"The hour of vengeance strikes,—hark to the gale!As it bursts hollow through the rolling clouds.Such is the hand of Heaven!"
"The hour of vengeance strikes,—hark to the gale!As it bursts hollow through the rolling clouds.Such is the hand of Heaven!"
"The hour of vengeance strikes,—hark to the gale!
As it bursts hollow through the rolling clouds.
Such is the hand of Heaven!"
It came at length, swift, avenging justice; awful in might, and none could resist its angry hand.
The "pestilence that walketh at noonday," swept over the fair, young cities of the west, and thousands fell victims to the remorseless destroyer.
O, Cholera! great be the name of him, who, from the mazes of scientific lore, shall call a power to rob thee of thy terrors, thou scourge of mankind!
Lawrence Hardin returned from a southern trip to find his house left desolate; wife and child both in their hastily-covered graves. He shook with agony, and scarce was the first frantic burst of grief subsided, ere the officers of justice entered his mansion and declared him their prisoner. He glared at them wildly.
"What mean you," he asked, "by this untimely intrusion in the house of death?"
"Prepare to accompany us to the court-room immediately," was the answer, "to answer to a charge of swindling and forgery preferred by one John Sumpter, who is also arrested and undergoing examination."
Hardin grew ashy-pale at these words.
"The villain!" he muttered; "so he has betrayed me. Carry me where you will, Mr. Officer. Life is a curse to me henceforth."
Thus speaking, he resigned himself passively to the custody of the sheriffs. They conducted him instantly to the court-house, and placed him in the prisoner's box beside Sumpter, who cowered and moved away at his approach. Hardin threw a look of envenomed hatred on the wretch, and sat down. When the charges were read he merely bowed; and when asked what he had to plead, replied: "Nothing, only that they would hang him up as soon as convenient, and thus end his misery." He was placed in jail with Sumpter, and several other defaulters, to await a final trial at the autumn sessions.
And the pestilence swept on; young and old, rich and poor, all fell before its blasting power. In the brief space of twenty-four hours, Dr. Prague was bereft of wife and children, and left a poor, lone man, in his solitary mansion. Where should the mourner turn for consolation? At this crisis, he thought of his old friend, Parson Grey, and determined to quit the city for a few weeks, till the epidemic should have subsided, and make him a visit. He was just the calm, holy spirit he needed to solace his afflictions; and accordingly a letter was despatched, which brought a speedy reply, sympathizing in his distress, and urgently inviting him to join them as soon as possible.
He visited Hardin before departing, informed him of the death of all his family, and kindly inquired if he could be of any service to the imprisoned man.
"No!" was the answer; "and I don't know what you came here at all for. What do I care if your wife and bratsaredead? So ismywife dead, andmychild, and I hope soon to be. The greatest favor you can bestow is to get out of my sight."
The doctor gazed on the hardened wretch with pity, and turned away. He left the city in July, and the first of September the trials came on. The large court-house was densely thronged to hear the pleas and decision in the case of the extensive forgeries and bank frauds of Hardin and Sumpter. There could be little doubt of the verdict, as the evidence against the parties was powerful and conclusive, and none seemed so regardless of the issue as the prisoners themselves. With hard, stoical faces, they confronted the jury, as they returned from their deliberations and resumed their seats on the platform.
Without, the elements were raging in their wildest, most terrific fury. Broad flashes of lightning at intervals illuminated the crowded hall, and glared on the sea of upturned human faces, marked with every variety and shade of passion and feeling. The thunder roared and reverberated through the heavens with tremendous crashings, as the judge arose, and, turning toward the jury, asked, in solemn accents, if they had agreed upon a verdict.
They had.
"Are the prisoners at the bar guilty, or not guilty?"
There came a blinding flash, followed by a deafening thunder-bolt, as the foreman rose and pronounced the word, "Guilty."
Smothered screams at this moment issued from various parts of the assembly. The building was struck and on fire. Terrible confusion ensued. Frantic cries and shrieks mingled with the bellowings of the storm without, rendering the scene awful beyond description. All rushed pell-mell for the street. The crackling flames burst through the broad windows on the side of the judges' platform, rolling a dense volume of smoke and stifling heat into the interior of the building. In the wild excitement and terror, the prisoners were forgotten. They stood in the box where they had received sentence. The flames were rapidly approaching them. Sumpter turned a glance full of hatred and vengeance on Hardin. "You swore revenge on Sheldon," said he, "and I helped you accomplish your iniquitous designs. You refused a paltry sum when I asked it, and then I swore revenge on you, and this is the way I finish it."
Hardin drew a revolver from his breast; "And this is the way I finish mine," he said; and, taking aim, lodged a ball in the heart of Sumpter. Then, springing quick as lightning over the box, he rushed among the crowd and gained the street. The intense darkness favored his flight, and, hurrying on, he gained the levees, secreted himself in the hold of a boat, and had the good fortune to find himself floating down the river in the morning.
CHAPTER XIX.
"Go forth, thou spirit proud and high,Upon thy soaring way;Plume all thy pinions for the sky,And sing a glorious lay."
"Go forth, thou spirit proud and high,Upon thy soaring way;Plume all thy pinions for the sky,And sing a glorious lay."
"Go forth, thou spirit proud and high,
Upon thy soaring way;
Plume all thy pinions for the sky,
And sing a glorious lay."
