--those of Gregory and Bainrothe! Would
Caleb send them on our track, or would the better part of valor come to
his aid and save me from their clutches?

A thought occurred to me. "Mr. Burress," I said (I had retained his name
with its remarkable prefix), "will you not lock the gate outside? I can
wait patiently until you secure your premises--and--and bring away the
key."

"I had meant to leave it here until my return, but you are right,"
speaking indulgently. "I suppose burglars are abroad on nights like
this," and he quietly relocked the alley-gate. "You are very
considerate," he said, dryly, after we had gone a few yards in profound
silence, "but had I not better return for a lantern?"

"Oh, not for worlds! Faster--faster, Mr. Burress, and Heaven will reward
you! Never mind the stones--the snow--the mud--so that we get there
first! Yes, I see where the lane turns; I see very well in the
dark--never fear--only do not delay--I am so glad you locked the
alley-gate. They cannot come that way."

"Of whom are you afraid, poor young lady? Nobody would harm you, I am
sure; such a gentle, tender thing as you seem to be!"

"Oh, yes! Fiends are on my track! Don't let them get possession of me
again, Mr. Burress, I am pursued--yes--faster--faster!"

"But what has startled you, poor thing, since we left the Repository?
You seemed quite calm after the Perkins elixir--and those tears. Ah! I
understand!" and he coughed several times significantly. "The doctor
will set all right, I suppose, when I give you into his hands. I am glad
I came with you myself--courage, we shall soon be there!"

"Yes--yes--he is my only hope! I will explain all when we are safe with
him. It is not as you think! I have no strength now. Don't question me
further, it exhausts me to talk. Just drag me along."

And silently and valiantly did he betake himself to his task. The
noisome alley was threaded, and again we emerged into the sleety,
lamp-lit street, a few doors from the corner of that block, in the
centre of which Dr. Pemberton resided.

As we approached the friendly threshold, the exact situation of which
was familiar to my companion, he pointed it out triumphantly with his
stick.

"We shall soon be there," he reiterated, "no need for hurry now." But as
he spoke I saw a carriage turn the corner we were facing, and again I
urged on my lagging escort to his utmost speed. I ran up the sleety
steps in advance of him, and rang the bell with convulsive energy. Its
summons was answered promptly, but not a second too soon, for, as the
door opened to admit me, the carriage paused before the door, and two
men leaped from it, one of whom, the taller, thrusting Burress aside,
rushed up the steps after me with outstretched arms.

I had found refuge in the vestibule, and slammed the door in his
face--closing, as it did, with a spring-lock--before he reached the
platform. Then turning to his companion, he fled down to the street
again, with the cry that reached my ear distinctly, of "Baffled, by
God!" on his profane lips, and the twain drove off as rapidly as they
had come.

A moment later a feeble ring at the door, and a voice from without,
assuring the inmates that it was only N.B. Burress, and conjuring them
not to be alarmed, caused him to be admitted at once by the house-maid,
and shown into the same small front study into which she had conducted
me to await the doctor's appearance.

"What name shall I give? The doctor is engaged," said the house-maid,
lingering.

"If one at all, merely let me know when he is ready to see me. I am
tired and cold, and can wait patiently by this good fire."

"It may be some time, miss; would you like a cup of hot coffee, you and
this gentleman? The doctor has just had his supper, and there is a pint
or more left in the urn."

"Thanks--nothing could be more welcome," and the house-maid
disappeared.

"That is the way of this house--patients are always entertained, if in
need of refreshment," said Mr. Burress, advancing to the chimney, while
he rubbed his hands in a self-gratulatory manner, then expanded them
before the bright glare that filled every pore with warmth.

I was tremulous, and silent, and half exhausted, and he seemed to take
this in at a friendly glance, for he made none of those inquiries that I
knew were burning on his inquisitive lips; but after a few moments of
further enjoyment before the grate, and having duly turned himself as on
a spit, so as to absorb every ray of heat possible, he betook himself to
an arm-chair and a book, near the drop-light on a corner table, the soft
rustling of the turning leaves of which had a most soothing effect on my
nerves.

"I shall only stay a few minutes," he said, apologetically. "I wish,
however, to see you safe in Dr. Pemberton's hands before I leave you, as
a sort of duty, you know, you being a charge of mine, and should you
need further escort--"

"Oh, thank you, kindly; you have surely had enough trouble on my account
already."

"Not a particle--only a pleasure, miss; but the push I got from your
pursuer upset me on the pavement and made sparks fly out of my eyes,
and, before I could gather myself up, they were back again in the
carriage and off. You will have to give me the man's name, miss--you
will, indeed, on my own account, when all your fatigue and fright are
over. Such favors are generally returned by me with compound interest."

"Oh, be thankful you have not a compound fracture, Mr. Burress, and let
the fellow go. He is beneath contempt. But I shall not be satisfied
until Dr. Pemberton tells me himself that you are uninjured."

"A lump as big as a potato--that's all, miss; not worth minding, I
assure you;" and he raised his hand to his occipital region. "An
application, before retiring to bed, of 'Prang's Blood and Life
Regenerator,' will make all right again. An astonishing remedy, miss,
which no family should be without, and which may be obtained cheaply by
the gross or dozen at my emporium. You have heard of Hercules Prang?"

These were the last words I heard distinctly from the lips of Napoleon
B. Burress; nor were they answered, even by the brief "Never" which
might have proclaimed my ignorance of the very existence of that
demi-god of charlatanry, who, for the benefit of suffering mankind, had
condescended to compel his genius into the shape of a "revivifying
balsam."

I had, with the aid of the house-maid, divested myself of my wet
overshoes and wrappings before the advent of my companion, and had
already ensconced myself in a deep Spanish chair, that stood invitingly
and with extended arms in one corner of the fireplace, when he advanced
to place himself on the rug for a general roasting.

It was precisely twenty minutes past ten, Mr. Burress told me later,
when he detected, by stealing on tiptoe to my chair, and bending above
me, that I was sound asleep, and the mantel clock was on the stroke of
eleven when I awoke.

In one corner of the room sat a stern statue of Silence, in the shape of
N.B. Burress, watching my repose, and from the adjoining office came the
murmur of voices that proved that the long interview between Dr.
Pemberton and his patient was still in progress.

At this moment, one of the walnut-leaves of the small folding-door,
that formed a communication between the study and office of the good
physician, swung itself gently on its noiseless hinges, into the
position distinguished in description as "slightly ajar," and thus
remained fixed, after a fashion that spiritual mediums might have been
able to account for, on supernatural principles.

The low murmur of voices then readily resolved itself into shaped words
and sentences, and, but for my deep languor, and the delightful sense of
security that possessed me, I should have risen and closed the obliging
door, to shut out unintentional communications.

As it was, I lingered and listened, as one might do to the dash of
waves, or the rustling of branches, until suddenly the tones and meaning
of the principal interlocutor caused me to rise to my loftiest sitting
posture, and clasp the arms of the chair I occupied, while the strained
ear of attention drank in every syllable of the remainder of the
narrative, evidently drawing near its close.

The low monotony of a continued discourse pervaded the voice, the manner
of the speaker, the thread of whose story was no longer interrupted, as
before, by the comments or questions of his companion, intent upon the
vital interest of the tale.

"So I turned back at Panama," said the _raconteur_, probably, of a
series of adventures, "and abandoned my project altogether. The man
spoke with an air and tone of truth; the sketch was unmistakably hers.
The whole thing was full of _vraisemblance_, so to speak, and bore me
completely off my feet. The initials beneath the sketch of Christian
Garth were identical with her own.

"He referred me to Captain Van Dorne for confirmation of the saving of
the few remaining passengers on the raft, and her presence in the ship
Latona, together with that of the child and negress.

"I have seen Captain Van Dorne, and he admits the part he played, on the
representation of Bainrothe; and, through the evidence of a newspaper
advertisement, of the previous autumn, which had met his eye, to satisfy
the puerile scruples of this really good but ignorant man--going no
deeper than the surface in his code of morals--they were obliged to tear
out the record of their names, and take refuge temporarily in the
long-boat, before he would swear to Miriam, in her state-room, that
Bainrothe was not on board.

"As to the _habeas corpus_ which would have gone into effect to-day, and
which the wretch managed to defeat by requiring an error to be corrected
in the writ, that no guiltless man would have observed, I fear sometimes
it will prove ineffectual if we wait for the morrow. My plan was to go
at midnight with a party of my friends to the house of this miscreant,
and take the law in my own hands; but, in this I could not stir, for the
reasons I have given you. Besides that, it was risking too much--her
safety and reputation.

