Nest-building
"There is no such thing as a trifle in the world," says the Spanish proverb. "When we remember how inextricably the lives of all mankind are tangled together, it seems as if every word and action moved a lever which set in motion a gigantic machine whose effect is beyond our control." Such has been the workings of those of whom our little history treats, and yet the labor is not completed.
Charles Belmont would arrive before dinner the next day after the incidents of our last chapter, and Ellen St. Clair was expected, of course, to be nervous and excited; but much to the chagrin of the mother of the young gentleman, at least, she was neither. One might well accuse her of indifference or disinterestedness, so calm and quiet did she appear. It was proposed that they should ride over to the depot to meet him, but she thought it "tiresome."
"Then let us go to the village for the letters," suggested Rose; but even that was "unnecessary," and, besides, it was Jim's work, and for one she did not "like to infringe upon the rights of others," she declared, with the merriest of laughs.
"Then," said George, coming to the rescue, "we will take Anna out and show her the orange groves."
"That is just the thing; a walk was what was most needed."
"And Ellen is suited at last," exclaimed Rose, in a pet.
"But you will go without me. Southern luxury is no rarity to one who has always been used to it;" and the insinuating eyes darted to the calm face of her for whom the pretty speech was intended. "I will remain within doors, and listen to the chit-chat of the old ladies, or it may be, finish the 'Missing Bride,' which I consider far more agreeable."
"Do you find entertainment in the works of Mrs. Southworth? There are those who consider them rather effervescent—to speak mildly."
"Of whom you are included."
"Certainly so," replied George St. Clair with a touch of irony in his voice, it must be confessed, for he had seen the glow deepen on the cheek of Anna too many times beneath her scathing words, not to realize the uprising of his knightly indignation, which submerged, for the moment, his native gallantry. But one glance into the mirthful face of his companion, who was already equipped for her walk, brought to his mind her previous assertion, that she really enjoyed it; and he smothered the glowing fire and stepped into the hall for his hat.
Lily was bathing the aching head of her suffering mother, and could not be prevailed upon to leave her post, and so the three started on without her. On the piazza, however, they encountered "Toddy," who was rolling in the sunshine and trying to sing like Aunt Millie.
"Here, you rascal," called George, "come and show us where we can find the store-house. I want you to see first how they prepare and store away the cotton," he continued, turning to Anna.
"Wants to see where dey works 'em?" asked Toddy with a very knowing look.
"Yes, where the gins are."
"Yes, massa." And the boy started off in a rollicking trot, much to the amusement of the young people who followed close after him. On he went, slapping his sides at every step, and casting a sly look over his shoulder at the ladies.
"Here, you monkey—don't you ever walk?" again called George, as he was getting far ahead.
"Yes, massa."
"When, I should like to know?"
"When Miss Rose wants dis child to hurry quick," he shouted back, at the same time bestowing one of his side-long glances.
There was another merry laugh when Anna inquired:
"What do they call you Toddy for? It seems like a queer name for a little boy."
"Don' know Missus; 'spects it's 'cause massa likes me."
This was too much even for the staid bachelor, and he joined heartily in the laugh that followed this bit of wit.
"I reckon they do not give you many whippings," suggested Ellen.
"Right smart, sometimes, Missus."
"Where are you taking us, madcap? Here, this is the way to the gin house."
"Yes, massa," and turning in the direction designated he proceeded with the same swinging trotas before. "Uncle Bob drefful bad ober dar," he added a moment after, pointing to a small cabin a little apart from the rest. "Reckon he's goin t' die," and he renewed with vigor the peculiar movement of his strange gait, yet this time the drumming of his chubby hands kept up a running accompaniment to the song he had left unfinished when disturbed in the attempt to imitate poor Aunt Millie.
Anna did not join in the amusement of the moment, for her thoughts were with the old man who "was mighty bad ober dar," and she longed to visit him in his humble home. She walked through the extensive warehouse, listened to the explanations regarding the work of the world-famed cotton gin, looked at the huge piles of bales not yet shipped, yet felt no interest in what she heard or saw, so great had become her desire to go to the little cabin where the poor negro was dying; and when they again emerged into the open air, she said, calmly:
"Why not make a visit to the sick now? I have heard so much in the north about the piety and resignation of the negro people in the dying hour that I long to witness it for myself."
The young man looked into the face of the speaker with a shadow of perplexity covering his own. Ellen, however, quietly remarked:
"All of these things have been greatly exaggerated, without doubt, and yet I shall never forget how triumphantly old Peter went home. I was quite small, but my heart learned a great lesson from that death. If you desire, Anna, I will go with you."
"I think, ladies, you had better commission me to carry the wine and oil, for having had one peep into the sensitive nature of our northern friend, I must consider you very thoughtless, my sister, in forwarding her desires."
This was said with apparent carelessness, yet Anna did not fail to perceive that he did not want them to go. Still she was not willing to give it up, and, laying her hand on his arm, she said, playfully:
"Miss Rose will require a little of your Samaritan kindness, if she is still weeping over the tortures of the 'Missing Bride,' and if you will pardon us we will go to the cabin while you administer balm in another direction. To-morrow, remember, we are to finish our rambles through the orange groves."
"Of course he will excuse us," interposed Ellen, "we will not remain a great while." And with a "Just as you please, ladies," their chaperon, with a most obsequious bow, walked away.
"He hasn't gone to the house at all," remarked the sister looking after him, but Toddy unperceived by either had appeared on the scene and with one of his knowing glances remarked quaintly: "Miss Lily ober dar wid de turkeys; I seed her goin' down de walk. Dis be ole Bob's," and rolling up to the door he opened it, then stepped back for the ladies to enter. "A little gentleman after all," remarked Annasotto voce; but they were in the room where in the farther part lay the old man with closed eyes apparently asleep. "Do not disturb him," whispered Ellen approaching the bedside; but the large eyes opened as she drew near and a smile spread itself over the thin features.