As the young sapling of the forest bends and sways in the fury of the blast, and, when it is passed, rises and shakes the weight of rain-drops from its pliant boughs, and stands stronger, higher, more beautiful than before, so Annie Evalyn, when the passion-storm had spent its fury, rose a purer, loftier being, with a heart firm and free, and a soul elevated and sublime in its aspirations. There might be traces to tell the tempest had been a wild one; a paleness on the brow; the lips thinned and slightly compressed; the eyelids sometimes drooping their long lashes over the dark, liquid eyes, and a tear stealing silently over the marble cheek; or a slight shudder for a moment convulsing the slender frame, as if memory painted a picture the soul shrank from contemplating. Yet these light tokens of whathadbeen, heightened the sublime beauty of what wasnow. Annie was no longer a child in the world's lore of experience. Sorrow and suffering are swift teachers. They unfold and perfect the powers with astonishing rapidity. Annie Evalyn was a woman; with a quick eye and ready judgment to detect and discern the workings of that great mystery, the human heart, yet simple and child-like in her manners, as of old.
"Bless it, but this is an agreeable surprise!" exclaimed Aunt Patty, as Annie entered the little, rock-built cottage, on a clear, cool evening in early autumn, with a bright smile beaming on her lovely features; "why, I didn't once think of your comin' to-night, hinney, bein' as you were here last Saturday. But it does my old heart good to know you remember your poor, ignorant aunty, when you are among your little scholars and so many kind friends at the Parsonage."
"O, I never forget you, aunty!" said Annie, returning the old lady's embrace; "this humble cot and these old Scraggiewood oaks are very dear to my heart."
"I'm glad to hear it, dear; it is a homely spot, to be sure, but it has sheltered us well. But what is doing at the parson's, love? All well and happy?"
"Yes, and Aunt Rachel sent you this little box of wax-candles. She said you loved to read evenings, sometimes, and these gave such a clear, steady light, it would do your old eyes good to behold it."
"The dear, kind-hearted creature!" said Aunt Patty, receiving the package and brushing away a grateful tear. "Sure she is a perfect Christian if there is one on earth."
"O, we have some news at the vicarage, aunty! The old gentleman, in whose family I resided during my stay in the western country, has sent a letter to Parson Grey, narrating a sad tale of misfortunes, and expressing a desire to visit him ere long. It seems the cholera has been committing frightful ravages through those sections, and his entire family have been swept away in the brief space of one week. And, O, aunty, I dread to go on!"
"Let me hear, child."
"You recollect the man, Sumpter, who spoke those dreadful words in a social company?"
"Yes, yes, didn't I have him here, in this very room, on a night long ago—and Hardin too? Ay, dark, wicked schemes, and worse than those, showed in their cups. But go on, love."
"Well, they have been arrested for forgery and found guilty. The sequel of the affair Mr. Grey received last evening, in an extra sent him by Dr. Prague. It appears the verdict was rendered during a violent storm, which struck the court-house, and, in the confusion that followed, Hardin shot Sumpter and escaped."
"O, shocking!" exclaimed Aunt Patty, with horror depicted on her countenance. "Ay, God's vengeance is sure to overtake the wicked sooner or later."
"We look for the arrival of Dr. Prague every day. How do you think he will meet me, aunty?"
"How should he meet you, child, but with shame and confusion of face?"
"But he was always kind to me, aunty."
"Well, he didn't do right never to send a letter to inquire after your fate, or forward your clothes and wages."
"He might have been prevented by his wife. I know she was a violent woman and had ever a dislike to me."
"Nothing should prevent a man from doing what is just and right, Annie," said Aunt Patty, in an inflexible tone; "but it is like you to think the best of people's failings, and I acknowledge it is a good way. Now, hinney, I'll make a dish of tea, and we'll have a brimming bowl of Crummie's sweet milk, with some of your favorite berries. I'm so glad! It seems a Providence that I gathered some this mornin'. I'll slab up some batter cakes; you know I'm pretty good at them; and just you light one of Rachel's candles—though it is hardly dark yet, it will make the table look so cheerful-like."
Annie did as directed, and they soon sat down to the simple meal. Aunt Patty's face was redolent with good-humor and cheerfulness, as she dished out the largest, ripest berries, and nicest browned cakes for her darling.
"Do you write your pretty stories and poetries for that city magazine now, hinney?" she asked, as they discussed their meal.
"Yes, aunty, and I have brought several numbers for your perusal. I still want to be famous, aunty, though I once thought I didn't care for anything more in this world; but that was in a foolish time, and is past by now. Mr. Grey says it is better to be good than great; but if one can be both, why, better still, I fancy. And I know I feel happy when I'm teaching those poor little children to read and love each other, and grow up to be blessings to their parents. This is doing good, Mr. Grey says; but this restless heart of mine is not filled, is not content. It feels there are other faculties, lying dormant and unemployed. The editors of this magazine have offered two prizes,—one for the best tale, the other for the best poem,—and I'm going to strive to win them. The money would make you very comfortable for life, aunty; and you have done so much for me I want to repay some of your kindness if I can."
"Dear heart!" said the old woman, tearfully, "what have I ever done for you that is not already ten-fold repaid by seeing your bright eyes, and feeling that you love your old aunty?"
"But I'm not wholly disinterested, aunty; don't you see I covet the fame that would follow should I succeed? That's for me; the money for you. Now kiss me good-night, and I'll to my cot to dream a subject for my labor."
"God bless and prosper you, my darling!" said the fond aunt.
CHAPTER XX.