"She cannot be secretly removed, of course, for we have a detective in
the house able and strong, besides the old well-paid negress, both of
whom--"

"Have played you false," I interrupted, rising impetuously, and throwing
back the loose leaf of the door, "and I am here to tell you this. O
friends, have you forgotten me?"

And, rushing forward, I threw an arm around each of those dear necks,
weeping alternately on the shoulder of one and the other of the two men
I loved best in the world, and who, for some moments, sat silent and
amazed!

Then Wentworth rose mutely, and clasped me to his breast, and silence
prevailed between us. It comprehended all.

I think, when we meet again in heaven, after that severance which is
inevitable to those who wear a mortal shape, we may feel as we did then,
but never before! The rapture--the relief--the spiritual
ecstasy--surmounting, as on wings of fire, pain, fatigue, suspense,
anguish of mind and body--were in themselves lessons of immortality
beyond any that book or sage has issued from midnight vigil or earthly
tabernacle.

Not until a new order of things is established, and we have done with
tribulation, tears, and death, shall we again know such sensations; nor
is it indeed quite certain that human heart and brain could twice
sustain them here below!




CHAPTER XIV.


Reaction came at last! Life is full of bathos as well as pathos. An hour
later, we four companions in the rejoicing over this redemption, if
chiefly strangers before, were partaking cheerfully together of hot
coffee and oysters. The services of Mrs. Jessup had been called in--the
doctor's excellent old Quaker house-keeper--and, amid many "thous" and
"thees," she had served us a capital and expeditious supper.

No one enjoyed the festive occasion more than Mr. Burress, who, on the
point of stealing lightly away after witnessing from the front study the
scene of recognition and meeting, had been arrested on the threshold by
Dr. Pemberton himself.

Either to allow a full explanation between two long-parted lovers, or to
conceal his own emotion and get back his customary calm, our dear doctor
had seen fit to step into the front-study for a few minutes, and he
checked Mr. Burress, with his hand on the door-knob, with some very
natural questions as to the mode and time of our meeting, and ended by
requiring his presence at the slight collation he ordered at once.

The part the worthy apothecary had played in my closing adventure; the
certainty that to his zeal and promptness I owed my immunity from
further captivity--for, had I walked around the square in the usual
way, the men at watch from the carriage-windows must have espied and
seized me--or, had we loitered in the alley, and arrived a moment later
at the central house of Kendrick Row, there is no doubt that they would
have been there to await my arrival, nor could Mr. Burress have saved me
from their clutches--the whole thing seemed especially providential;
but, as the efficient medium of each mercy, Napoleon B. Burress did,
indeed, seem to all present crowned with a perfect nimbus of glory. Dr.
Pemberton led him back to my presence with his arm encircling his
shoulder; Captain Wentworth shook his hand mutely but long, with his
eyes dimmed with tears, and words that found imperfect utterance, at
last compelling him to strange silence.

"I thank you, I bless you," he said, at last. "I do not hope to be able
to return such services, but, what I _can do_, command."

"And I to think that she was crazy all the time; escaped from the great
asylum a mile away. Sweetest creature, too, I ever saw in my life; and
Caleb thought so, too."

The speaker brushed a briny drop or two from his eyes with the back of
his hand as he spoke; then, smiling archly, asked:

"Can you forgive me, miss, for belying you so, even in thought? You see,
I have made a clean breast of it now; but such a pity!"

"Forgive you?" And I advanced toward him, and put both my hands in one
of his large white extremities, and, before I knew what I was doing, I
had stooped over and kissed it, and was bathing it with my tears.

"O miss! this is too much; it is, indeed!" said Napoleon B., blushing
to the roots of his hair, and withdrawing his hand with a
slightly-mortified air; "you nonplus me completely."

"You see she was too much overcome, Mr. Burress, to speak otherwise than
this," said Wentworth, drawing me to his bosom. "You must honor this
expression of feeling as I do."

"O sir! it is the greatest honor I ever received in my life; and she,
poor thing, like Penelope, tangled up in a web so long, and free at
last! Well, it is a great joy to me to think I helped a little to cut
the ropes."

"Helped! Why, I owe every thing to you. Listen," and then as briefly as
I could I recounted the trials in store for me that very night--the
compulsory marriage, or the removal to the belfry-tower--one or the
other inevitable, and either of which must have made the proposed rescue
of the following day, on the part of Captain Wentworth and his friends,
in one sense or the other unavailing. As the wife of Gregory, or as the
prisoner of the turret, I should in one case have been morally, and in
the other physically, dead or lost forever!

Mutely, and tearfully even, was my skill in setting forth the magnitude
of the wrong, from which Mr. Burress had been instrumental in saving me,
acknowledged by my audience, not excepting Jenny the house-maid, who,
arrested on the threshold, stood wiping her eyes with her neat cotton
apron in token of sympathy.

"Caleb will be wondering what has become of me, and tired out of
watching if I don't go home at once," said Mr. Burress, after his
emotion had subsided, and accepting gracefully the civic crown with
which he had been metaphorically rewarded. Mine was in store, but how
could he dream of this?

A statue of the Greek Slave, a copy made by a master-hand, soon adorned
his window, and his bride wore pearls of price, the joint gift of Miriam
and Wardour Wentworth, a twelvemonth later, when a mistress of the
emporium was brought home, much to the solace of Caleb, who was
remembered by us also, let me not forget to add.

Truly kind and benevolent as he was, Napoleon Burress had a despotic
manner, which relaxed beneath the genial smile of Marian March.

"I must go, indeed, my dear sir" (to Dr. Pemberton), "but this night
will be memorable in my annals. God bless you all! Farewell. Afraid of
an encounter? Not I Like Horatio Cockleshell of old, I learned to carry
pistols constantly about me when I had to pass the bridge every night as
a youngster. My parents lived in Hamilton village. I still keep up the
custom, and therefore pay my fine yearly to the council."

When at last we separated, the clock was on the stroke of one, and I
went to a clean and quiet chamber above the little study, where a bright
fire was burning, but whence the smell of lavender, which always
accompanies the fresh sheets of Quakerhood, still prevailed with a
summer-like fragrance. The attentive house-maid disrobed me, and bathed
my chilled and frosted feet and swollen hands in water tempered with
alcohol. Then arraying me in a mob-cap and snowy cotton gown, the
property of good Mrs. Jessup, placed me in the soft nest prepared for
sojourners beneath that homely but hospitable roof.

"I hope thee is comfortable, Miriam Monfort," said Mrs. Jessup, after I
was ensconced in bed, "Why, thy face is the same after all, that I
remember when thou wert a very little girl, and used to walk out with
Mrs. Austin. She is well, I hope?" settling the bed-cover.

"I cannot tell you, Mrs. Jessup. I must rather ask such questions of
you. When did you see her last? and Mabel--do you know my little
sister?"

"Oh, yes, I know her perfectly well by sight. Let me see, it was Sabbath
before last that, just as I was coming out of Friends' meeting-house, I
saw Mabel Monfort, a pretty maiden, truly, walking with her step-sister,
I think, and a tall and stately gentleman. But Mrs. Austin I have not
seen since last rose-time, and then only in passing. She seemed well,
but wore a troubled face."

"Yes, yes; she was troubled, no doubt, things were so altered; and, if
her heart had not turned to stone, she must have thought of me sometimes
regretfully. But all bids fair now, Mrs. Jessup, both for me and her,
and for Mabel. For the rest, let them go--they are fiends!"

"Thee has a very flushed and hot cheek, Miriam, now that I see thee
closely and touch thy face"--doing so lightly with the back of her hand
as she spoke. "A bowl of sage-tea would, no doubt, be of service to
thee; shall I--"

"Oh, no, Mrs. Jessup; I never could drink that wise stuff in the world.
I have just had a good supper, and am excited, that is all. Jenny will
tell you what she overheard concerning my escape of to-night, and that
will account for all."

"Good-night, then, Miriam; may the Lord have thee in his care this
night"--and she withdrew, followed by Jenny, eager, no doubt, to
commence the recital of my adventure, or to hear what more Captain
Wentworth and Dr. Pemberton had to say on the subject.

It was nearly daylight when they parted, one to snatch a few hours of
needful slumber before setting out on his professional tour, the other
to go at once to the officers of justice, and, at the very earliest hour
possible, obtain the authority to arrest the brace of arch-conspirators,
still protected by the shadows of the dawn.