"De young ladies from de house has come to see you," said the girl in attendance. "Bress ye'se honey. I'se most home, got most t'ro' wid de work and de cryin'! Old Bob's done heaps of dem both—bress de Lord!" And the heavy lids drooped again over the large eyes where such a joyous light seemed burning. Anna could not resist the impulse to take the bony hand of the dying man in her own, and as it lay in her warm clasp he looked again upon her. "Does ye pray, honey? De good Lord help ye! It's but a little way down to de ribber whar old Bob's a-goin'! Poo' massa! I'se told de Lord all 'bout him. It's de liquor what keeps de good away—but den I'se most t'ro'—goin' home—bress de Lord!" A spoon was placed to his lips and as he swallowed the few drops he murmured: "Poo' massa! It's de liquor," and his voice died away in a prayer Anna was sure for his lips moved almost imperceptibly. There was a moment's silence, then Anna as she raised the hand she had been holding from the feebly heaving breast asked softly: "What are all the sorrows of life to you now? With heaven so near can you feel sad for a moment over what has past? Are you very happy poor, dying saint?" O that look! "It must have been a ray that had darted through the opening gate that so lighted up the wan features," said Anna after, "for it was like nothing I ever saw before." The poor girl by his side was weeping quietly, but she caught the glance of the heavenly eyes, and laying her hand on the white head said soothingly: "Dar's a crown for poor old Bob where dis head won't ache no mo';" and the fervent "bress de Lord!" fell again from the thin lips.
The death of Uncle Bob.The death of Uncle Bob.
"Are you not afraid to stay here alone?" whispered Ellen.
"O, no; de Lord and de holy angels are close by, and Fanny will be here when de days work is t'ro'. But Bob an I isn't 'fraid. We'll both be dar by and by." Fearing to intrude longer upon the last moments of a departing soul the two stole noiselessly from the humble room which was so soon to prove the gate of heaven to the liberated spirit, and they stepped out into the cool, bracing air, yet not a word was spoken.
"There come the carriages from the depot," remarked Ellen as they turned towards the house. Yes, Charles Belmont had arrived; as also Mr. St. Clair, in company with the host, from where they had been taking a drive over a neighboring plantation; and shortly after a merry party, to all appearance, sat down to a bountiful dinner. How little we know of the grief, bitterness, disappointment, anger and rage that can be crowded into one dark chamber of the soul over which the spirit of evil keeps its faithful watch, holding in its right hand the keys of its secret domain!
"Old Bob gone dead, sure," piped a voice through a narrow aperture of the door close to the master's chair.
"Get outyou scoundrel!" exclaimed the host, at the same time throwing a chicken bone at the intruder's curly head which failed in its aim, while the gleeful "he-he-he!" mingled itself with the sound of Toddy's rapid scrambling up the broad staircase outside.
"Did you know Bob was so bad?" inquired the wife, stopping for a moment in her duties as hostess.
"Bad? Bob wasn't bad about anything! But I knew he was going this morning, the old boy! Well, he did have one fault; he loved his good-for-nothing old master and I reckon things won't go quite as brisk now that he has gone."
"One of the faithful ones, I take it?" interrogated Charles Belmont.
"Yes, and a pet of my father's, who, when he was dying, told me to be good to 'Bob' and I reckon I've done it;" and the little ripple caused by the departure of a human soul closed up, and the dinner with its accompaniments of mirth and laughter went on as though the waters had never been stirred. Death! Mrs. Belmont retired to her room almost immediately after the party returned to the parlor, for a flood of contending emotions had rolled in upon her guilty soul at the very thought of the "king of terrors." Then, too, there came to her through the surgings of the inward tempest the last words of him who was sleeping in the shadows at Rosedale, "teach the children to be true, noble and better than we have been, for somehow I can but feel that Aunt Vina is right 'we must have the Lord sometime or be wretched!'" "The Lord! Wretched! Am I not all that now?" and the miserable woman paced the floor as her thoughts went on. Where was Lillian? She was to teach to be good and noble! Under that very roof was her child! The babe she had so desired to thrust out of sight—out of the world! Every motion of the childish figure—every look sent a barb of anguish to her already tortured soul! "It will all be brought to light" something had continually whispered to her awakened conscience for the last two days, andhow could she ever meet it? How gladly she would have throttled the power that was so resistlessly carrying her forward! O the agony of a sin-cursed soul! The stately lady stood by the window and looked out upon the scenes before her. Yonder were the rays of the setting sun yet lingering in the tree-tops; near was the rude cabin where the still form of the humble slave was lying. How joyfully would the proud, haughty mistress of Rosedale at that moment have exchanged places with the poor despised menial! But she must live; the future was unfolding itself to her every moment and whatwasto be done? Again the record of a mortal life was sadly closed, for on its pages was written the guilt of a perjured soul!
"It must be done!" she mentally exclaimed, while her long slender fingers clasped each other so tightly that the nails pressed painfully into the flesh. "I never could live with such a tornado of disgrace howling around me!Never! It must be done!"
"O what a tangled web we weaveWhen first we practice to deceive;"
"O what a tangled web we weaveWhen first we practice to deceive;"
what a concourse of evil spirits will enter when the door of the heart is thrown open to the first invited guests!
The miserable occupant of the upper chamber was realizing it all now as she had never done before. She had flattered herself that the great secret that was gnawing at her very life was wholly in her power; but the fantasy was being dispelled! Lillian was—she knew not where! Perhaps at that very moment probing the long-concealed mystery and if discovered wouldhateher mother!This was torture indeed! She halted in her walk and stood again by the window. "I must go down," she thought after a moments pause; "they will wonder at my absence. Secrecy and hypocrisy is my future work! To draw the veil of indifference over the boiling cauldron—smother the fire and be the gentlewoman of fashion and society! O for a mask with which to cover it all!"
The Haystacks
Mrs. Gaylord did not expect to return to her Virginia home for some time, it being her intention to spend the winter as far south as convenient, her physician having ordered a warmer climate and an entire change of scene. She thought her health was improving, and so she would remain until the crocus peeped from its bed beneath its brown covering, and then she would return. But it was a pity that Lily should be shut up so closely when there was so much in the city to give her enjoyment. Tiny could do all her mistress really needed, and "we will make it so pleasant for her," Ellen pleaded; and Mrs. Belmont, who stood behind the curtain, calm and dignified, had, unconsciously to all, set the plan in active operation.
"I suppose I shall be permitted to add my mite to the young lady's happiness, which I shall not fail to do if she will favor us, before I leave the city," she said quietly. All the time she was speaking her fingers slowly turned the leaves of a book on the table as though it was of very small moment whether the invitation was or was not accepted, and as the young lady left the room remarked, quietly:
"I believe I have taken quite a fancy to your daughter, Mrs. Gaylord. It seems sometimes thatshe resembles in some respects my Lillian; their eyes certainly are similar. Do you not think so, George?"
"Yes; I have often been reminded of her. The same deep, thoughtful expression, and at times the same sad look I have noticed on Lillian's face since I returned from Europe."
George St. Clair did not remove his gaze from the face before him while speaking, yet she answered calmly:
"I can see no reason why one so young should have such a look."