"It was a face one loved to gaze upon,For calm serenity of thought was there.The eyes were soft and gentle in their glance,And looked with trusting artlessness in yours.Placid her mien, like that of lofty soulsThat after storm sink down in tranquil rest."
"It was a face one loved to gaze upon,For calm serenity of thought was there.The eyes were soft and gentle in their glance,And looked with trusting artlessness in yours.Placid her mien, like that of lofty soulsThat after storm sink down in tranquil rest."
"It was a face one loved to gaze upon,
For calm serenity of thought was there.
The eyes were soft and gentle in their glance,
And looked with trusting artlessness in yours.
Placid her mien, like that of lofty souls
That after storm sink down in tranquil rest."
Once more is winding on the spring-time of the year, and once more is Annie Evalyn away from the old forest home. Her soft, bird-like tones echo through the sumptuous drawing-rooms of Dr. Prague's stately mansion, in that fair western city. During his visit to the east the preceding summer, he had succeeded in coaxing her away from Mr. Grey and her aunt, to pass a few months with him, and cheer and enliven his lonesome abode.
"No one could do this so well as Annie," he said, "always his pet and darling; though his foolish, yielding old heart had been overruled by others to treat her with wicked neglect, for which he now cursed himself, and wanted opportunity to make amends."
So Annie kissed them all round, and went with him to pass a few months. She had completed her prizes, and was now waiting to hear of their reception. She had also contributed to the literary publications of the city, and received a large share of flattery and applause; and, though writing under a fictitious signature, her identity was well known in private circles. Sumpter's villany and disgraceful end had effectually destroyed his tale of her duplicity and artifice, and the highest classes sought her friendship and society. The memory of former trial and suffering stole over her sometimes, as she mingled again 'mid the scenes of its enacting; but she was too wise and good to allow it to rankle, or stir bitter feelings in her bosom. Let the past be forgotten in the felicity of the present. Heaven had visited devouring vengeance on the guilty ones. Let her bow in silence and adore!
It was evening. Annie sat on a low ottoman at the side of the infirm, good-natured old Dr. Prague. A bright gas-light sparkled through a wrought-glass shade above them, and a silver salver, containing some golden oranges and pearl-handled knives, stood on a walnut stand near by. A servant entered, bearing a package of papers.
"Here they are, dear uncle!" exclaimed Annie, springing forward to receive them from the waiter's hand. "Now our evening's amusement can commence;" and she passed him the dish of fruit, twirled the light a little higher, and, drawing a stool close to his side, said, "Now what shall I read first? The price of stocks, the list of deaths——"
"No, little babbler," said he, patting her curls playfully; "you know what comes first of all. 'Woodland Winnie,' of course."
"Woodland Winnie is a silly little thing," remarked Annie.
"I'll be my own judge as to that, Miss Annie; please to read on."
"O, here is something from 'Alastor!'" she said, turning over the pages of a new eastern magazine. "I do so love his writings; please let me read this first, uncle. Do you know his real name?"
"No; but I sometimes fancy it may be my old ward, Frank Sheldon, as he has always had a turn for writing, and is one of the editors of this periodical."
"One of the editors of this magazine!" repeated Annie, in a quick, excited tone; "I never knew that before."
"Why, I thought I told you last fall, at Parson Grey's, in some of our talks about former days."
"No; you said he was employed in some printing establishment at the east, that was all."
"Well, I intended to have mentioned the rest; but what makes you look so earnest and rosy, Annie?"
"O, nothing!" she answered; "I was only thinking."
"Frank has written to me, recently, a letter of sympathy and condolence, and says he will visit the west this summer," the old man continued, paring an orange. "I was going to make him my sole heir, but now I've found you, I believe I shall curtail him and take you in for a share."
"O, you had better not!" she exclaimed quickly.
"And why better not, child?"
"Because he is more deserving your generosity than I."
"More deserving? No, indeed, Annie. But see how nicely I have peeled this orange for you," passing it to her.
"For me, uncle! You had better eat it yourself."
"Why, what ails the girl? She won't even accept an orange from my hand."
"Yes I will, uncle; but after you had prepared it so nicely, I thought you ought to enjoy it yourself," she answered, accepting the luscious fruit. He gazed on her affectionately while she ate the juicy slices, with grateful relish, and when she had finished, said, "Now will Annie read to me awhile?"
"With the greatest pleasure, uncle," she answered, returning to the package of books, from which she read till he was satisfied.
"Your voice reminds me of those wild, bright birds I used to hear singing in that old wilderness of Scraggiewood, when I called on a quiet evening at that rocky cottage where you were nursed into being; a spot fit to adorn a fairy tale. No wonder you are such a pure-souled, imaginative creature, reared in that pristine solitude of nature. Now you may retire, darling, and don't fail to be down in the morning to pour the old man's coffee, because it is never so sweet as when coming from Annie's little hands." Thus speaking, he bestowed a fatherly kiss upon her soft cheek, and she glided away to her own apartment. A long time on her downy couch she lay gazing on the moonbeams that glinted over the rich flowers of the Persian carpet, while crowding thoughts and fancies thronged upon her brain. Most prominent were those of Sheldon, and his connection with the magazine for which she had written her prizes. Amid wonderings and fancyings she fell asleep, to follow them up in dreams, with every variation of hue and coloring. She was roaming through the gravelled avenues of an extensive flower-garden, when a rainbow of surpassing brilliancy spanned a circle in the air above her, and wherever she turned her steps, it followed, hovering just above her head; and the delicate colors seemed to strike a warm, heart-thrilling joy down to the inmost recesses of her soul. She woke, with a delicious sense of happiness, to find the morning sun throwing his golden beams into her apartment.