For Justice has its time of sleeping and waking in large cities, and
will not be denied its meals, its hours of rest, and even recreation. So
it was seven o'clock in the cold November morning before the proper
ceremonials could be accomplished which placed it in the power of
Wentworth to arraign Basil Bainrothe and Luke Gregory.

He occupied one seat in the hackney-coach, which was otherwise filled by
the officers of the law; but, when he rang a sonorous peal on the portal
bell of Bainrothe's residence, it was unanswered, and, though the house
had been watched since daylight by an armed police force, who had no
connection with McDermot, it was found, when an entrance had been
effected, that the only inhabitants of the mansion were a sick woman, an
old negress, and a child, apparently, from its puny size, about a
twelvemonth old. The woman could not be aroused from the coma in which
she seemed to have fallen, either as a crisis of her disease or a
precursor of death (medical opinion was divided), until suddenly, about
noon, she waked, perfectly clear in mind and comfortable in body, and
called loudly for nourishment!

I had slept profoundly until that hour, and my first thought in waking
was of Mrs. Clayton and her probable condition; then came the
concentrated effort necessary for her release; and she, too, awoke, as I
have shown, to consciousness and physical ease.

Her surprise, her indignation, at being thus deserted, surpassed even
her disappointment at my escape, and her involuntary somnolency was a
theme of self-reproach and marvel both. But all yielded in turn to
terror when she found herself under arrest in her own chamber, in
company with her fellow-conspirator Sabra.

The child was brought to me, at my earnest request, and, during the few
days of my sojourn under Dr. Pemberton's roof, managed to make friends
of all around him. His deformity soon became a matter of interest and
medical examination, and it was decided that it was not beyond the reach
of surgical skill.

The process would be very gradual, Dr. Pemberton thought, of
straightening the spinal curvature; but, should the health of the child
prove good after his tardy and difficult dentition, much might be hoped
from the aid of Nature herself. This was joyous intelligence to me.

The noble soul of Ernie should still wear a fitting frame, and the
stature of his kind be accorded to him! The "picaninny" wicked old Sabra
had gloated on as a dainty morsel, on the raft, might live to put Fate
itself to shame; for had I not marveled that his mother even should care
to preserve a thing so frail and wretched, when we sat hand-in-hand
together on the burning ship? And, later, had I not pondered over the
wisdom of his preservation? Who, then, shall penetrate the mysteries of
divine intention?

Claude Bainrothe had been arrested, but, after close and thorough
examination, was dismissed as irresponsible for and ignorant of his
father's acts and designs, a sentence afterward revoked, as far as
public opinion was concerned.

Evelyn, Mabel, and Mrs. Austin, were, of course, beyond suspicion--the
last two deservedly so; and if, indeed, Evelyn had been guilty of
cooeperation, I knew it had been through the force of circumstances
alone, too potent for her egotism and vanity. She never wished to
destroy, only to govern me, and make my being and interests subordinate
to her own. Mrs. Austin and Mabel received me with earnest joy, and
Evelyn even manifested a decent sense of sisterly gratulation.

I never saw Claude Bainrothe nor entered my father's house until after
he had left it and forever--accompanied not by his wife, who lingered
behind in distress and wretched dependence, most bitter to a spirit like
hers, neither loving to give or receive favors--for, gathering up all of
his own and his father's valuables, and drawing from the bank every
dollar he could command, this worthy son of an unprincipled sire fled to
join his parent, with his minion, Ada Greene. Evelyn had been for some
time sensible of his infatuation, and striven vainly to combat it by
every means in her power, forbearance having been her first alternative,
vivid reproach her last. But experiments had failed. The first only
fostered guilt beneath her own roof--the last urged it to its
consummation.

Still young and beautiful, she was deserted by the only man she had ever
loved--the being for whom she had ruthlessly sacrificed the welfare of
her sisters and every sentiment of honor; to whom she had given up her
liberty to pander to his and his father's ignominy, and her home to
their desecration.

In her great grief she retired to the solitude of her own chamber, and
refused to see any face save that of Mrs. Austin, who from this period
became her sole attendant, even after time had somewhat ameliorated the
first agony incident to her condition.

For there came to her another phase of being which made this attendance
no less a necessity than her present form of bitter and helpless grief.
Hope revived, but in a form that promised no fruition, and which later
will be made plainer to the reader. Just now I must continue my
_resume_.

Old Martin was dead of paralysis, after praying vainly to be spared to
see his master's child return and take possession of her own, for he had
never believed in my suicide, an idea that Bainrothe had taken pains to
propagate. Nor did he lend any faith to my demise; knowing what he did,
he believed that I had gone to England to get assistance from my
mother's relatives--and Mrs. Austin had shared his opinion; she had
nursed him to the last, faithfully, and Evelyn had been tolerant of his
presence. This, at least, was a consolation.

Sabra and Mrs. Clayton were not prosecuted, and I did, perhaps, the most
inexorable act of my life when I refused to see either of them again, or
assist them to more than a mere subsistence until health could be
restored to the one and her "owners" written to in order that the other
might be reclaimed to bondage, in which condition alone she, and such as
she, can be restrained from wrongdoing. "For there are devils on the
earth," says Swedenborg, "as well as angels, and they both wear human
guise--but by this may we know them, that no mortal ties bind them, no
sphere confines them. They walk abroad, the one solely to evil for its
own sake, the other to universal good for the Father. Such as these die
not, but are translated, the one to hell, the other to heaven."

Do we not right, then, to confine and enslave devils while they abide
with us, or, if we can, to destroy them utterly? And if we discern them,
shall we not adore God's angels?

These dwell not long among us, and their eyes are fixed always with a
far, pure yearning for some sphere in which we have no part. We feel
this in our daily intercourse with them, for angels like these dwell
often in the lowliest form about us, and our common contact with them
thrills and awes us, though we scarcely realize that it is from them we
have these sensations, or what renders them so far, though near at hand!

Little children, submissive slaves, sad women, unresisting men, patient
physicians, great patriots, persistent preachers, martyr poets--all
these forms and phases in turn do our associate angels enter into and
inform.

But ever the sign is there! They are not ours! Among us, but not of
us--set apart, here for a season be it, longer or shorter, ready at any
time to spread their wings! My sister was of these--I did not recognize
this truth in the time of my great sorrow, when the parting plumes had
not revealed themselves to my undiscerning eyes.

A mighty touchstone has been applied to these earthly orbs since then,
and the power to discriminate has been given to my soul. As Gregory and
Sabra were devils, I verily believe, so was Mabel one of Swedenborg's
angels. Who shall gainsay me? Who knows more than I on this subtle
subject? Not the wisest theologian that lives and breathes this earthly
air! Only those who never speak to enlighten us, and who have passed
into infinite light and knowledge through the portals of the grave.

When I knelt beside Wardour Wentworth in the old church of chimes a
fortnight after my emancipation from the thraldom of demons, I acquired
with this new allegiance of mine a more Christian and forbearing spirit
than had ever before possessed me; but the pearl of great price came not
yet. Into the deeps of sorrow was my soul first compelled to enter, a
diver in the great ocean, whence alone all such precious pearls are
borne.

Notice had been given to Claude Bainrothe to evacuate my father's
premises before my return from the brief wedding-trip which comprised
business as well as recreation. Captain Wentworth took me with him to
Richmond and to Washington, to both of which places his affairs led him.
In the last I had the pleasure of grasping Old Hickory by his honest
hand. He was my husband's patron and benefactor, and as such alone
entitled to my regard; but there was more. As patriot, soldier,
gentleman in the truest sense of the word, I have not seen his peer.

It was a great delight to me, in spite of the shadow Evelyn's grief
threw over our threshold, to stand once more as mistress in my father's
house, even in the wreck of fortune, and control the education and
destiny of my young sister. Little Ernie, too, had his place in the
household as son by adoption, and grew daily stronger and more vigorous
in our sight, the thoughtful, loving, and reticent child, heralding the
man of power, affection, and principle, that he has become.

The employment of my husband lay near the city of my nativity. He was
occupied in making the great railroad through Jersey that was the
pioneer of engineering progress, and a mighty link between two kindred
States. He was in this way, though often absent, never for any length of
time, and his return was always a fresh source of joy to his household.
Mabel worshiped him; Ernie silently revered; Evelyn with all of her
growing peculiarities acknowledged he had merit; and Mrs. Austin
regarded him with mingled awe and affection, for to her he was
singularly kind and affectionate.

"To grow old in servitude," he would say, "what sadder fate can befall
any being, or more entitle him or her to forbearance and respect? What
life-long hardships does this condition not impose? And this is a field
for universal charity, which costs not much, only a little patience and
a few kind words and smiles."