The young man bent his head almost to her ear, as he whispered: "And there is no reason under heaven why your daughter's face should wear it. There is a curse in a false ambition like the one that is blackening your soul. Unbend yourself and do what every mother's heart should prompt her to do. Seek your child's happiness and despise, as every noble character will, the worldly lust that is governing you."
"How dare you!" she exclaimed, rising to her feet and fixing her keen eyes upon him. But she said no more. The power of his calm, unflinching gaze awed her into silence, and turning she left the room. Yet the slumbering demon in her heart had been aroused and as she strolled out into the open air seemed ready to overpower her.
"What does he know about my false ambition? Could she have told him? Ah, but she knew nothing of her child; let her revelations be what they may, this secret is not his to taunt me with. Lost, lost! Poverty is to crush my pride after all I have done. 'A curse!' Yes, a curse has already set its seal upon my ambition—my life." She walked onuntil calm once more stole in among her the contending spirits, and she returned to the house.
"Mrs. Belmont seems like one who has experienced some great reverse," remarked Mrs. Gaylord, after her abrupt departure from the parlor. "I have noticed several times since she has been here a disquietude perfectly unaccountable in one of her position."
The young man made a casual reply, and others entering at the moment the little incident was seemingly forgotten.
"It has been decided," remarked Ellen to her brother the next morning; "Lily Gaylord will return with us, and Anna seems delighted. I had not thought until last evening that a tie of native land drew them together."
"A land of very favorable productions," replied the brother, with a mischievous smile.
During the short visit the war excitement was spreading wider and wider, and its symptoms became more and more positive. In the cities the alarm raged like an epidemic in certain circles, while there were a few who denounced the whole affair, a cooling draught quite inefficient to keep down the devouring fever. Great preparations were being made in Charleston, and a few other places were following its lead, so that, should the campaign really open in the spring, as was prophesied, they might be ready. Mr. St. Clair was one of the number who thought it not well to go to fighting. "To be sure," he would say, good-naturedly, "Uncle Sam is getting rather plethoric, and it may be well to give him a little fright," but he never would advocate the idea of the breaking up of households. "No doubt it would be a veryfine thing to tumble down the old national structure after it was done we were sure of walking in over the ruins and building up to suit our own notions." But to tell the truth he was a little afraid of the old giant. He had learned that his locks might grow again, crop them ever so short. The safest way, he thought, was to let well enough alone.
His son was much of the same opinion, but if the house must be divided against itself he would not let it fall into ruin without a struggle. Therefore, in a few days after the little party had returned to the city, George St. Clair started for Charleston. Lily was in ecstacy as they drew near Savannah. The sea, the great glorious sea, was before her, and the music of its distant waves thrilled every fibre of her being. It recalled the fancied dream of her childhood when she longed to go out and lay her head on the billows and become a part of its restless life.
Charles Belmont, who had gone to the city a few days before, was at the St. Clair's on their arrival and gave them a hearty welcome. Had he thought that little Phebe, as the adopted daughter of the wealthy Virginia planter, would do to reign at Rosedale?
A long programme was soon made out for the pleasures of the next few weeks. There were rides and public entertainments, select dinner parties and littletete a tete's, besides one grand, brilliant soiree at the senator's mansion which Lily must not fail to attend!
"It is so lucky that Charles Belmont has not left us," remarked Ellen while talking it all over. "He is a most gracefulchaperonand it stands us in hand to court his favor. You will not refusehim, Lily?" she continued with an arch smile. "He seems well pleased to be called into service." Thus the weeks passed away. The violets peered out from their beds of green along the garden borders and the daffodils turned their broad faces to the sun, and yet Mr. Gaylord did not come south after his wife. He was in Richmond with the leading men of the day discussing the great topics under consideration, while Mrs. Gaylord grew weary with her long visit and more and more nervous with its daily protraction. After much urging and earnest solicitation by her friends she consented to follow Lily to the city, and she soon found herself forgetting, when once the guest of Mrs. St. Clair, that the time had hung heavily. The widowed Bertha became much attached to the pale little visitor, and found great consolation in pouring her sorrows into her attentive ear. One day she came abruptly into the room where Mrs. Gaylord was sitting alone and saw tears upon her cheeks still undried. "Then you too grieve sometimes," she remarked, laying her white hand affectionately on the bowed head. "How true it is that we find shadows where we should least expect them! But then it must be sad never to feel well!"
"O no, dear; it is not that! I seldom if ever have wept because of physical suffering. I consider my pains and aches an indispensable part of the programme of life. We all need a certain amount of refining in order to ascertain how much gold will remain, if any; therefore I bear all this because there is wisdom in it and an end to be accomplished."
"One would scarcely imagine that you could have a greater reason for sorrow."
"Perhaps not, and yet I surprised you with tears. Shall I tell you why? No idle fancy of mine but only a few innocent lines, the product, no doubt, of an experience similar to my own. Let me read them to you. 'We cannot judge of what the heart contains by the laughter that escapes the lips or the smiles that flit across and illumine the face, any more than we can fathom the soundless deep or discover the contents of its dark chambers by the sunbeams that lie upon its surface. A crown of diamonds and precious stones is a thing of beauty, but when lined with thorns and pressed down by its heavy weight of wealth on the pierced and bleeding temples it will lose its preciousness as it becomes a crown of torture! Thus many blessings, priceless in themselves, may become our greatest source of misery if a cruel hand twines thorns among them. Our most serious wounds are those that no eye can discover because of their depth.' May you not realize all this Mrs. Mason.Iknow it! This is the reason why your words, dropped one by one into the fountain of my soul, create such a melancholy echo!"
"I confess that I am astonished. Rich, talented and beloved; how can there be such pitiful wailings in your poor heart? Were I expecting my husband as you are yours, or had he died where his last words could have been breathed into my ear I think I could hush every other saddened echo and call myself happy. But to have the light of life suddenly blown out, and with a great shock find yourself in total darkness, covers the heart with a pall hard to remove. Then to feel throughthe whole night that it need not have been! O—you never can know! 'The code of honor!' My soul detests such chivalry!" and the bright eyes glared wildly into the face of her companion.