CHAPTER XXI.
"And I did love thee, when so oft we metIn the sweet evenings of that summer-time,Whose pleasant memory lingers with me yet,As the remembrance of a better climeMight haunt a fallen angel. And O, thou—Thou who didst turn away and seek to bindThy heart from breaking—thou hast felt e'er nowA heart like thine o'ermastereth the mind;Affection's power is stronger than thy will.Ah, thou didst love me, and thou lovst me still!"
"And I did love thee, when so oft we metIn the sweet evenings of that summer-time,Whose pleasant memory lingers with me yet,As the remembrance of a better climeMight haunt a fallen angel. And O, thou—Thou who didst turn away and seek to bindThy heart from breaking—thou hast felt e'er nowA heart like thine o'ermastereth the mind;Affection's power is stronger than thy will.Ah, thou didst love me, and thou lovst me still!"
"And I did love thee, when so oft we met
In the sweet evenings of that summer-time,
Whose pleasant memory lingers with me yet,
As the remembrance of a better clime
Might haunt a fallen angel. And O, thou—
Thou who didst turn away and seek to bind
Thy heart from breaking—thou hast felt e'er now
A heart like thine o'ermastereth the mind;
Affection's power is stronger than thy will.
Ah, thou didst love me, and thou lovst me still!"
Annie's foot was on the stairs to descend to the drawing-room, on the following evening, when she heard the old doctor's voice in the hall, exclaiming, in tones of loud, hearty welcome,
"Why, bless my eyes! Frank Sheldon, my boy, do I behold you at last? And to come upon me in this unexpected manner! I've a mind to throw this orange at your head."
"Do so, sir, if you choose; but first hear my apology for this unceremonious surprise. Business brought me——"
"I won't hear a word about an apology," interrupted the doctor, bestowing a hearty slap on his young friend's shoulder. "Come in, boy, come in;" and the doors of the drawing-room opened and closed after them.
Annie ran back to her apartment in a flutter of emotion. "Sheldon there! and he came fromthat office! Business brought him,—what would come of it all?" She dared not hope or anticipate. She dared not think at all; and, throwing her graceful form on a sofa, she commenced tearing some water-color paintings she had lately been executing, into strips, and twisting them into gas-lighters.
Meantime Sheldon was snugly bestowed in a cushioned seat beside his good friend, the doctor, who was plying him with a thousand questions concerning his affairs, prospects, etc. After he had become satisfied on these points, he recollected Sheldon had mentioned some business as the cause of his sudden visit.
"What was it you said about business bringing you so unexpectedly?" he inquired. "So, I would not have enjoyed this pleasure had inclination alone biased your feelings!"
"You wrong me, sir," returned Sheldon, "by such an insinuation. I would have visited you in the summer, in any event. I merely intended to say business hurried my arrival. Our magazine, several months ago, issued a set of prizes for the best poem and tale. The articles have been received, and I commissioned to award the authoress, who, it appears, is a resident of your city."
"Indeed!" said the doctor. "Then we've a literary genius among us. What is her name?"
"She writes under anomme de plume."
"And what is that?"
"Woodland Winnie."
The good doctor sprang to his feet with such remarkable quickness as to overturn the tray of oranges on the stand beside him, and they went rolling over the carpet in all directions, while he clapped his hands and roared again and again with convulsing laughter. Sheldon was dumb-founded.
"Good!" exclaimed the doctor, in a tone of gleeful chuckling. "Ha, ha, ha! I declare I shall die a laughing. So cunning, the witch,—never to tell me!"
"Do you know the lady?" asked Sheldon in amaze, gazing on his friend's extravagant demonstrations of mirth and joy.
"Better and better!" roared the doctor. "Do I know her? Yes; she has been an inmate of my mansion for the lastsixmonths. Why, boy, she is an angel;—as gifted, as beautiful, and as good as all the beauty and genius put together. She has warmed my old heart and filled my house with sunshine."
"You will do me a great favor to introduce your humble servant to this paragon of excellence."
"Exactly! I'll do it all in good time; but take another orange, man!" he said, extending the empty tray to Sheldon. "Zounds! where are they gone?" he exclaimed, perceiving the dish to be vacant. "Have I eaten them all?"
Sheldon could not forbear laughing now, as he informed the doctor of his accident, which called forth another burst of merriment.
"Well, you want to see this lady?" he said, when it had subsided. "I'll bring her to you in a jiffy;" and the gleeful doctor departed on his errand.
Sheldon paced the floor uneasily during his absence; but he was not kept long in waiting. He soon heard steps descending the stairs and, whirling a chair so as to give him but a side view of the entrance, sat down to await their coming. The doors slid open, and he became aware of a light, graceful figure, in a dark, crimson robe, leaning on the doctor's arm, and approaching with fairy-like steps. The setting sun was throwing a flood of radiance through the heavy folds of purple damask, and filling the apartment with soft, dreamy light as they paused before him.
"I have the pleasure of presenting to you 'Woodland Winnie,' Mr. Sheldon," said the doctor.