Ours was a happy household; no cloud rested upon it, save for a few
brief days of illness or discomfort, until the great blow fell. In her
seventeenth year and on the eve of her marriage with Norman Stansbury
(again our neighbor, at intervals, when he came to visit his relatives,
a man of noble qualities and singularly devoted to my sister), Mabel
died suddenly of some secret disease of the heart which had simulated
radiant health and bloom.

I had sometimes observed with anxiety a slight shortness of breath, a
gasping after unusual exercise, and called the attention of physicians
to this state of things in my sister, who regarded it merely as a
nervous symptom, and this was all to indicate that the fell destroyer
was silently at work. She had just laid a bunch of white roses on her
toilet, and crossed the chamber for water to place them in, when she
called my name in a strange, excited way, that brought me speedily to
her side from the adjoining room. She was lying white and speechless on
her bed, beside which the crystal goblet lay in fragments.

The waters of her own existence had flowed forth with those prepared for
her flowers, and before assistance could be summoned she expired
peacefully in my arms, without a struggle. She had inherited her
mother's malady.

The anguish and disappointment of the lover, and my own despair, may be
better imagined than portrayed. My baby died a few weeks later--partly,
I think, from the effect of my own condition on her frail organization,
and the hope of years was blighted in this fragile blossom--the first
that had blessed our union.

The little Constance slumbered by Mabel's side, and a slip from that
bunch of white roses, the last my sister had gathered, shadows the
marbles that guard both of those now-distant, yet not neglected graves.
Thus death at last entered our happy household!

A great shadow fell over me, which I vainly strove to dispel with all
the effort of my reason and my will. Physicians, remembering my mother's
inscrutable melancholy--a part of that mysterious malady that consumed
her life--whispered their warnings in my husband's ears, and he
resolved, with that energy which belongs to men of his nature, to lay
the axe at once to the root of this evil in the only way that presented
itself to his mind--as possible of accomplishment.

At first I resisted faintly the coincidence of his will, which he knew
was sure to come sooner or later; and to the very last it was agony
unspeakable to me, to think that my father's house should pass into the
hands of strangers, and that the place that knew me should know me no
more!

Very resolutely and calmly did Wardour endure and stem my opposition.
Swift and strong as the current of my will flowed naturally, he was ever
its master, as the stone dam can stay and lull the fiercest rivers. He
persisted, knowing well what was at stake, and to my surprise Dr.
Pemberton and Mr. Gerald Stansbury cooperated with his decision. Nor did
Mr. Lodore oppose it, though losing thereby one of his most liberal
parishioners.

A great struggle was going on in my heart just then--that I think would
have perished in darkness, had I not found myself free and emancipated
from all fetters of custom and observance by our change of residence.

From the shallow streams of conventional Christianity, moving with tardy
current, and full of shoals and sandbanks, I was drifting down, slowly
but surely, with that great ocean of deep and unsounded religion, to
which all profound natures, that have suffered, do, I believe--if left
to themselves--inevitably tend.

In this new land of promise--the golden California--lying like a bride
by the side of her bridegroom--the great Pacific Ocean--and shut away by
deserts and mountains, from all old conventional cliques and prejudices
of our Eastern cities, my soul took wing. What poetry was in me found
its outlet; what religious capacity God had endued me with, went forth
from the clash of cymbals and the sound of the sackbut, that ever had
reminded me, in all seasons of sorrow, or even of joyous excitement,
that I was one of an ancient people, astray in foreign pastures--went
forth (even as the compromise was made at first by Christ and his
apostles with the magnificent but soulless worship of the Jews) to merge
these sounds of ancient rite and form in the deep roll of the organ,
that fills the churches where the Host is present.

I needed this abiding miracle to stay my faith--to give it a new
rapture, never experienced before--to sustain me in my sorrow. In the
presence of the holy Eucharist--in the sweet belief that saints communed
with me, and that the Mother of God, who, like me, had wept and
suffered, interceded for me at the throne of Christ, I regained the
vitality that seemed gone forever.

There is no cup like this for the lips of the parched and weary
wayfarer--none!




CHAPTER XV.


Let me go back a little in this retrospect, into which I am compelling
into a small space much that would take time in the telling, as a
necessary retrenchment for too much affluence of description in the
beginning.

The mind of the narrator, like the stone descending the shaft, gathers
accelerated velocity with its momentum toward the last, and so expends
itself in a more brief and sententious manner than in the commencement.
It should be also, but rarely is, more powerful, and more condensed as
it nears its _finale_.

Why these things do _not_ go more uniformly together, as according to
popular opinion they invariably must, is better understood by the artist
than his readers.

Details are requisite to fill up a mental picture, and impress it on the
memory, and, though brevity is certainly the soul of wit, it cannot be
said to be infallible in enforcing description to do its duty--that of
painting a panoramic picture on the brain.

Life is full of pre-Raphaelitism, and so is fiction, if indeed it
resembles life--such as we know it, or such as it might be. The art of
verisimilitude is found alone in detail.

Let me go back, then, for a brief summary of some of the principal
events and personages of Monfort Hall and Beauseincourt, the earlier
portions of this retrospect. I will begin with the La Vignes.

George Gaston, in one of the brief pauses of his stormy political
career, wooed and married Margaret La Vigne, the year before her mother
espoused in second nuptials her early lover (the brother of that saintly
minister who came to her rescue in the first days of her widowhood), and
in this marriage she has been happy and prosperous.

They continue to reside under the same roof, and Bellevue awaits its
master. It will be empty, I think, if I understand George Gaston's
character, so long as Major Favraud is a wanderer on the face of the
Continent of Europe, and held, for his especial benefit and return, in
readiness.

Vernon and his sweet wife Marion spent the first season of their happy
married life under my lintel-tree, and are now our nearest neighbors in
our new land of sojourn. A slender iron fence divides our grounds from
theirs. A golden cord of affection binds our lives together. Our
interests, too, are the same.

Vernon is leagued with my husband in the great engineering projects
which have enriched them both--the capital to enlist in which sphere of
enterprise was furnished by the sale to a company of our "gold-gashed"
lands in Georgia--revealed to my knowledge, as it may be remembered, by
the inadvertence of Gregory.

The career of Bertie La Vigne had been a varied one, as might have been
foreseen perhaps from her early manifestations and proclivities.

She came to me, while still we dwelt in the city of my birth, when she
was approaching her seventeenth year, and remained a twelvemonth under
my roof, engaged in the study of Shakespeare with that accomplished
_artiste_ Mr. Mortimer. She intended to pursue what gift she had of
voice and histrionic talent as a means of livelihood, she told me from
the first, and to get rid of the ineffable weariness and monotony of her
life at Beauseincourt as well.

The two motives seemed to me to be worthy of all praise. There are,
indeed, abodes that kill the soul as well as the body, and this was one
of them in my estimation, yet I remembered as a seeming inconsistency
that, when, in her fourteenth year, it was proposed that Bertie should
come to me for the purpose of attending schools for the accomplishments,
she steadily refused to do so.

Her sense of duty might have been at the root of this firm and
persistent refusal to accept from my hand a gift richer far than "jewels
of the mine"--the power of varied occupation--but something had secretly
whispered to me that this was not all on which her apparent
self-abnegation was baaed, and I think that I was right in my
conjecture.

Have you seen a plant, scathed by frost, that has made a strong and
successful effort to live, and still in its struggling existence bears
the mark of the early blight on leaf and blossom?

Such was the impression made on my mind by Bertie La Vigne after three
years of separation, and yet she had grown into majestic stature and
into comparative beauty since we parted at Beauseincourt.

Tall, slender, straight as a young palm-tree, with exquisite
extremities, and a face of aristocratic if not Grecian proportions,
there still was wanting in her step, her eye, her smile, that wonderful
_abandon_ that had formed her chief charm in her earlier years.

She had been crystallized, so to speak, by some strange process of
suffering, into a cold and dull propriety, never infringed on save at
times when she found herself alone with me, and when the old
frolic-spirit would for a little time possess her. It was not dead, but
sleeping.

"And what, my dear Bertie," I said, one day, when Mr. Mortimer had
departed, and she came to throw herself down on the sofa in my chamber
and _rest_, "what has reconciled you to the old Parrot, as you used to
call our sublime Shakespeare?"