"My poor friend! The tenderest sympathies of my heart are yours! I am ashamed of my weakness; and yet there are many avenues to the soul through which the bitter waters flow. One of these, it may be, is the closing up of those through which the real practical benefits are expected to enter, leaving room only for the unreal and the unpractical. Here I feel is my fault. It is this binding up of my whole being with these silver cords, upon which every external incident has a power like the touch of electricity to fill my whole soul with discord. In my youth I very foolishly drew my own panorama of coming events, in which I left out everything that was rough or unsightly; in a word, filling up the future with ideal loveliness. I thought my life's path would soon begin to wind along through the valley of roses where no harsh winds ever blow and no dark shadows ever shut out the glowing sunlight. But the time when my slippered feet were to tread on thornless flowers has not arrived. I ought to be ashamed of myself ever to have expected it. It is not in my power to disjoint my nature and reconstruct it with iron! That I was so organized is my misfortune, not my crime!"
"Does all this make you unhappy? It seems to me that a nature so full of beauty or what you term 'unrealities' ought to have a source of joy all its own."
"If one could live to herself it might be so; but it is for the practical that we were created, forthis we are chosen. Fail in the power of bestowal and verily we are guilty of the whole. I am a failure! It is my mission to sow dew-drops where wheat should have been scattered, to covet sunbeams when clouds are more to the purpose! It is not pleasant, surely, to awaken after a gentle nap of self-repose to find that a grave has been dug with your 'incapacities' which has swallowed up the love you once fondly expected would gild a whole life with roseate hues!"
"Love you?Why everyone lovesyou! Your husband idolizes you! Is it not so?"
"Go look at my wardrobe; is anything deficient there? My jewels—are they not the richest and rarest? But with it all my woman's heart is still unsatisfied. Ah, there is Lily; I hear her coming up the stairs. She has, the foolish child, the same wild longings, the same idealities that goad me. It was these that woke my heart to her cry for love."
Lily came bounding into the room her cheeks and eyes bright with the excitement of her morning ride.
"I am so sorry you did not go with us," she said as she kissed the pale lips of her dearest friend. "I am sure it would have taken all of the pain out of your head, the air is so pure and sweet. Besides Charles is to return to Rosedale to-morrow where his mother will follow in a few days, and Ellen will not trust herself with the new coachman, he is so easily frightened, the horses are so spirited; and Mrs. Belmont is almost as bad. She says she really believes he would jump from the box and run if they should put up their ears a little higher than usual. But you shall have one more ride, and if he deserts his post I will take it. Thatwould be only the exercise of one of my early accomplishments. Dear old Rover," she continued, half to herself. Where was Willie? Frequent letters assured her that he was doing nicely in his new vocation, while her constant memories of him added to his content as new prospects opened before him.
Mrs. Belmont insisted that Lily should spend one day at least with her before leaving the city, and as Mr. Gaylord was expected soon her request was speedily granted.
"We are to have a drive along the beach," Lily went on to say, "returning just as the moon rises. I wish we were to have a larger party, but it was not spoken of until yesterday. It will be delightful I know! Already I feel the uprising of that childhood's memory when I used to steal away to look at the moon as it lay on the water and wished I could go where it was."
It was a delightful evening as the little party started for their pleasant ride with the scent of far-off flowers coming to them on the soft wings of the southern breeze and the music of the great ocean in their ears. Into this the bright day-king was about to take his nightly plunge from behind the royal colors of purple and gold.
"What a little enthusiast you are about the ocean!" remarked Mrs. Belmont in response to some exclamation of admiration. "Perhaps you would like to take another such a ride upon it as you told me of?"
"I do not think I should be more afraid now than I then was if I were on those rose-colored waves yonder rocking and rolling as they are doing. I believe I should still imagine that thevoice of my mother was mingled with their song lulling me to sleep!" Lily did not notice the agitation of her companion or perceive that her lips were of an ashy hue and her cheeks sunken and pale, so much engrossed was she in the excitement of the scene about her.
"Turn to the right here," commanded Mrs. Belmont.
"Lor! Lor, Missus!Datroad?"
"Turn to the right and keep silent!" she repeated.
"Thisdoesseem like an unfrequented path leading into the woods," remarked Lily without any seeming agitation.
"Yes, dear; I am going to take you around a little then come down abruptly to the beach. I have been here and understand the way perfectly."
"Have we come a long way?"
"Only a few miles." Both were again silent.
"How soon it gets dark after the sun goes down," said Lily a few moments after. "May we not better think of returning?"
"Presently. There, take to the left now, it will bring us around to the beach."
Sam made no objection to the command this time, but his shoulders evinced unmistakable signs of inward dissatisfaction as he turned the horses into the road which was narrow and half overgrown with grass. Soon they came to a thickly-wooded elevation, when Mrs. Belmont commanded that they should halt! "We must turn to the left again here in order to gain the main road; but I want to show you, dear, more of the ocean than you ever saw before at one view. We will walk a little way—to the opening yonder, while you willremain here with the carriage, Sam, until we return."
"It'sdreffuldark, Missus! Sam don't like it nohow!"
"I am very much of Sam's opinion," remarked Lily who had alighted. "The moon will be up in a few moments; besides, it is these trees that make it so dark here!" Once more on firm footing the fearlessness and buoyancy of her nature returned to her, and the young girl darted away toward the spot designated with a light and rapid step.
"Do not leave me to grope my way alone," called Mrs. Belmont.
"I beg your pardon and will stand here and wait for you," came the reply. "I have not gained the light yet, but it is a little way ahead; come!" She waited for a moment as she had said, and hearing a step on the right called out: "This way Mrs. Belmont; where are you?"
At this moment a pair of strong arms were thrown about her and a voice hissed in her ear: "Don't ye bawl, and ye shan't be hurt! I'se got a strong grip and so ye'd better be quiet!" She gave one shriek, and then finding he had bound her hands while speaking shouted again the name of "Mrs. Belmont!" Quick as thought a bandage was thrust over her mouth which almost suffocated her. "Thar, thar—I reckon yese'll be quiet now!" and taking her in his powerful grasp bore her rapidly away.
"Sam! Sam!" screamed Mrs. Belmont; "come quickly! Do you not hear the dear child calling? Something has happened! Run and find her!" She was close to the carriage and there was noneed of calling so loudly; but the poor, frightened negro did not move.
"Why do you not run?"
"O Lor, Lor, Missus! Dis nigger can't do nothin'! I'se mighty 'fraid, Missus! Can't go nohow!"
Mrs. Belmont wrung her hands in the very abandonment of grief! "Poor, poor girl!" Then darting into the woods she called with a loud voice: "Lily! Lily!" But the roaring of the waves not far away was her only answer. After many exclamations of sorrow and outbursts of grief; after much calling and many remonstrances with the poor frightened negro for his good-for-nothingness onalloccasions, and this trying one in particular, Mrs. Belmont reseated herself in the carriage and commanded that Sam should drive as rapidly as possible to the city.