Sheldon raised his dark eyes slowly to the lady's face, and there, in the genial light of that mild spring evening, stood Annie Evalyn. He started as if an electric shock had shot through his frame. She trembled and blushed, and the old doctor roared and shook with laughter at Sheldon's speechless surprise; but the latter soon recovered himself and greeted Annie with respectful cordiality, offering an apology for his surprise, by saying he was not prepared to behold a former acquaintance in the fair authoress. She returned his salutations with grace and ease, while the doctor continued to laugh immoderately. So pleased was the old gentleman with the part he had enacted in the scene, that he actually consumed twelve oranges, and despatched a servant for a fresh supply. Sheldon could not avoid stealing a glance at Annie as she sat on the sofa before him. The dark chestnut curls were lifted away from the expanding temples, and the delicate marble complexion, relieved by a just perceptible tinge of rose on either cheek; while the beautifully imaginative expression of the full blue eye, the curved lip and nostril speaking the free, dauntless spirit, and the exquisite contour of the light, graceful figure, yet somewhat taller and thinner than when he had last seen her, all conspired to assure him it was no timid, shrinking girl he beheld, but the lofty, talented, accomplished woman. Back came the old love and admiration ten-fold stronger than ever. The doctor went out to look after his oranges. There was a silence. It was growing oppressive. He rose and approached the sofa.
"I have erred, Annie," he said, in a low, mellow tone, fraught with deep sorrow and contrition.
"We are human, Frank," she answered, very softly.
It was not the words, but the tone, the manner, that convinced him he was forgiven. He sat down beside her, and there, in the deepening twilight of that spring evening, what a holy happiness was rising over the ruins of wickedness and crime! Who shall say how much holier, purer, and more elevated for the trying ordeal to which it had been subjected?
CHAPTER XXII.
"To all and each a fair good-night,And rosy dreams and slumbers bright."
"To all and each a fair good-night,And rosy dreams and slumbers bright."
"To all and each a fair good-night,
And rosy dreams and slumbers bright."
We are winding to a close. In the delicious coolness of a summer evening, Aunt Patty sat upon her lowly stile, her head drooped pensively on her withered hand, as if absorbed in deep meditation. The sound of approaching footsteps aroused her, and directly a light form was at her side, while a soft voice whispered in her ear: "You are thinking of one from whom I bring tidings."
It was Netta Wild, accompanied by her husband, who carried a small package in his hand.
"Ay, yes! true, Netta, I was thinking of Annie," said the old woman, rising, and beckoning them to enter, while she bustled about and lighted a candle. "So you have brought me news of her?" she continued. "I always know when I'm going to hear from hinny, for I'm thinking and dreaming about her all the time for three or four days before the tidings come."
"You should have had bright visions of late, Aunt Patty, if they are to tally with the truth," said Netta. "Annie has won the prizes."
"Has she? Do tell!" exclaimed the old woman, her face glowing with pleasure.
"Yes, and here are the magazines containing the articles," answered Netta, untying the package; "but this is the smallest part of her good fortune; there's better news yet to be imparted, Aunt Patty. Sit down here close beside me while I read this letter,—it is for both of us, she says."
Aunt Patty hitched her chair close up, remarking, as she did so, that "the best news she could hear of hinny was, that she was coming back to her old aunty."
"Well, she is coming back," said Netta, "but not alone; in brief; she is married, Aunt Patty."
"O dear! O dear!" groaned the old lady in agony; "I have lost her forever, my darling, darling Annie!"
"No you haven't," said Netta; "for she says it was in the bargain that she should never go from her dear old aunty while she lived, but always be near to cheer and console her declining years."
"O, the hinny love!" said Aunt Patty, brightening at these words.
"And she describes her meeting with Sheldon (for he is the bridegroom); of his being one of the editors of the magazine for which her prizes were written; of his surprise at finding to whom he was awarding them, and the explanation, and awakening of the old love, which quickly followed."
"We are married, Netta," she writes, "and are all bound eastward, as soon as Dr. Prague can close up his affairs in this city, as he proposes to accompany us, and spend the remainder of his days near your kind father. He says he has no ties to bind him to the western country. You will take this package, containing my prizes, to aunty, and read this letter to her. Tell her she must use the note enclosed to buy her a smart new dress, and get you to make her a high-crowned cap with an extra pinch in the border, in which to receive her Annie's husband."
The old woman laughed and cried by turns, and said, "'Twas not much use to rig up such an old, withered thing as she was; but then she would do all as hinny wished."
George and Netta stopped awhile to chat upon the expected arrival. Netta said, "The young couple could live in the beautiful stone mansion George had just completed, and which was now wanting a family. It was built in Gothic style, and most romantically situated, only a little distance from the Parsonage, in a delightful grove of maples and elms. She had been wondering who would occupy it, but never dreamed it might be Annie and her noble husband."
Thus they talked and planned; Aunt Patty all the while half wild with excitement and expectation. At length they took leave, Netta promising to come next day, and assist in making the new dress and smart cap.
Onward they came, on the wings of the flying steam-steed. Onward they came, a happy trio; the good old doctor, boisterous in his glee and satisfaction, looking first on Annie, then on Sheldon, and bursting again and again into peals of exuberant laughter; so wonderfully pleased was he with the success of his first attempt at match-making; for he appropriated to himself the whole glory of cementing the union between his two favorites. The only thing that caused anxiety or solicitude during their journey was a fear lest the good old gentleman, in his wild abandonment of joy, should forget himself, and eat so many oranges as to endanger his precious existence. But, happily, their fears proved imaginary. No such catastrophe occurred to mar their felicity, and the little party safely reached the hospitable mansion of Parson Grey, and were received with every demonstration of joy and welcome by the expectant inmates. Aunt Rachel was in her highest cap, and soon commenced preparations for the bridal supper, on which she had expended her utmost, and expected to derive much commendation therefrom; but now, Annie, little whimsie! overturned all her hopes at once. She had set her heart on eating her bridal supper with Aunt Patty at the rock cottage in Scraggiewood, and Sheldon declared ithiswish too.