"Sublime! I shall think you affected, Miriam, if you apply that word
again to that old commonplace. If he were sublime, do you suppose all
the world would read him or go to see his plays? Do reserve that epithet
for Milton, Dante, Tasso, Schiller, and the like inaccessibilities. Yes,
I do revere 'Wallenstein' more than any thing Shakespeare ever
spouted"--in answer to my gently-shaking head--"I should break down over
_Thekla_, I should, indeed."

"Do you think his bed was soft under the war-horses?"--and she waved her
hand--"O God! what a tragedy; what a love!" and she covered her face
with her quivering palm.

"Bertie, you are still too excitable, I am sorry to see it"

"Philosopher, cure thyself."

"Yes, I know that was always a fault of mine."

"That is why you married the man in the iron mask, you know. I could
never have loved that person."

"Describe the man you think you could have loved, Bertie La Vigne."

"Could have loved? That time is past forever, child. 'Frozen, and dead
forever,' as Shelley says. _He_ was my affinity, I believe, only he died
before I was born. What a pity! I would rather be his widow than the
wife of any man living."

"_She_ would like to hear that, no doubt, Bertie."

"Well, she may hear it if she chooses when I go to England to read the
old Parrot in the right way, under their very noses, Kembles and all.
I'll let Mrs. Shelley know I'm there," and she laughed merrily.

"And what is your idea of the way to read Shakespeare, Bertie dear?" I
asked, playfully.

"As one having authority, a head and shoulders above him and all his
prating, just as you would talk to your every-day next neighbor, read
him without any fear of his old deer-stealing ghost? Why, Miriam, he
knew himself better than we knew him. He had no more idea of being a
genius than you have! He was a sort of artesian well of a man, and could
not help spouting platitudes, that was all. Besides, he had eyes to see
and ears to hear, and a very Yankee spirit of investigation. It is the
fashion to crack him up like the Bible, both encyclopaedias, that's all!
Every man can see himself in these books, and every man likes a
looking-glass, and that's the whole secret of their success."

"Bertie, you are incorrigible."

"No, I am not; only genuine. I do think there is a good deal in both of
the works in question, but their sublimity I dispute. They are homely,
coarse, commonplace, as birth and death."

There was something that almost froze my blood in the way she said those
last words, lying back upon the sofa with far-off-looking eyes and hands
clasped beneath her head.

"Miriam," she said, after a while, "life is a humbug. I have thought so
for some time."

"Poor child, poor child!"

"Ay, poorer than the poorest, Miriam Harz," and, laying aside my work, I
went to and knelt beside her, and kissed her brow.

"I have no soul to open! I am as empty as a chrysalis-case, that the
butterfly has gone out of to dwell amid sunshine and flowers. Yet I
believe I had one once"--in ineffably mournful accents--"but two men
killed it; and yet, neither intended the blow! O Miriam! I understand at
last what Coleridge meant by his "life in death." There is such a
thing--and that great necromancer found it out! I am the breathing
impersonation of that loathly thing, I believe. Listen"--and she sat up
with one raised finger and gave the poet's words with rare expression:

  "'The nightmare--life in death was she,
      That chilled men's blood with cold.'

"Doesn't that describe me as I am, Miriam?"

"You are, indeed, much changed, Bertie; perhaps it would be well could
you confide in me."

"No, it would not be well! I never could keep any thing wholly to
myself, neither can I tell it wholly, even to such as you--reticent!
merciful! But this believe, I have done nothing wrong, nothing to be
ashamed of, to wear sackcloth and ashes for, and I am preparing to put
my foot on it all. Ay, from the snake's head of first discovery to the
snake's tail of the last disappointment, ranging over half a dozen
years! A long serpent, truly!" laughing. "But I mean to be galvanized
and get back my life. I am determined to be famous, rich, beautiful!"
and she nodded to me with the old sweet sparkle in her eye, the glad
smile on her lip.

"You laugh at the last threat!--laugh on! 'He who laughs best, laughs
last!' says the old proverb. There is such a thing as training one's
features, isn't there, as well as one's setters? Miriam, I shall develop
slowly; I am still in my very downiest adolescence as to looks. You will
see me when I have filled out and ripened, and when I put on my grand
Marie Antoinette _tenu_, some day! Hair drawn back, _a la Pompadour_,
powdered with gold-dust; a touch of rouge, perhaps, on either cheek;
ruffles of rich lace at shoulders and elbows; pink brocade and emeralds,
picked out with diamonds! Mr. Mortimer's teachings in every graceful
movement! It will be all humbug, for I have no real beauty, not much
grace; but people will think me beautiful and graceful for all that,
while I wear my costumes. They are several--this is only one--all highly
becoming! I have a vision of a sea-green dress and moss-roses; of a
violet-satin robe, trimmed and twisted everywhere with flowers of yellow
jasmine; of pale-gold and tipped marabouts in my hair; also of an azure
silk with blond and pearls and a tiara on my forehead" (she laughed
archly). "You don't know my capabilities, my dear, for appearing to look
well--they are wonderful!"

"The very prospect transfigures you, Bertie. I am glad you are so
courageous."

"Were you courageous when you clung to your ropes on the sea-tossed
raft! No, Miriam! that was instinct--nothing more; and I, too, have very
strong intuitions of self-preservation. Heaven grant that they may be
successful! Let us pray."

And, with moving lips and down-drawn lids, from beneath which the large
tears stole one by one, like crystal globes, this suffering spirit
communed with its God, silently.

So best, I felt! Bertie was only a lip-deep scoffer. Her heart was open
to conviction yet, and, when the time came, I believed that the seed
sown in old days would germinate and bear good harvest. All was chaos
now!

Shall I keep on with Bertie, now that the theme has possession of me,
and go back to the others when she is finally dismissed? I think this
will be wisest, especially as my space is small, and mood concentrative
rather than erratic.

Let us pass over, then, five eventful years, during which the sorrows
and changes I have spoken of had taken place, and Wentworth had fixed
his home in the vicinity of San Francisco.

I had heard of Bertie in the interval as a successful _debutante_ as a
reader of Shakespeare, and had received her sparse and sparkling letters
confirming report, truly "angel visits, few and far between."

At last one came announcing her intention of visiting California
professionally, and sojourning beneath my roof while in San Francisco.
It was to be a stay of several weeks.

She was accompanied and sometimes assisted by Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer,
professional readers both--the last distinguished more for grace and
beauty, even though now on the wane of life, than she ever had been for
talent, but eminently fitted, both by education and character, for a
guide and companion.

An English maid, as perfect as an automaton in her training and
regularity, accompanied Bertie, to whom were confided all details of
dress, all keys and jewels, with entire confidence and safety. An
elaborate doll seemed the red-and-white and stupidly-staring Euphemia.
Yet was she adroit, obedient, and expert, just to move in the groove of
her requirements.

I have spoken only of her accessories; but now for Bertie herself.

"Is she not magnificent?" was my exclamation when alone with my husband
on the night of her arrival, after our guest, with her sparkling face
and conversation, her superb toilet and bearing, her graceful,
nymph-like walk, had retired to her chamber, attended by the mechanical
"Miss Euphemia."

The Mortimers, with their children and servants, remained at the
principal hotel.

"The very word for her," he replied; "only that and nothing more."

"Wardour!"

"Well, love!"

"How little enthusiasm you possess about the beautiful! Now, if there
were question of a new railroad-bridge, the vocabulary would have been
exhausted."

"What would you have me say, dear? Is not that word a very comprehensive
one? The lady above-stairs is indeed magnificent; but, Miriam, where is
Bertie?" and he laughed.

"Ah! I understand; you find her artificial."

"She is too fine an actress for that, Miriam; only transfigured."

"Yes, I see what you mean" (sadly). "Bertie _is_ wholly changed. Whom
does she resemble, Wardour? What queen, bethink you, whose likeness you
have seen? Not Mary Queen of Scots--not Elizabeth--"

"No, surely not; but she is, now that you draw my attention to it,
strikingly like Marie Antoinette."

"She said she would be, and she has succeeded!" and I mused on the
wonderful transition.

Four years more, and we heard of Bertie in England, as the
rarely-gifted and beautiful American reader, "Lavinia La Vigne." Out of
the _repertoire_ of her family names she had fished up this
alliteration, and "Bertie" was reserved for those behind the scenes.