"Dat I will, Missus; but what ye do wid di young lady?"
"Drive to the city as I command you!" was the emphatic answer.
"Yes, Missus;" and after some hesitation and audible ejaculations from Sam they gained the highway and an hour after drove up to the door of the St. Clair's.
"What the deuce does this mean!" exclaimed the old gentleman as Mrs. Belmont entered the parlor with haggard looks and her long black hair in disorder about her face. The sad story was soon told amid sobs and exclamations from her hearers.
"What possessed you to remain down to the beach at such a late hour?" interrogated Mr.St. Clair angrily. "One could almost suspect you of design."
"My dear husband," said the wife; "do not be too rash! The question is, what can we do for the poor girl?"
"Send to headquarters of the police immediately! The place must be thoroughly searched by moonlight and continued until she is found!"
All this time Mrs. Belmont sat like one who had suddenly lost the power of motion, while her keen, dark eyes seemed to burn the carpet at her feet. At last she arose and with the dignity of former days walked from the room, and her carriage was soon after heard rolling away from the door.
"You have offended your cousin Mr. St. Clair," said the wife.
"I do not care if I have! She had no business to be out in such a place without being better attended at any rate!"
"Mrs. Gaylord must not hear of this to-night," continued the good lady musingly as her husband left the room. "How can I tell her! It is terrible!"
Day after day was the search continued but with no success. Mrs. Belmont had closed her doors against all visitors, taking the precaution, however, to station her servants where they would be able to bring her the first news concerning the missing one. Mr. Gaylord reached Savannah in time to join in the search and administer consolation to his newly-afflicted wife.
Let the human soul wander where it will with its burden of guilt; let it try as best it can to hide its deformity under the covering of complacency, the eye that never slumbers is upon it and an accusing conscience will continue to repeat "thy sin shall find thee out!" Poor Mrs. Belmont! Step by step had she been led forward on the path where she little expected to walk, but in her stepping down from true womanhood she had been met by the spirit of evil and he had guided her tremblingly on.
The third evening after the close of our last chapter a tall figure in feminine attire might have been seen in the street opposite her residence. A half hour after, the side door of that house opened softly and closed again as a closely-veiled woman emerged into the darkness. Passing down the main avenue it came to a street more unfrequented where the two met and walked on together a few moments in silence. At last stopping suddenly the voice of Mrs. Belmont inquired in a subdued tone, "Well—what are you going to say?Quick!"
"I'se goin' to tell ye. I took the gal down to the boat, but 'twas a mighty hard tug. She didn't make no fuss tho', so I took off the handkerchief and told her to be aisy and I'd treat her well.Then came lots of questions but I didn't tell her nothin'. The sea was mighty high and I know'd there was no gettin' to the ship, so I jest hugged the shore as near as I dast to 'til I got away where nobody could find us, then I pulled up where I know'd was good shelter to wait for the tide, when gorry! I'd no more than sot foot on a hard rock than the gal sprung to her feet and was off quick as a wink! How she got her hands untied nobody knows! But she couldn't ha' kept up five minutes for the wind was risin' and the waves wasawful, so I reckon there's no more trouble for nobody!"
"You are a blunderer!" gasped his listener.
"I'se done my best, that's all!"
"Here—take that—and remember next week you go to Charleston as a volunteer to fight, and if you get shot so much the better for you! This is the bounty to be given your family! Go—and let me and this transaction die from your memory forever!Go!"
They separated and Mrs. Belmont returned to her home with the same stealthy tread as that with which she had left it. Alone in her chamber the wretched woman listened once more long and helplessly to the terrible upbraidings of conscience!
"I did not intend all this," she cried. "O, no! The stain ofmurdercannot be found on my soul! I only thought—the great Judge knows I would never have injured my own flesh and blood! The great Judge!" she repeated, while a tremor ran through her frame. "Yes, He knows I did not mean all this! I was compelled—having takenthe first step there was no retreating! Ah, that first act! Whither will it lead me?"
In the morning the storm had passed and Mrs. Belmont came forth to light and life more rigid and stern than before. It was said that "her sorrows had made her grave; yet more grand and dignified," and soon the "presumptuous" whispers of blame were hushed, for one sonobleas the "mistress of Rosedale"could notbe guilty of crime! And the wave of public opinion closed over the scene and the waters of social life were calm again.
George St. Clair had remained in Charleston during these excitements, watching the progress of other scenes even more sad and cruel, yet free from the plague spots of crime, and bearing aloft the banner held to be of glory and honor for the reason that a nation, not an individual, had demanded the sacrifice of many lives, not one! South Carolina had drawn her ample robes more closely about her and with one pitiful leap had plunged over the fearful precipice down into the dark and unexplored depths of the yawning chasm of disunion, dragging after her a few of her unfortunate sisters. No wonder they stood and trembled upon the brink when it was once reached, for there were mysteries wholly unlooked for which seemed to lose their golden tints upon nearer approach and assume the dignity of practical realities. The little "affair" at Fort Sumter somehow had cast a shadow of foreboding over more than one chivalric heart.
Col. St. Clair met his commanding officer the morning after the surrender of the little half-starved garrison, standing alone viewing throughhis glass the noble fort with the new emblem of glory floating over it.
"Well—how do you like the looks of that, Colonel? The Morning Star withhealingin its beams—ha?" Taking down his glass he turned to his companion, who had not yet spoken, and continued; "what the deuce is the matter with you St. Clair? Your face ought to be shining with victory, but instead it presents a perfect blank!"
"As unreadable as our future," he replied with an attempt at a smile.
"Ah! A discovery! Getting tired already! Hope the white feather has not began to grow as soon as this!" There was a sneer on the face of the speaker which his companion did not fail to notice.
"General," he said mildly, "I acknowledge with deference your superiority in military rank, but do not forget that the blood of the St. Clair's runs through my veins, disseminating through my being no mean cowardice, as you well know!" The general laughed.
"You are awake now my brave boy and more like yourself! I only wanted to arouse you! Now tell us, what is the matter? Something more than our surroundings disturbs you. Out with it!"
"What time do the Eaton's go north?" was the calm inquiry.
"Next Wednesday in the steamer from New Orleans," the general replied in the same indifferent tone.
Another short silence ensued when St. Clair again remarked: "We have won such a victory that we can afford to rest for a time, I suppose? The fact is, general," he continued, "I have receiveda telegram this morning that has disturbed me not a little!"
"I am glad your ill humor can be accounted for. I never saw you appear so unlike yourself; no bad news I hope!"