Parson Grey was of opinion the young couple should be left to act their own pleasure in the matter, and all finally coincided; Aunt Rachel with some disappointed looks, that Aunt Patty's oaten cakes should gain the preference to her rich, frosted loaves; but she reflected that her sumptuous banquet could be displayed and partaken of some other day; and so she smoothed her brow and joined the rest in wishing Frank and Annie a pleasant walk to Scraggiewood.
As evening closed in, the happy couple, arm in arm, and unattended, took their way over the rough forest path. Annie had so much to tell of her early years passed there, and he was so intent on listening, that they were close upon the cottage, ere they seemed to have passed over one half the distance.
"What a wild, weird spot!" he exclaimed. "No wonder you have such glorious fancies, love."
Annie motioned him to be silent; she had caught a glimpse of her aunt sitting in the porch.
"Come quick," she said, and in a moment they stood before the startled old lady. Annie flung her arm over her neck and said: "Here's Annie and her husband come to Scraggiewood to take their bridal supper with their dear aunty."
The old lady returned her darling's embrace warmly, but looked rather abashed and disconcerted at beholding so fine a gentleman; but when he advanced and shook her heartily by the hand, expressing in eloquent words his gratitude to her for rearing so bright a flower to bless his life, she gradually regained her composure; and with the young couple roaming round the hut, out under the trees, and away into the woods in the clear moonlight to search up Crummie, for Annie said, "Frank must become acquainted with all her friends,"—the joyful dame set about preparing a repast. She managed to get on her new gown and cap while they were out, for their sudden arrival had surprised her in her homespun garb. Annie noticed the change soon as they were seated at the table, and, though Aunt Patty thought she needn't, remarked upon it at once.
"When did you find time to make that fine toilet, aunty?" she asked in a roguish tone.
But Aunt Patty turned the point well. "Why, dear, seeing you were so particular in your letter that I should spruce up to receive you and your husband, I thought I could do no less than respect your wishes."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Sheldon; "you are well answered for your pleasantry, Annie."
Thus they discussed their simple meal with mirth and good-humor. Aunt Patty's batter cakes seemed to have received an extra fine touch, and the cream and butter were such as a king might relish, Sheldon declared.
When the meal was over they sat down on the stile, Aunt Patty, at Annie's request, drawing her chair close beside them. Then they talked, and told her how much they anticipated living in the great mansion so near to Parson Grey; and they would come every week to see her; and a hundred other fine plans Annie formed, laying her head all the while on her husband's arm, as he twined wild flowers among her dark curls, and laughed at her lively sallies. Aunt Patty declared 'twas a sight angels might envy, their love and happiness.
The moon rose high above the tall forest trees, casting a mild, holy radiance over the scene. And thus we leave them;—and thus we say—"Good-night to Scraggiewood!"
CHAPTER I.
"Adown the lovely waters,Behold the vessel glide,While beauty's fairest daughtersGaze on the laughing tide.""She sought no notice, therefore gained it all,As thus she stood apart from all the throngOf heartless ones that passed before her eyes."
"Adown the lovely waters,Behold the vessel glide,While beauty's fairest daughtersGaze on the laughing tide."
"Adown the lovely waters,
Behold the vessel glide,
While beauty's fairest daughters
Gaze on the laughing tide."
"She sought no notice, therefore gained it all,As thus she stood apart from all the throngOf heartless ones that passed before her eyes."
"She sought no notice, therefore gained it all,
As thus she stood apart from all the throng
Of heartless ones that passed before her eyes."
The Mississippi—river of majestic beauties—with the green, delightful shores, elegant plantations, and dense forests of tall cotton-wood and dark, funereal cypress, overhung with the parasitical moss, gliding panorama-like before the enraptured vision! How proudly the mighty steam-boats cut the turbid water, bearing the wealth and merchandise of those productive lands to the numerous towns and cities that adorn the banks of the majestic river!
It was a lovely night in early June, and the guards of that queenliest of all queenly boats, the "Eclipse," were thronged with ladies and gentlemen just risen from their evening banquet in the sumptuous dining-saloon. They were passing Baton Rouge, and many an exclamation of delight was uttered, not only in admiration of the lovely scenery around them, but that they were so happily near the terminus of a journey, which, despite the splendid appointments of the boat, was fraught with danger, and occasioned more or less uneasiness and anxiety in the bosoms of all the passengers.
Apart from the crowd, leaning over the balustrade, her dark eyes riveted on the lovely prospect passing before her vision, stood a young girl of perhaps fifteen summers. Her form was slight, and a profusion of black, wavy ringlets floated over her small shoulders, while in all her movements was visible that singularly beautiful grace of motion, ever so attractive, and which is noticed only in very finely-constituted organizations. She stood apart from the hilarious groups around her, evidently
"In a shade of thoughts that were not their thoughts."
"In a shade of thoughts that were not their thoughts."
Her simple grace and self-possession, and the indifference manifested to the flattering attentions bestowed upon her by the gentlemen during the voyage, had rendered her an object of peculiar interest with them, and provoked no small amount of envy and invidious remark from the weaker sex.
"Look there," remarked a freckled-faced lady in blue and yellow, to a counterpart in red and green; "see Miss Pink o' Propriety, as the captain calls her, standing out there alone, to attract some gentleman's notice."