It was declared also in the public sheets, what great and distinguished
men were in her train; how wits bowed to her wit, and authors to her
criticisms! But, when she wrote to me, she said nothing of all this,
only telling of her visit to Mrs. Shelley, who had received her kindly,
and to the tomb of Shakespeare, whose painted effigy she especially
derided. "It looks indeed like a man who would cut his wife off with an
old feather-bed and a teakettle," was one of her characteristic remarks,
I remember; but there was a little postscript that told the whole story
of her life, on a separate scrap of paper meant only for my eye I
clearly saw, and committed instantly to the flames after perusal:

"Ah, Miriam, this is all a magic lantern! The people are phantoms, the
realities are shadows, and I a wretched humbug, duller than all! Two men
have lived and breathed for me on the face of this earth--two only. One
was my much-offending and deeply-suffering father. The other--O, Miriam,
to think of him is crime; but in his life, and that alone, I live. I
send you Praed's last beautiful little song--'Tell him I love him yet.'
It will tell you every thing. An answer I have scribbled to it as if
written by a man. Keep both, and when I am dead, should you survive me,
dear, lay them if you can in my coffin, close, close to my heart!"

Three years more, and Bertie is in Rome, independent, at last, through
her own exertions, and able to gratify her tastes. I receive thence
statues, and pictures, and cameos, all exquisite of their kind, her
princely gifts, her legacies. Then comes a long silence. She knew what
faith was mine when she last abode beneath my roof and made herself a
little impertinently merry at my expense in consequence of this new
order of things.

Now comes a letter (a paper envelope accompanying it)--Bertie La Vigne
has entered the Catholic Church, through baptism and confirmation, so
briefly states the letter written in her own hand and of date some
months back, retained, no doubt, through forgetfullness, until reminded.
The paper, of recent issue, tells of the ceremony at St. Peter's, which
admitted to the novitiate several noble ladies, native and foreign, and
among the rest an _artist_ of merit, Miss Lavinia La Vigne, of Georgia,
United States of America.

On the margin of the paper were a few penciled words in her own
handwriting: "I have found the reality." This was all.

I shall never see her again unless I go to Rome, and then only through a
grating, or in the presence of others like herself, for she has taken
the black veil, and retired behind a shadow deep as that cast from the
cypress-shaded tomb. Yet, under existing circumstances, and in
consideration of her early experiences which no success nor later future
could obliterate, or render less unendurable, I believe she has chosen
the wiser part.

Peace be with thee, Bertie, whether in earth or in heaven!

EDITOR'S Note.--... Some years after the closing of Miriam Monfort's
Retrospect, the civil war broke out in the United Stales, and Pope Pius
IX was pleased to grant permission to several American nuns, Southern
ladies, whose vocation was religious, to visit their own States, and
lend what succor, spiritual and physical, they could to the wounded and
dying, on the battle-fields and in the Confederate camps. Among these
came the Sister Ursula, from the convent of the Cartusians, known once
as Lavinia, or Bertie La Vigne. She was particularly fearless and
efficient, and was killed by a cannon-ball at Shiloh while kneeling
beside a dying officer, ascertained to be her sister's husband, the
gallant George Gaston of the Seventh Georgia. By order of Colonel
Favraud, they were buried in one grave. He best knew wherefore this was
done.

Our home overlooks the calm bay of Sun Francisco, standing, as it does,
on an eminence, surrounded with stately forest-trees, and dark from a
distance with evergreens which trail their majestic branches over roods
of lawn.

These trees have ever been a passion with me. I love their aromatic
odors, reminding one of balm and frankincense, and the great Temple of
Solomon itself, built of fine cedar-wood. I admire their stately
symmetry, and the majesty of their unchanging presence, and stand well
pleased and invigorated in their shadow.

Our house is built of stone, and faced with white marble brought from
beyond the seas. Its architectural details are composite, and yet of
dream-like beauty and perfection.

There are statues and blooming plants in the great lower corridors and
porticos, and vast hall of entrance, oval and open to the roof, with its
marble gallery surrounding it and suspended midway, secured by its
exquisite and lace-like screen of iron balustrading. Pictures of the
great modern masters adorn the walls.

The skylight above floods the whole house with sunshine at the touching
of a cord, which controls the venetians that in summer-time shade the
halls below; and the parlors, and saloon, and library, and dining-room,
and the quiet, spacious chambers above-stairs, are all admirably
proportioned and finished, and furnished as well, for the comfort of
those that abide in them--hosts and guests.

       *       *       *       *       *

In one of the most private and luxurious of these apartments abode, for
some years, a pale and shadowy being, refusing all intercourse with
society, and vowed to gloom and hypochondria. It was her strange and
mournful mania to look upon all human creatures with suspicion, nay,
with loathing.

The fairest linen, the whitest raiment, the most exquisite repast,
whether prepared by human hands, or furnished by divine Providence
itself, in the shape of tempting fruits, if touched by another, became
at once revolting and unpalatable. Thus, with servants to relieve her of
all cares, and Mrs. Austin as her devoted attendant, she preferred, by
the aid of her own small culinary contrivance, to prepare her fastidious
meals, to spread her own snowy couch, so often a bed of thorns to her,
to put on her own attire, regularly fumigated and purified by some
process she affected, as it tame from the laundry, and touched only with
gloved hands by herself, as were the books into which she occasionally
glanced for solace.

Most of her time was spent in gazing from her window, that overlooked
the bay, and dreaming of the return of one who had long since
heartlessly deserted her, leaving her dependent on those she had
injured, and from whom she bitterly and even derisively received
shelter, tender ministry, and all possible manifestations of compassion
and interest.

Her mind had been partially overthrown at the time of her husband's
desertion and her dead baby's birth--events that occurred almost
conjointly; and it was the wreck of Evelyn Erle we cherished until her
slow consumption, long delayed by the balmy air of California,
culminated mercifully to herself and all around her, and removed her
from this sphere of suffering.

Whither? Alas! the impotence of that question! Are there not beings who
seem, indeed, to lack the great essential for salvation--a soul to be
saved? How far are such responsible?

Claude Bainrothe is married again, and not to Ada Greene, who, outcast
and poor, came some years since as an adventuress to California, and
signalized herself later, in the _demi-monde_, as a leader of great
audacity, beauty, and reckless extravagance. The lady of his choice (or
heart?) was a fat baroness, about twenty years his senior, who lets
apartments, and maintains the externes of her rank in a saloon fifteen
feet square, furnished with red velveteen, and accessible by means of an
antechamber paved with tiles!

He has grown stout, drinks beer, and smokes a meerschaum, but is still
known on the principal promenade, and in the casino of the German town
in which he resides, as "the handsome American." He is said, however, to
have spells of melancholy.

The "Chevalier Bainrothan," and the "Lady Charlotte Fremont," his
step-daughter, for as such she passes, for some quaint or wicked reason
unrevealed to society, with their respectable and hideous house-keeper,
Madame Clayton, dwell under the same roof, and enjoy the privilege of
access to the _salon_, of the baroness, and a weekly game of _ecarte_ at
her _soirees_, usually profitable to the chevalier in a small way.

All this did Major Favraud, in his own merry mood, communicate to us on
the occasion of his memorable visit to San Francisco, when he remained
our delighted guest during one long delicious summer season. Of Gregory,
we never heard.

"I had hoped to hear of your marriage long before this," I said to him
one day. "Tell me why you have not wedded some fair lady before this
time. Now tell me frankly as you can."

"Simply because you did not wait for me."

"Nonsense! the truth. I want no _badinage_."

"Because, then--because I never could forget Celia--never love any one
else."

"She was one of Swedenborg's angels, Major Favraud--no real wife of
yours. She never was married"--and I shook my head--"only united to a
being of the earth with whom she had no real affinity. Choose yours
elsewhere."

"I believe you are half right," he said, sadly. "She never seemed to
belong to me by right--only a bird I had caught and caged, that loved me
well, yet was eager to escape."

"Such was the state of the case, I cannot doubt; a more out and out
flesh-and-blood organization would suit you better. Your life is not
half spent; the dreary time is to come. Go back to Bellevue, and get you
a kind companion, and let children climb your knees, and surround your
hearth. You would be so much happier."

"Suggest one, then. Come, help me to a wife."

"No, no, I can make no matches; but you know Madame de St. Aube is a
widow now. You were always congenial."

"Yes, but"--with a shrug of his shoulders, worthy of a Frenchman--"_que
voulez vous?_ That woman has five children already, and a plantation
mortgaged to Maginnis!"

"Maginnis again! The very name sends a chill through my bones! No, that
will never do. Some maiden lady, then--some sage person of thirty-four
or five."

"I do not fancy such. I'll tell you what! I believe I will go back and
court Bertie on some of her play-acting rounds, and make a decent woman
of that little vagabond. Because she was disappointed once, is that a
reason? Great Heavens! this tongue of mine! Cut it out, Mrs. Wentworth,
and cast it to the seals in the bay. I came very near--"

"Betraying what I have long suspected, Major Favraud. Who _was_ that
man?"