The manner of his companion was particularly offensive just then, but smothering his rage St. Clair replied: "You understand that I would like a furlough to return home for a few days! It seems that my father must leave Savannah, where he has been an honored and beloved citizen for nearly half a century, or forfeit his life, for no other reason than that he cannot at his advanced age learn immediately the act of dissembling nor tear from his heart the live-long love for the old flag."
"What do you mean, St. Clair?"
"I mean justthis! My father was fired upon last night while sitting quietly in his own library, the ball passing a little above his head and lodged in the wall opposite."
The general was excited. "A blood-thirstywretch!" escaped from his lips, while his companion continued calmly: "In order to save our loved ones we must push them off into the enemy's country; now honestly, general, has not that a smack of the ridiculous about it?" Without waiting for a reply he turned, remarking: "It is time that I was at work if I am permitted to go on the next train."
Anna Pierson was alone in the school room, her head bowed upon the desk before which she was sitting. A sheet of letter paper with a few lines written upon it was lying beside her, while the idle pen with the ink dried upon it had apparently fallen on the page blearing and spoiling it. PoorAnna! She had sat there a long time silent and motionless, seemingly unconscious even when little May stole softly into the room to tell "Miss Anna" that Uncle George had come; she was obliged to run back with the intelligence that Miss Anna was asleep; neither did the tread of heavier feet arouse her when nearly half an hour later George St. Clair quietly pushed back the half-open door and stood irresolutely for a moment on the threshold. She was not asleep as he well knew, for a low, deep sigh reached him, and the little hand that hung so listlessly over the corner of the desk on which her head was resting trembled. In a moment he was beside her, and taking the bowed head between his hands he raised it tenderly and looked down into the tear-stained face.
"Anna!"
"George St. Clair!" she exclaimed with almost a shriek, at the same time attempting to rise. But he held her fast.
"No, Anna! It takes a longer time than you have given me to get a perfect daguerreotype! I want the memory of this just as I found it, tear-stained and all! It is no more than I deserve. I should not have been so cruelly selfish as not to have told you weeks ago to leave Savannah and return to your northern home."
"Is it too late now?"
"No, but you must be speedy! More than this, you must take my father and mother and Ellen with you!"
"With me?"
"Yes, Anna; we cannot leave them here after what has happened."
"O, no; I shall be so happy! But George—"
"What, Anna?"
"My mother is a widow in humble circumstances—"
"Do you imagine that I would burden yourself or your mother?"
"Not that," she interrupted. "I was only thinking of the change from a home of luxury to one of only comfort, yet very peaceful and dear, at least to me. But it would be delightful if I could make them as happy and joyous inmyhumble home as they have made me in theirs. Will they let me try?"
"Has no one but the three you have mentioned added a morsel to your enjoyment since you have been an inmate of this home?"
The blood rushed to her cheeks and brow and she struggled to liberate herself that he might not look so intently down into her swimming eyes, which she well knew would tell him more than she would have him know.
"Then there was no one else! Well—take them; I will consign them to your care until the detestable struggle is over! When this is done I will relieve you. Bertha is a true rebel and will have no fears in remaining where she is."
The voice of the speaker was low and tremulous as he uttered these words, and Anna thought that she had never before seen his face so pale and thin. He had permitted her to rise and she now stood before him. Did she love him? She had asked herself that question many months previously, and although her lips were prompt in their denial her heart had remained silent. It throbbed now as she met his troubled gaze and beheld the look ofsorrow on his face. It was for a moment only. For the first time her eyes fell upon his military dress; it was a rebel uniform! A flood of recollections rolled in upon her in deadly combat. Would that hand which had so lately touched her cheek spill the life-blood of those who were so dear to her? The thought sent the blood back to her heart and left cheek and lip pallid and cold! With an involuntary shudder she laid her trembling hand on his shoulder and tried to speak, but the words died on her pale lips. George St. Clair passed his arm about her and drew her to a seat on the sofa. "You are ill; sit here until I procure some water!"
"No, no; I am not ill; it is over now. You came to talk to me about going home. It is very kind of you;" and, rising, she extended her hand. He took it tenderly in his as she continued: "I joyfully accept the charge you have placed in my care, and will endeavor to be to them all you could wish; and now, before our last farewell, make me one promise, will you." Her lips quivered, but with an effort she thrust back the tears that were welling up from her full heart, while her hand lay motionless in his. "It is this: Should one or both of my brothers, through the fickleness of war, be thrown into your power, that you will let the memories of the last eighteen months soften your heart with mercy toward them."
"Has this uniform converted me into a monster? I do not wonder? Yet I promise you all and more! God only knows what those memories of which you speak will do with me. Now we will go and talk the departure over with the rest, yet not with that pale face, Anna. It would add a newpang to the sorrows of my parents, who are now unhappy with the prospects of expulsion, as they term it. Have you not one kind word for me now that we are so soon to part, perhaps never to meet again? O, Anna, I had torn from my life's history several pages which I had determined to read to you to-day, but cannot now." He raised her hand to his lips. "Farewell! we will go. To-morrow, no doubt, you will be busy; the next day we must be in Charleston to intercept a New Orleans steamer going north. This route will be a little longer but more agreeable, as every train is thoroughly searched for any who may be going thither with more information concerning our plans than would be desirable. Again farewell." He dropped her hand and left the room.
Anna sank down again on the sofa, and for a few moments gave vent to her pent-up tears. The succeeding day was full of sadness and bustle. Many tears were shed, and presentiments indulged in. The invincible Bertha alone stood firm and apparently unmoved. Only once did the son and brother appear with the family. He came to dinner, but disappeared as soon as it was over. Anna tried to think of her home, where she would soon be, of the joy of her fond mother at the reunion, but it was piercing the cloud to draw the sunshine from beyond.
In one week the little party arrived safely in Washington; from there they took the cars for Baltimore, and thence to New York.
A few miles back from the noble old Hudson stands a pleasant little village, nestled in among the green hills and wide-spreading trees, cosy and quiet, excepting where the rapid stream comesrushing down through the valley, turning in its course two huge splashing wheels that never grow weary as they keep on with their work, propelling the machinery of the massive cotton mills which were the life and pride of the inhabitants for many miles around. It looked calm and peaceful as seen from the deck of the steamer, where Anna was sitting, and her heart bounded with ecstacy as the pleasant remembrances of her home life came sweeping over her. She had been sitting with the hand of Ellen St. Clair clasped tightly in her own, apparently listening to her exclamations of delight at the grand scenery through which they were passing, while in truth she was harkening to other voices that came up from the past, and gazing on the many sweet faces that filled her heart with a new joy, and drew back for a while the dark curtains that seemed to hang between her and the shadowed future.