"Of course," returned miss red and green, sneeringly. "I hate that girl, she puts on such airs. And travelling alone, in charge of the captain and clerk, shows what she is plainly. There, look! The bait has taken,—Mr. Gilbert is caught!" and the rainbow ladies joined in a loud laugh, as a fine-looking gentleman approached the fair, abstracted girl, and accosted her.
"Always flying your crowd of admirers," said he, "and hiding in some sly nook. Please tell me some of your pretty thoughts, as we glide past this lovely scenery, Miss Orville."
"The recital of my poor thoughts would not repay you for listening," said the young lady, with a pleasant smile.
"Now I may consider myself dismissed, I suppose," remarked the gentleman; "but if you don't tolerate me, you'll have to some other of my sex; for naught so charms us contradictory human bipeds as indifference to our gracious attentions, and we always pay our most assiduous court where it receives the smallest consideration."
"Well, if you choose to remain and entertain me with your company—" commenced the fair girl.
"I can do so, but you prefer to be alone," interrupted the young man; "is not that what you would say?"
"As you have been pleased to give expression to my unexpressed thoughts, I'll abide by your decision," she remarked quietly.
The gentleman bade her good-evening, and walked away, looking somewhat chagrined by his easy dismissal. On the fore-deck he found the clerk of the boat.
"I've just come from Miss Orville," he said, falling into step with the latter. "You are a lucky fellow, Mr. Clerk, to have such a lovely being entrusted to your care."
"She is a sweet young lady, indeed," said the clerk. "I was never trusted with a charge in which I felt more interest."
"No wonder. Half the gentlemen on the boat are in love with her, and she is so mercilessly indifferent to all their blandishments! Yet she is of an age to love flattery and adulation."
"She appears like one whose heart is preöccupied," remarked the clerk.
"But she is too young for that to be the case, I would suppose."
"Love is restricted to no particular age."
"She is from the north, too, and the maidens of those cold climes are less susceptible to the influence of the tender passion than the daughters of our sunny shores," pursued Gilbert.
"Less susceptible it may be," answered the clerk, "but once enkindled, the flame seldom flickers or grows dim. Northern hearts are slow to wake and hard to change. I was raised in Yankee land, Gilbert, and should know something of Yankee girls."
"True, true; but where do you say this young lady is going?"
"To New Orleans."
"And do you know where she will stop in the city?"
"At the residence of her uncle, Esq. Camford."
"Possible? I know that family well."
"Indeed," remarked the clerk; "then you may have an opportunity to pursue your acquaintance with Miss Orville, in whom you seem to feel more than ordinary interest."
"Why, yes," said Gilbert, "I believe I'm in love with her at present; but then I don't make so serious a matter of a heart affair as many do."
Gilbert was a wealthy southern planter, of rather easy, dissolute habits, yet possessed of some redeeming points.
"With good luck we shall hail the Crescent City to-morrow," remarked the clerk, at length, as he stood regarding the speed of the boat with admiring gaze.
"Say you so?" exclaimed Gilbert. "I must have a last game of euchre to-night, then;" and he hurried into the saloon to make up a party.
"Hilloa, Reams!" said he to a foppish-looking fellow, lying at length on a rosewood sofa, intent on the pages of a yellow-covered volume which he held above his perfumed head; "come, have done with 'Ten Thousand a Year,' and let us have a last game of cards. We shall be in New Orleans to-morrow, so here's our last chance onla belleEclipse."
"O, give over your game!" yawned the indolent Reams. "I'm better employed, as you see."
"No!" returned Gilbert, "I'll not give over; if you won't play, I can find enough that will. You are a cowardly chap, Reams; because you lost a few picayunes last night, you are afraid to try your luck again. Where's that young fellow, Morris?"
"What, the handsome lad from old Tennessee?" said Reams, languidly passing his taper fingers through his lavender-moistened locks; "he will never hear of any cards save wedding ones tied with white satin, for he has been for the last half hour on the guards in earnest conversation with that pretty Miss Orville."
"The deuce he has!" exclaimed Gilbert with a blank expression, as he walked away with a hasty step, leaving Reams to adjust himself to his book again. He soon collected a group of card-players and sat down to his game; while young Wayland Morris and sweet Alice Orville promenaded the hurricane deck, and admired the beautiful scenery through which they were gliding, from the lofty pilot-house, conversing with the ease and freedom of old acquaintances; for thus ever do kindred souls recognize and flow into each other wherever they chance to meet in this fair world of ours.
CHAPTER II.
"My mistress hath most trembling nerves;The buzz of a musquito doth alarm her so,She straightway falleth into frightful fits."
"My mistress hath most trembling nerves;The buzz of a musquito doth alarm her so,She straightway falleth into frightful fits."
"My mistress hath most trembling nerves;
The buzz of a musquito doth alarm her so,
She straightway falleth into frightful fits."
It was the dinner hour at the splendid mansion of Esq. Camford, the silver service duly laid on the marble dining-table, the heavy curtains drooped before the broad, oriel windows, and an odor of orange flowers pervading the apartment as the light breeze lifted their silken folds. Colored servants, in snowy jackets and aprons, stood erect and prim in their respective places, awaiting the entrance of their master's family and guests. At length there was a bustle in the hall, and a loud, burly voice heard exclaiming,
"Here, Thisbe, you black wench, run and tell your mistress to come into the drawing-room in all haste. Here's an arrival; her niece, Miss Orville, just in on the Eclipse. I was down on the levee, to see to the consignment of my freight, and run afoul of her. Run, you nigger, and tell her to come here quick."