"Don't ask me, my dear woman; I must not say another word, in honor. It
was a most unfortunate affair--a sheer misunderstanding. He loved her
all the time; I knew this, but you know her manner! He did not
understand her flippant way; her keen, unsparing, and bitter wit; her
devoted, passionate, proud, and breaking heart; and so there was a
coolness, and they parted; and what happened afterward nearly killed
her! So she left her home."[6]

"I must not ask you, I feel, for you say you cannot tell me more in
honor, but I think I know. The man, of all the earth, I would have
chosen for her. Oh, hard is woman's fate!"

To the very last I have reserved what lay nearest my heart of hearts.

Three children have been born to us in California, and have made our
home a paradise. The two elder are sons, named severally for my father
and theirs, Reginald and Wardour.

The last is a daughter, a second Mabel, beautiful as the first, and
strangely resembling her, though of a stronger frame and more vital
nature. She is the sunshine of the house, the idol of her father and
brothers, who _all_ are mine, as well as the fair child of seven
summers herself.

Mrs. Austin presides, in imagination, over our nursery, but, in reality,
is only its most honored occasional visitor, her chamber being distinct,
and my own rule being absolute therein, with the aid of a docile
adjunct.

Ernest Wentworth, our adopted son--so-called for want of any other
name--is the standard of perfection in mind and morals, for the
imitation of the rest of the band of children.

He has gained the usual stature of young men of his age, with a slight
defect of curvature of the shoulders that does but confirm his scholarly
appearance.

His face, with its magnificent brow, piercing dark eyes, pale
complexion, and clustering hair, is striking, if not handsome.

He has graduated as a student of law, and, should his health permit,
will, I cannot doubt, distinguish himself as a forensic orator.

George Gaston and Madge have promised a visit to the Vernons; but I
cannot help hoping, rather without than _for_ any good reason, that they
will not come! I love them both, yet I feel they are mismated, even if
happy.

My husband is noted among his peers for his liberal and noble-minded use
of a princely income, and his great public spirit. He unites
agricultural pursuits with his profession, and has placed, among other
managers, my old ally, Christian Garth and his family, on the ranch he
holds nearest to San Francisco.

Thence, at due seasons, seated on a wain loaded with the fruits of their
labor, the worthy pair come up to the city to trade, and never fail in
their tribute to our house.

The immigrant possessed of worth and industry, however poor; the
adventurous man, who seeks by the aid of his profession alone to
establish himself in California; the artist, the man of letters, all
meet a helping hand from Wardour Wentworth, who in his charities
observes but one principle of action, one hope of recompense, both to be
found in the teachings of philanthropy:

"As I do unto you, go you and do unto others." This is his maxim.

Our lives have been strangely happy and successful up to this hour, so
that sometimes my emotional nature, too often in extremes, trembles
beneath its burden of prosperity, and conjures up strange phantoms of
dark possibilities, that send me, tearful and depressed, to my husband's
arms, to find strength and courage in his rare and calm philosophy and
equipoise.

Never on his sweet serene brow have I seen a frown of discontent, or a
cloud of sourceless sorrow, such as too often come--the last especially
to mine--born of that melancholy which has its root far back in the
bosoms of my ancestors.

Such as his life is, he accepts it manfully; and in his shadow I find
protection and grow strong.

Reader, farewell!


THE END.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 6: This was previous to Bertie's visit.]




T.B. PETERSON AND BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS.

       *       *       *       *       *

NEW BOOKS ISSUED EVERY WEEK.

Orders solicited from Booksellers, Librarians, Canvassers, News Agents,
and all others in want of good and fast selling books, which will be
supplied at very Low Prices.

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. EMMA D.E.N. SOUTHWORTH'S WORKS.

_Complete in thirty-nine large duodecimo volumes, bound in morocco
cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 each; or $68.25 a set, each set is put up
in a neat box_.

  How He Won Her,... $1 75
  Fair Play,... 1 75
  The Spectre Lover.... 1 75
  Victor's Triumph,... 1 75
  A Beautiful Fiend.... 1 75
  The Artist's Love,... 1 75
  A Noble Lord,... 1 75
  Lost Heir of Linlithgow,... 1 75
  Tried for her Life,... 1 75
  Cruel as the Grave,... 1 75
  The Maiden Widow,... 1 75
  The Family Doom,... 1 75
  The Bride's Fate,... 1 75
  The Changed Brides,... 1 75
  Fallen Pride,... 1 75
  The Christmas Guest,... 1 75
  The Willow's Son,... 1 75
  The Bride of Llewellyn,... 1 75
  The Fortune Seeker,... 1 75
  The Missing Bride; or, Miriam, the Avenger,... 1 75
  The Fatal Marriage,... $1 75
  The Deserted Wife,... 1 75
  The Bridal Eve,... 1 75
  The Lost Heiress,... 1 75
  The Two Sisters,... 1 75
  Lady of the Isle,... 1 75
  Prince of Darkness,... 1 75
  The Three Beauties,... 1 75
  Vivia; or the Secret of Power,... 1 75
  Love's Labor Won,... 1 75
  The Gipsy's Prophecy,... 1 75
  Haunted Homestead,... 1 75
  Wife's Victory,... 1 75
  Allworth Abbey,... 1 75
  The Mother-in-Law,... 1 75
  India; Pearl of Pearl River,... 1 75
  Curse of Clifton,... 1 75
  Discarded Daughter,... 1 75
  The Mystery of Dark Hollow,... 1 75
  Retribution,... 1 75

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.30 each.

MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS' WORKS.

_Complete in twenty-two large duodecimo volumes bound in morocco cloth
gilt back, price $1.75 each; or $38.50 a set, each set is put up in a
neat box_.

  Bertha's Engagement,... $1 75
  Bellehood and Bondage,... 1 75
  The Old Countess,... 1 75
  Lord Hope's Choice,... 1 75
  The Reigning Belle,... 1 75
  A Noble Woman,... 1 75
  Palaces and Prisons,... 1 75
  Married in Haste,... 1 75
  Wives and Widows,... 1 75
  Ruby Gray's Strategy,... 1 75
  Doubly False,... 1 75
  The Soldiers' Orphans,... $1 75
  Silent Struggles,... 1 75
  The Rejected Wife,... 1 75
  The Wife's Secret,... 1 75
  Mary Derwent,... 1 75
  Fashion and Famine,... 1 75
  The Curse of Gold,... 1 75
  Mabel's Mistake,... 1 75
  The Old Homestead,... 1 75
  The Heiress,... 1 75
  The Gold Brick,... 1 75

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each.

MRS. C.A. WARFIELD'S WORKS.

_Complete in six large duodecimo volumes, bound in morocco cloth, gilt
back, price $1.75 each; or $10.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat
box_.

  Monfort Hall,... $1 75
  Miriam's Memoirs,... 1 75
  Sea and Shore,... 1 75
  The Household of Bouverie,... 1 75
  Hester Howard's Temptation,... 1 75
  A Double Wedding,... 1 75

Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, by
T.B. Peterson & Brothers. Philadelphia, Pa.

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S WORKS.

_Green and Gold Edition. Complete in twelve volumes, in green morocco
cloth, price $1.75 each; or $21.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat
box._

  Ernest Linwood,... $1 75
  The Planter's Northern Bride,... 1 75
  Courtship and Marriage,... 1 75
  Rena; or, the Snow Bird,... 1 75
  Marcus Warland,... 1 75
  Love after Marriage,... 1 75
  Eoline; or Magnolia Vale,... 1 75
  The Lost Daughter,... 1 75
  The Banished Son,... 1 75
  Helen and Arthur,... 1 75
  Linda; or, the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole,... 1 75
  Robert Graham; the Sequel to "Linda; or Pilot of Belle Creole,"... 1 75

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each.


BEST COOK BOOKS PUBLISHED.

_Every housekeeper should possess at least one of the following Cook
Books, as they would save the price of it in a week's cooking._

  The Queen of the Kitchen. Containing 1007 Old Maryland
  Family Receipts for Cooking, Cloth,... $1 75

  Miss Leslie's New Cookery Book, Cloth,... 1 75

  Mrs. Hale's New Cook Book, Cloth,... 1 75

  Petersons' New Cook Book, Cloth,... 1 75

  Widdifield's New Cook Book, Cloth,... 1 75

  Mrs. Goodfellow's Cookery as it Should Be, Cloth,... 1 75

  The National Cook Book. By a Practical Housewife, Cloth,... 1 75

  The Young Wife's Cook Book, Cloth,... 1 75

  Miss Leslie's New Receipts for Cooking, Cloth,... 1 75

  Mrs. Hale's Receipts for the Million, Cloth,... 1 75

  The Family Save-All. By author of "National Conk Book," Cloth,... 1 75

  Francatelli's Modern Cook. With the most approved methods of
  French, English, German, and Italian Cookery. With Sixty-two
  Illustrations. One volume of 500 pages, bound in morocco cloth, $5.00


JAMES A. MAITLAND'S WORKS.

_Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back,
price $1.75 each; or $12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box_.

  The Watchman,... $1 75
  The Wanderer,... 1 75
  The Lawyer's Story,... 1 75
  Diary of an Old Doctor,... 1 75
  Sartaroe,... 1 75
  The Three Cousins,... 1 75
  The Old Patroon; or the Great Van Brock Property,... 1 75

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each.


T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE'S WORKS.

_Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back,
price $1.75 each; or $12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box_.

  The Sealed Packet,... $1 75
  Garstang Grange,... 1 75
  Dream Numbers,... 1 75
  Beppo, the Conscript,... 1 75
  Leonora Cassaloni,... 1 75
  Gemma,... 1 75
  Marietta,... 1 75

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each.


FREDRIKA BREMER'S WORKS.

_Complete in six large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back,
price $1.75 each; or $10.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box_.

  Father and Daughter,... $1 75
  The Four Sisters,... 1 75
  The Neighbors,... 1 75
  The Home,... 1 75

Above are each in cloth, or each one it in paper cover, at $1.50 each.

Life in the Old World. In two volumes, cloth, price, 3.50

       *       *       *       *       *

Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, by
T.B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.


BY AUTHOR OF "THE HOUSEHOLD OF BOUVERIE."

MRS. C.A. WARFIELD'S NEW WORKS.

IN 6 VOLUMES, AT $1.75 EACH; OR $10.50 A SET.

       *       *       *       *       *

_T.B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa., have
just published a complete and uniform edition of all the new and
celebrated works written by Mrs. Catharine A. Warfield, the well-known
and popular American writer. This edition is in duodecimo form, and is
printed on the finest of white paper, and is complete in six volumes,
and each volume is bound in the very best manner, in morocco cloth, with
a full gilt back, and is sold at the low price of $1.75 a volume, or
$10.50 for a full and complete set. Every Family, and every Library in
this Country, should have in it a set of this beautiful edition of the
complete works of this talented and gifted American Authoress, Mrs.
Catharine A. Warfield. The following is a list of_

MRS. C.A. WARFIELD'S NEW WORKS.

MONFORT HALL.

MIRIAM'S MEMOIRS.

SEA AND SHORE.

THE HOUSEHOLD OF BOUVERIE.

A DOUBLE WEDDING; or, HOW SHE WAS WON.

HESTER HOWARD'S TEMPTATION.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers at $1.75, each, or $10.50
for a complete set of the six volumes, or copies of either one or more
of the above books, or a complete set of them, will be sent at once to
any one, to any place, postage pre-paid, or free of freight, on
remitting their price in a letter to the Publishers,_

T.B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa.


CHEAPEST BOOK HOUSE IN THE WORLD

Is at the Publishing and Bookselling Establishment of

T.B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,

No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa.

       *       *       *       *       *

T.B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, are the American publishers of
the popular and fast-selling books written by MRS. EMMA D.E.N.
SOUTHWORTH, MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS, MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ, MISS ELIZA A.
DUPUY, MRS. C.A. WARFIELD, MRS. HENRY WOOD, Q.K.P. DOESTICKS, EMERSON
BENNETT, T.S. ARTHUR, GEORGE LIPPARD, HANS BREITMANN (CHARLES G.
LELAND), JAMES A. MAITLAND, CHARLES DICKENS, SIR WALTER SCOTT, CHARLES
LEVER, WILKIE COLLINS, MRS. C.J. NEWBY, JUSTUS LIEBIG, W.H. MAXWELL,
ALEXANDER DUMAS, GEORGE W.M. REYNOLDS, SAMUEL WARREN, HENRY COCKTON,
FREDRIKA BREMER, T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE, MADAME GEORGE SAND, EUGENE SUE,
MISS PARDOE, FRANK FAIRLEGH, W.H. AINSWORTH, FRANK FORRESTER (HENRY W.
HERBERT), MISS ELLEN PICKERING, CAPTAIN MARRYATT, MRS. GRAY, G.P.R.
JAMES, HENRY MORFORD, GUSTAVE AIMARD, and hundreds of other authors; as
well as of DOW'S PATENT SERMONS, HUMOROUS AMERICAN BOOKS, and MISS
LESLIE'S, MISS WIDDIFIELD'S, THE YOUNG WIFE'S, MRS. GOODFELLOW'S, MRS.
HALE'S, PETERSONS', THE NATIONAL, FRANCATELLI'S, THE FAMILY SAVE-ALL,
QUEEN OF THE KITCHEN, and all the best and popular Cook Books published.

T.B. PETERSON & BROTHERS take pleasure in calling the attention of the
entire Reading Community, as well as of all their Customers, and every
Bookseller, News Agent, and Book Buyer, as well as of the entire Book
Trade everywhere, to the fact that they are now publishing a large
number of cloth and paper-covered Books, in very attractive style,
including a series of 25 cent, 50 cent, 75 cent, $1.00, $1.50, $1.75,
and $2.00 Books, in new style covers and bindings making them large
books for the money, and bringing them before the Reading Public by
liberal advertising. They are new books, and are cheap editions of the
most popular and most saleable books published, are written by the best
American and English authors and are presented in a very attractive
style, printed from legible type, on good paper, and are especially
adapted to suit all who love to read good books, as well as for all
General reading, and they will be found for sale by all Booksellers, and
at Hotel Stands, Railroad Stations and in the Cars. They are in fact the
most popular series of works of fiction ever published, retailing at 25
cents, 50 cents, 75 cents, $1.00, $1.50, $1.75, and $2.00 each, as they
comprise the writings of the best and most popular authors in the world,
all of which will be sold by us to the trade at very low prices, and
also at retail to everybody. Send for a Catalogue of these books at
once.

New books are issued by us every week, comprising the best and most
entertaining works published, suitable for the Parlor, Library,
Sitting-Room, Railroad or Steamboat reading, and are written by the most
popular and best writers in the world.

Enclose a draft for five, ten, twenty, fifty, or one hundred dollars, or
more, to us in a letter, and write for what books you wish, and on
receipt of the money, or a satisfactory reference, the books will be
packed and sent to you at once, in any way you may direct, with
circulars and show-bills of the books to post up.

We want every Bookseller, and every News Agent, everywhere, to sell our
books, and to keep an assortment of them on hand, and to send to us at
once for a copy of our New Illustrated Descriptive Catalogue, which look
over carefully, marking what books you may want, as it contains a list
of all books published by us, all or any of which will be sold by us to
everybody in the Book Trade, to Booksellers, or to News Agents, at very
low rates. There are no books published you can sell as many of, or make
as much money on, as Petersons'. Send us on a trial order. All orders,
large or small, will be sent the day the order is received, and small
orders will receive the same promptness and care as large orders.

All Books named in Petersons' Catalogue will be found for sale by all
Booksellers, or copies of any one book, or more, or all of them, will be
sent to any one, at once, to any place, per mail, post-paid, or free of
freight, on remitting the retail price of the books wanted to T.B.
PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia.

WANTED--A Bookseller, News Agent, or Canvasser, in every city, town or
village on this Continent, to engage in the sale of Petersons' New and
Popular Fast Selling Books, on which large sales, and large profits can
be made.

Booksellers, Librarians, News Agents, Canvassers, Pedlers, and all other
persons, who may want any of Petersons' Popular and Fast Selling Books,
will please address their orders and letters, at once, to meet with
immediate attention, to

  T.B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
  306 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA, PA.






End of Project Gutenberg's Sea and Shore, by Mrs. Catharine A. Warfield

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEA AND SHORE ***

***** This file should be named 15117.txt or 15117.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/1/1/15117/

Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, Josephine
Paolucci and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.


Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.

Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.



*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
https://gutenberg.org/license).


Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works

1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.  See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.

1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.

1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
     License.  You must require such a user to return or
     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
     Project Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
     of receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.


Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.


Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at https://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:
     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
     Chief Executive and Director
     gbnewby@pglaf.org


Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit https://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate


Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.


Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.


Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:

     https://www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.