"I declare, I do not believe you have heard one word I have been saying." This from Ellen at last. "All of that ecstasy is wasted; and I indulge in it so seldom! Tell me, Anna, what were you thinking about?"
"Of home, dear Ellen, and how happy we will all be together."
"But Father thinks we may better take rooms at the hotel; he is afraid."
"I understand all. They will be better acquainted with our habits soon, and, it may be, will think more leniently of us; but I am responsible for your safe-keeping, you know, and could not think of extending my care over more than a mile to the hotel." Anna smiled, while Ellen's laughreached the parents who were sitting some distance from them.
"They are happy, wife," suggested Mr. St. Clair, "and I reckon we might as well be so too, and make the best of circumstances."
The little circle in the widow's cottage would have been happy, yes joyous, had there not been two vacant chairs at the evening gatherings and at the morning devotions, while the sound of war came to them from the distance, telling of bloodshed, of anguish, of heart-strings breaking and homes made desolate forever. It was sad; but the widow never ceased to pray, and with her petitions there went up a meed of praise that He had given her the power to offer, on the altar of sacrifice, her first born, with his brother, both true and noble.
Colonel St. Clair's letters were frequent, and although full of love and solicitude for his parents and Ellen, he had never more than casually mentioned the name of Anna in any of them. But his sister was with her and she was happy. Having never herself known the love of a sister, she fancied that in this dear friend she had at last found a recompense for her years of unsatisfied longing. Milton has said "The happiness of a nation consists in true religious piety, justice, prudence, temperance, fortitude, and the contempt of avarice and ambition; they in whom these virtues dwell eminently need not kings to make them happy; but are the architects of their own happiness, and whether to themselves or others are not less than kings." And we add, the country who has these virtues and lives upon the principles emanating therefrom needs not war to wipe out injustice and wrong.
The path downward is easy of descent, even though the end thereof be eternal ruin! There were thousands at the time of which we are writing (as well as in all stages of human life) who threw themselves from the lofty pinnacle of true nobility to grovel awhile in the slough of wickedness, then perish forever! How terrible must be the awakening of such a soul, if the kind Ruler should ever permit the awakening to come, and yet worse, sadly worse, would be the unconscious sleep that plunges its victim over the precipice of ruin to be aroused at last beyond the boundaries of hope!
One night after the first signal defeat of the southern army, which seemed to dim for awhile the bright halo of victory that had darted up the horizon from northern skies, a circle of ladies were gathered in a spacious parlor in Charleston, doubtless for business purposes, and those of no ordinary character, if we should judge by the earnest debates that were carried on in one corner by a group apart from the rest, or by the sage countenances and serious deportment of the others.
One of the number, a tall lady in black, had arisen from her seat on the sofa, where she had been discussing for a long time some importantsubject in which all appeared particularly interested, and was now walking with measured tread and folded arms up and down the long parlors, seemingly unconscious of the low buzz of subdued voices which fell on her ear at every turn, for her dark, keen eyes had never once been raised from the carpet on which she was treading.
Just outside of the window stood a large magnolia tree whose upper branches reached the narrow opening made by letting down the window to admit the fragrant air from the blossoms outside. To-night this had not been neglected, and as the heavy lace curtains were pushed slightly to one side a pair of dark, wondering eyes peered down upon the scene below. In the kitchen another group had gathered; their faces were darker and their clothing coarser and homelier than those upon which the slave boy was gazing from his elevated seat in the magnolia tree, but the all-absorbing subject had fired the blood and quickened the pulse alike of each. Harry had determined to learn as much as possible about the excitement, and his heart had beat rapidly as he listened to much that had been said by those who had occupied the sofa directly under the window; but he could hear little now and he waited impatiently for the return of the principal speaker who provokingly continued her thoughtful promenade. He was thinking of the light, frail mulatto girl down stairs who was nervously waiting for his appearance and the new secret he was to confide in her; and the half hour seemed to extend to an interminable length.
It ended at last. The tall figure reseated itself in the chair, and the eager face of the listenerpressed hard to the frame of the window that his ear might not lose a word.
"Yes;I will go!" were the first that reached him.
"You have decided nobly!" exclaimed several in a breath.
"It is just what I knew you would do after deliberating upon it!" replied the one who seemed to be particularly addressed. "You are so much better fitted for the mission than any one present! Your queenly bearing and imperious manners would command the confidence and respect of strangers. Then your acquaintance in Washington would so materially assist you! It has been proven that our army must act with skill as well as power, and as the colonel says, 'wemustlearn something of their plans before they are brought against us, if we are to overthrow them.' For this you are well adapted as you will have no trouble in mingling with the most refined, or in select circles where such things are ably discussed." Mrs. Belmont had been sitting during this speech seemingly absorbed in her meditations, but the listener outside lost not a word.
"You will disguise yourself in some way, I suppose," suggested another. Mrs. Belmont aroused herself at this.
"I will take one hundred dollars only of the money subscribed, and will return to this house one week from to-day without a card and my name shall be 'Mrs. Southey.' If Harry does not recognize me I shall feel secure. His keen eyes and quick perceptions would penetrate my mask I know if it could be done. I intend it shall be complete, but this shall be my test!"
An approving hum went round the circle. "But supposing heshouldknow you?" suggested the mistress. "I fear that half-blooded rascal—he knows altogether too much if I can read aright the merry twinkle in his eyes and the inquiring look with which he scrutinizes every stranger who visits here. But we will try him. We must not shrink from any imaginary ill when you are to risk so much for our good," continued the lady.
Harry gave a low chuckle as he thought, "Neber you fear dis chile; he won't know nothin' dis time su' as de worl'! Jus' you watch his eye when Mrs.—Mrs.—what de name; well, 'twant Belmont, dat's sartin! He-he—reckon dis 'half-blood rascal' got 'nuf dis time!" And the nimble figure scrambled noiselessly down to the ground and darted away to find Nelly who was anxiously waiting for him.
"O Harry!" she exclaimed as he caught her in his arms; "I wasso'feared you'd be wanted! I heard de bell ring and de ladies are agoin'!"
"Let 'em go, Nelly; you'll be a lady some day jes' as good as any on 'em! I heered lots and we's goin' t' be free! Hurrah!"
"O Harry, hush; somebody'll hear ye, sartin'."