"Yes, massa," and off patted the woman to impart the summons, while Alice stood indeterminate on her uncle's threshold.
The servant plodded up a long pair of stairs, and tapped thrice at the door of an apartment, e'er she was bid in a peevish voice to "come along in, and not stand there foolin'." The woman entered timidly.
"What do you want with me?" snarled the fine lady from the depths of a cushioned chair, her white fingers playing with a richly-wrought Spanish fan.
"Massa says come down in the drawin'-room to see a nice young lady, Miss Orful, or some sich name, what's just come on the 'Clipse, that signed away all massa's freight," said the woman with a profound courtesy.
"What gibberish is this?" said the lady, in fretful humor; "go and tell your master to come here this moment. I declare, my nerves are all a-tremble, and my life is worried out of me by these stupid niggers. Get out of my sight, and do my bidding!"
The servant disappeared instanter through the door.
"Where is your mistress?" bawled Esq. Camford, when she reäppeared in the hall.
"She says you must come to her this minute, for she is e'en-amost nervousy to death," answered poor Thisbe, in a shaking voice.
"Come to her? Thunder and Mars! didn't you tell her her niece was here waiting a welcome?"
"Yes, massa. I tell her there was a nice young lady here, what come on de 'Clipse."
"O, Lord! these fidgety women!" exclaimed Esq. Camford, impatiently. "I hope you are not one of the sort, are you, Miss Orville? But come into the parlor here, while I go up and rouse your aunt."
"I hope, if she is sick, you will not disturb her on my account," said Alice, somewhat alarmed at the commotion her arrival had occasioned.
"Thunder! she is not sick, I'll wager; that is, no sicker than she deems it necessary to be to produce an effect. I'm anxious you should behold your cousins,—four in all; three youngest at school. They'll be home at dinner, and it is already past the usual hour. Thunder! is dinner ready, Thisbe?"
"Yes, massa, and a waitin' mighty long time too."
"Well, as I was saying, you must see your cousins, Jack, Josephine and Susette. Our oldest daughter is over to Mobile for a few weeks. Pheny is about your age, and you'll be great friends, no doubt; that is, if you can romp and flop about pretty smart; but I must go for your aunt."
Here an exclamation of "Mercy, mercy!" called the esquire's attention, and he beheld his amiable consort sinking aghast, with uplifted hands on a sofa in the hall. "Law, Nabby, what's the matter now?" said he, going toward her leisurely enough, as though he were accustomed to such scenes.
"O, Adolphus Camford! what wench is that you have been sitting beside on my embroidered ottoman? Answer me quick, for the love of Heaven! I will not say for the love you bear me, as it is evident by your conduct that you have ceased to regard me with a spice of affection," exclaimed the fair lady, in a tone of trembling excitement.
"Good, now, Nabby, good! A scene enacted on the arrival of our little up-country cousin, Ally Orville;" and the esquire roared with laughter. Alice heard all, and wondered what she had come among.
The lady, nothing appeased by this explanation, as soon as she had taken breath, burst forth again. "And you dared take the girl, in her dirty, disordered travelling garb, into the drawing-room! Adolphus Camford, I'm horrified beyond expression! Here, Thisbe, run and bundle the thing off to her room before any one sees her. And to come just at our fashionable dinner-hour too!"
"Fuss and feathers, is that the child's fault? She came when the boat did, of course. I was down there after my freight, and found her; she seemed a mighty favorite with all on board, I assure you, and a handsome young fellow rode up in the carriage with us, to mark her residence, that he might call on her."
"Yes, and our house will be overrun by hoosiers, and all sorts of gawkins, no doubt. But take this girl out of sight, Thisbe. You can carry some dinner to her room if she wishes any."
"Thunder and Mars! She is your own brother's child; ain't you going to let her come to the table with the family?"
"Perhaps so, at a proper time. When I have seen her, and considered whether she is a suitable personage for my jewel daughters to have for a companion."
"Why, didn't she come here more by your invitation than mine? for she was well enough off at home, but, because she was the only child of your deceased brother, you wanted to do something for her, and so sent for her to come here, and finish her education at your expense, where she could receive more fashionable polish than in a country town, away up in Ohio; and as to her looks, just step into the parlor and see for yourself."
"O, where is she?" he exclaimed, finding the room vacant in which Alice had been seated a few moments before.
"I sent Thisbe to take her off," replied Mrs. Camford; "here are the children; my brilliant son, my jewel daughters. I declare my nerves are so shaken I feel quite incapacitated to preside at the dinner-table."
"Pshaw, Nabby," said the blunt husband, "come along. I'll risk you to despatch your usual quantity of lobster salad and roasted steak."
"Adolphus, you shock me," faltered the delicate little lady, of a good two hundred pounds' weight, as she hung to her lord's stalwart arm and entered the dining saloon.
"My darling children, assume your seats at table. Billy and Cato, unfold their napkins. Adolphus, you see we have chops for dinner."
Delivering herself of this flowery speech, the lady sank exhausted into the high-backed chair that was held in readiness by the officious waiter, and was shoved up to her proper place, the head of her sumptuous table.
The meal proceeded in silence, and all, even the delicate lady, did ample justice to the chops, the entrées, and nicely-prepared side dishes, as well as to the elegant dessert that followed in course.
CHAPTER III.