"Oh I could yell jus' like de sojers! Hurrah! But dis chile's got to wait; de good time's comin', Nelly, de good time's comin'; but dar's de bell—dat means dis rascal, su'," and away the light figure bounded, leaping up two steps at once as he proceeded to the upper hall where some ladies were standing ready to take their departure.
"Where were you, boy, to make Mrs. Belmont wait so long? I rang twice," exclaimed the mistress, as he came slowly into their presence.
"'Spects I must 'a' fell asleep Missus. Didn't hear only dis once."
"You had better keep awake another time. Now hand the ladies to their carriages, and see if you cannot be as polite as your young master would be if he were here." There was a hearty laugh as the servant opened the door, bowing most obsequiously as several passed out before him, he following to do the honors of the "young gentleman."
At the appointed time Mrs. Belmont appeared at the door of her friend, and was ushered into the parlor by the facetious Harry, who bowed as unconcernedly as the lady herself could desire. Upon extending his hand for the card he was supposed to expect, she said, blandly: "Tell your mistress that Mrs. Southey is waiting for her;" and bowing low the servant left the room to obey her command. On the staircase he halted to perform several ludicrous gyrations, while the merry twinkle in his eyes laughed itself out, and when he reached his lady's private boudoir they told no tale of inward excitement.
"Mis' Southey is a waitin', Missus." The sharp eyes of the mistress were upon him, but he remained unmoved, whistling a few low notes at the same time beating a subdued tattoo upon the door.
"Mrs. Southey?" repeated the lady, without removing her gaze, but not a muscle moved in the face she was scanning.
"Tell her to come to me," she continued, and the servant departed. Great would have been the chagrin of the mistress had she seen the humble slave boy as he descended to the parlor below. Catching a glimpse of Nelly at the farther end of the long hall, he threw himself into the mostlaughable contortions, which provoked in her convulsive chuckles at the same time adding a reproof by a dubious shake of the head. In a few moments more the door closed behind Mrs. Belmont as she entered her friend's room and the two were alone together.
"I am sure he had not the least idea who you were, and no wonder! I do not believe I should recognize you myself if we should meet on the street;" remarked the lady as her visitor seated herself. "How strangely you look in that gray traveling suit!"
"Not more so to you than to myself;" was the low reply.
"Your hair put back so plainly, and those glasses, have really added half a score to your years. No one will doubt your origin, or that you are an English lady of the old school." The speaker laughed merrily, but the visitor remained calm and silent, having been led by her companion far away into the future where new scenes and new duties awaited her. It was a perilous task she had undertaken, and no one understood it better than herself. But the last few years had been fitting her for the risks she were to encounter.
"It was true that no one within the circle of my acquaintances was so well fitted to act this part in the great drama of war," was her conclusion, and no one had such a reason for hating the foe as had she, and while she was performing this great service for her country she could at the same time pay off the debt of her blighted hopes. During the short visit quite another scene was being enacted below stairs. Harry and Nelly were standing together in one corner of the large kitchen engagedin close conversation, notwithstanding the protestations of Aunt Nancy, who reiterated a dozen times a day at least the declaration "Dat boy Harry don't arn de salt in his porridge." For once her words rattled away in the air and fell unheeded on the ears they were aimed at.
"I tell you, Nell," said the slave, "dar's somethin' goin' t' happen jes suits dis chap. We'll have a fine house all our own, and some little Sambo to take care ob de chilerns, and, and—"
"Go away, you Harry," and the girl slapped his round cheek, with a yellow hand that delighted to push back the curtains hanging about her future as well as did her lover.
"Well, I hearn 'em talk, and old Ben sang 'de Good Time's Comin', louder last Sabba-day dan he eber did afore. It's comin' Nell. I jes thought—I'll tell Ben, and set him praying for it. He'll make it all right, sartin, sure; and when we get de big house we'll take old Ben to mind de chilerns. He'll like dat for pay, sartin." Nelly laughed, and declared again that Aunt Nancy wanted her, then darted away, followed by the laugh of her lover.
Three weeks after Mrs. Belmont arrived safely in Washington. In due time she took up her lodging with the family whom she had known several years previously, and who well understood her mission in the city.
As the "wealthy English lady who had fled from the South on account of her anti-war principles," she was admitted to the most private circles, where she promulgated her "abolition" doctrines to the evident satisfaction of her numerous admirers. It did seem a very strange thing that the anticipated movements of the Union army should beknown to the enemy long before they were brought to maturity. But had the puzzled authorities seen the tall gentleman who came leisurely up the long avenue three times a week until he reached the farther end, where he would look carelessly about him, and stopping under a certain tree take from beneath a stone a folded paper, then walk as slowly on, they would have easily imagined that in this was the mystery concealed. Yet it would have required a great amount of credulity to believe that Mrs. Southey, who had so won the hearts of the people, could have possibly known of, much less have written, those mysterious epistles. Only once did her large eyes lose their determined look, or the crimson wave of self reproach roll over her stern face, but the calm face of our noble President, as he held her hand in his, scrutinizing her face, brought them both to view. Did those penetrating eyes pierce the mask she was wearing? Did that manly soul discover the spirit of rebellion looking out through those orbs that so shrank back at his gaze? It was only for a moment. He bowed while the old smile returned to his plain face as he extended his hand to the next visitor.
Abraham Lincoln sleeps to-day in a martyr's grave, but the touch of his warm hand, without one stain of human blood upon it, and that look from those reproachful eyes, so full of love and good will to all, sank with a heavy weight down into the traitor's heart that night and were living, real things to the wretched woman, who lived to mourn over the sin of treachery, not only to her country but her home-loves. Alas! that any should think to subdue the tempest of remorse which comes to beat upon it, by prevarication orcrime. The eye of justice cannot be deceived. Did these thoughts sometimes come to the miserable woman, who tossed upon her bed as the memories from the past came back to torment her? Where was her child? Her Lillian? It had been many months since she had heard from her directly, and there were times when the terrible presentiment of coming disgrace would haunt her dreams and fill her waking moments with dread. The war—the terrible war! Her son was probably in it, surrounded with the dangers of a common soldier. George St. Clair was in it. The mighty wave of devastation was rolling southward, and Rosedale was cut off from her approach, perhaps forever. Where was the end to be? What wonder that she trembled at every report of aggression or conflict that sped towards her! But worse than all this was the terrible consciousness that sin had stained her soul with blood. Never for a moment did the awakened conscience cease its upbraidings. In vain did she answer back: "Say not this of me. Murder isnotone of my transgressions. I didnotmean all that!"
But the voice would not be silenced.